The Cost of Crowns

I hate - ok maybe that's too strong a word - I dislike dentists. But it's nothing personal, as I told my dentist. That's why my last visit to him was some 20 years ago when I had to do a root-canal treatment which cost me a bomb. They had difficulty tracing my card because it was already in cold storage after so long. If it was not because of a big gaping hole in my front incisor that was obviously going to get worse, I wouldn't have gone back to him at all, ever. I guess it was pay-back time for all the check-ups I never did, for he announced (quite gleefully I sense) that there was no cure except either extraction of the infected tooth or another root-canal and twin crowning job. He hastened to add that unless I was prepared to start practicing how to smile without opening my mouth, I had no choice really but to opt for the latter, because extraction would expose a big and very obvious ugly gap if I so much as part my lips. The amount he quoted for the crown job almost gave me a heart-attack. I told him not only was my tooth aching now, but thanks to him, my heart was bleeding too. That's why I dislike dentists; they not only cause you physical pain (I am an absolute baby when it comes to enduring needles and drills in my flesh) but they burn a big hole in your wallet as well.

My dentist is a salesman too; to ease my shock at his 'priceless' treatment, he told me I could pay by installment, as it would take quite a few sessions to complete. So before I could say much - it's hard to say much when there's a guy waving a mean-looking needle in your face - he told me to open my mouth and promptly poked the needle in. 3 minutes after a fist-clenching experience in the torture-chair (at least that's how I see it), I was out of his office, half my face numbed and a couple of hundred dollars poorer. Over the course of about a month, I would drag my feet and steel myself for a physically traumatic and financially draining time with him.

I had an even ruder shock when at the penultimate session, he told me the cost of the 2 crowns needed to cap the tooth. I had erroneously assumed the price he first quoted was for the total package. Now he tells me that was only for the root-canal treatment. Heck, how should I know what's what. Like I said I absolutely dislike dentists. By now I was already too far gone to back out. I told him I wanted the cheapest crown available; no need gold, silver, platinum or diamonds. He rolled his eyes and told me I shouldn't stinge on crowns because I would regret it as the cheap ones would turn my whole gum black in no time. To press his point, he whipped out some horrible pictures of blackened-gum models for good measure. (I told you my dentist is a salesman). At that juncture I asked if he could get me an ambulance to carry me out of his office. He laughed (dentists are all sadists I think).

Finally it was all finished. He handed me a mirror to check. I had to admit the crowns were a perfect fit; they were even of the same shade as my other natural teeth. What was once a gaping hole was now covered completely. As I made the final payment, I told my dentist I hoped  this would be my last visit to him, since I fully expected  not to be around on earth after another 20 years down the road. Tongue-in-cheek I said I wouldn't need any dentist in heaven where I would be heading. He smiled and countered back, "That's where you are wrong. Because when you reach the pearly gates, I am very sure the angel there will stop you, ask you to open your mouth and send you straight back to me." Hmm, I suspect my dentist is really a stand-up comedian in disguise.

I went home with a really nicely done-up tooth, but bemoaning the $3k price-tag of 2 porcelain crowns. Ouch, that still hurts, since I am admittedly 'kiam-siap' ("stingy-poke" in Hokkien). My dentist had remarked in passing what I was paying for is actually very very reasonable, considering there are crowns that literally cost a small fortune. And I found myself thinking about some quite different crowns that the Bible promises for those who believe.

There's an imperishable crown that awaits the Christian who faithfully runs the race of life, not by grabbing and taking but by self-denial, crucifying every selfish desire, following the example of Christ who gave up even His very life on the cross that others may have life (1 Cor 9:25) Then there's the crown of rejoicing (1 Thess 2:19) given to the soul-winners who lead people to the saving grace of God and the truth about Jesus. For believers who live a life pleasing to God on earth whilst eagerly anticipating the coming return of Jesus as the King of kings, there is laid up the crown of righteousness (2 Tim 4:8) Those who go all the way, enduring trials, tribulations and severe suffering, even unto death as martyrs are rewarded with the crown of life (James 1:12) And last but not least is the crown of glory reserved for those who minister, disciple and teach others the Word of God (1 Pet 5:4). 

I cannot imagine what all these crowns look like. But I am certain they are all way much much better by far than the ones buried in my mouth. Some people surmise that all these crown-talk just reduces Christianity to pretty much the same as other religions which promise divine rewards for being 'good' on earth. Such arguments miss the crucial distinguishing point of Christianity - being good can never 'buy' anyone a ticket to heaven. These crowns are only given to those who have already been saved by grace, for those who believe it is Jesus' death and resurrection - not man's 'goodness' or 'life performance on earth' - which secures them a place in eternity with God. The crowns come after; not before salvation, and are but a token of what God delights to give His own ; just as human parents love to shower their kids with gifts galore. 

I can quantify how much my tooth-crowns cost me in terms of ringgit and sen. 20 years from now, if I am still alive, I would have made back many times over the money expended.  But the crowns that God has reserved for me and all who believe are priceless.  They cost the life of Jesus Christ; that's something which can never be calculated. And that should put us in our place, lest we grow big-headed with all the magnificent stuff that's going to adorn our hair.  Maybe that's why the Bible tells us that ultimately, man will cast down their crowns before the throne of God, recognizing that it is only God who deserves to receive all glory, honor and power (Rev 4:10-11).

So, really it's not about the crowns. It's about the God who willingly stooped so low to wear not a golden crown of jewels, but a crown of thorns, just so that mere man can have a shot at wearing truly kingly crowns which come from the hand of a very generous Father in heaven. My dentist can keep his crowns. I got better ones coming my way.

"But we do see Jesus, who was made lower than the angels for a little while, now crowned with glory and honor because He suffered death, so that by the grace of God He might taste death for everyone"... Hebrews 2:9 .
 

The Hard Thing is the Heart Thing

I was reading yet another gripe-piece about how Malaysia seems to be so torn apart by religious and racial strife, despite all the much lauded progress of this, that and the other transformation blue-print. It has become so common all we do is bemoan the state of the nation.
Somehow it reminded me of this Pakcik I used to meet on my morning jaunts in the park. He worried about his heart. Yet at 67, he could sweat it out on the concrete foot-reflexology pavement with his bare feet for a good 15 mins in the early pre-dawn morning. Something that I, younger by more than a decade, can’t manage at all, for stepping over all those sharp, round, angled, rough, smooth, differently-sized pebbles, cobbles and stones was no easy feat; the pain was so excruciating I decided long ago I would stick to just my normal walk-n-jog routine, as I didn’t fancy subjecting myself to what was literally a patterned pathway of torture. That’s why I take my hats off to the bald, heavy-set Pakcik who gamely huffed and puffed his way round and round, up and down the foot-path. He was almost always at the park earlier than I; by the time I arrived at about 530 am, he would be down to his final round or already resting on the stone bench . I would greet him Selamat Pagi and Selamat Jalan when he hopped onto his ancient noisy Honda Cub bike and rode off back to wherever he came from. I never did manage to find out where he stayed. But 2 things he did tell me, that he was a long distance lorry-driver (ya, man… wow, at his age…) and that he worried about his heart. He said he was scared of ‘sakit jantung’ – literally sick heart.  I tried to reassure him that with all the exercise he was getting, his heart should be beating strong. That was the last we spoke, now I don’t see him anymore at the park, and I wonder what’s happened to Pakcik. Did something happen to his heart?

I guess if Malaysia had a heart that could be examined under a doctor's microscope, it must look pretty bad - sick to the core, probably punctured in a million pieces and leaking precious blood. What does a broken-hearted nation look like? Well, for one, all the shine of towering buildings and feel-good songs with catchy (politically correct) slogans like 1Malaysia won't hide the underlying ugliness of fissures in the fabric of its society. All the gloss can't cover up the distrust, resentment, prejudices and ill-will that surfaces up every time race or religion rears its head. What was it someone said, first world theory, third world mentality, or something like that. If a nation had a voice, I venture Malaysia would be a cacophony of loud noise filled with tones of condemnation and contention, like the shouting of bullies spoiling for a fight over who gets the bigger slice of cake.

It should be obvious the  problem isn't race or religion really, it's people, specifically people's hearts. The Bible does not mince words about the true condition of human hearts, "For it is from within, out of a person's heart, that evil thoughts come—sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly" (Mark 7:21-22). The indictment applies to all mankind,  irrespective of our individual skin-color or belief system. All motives, good or bad, are birthed in the heart, whether or not the external act is manifested ultimately. Which is probably why Solomon, reputedly the wisest king in the ancient world, penned an apt warning, “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it”  (Proverbs 4:23). Obviously he wasn't just talking about the physical organ that is no bigger than the size of 2 clenched fists situated under our ribs.

An old Pakcik knew the importance of a healthy heart; he was willing to sacrifice time, effort and energy to do something to keep his heart pumping strong. What about us? Whilst we are very quick to proclaim we are all Malaysians, show off our multi-cultural festivals and talk about the 'good old days' when there seemingly was no such thing as racial disunity,  are we willing to admit the ugliness of our own hearts? In all honesty, can we answer ourselves what's really really in our heart as we look at a Malay, Chinese, Indian or Orang Asli, through our own colored lenses of perception and presumption? Is there perhaps just a twinge of resentment, or a measure of snobbery, mayhap a seed of prejudice buried deep inside our psyche which we aren't even aware of, that causes us to react instinctively to stereo-type those who are not in 'our gang'?? Perhaps that's why we jump so quickly to assume, defend and justify what's fair and unfair, right or wrong according to our own pet definitions and in pursuit of our own vested self-interests. Come on, if we are truly honest, we all have them. Go ahead, protest that I am wrong. I wish I was, but don't we all harbor certain attitudes about certain people? God forbid we ever have to confess out loud the secret feelings we keep under wraps about others. It's hard to look beyond our own hearts into another’s heart. We fail to understand, much less appreciate, the fundamental fact that in the dance of life, all our hearts can be beating to quite different rhythms, even though we may all be sharing the same floor space. That's probably why we often end up inevitably stepping on each other's toes, screaming bloody murder in the process.

So where does all that leave us? Well, for one, self-examination should at the very least make us realize it isn't 'clean' politics, rule of law, democracy, quantum leaps of technology or education, a robust economy (though all these are definitely great to have) that's going to magically transform Malaysia into the nicest place on earth. Alas, it's not good intentions (everyone has plenty of that to spare for everybody else) or idealistic dreams (which are fine but hey, let's get real) that will somehow glue back together this cracked melting-pot called Malaysia that has seen better days, when life was  perceived (correctly or incorrectly) as much simpler. Back then I guess no one really bothered to ask what's 'good' for Malaysia; maybe we were just too busy getting on with living a life and getting along with each other. After all, we are all Malaysians, so we should know what's 'good' for us.

But now, I wonder what's that supposed to mean, really? Well, the proclamation declared by our first PM, Tunku Abdul Rahman reads that as from Aug 31, 1957, Malaya (as it then was) "is and with God’s blessing shall be for ever a sovereign democratic and independent State founded upon the principles of liberty and justice and ever seeking the welfare and happiness of its people and the maintenance of a just peace among all nations". It's so easy to quote and get carried away by the noble and nice-sounding rhetoric - liberty, justice, peace - all worthy things to care about and fight for. But let's not miss the point of independence is the welfare and happiness of its people....now that's 'heart' talk, which every human being can relate to. I should think this is the declared prerogative, privilege and blessing of and for all Malaysians for all time. Unfortunately that's also where conflict is bound to shoot up like thorns on an otherwise beautiful rose plant. We 'poke' each other in the quest for welfare and happiness (of our own kind mostly), since what is 'plus' for one most often also means a 'minus' for another. So you are happy doesn't mean I am happy, since our instinctive inclination is self-survival and self-promotion, the natural thing to do first is take, retaliate and protect what is “ours”.  

And where there is 'ours', there's always a 'them' thrown into the equation. The way I see it, at its deepest level, I need to answer this in my own heart – Would I, can I, calling myself a Malaysian, give way to another Malaysian's welfare and happiness, sacrificing my own in the process? Especially when that 'other' Malaysian is different from I. If I can't do it, what right do I have to expect that Malaysian to do the same for me? That's why the hard thing is actually the 'heart' thing, as Jesus put it, to not just love God but to "love your neighbor as yourself" (Mark 12:31) No mention whatsoever that your neighbor must be of a particular skin-color or belong to a certain political party, or pray to the same god as you, nor that you must like him or that he must be nice to you. Nothing whatsoever about him having to be mindful of and always respect 'your rights' first. In fact, Jesus went 1 step (much) further, calling His followers to "…love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you" (Matthew 5:44) 

Can I find it in my heart to do that?? Can you? Can 28 million different hearts actually beat as one (Malaysian) heart? Realistically, no way. We can have all sorts of dialogues, set up all kinds of committees, and come up with pages of well-meant action plans with nice sounding cliches about moving forward together as 1 nation, but if we don't deal with the 'heart' issue, it's just white-washing crumbling walls, without any firm foundation.  Real unity must mean all hearts ready and willing to do the same thing for and to one another, out of love, to build each other up, not tear each other down. Real unity isn’t being content with just getting along, live and let live. Real unity comes when we choose to love the ‘other’, irrespective of whether we agree or disagree.  That's radical and a tough call. It’s going to cost – effort, energy, time – and it’s going to be real painful. Just like Pakcik undertaking all that exercise, for the sake of his heart.
It’s very easy to say I love Malaysia. But Malaysia is not just a ‘thing’; it’s that Malay, Chinese, Indian and Orang Asli who individually and collectively is ‘Malaysia’. If we are serious about Malaysia’s health, we should really check ourselves in for some ‘heart-surgery’. And it has to start with me, willing my heart to love that ‘other’ Malaysian heart. I want to do it because I believe we are all worth it, that we all deserve it. What about you?

(Published in MM 19/5/2014) 

I was reading yet another gripe-piece about how Malaysia seems to be so torn apart by religious and racial strife, despite all the much lauded progress of this, that and the other transformation blue-print. It has become so common all we do is bemoan the state of the nation.  - See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/the-hard-thing-is-the-heart-thing-christine-sk-lai#sthash.2AphaNcf.Dc5DQlLA.dpuf

I was reading yet another gripe-piece about how Malaysia seems to be so torn apart by religious and racial strife, despite all the much lauded progress of this, that and the other transformation blue-print. It has become so common all we do is bemoan the state of the nation. - See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/the-hard-thing-is-the-heart-thing-christine-sk-lai#sthash.2AphaNcf.Dc5DQlLA.dpuf

A Nation In Search of Her Soul

Merdeka! I wasn’t even born yet when that shout reverberated off the grass of Royal Selangor Club padang in the heart of Kuala Lumpur at 12 midnight on August 30, 1957. Apparently there were 7 shouts (not 3 as I always erroneously assumed), even as our nation’s first PM Tunku Abdul Rahman hailed the ceremony as the “greatest moment in the life of the Malayan people”. I was only a 3 year old toddler when he subsequently proclaimed the formation of Malaysia by welcoming Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore into a common federation on 16th September 1963. Of course as a 5 year old kid, I was a total ignoramus about Singapore pulling out to go her own way later in 1965. Fast forward 4 years, on May 13th 1969, I was just another 9 year old kid, running around oblivious of the fighting, bloodshed and emergency curfews on that day. 

I drifted through school, did the things every child did back then, got into scrapes, got ‘rotan-ed’ and grew up eventually. On official forms requiring me to state my race, I would put Malaysian Chinese. That’s the only way I had ever seen myself. I was never much into ‘religion’, being the ever capable perfectly independent young adult I matured into, until very much later when God decided to show up in my life. Today past the half-century mark, I call myself a Christian, a Malaysian and a Chinese, in that order.  I don’t think I need be ashamed of or have to defend that order as my personal identity.

I am not much into politics; I  march or decline to march in an occasional public rally or two, according to my God-given conscience.  I am not an activist, a revolutionary or a freedom fighter. I don’t hate or blame “the government” for everything that happened, is happening or will happen.  I am just an ordinary widow, earning my keep in this land that I call my country. I don’t know anything about my Chinese ancestors except that they must have come from China, and nope, I don’t even speak my own mother-tongue. Instead I pride myself that I am very fluent in Bahasa Malaysia (or at least that’s what I am told). Given the choice, I would rather ‘mind my own business’, as has been repeatedly advised by certain quarters these days.
But there comes a time when ‘my business’ goes beyond the 4 corners of my own secure and actually quite comfortable existence in my  little corner of my world. Because in between being Christian and Chinese, I have defined myself as Malaysian. I have tied myself (for better or for worse) to some 28 million other humans who apparently call themselves Malaysians too, although all may legitimately have ‘multiple’ separate identities of their own.

Perhaps I am a simpleton. But is it that difficult for us to appreciate that we are all in the same “Malaysian” boat, irrespective of the garb we wear, the food we eat, the language we talk, and that really is our fundamental unchangeable position? (unless of course you consider yourself anything but Malaysian) As it is, if history is correct, the original indigenous inhabitants of this land weren’t the Malays, Chinese, Indians, whites or whoever - that honor is reserved for the Orang Asli tribes. So I beg everyone’s pardon, but let’s face it, aren’t we all (ie everyone who isn’t an Orang Asli)  actually the ‘others’ who have ‘invaded’, exploited and milked this land for all its worth, settling  hereupon to multiply, live and prosper ourselves and our progeny, by whatever means? Isn’t that how basically we came to consider ourselves “Malaysian”?  Is that offensive? Well, truth is still true, even if it be offensive.

So if we can face the truth that we are all not as ‘great’ or as ‘good’ as we each claim to be, perhaps we can choose to be mindful not to say things without thinking through, to refrain from asserting our own cleverness or superiority, to assume everyone else is wrong, misguided or idiotic. We talk so much about freedom of expression, and that’s all fine and good. But perhaps we can also choose the greatest freedom of all, which is not to exercise our ‘rights’. Could it be that in the pursuit of nationhood, we have forgotten how to be just a ‘decent’ human being one to another? Why do we have to fight, push and shove each other off the boat? Can’t or won’t everyone who claims to be Malaysian see the ‘big vision’ of what Malaysia should really be all about? This is surely a blessed land, and surely Malaysia has more than enough to accommodate and prosper all who shelter under her sun.

After all the shouts of Merdeka, what have we become? Has this nation lost her soul? I see Malaysia hurting, and I hurt. Perhaps we can learn from the words of Abraham Lincoln, as he addressed a racially-torn America in his days, “With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.” Nelson Mandela dreamt of an Africa ‘which is in peace with itself’; he started the process of dismantling century-old walls of apartheid simply with truth and reconciliation.

I am just one, and as a Malaysian Chinese, I can’t do much to ease what I see as the ‘growing-up’ pains of this nation. But as first and foremost a Christian, this 1 thing I can and determine to do – I can shout less and pray more for my Malaysia.

Published MM 11/5/2014

erdeka! I wasn’t even born yet when that shout reverberated off the grass of Royal Selangor Club padang in the heart of Kuala Lumpur at 12 midnight on August 30, 1957. Apparently there were 7 shouts (not 3 as I always erroneously assumed), even as our nation’s first PM Tunku Abdul Rahman hailed the ceremony as the “greatest moment in the life of the Malayan people”. I was only a 3 year old toddler when he subsequently proclaimed the formation of Malaysia by welcoming Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore into a common federation on 16th September 1963. Of course as a 5 year old kid, I was a total ignoramus about Singapore pulling out to go her own way later in 1965. Fast forward 4 years, on May 13th 1969, I was just another 9 year old kid, running around oblivious of the fighting, bloodshed and emergency curfews on that day. - See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/a-nation-in-search-of-her-soul-christine-sk-lai#sthash.nHmhSD8z.dpuf

Merdeka! I wasn’t even born yet when that shout reverberated off the grass of Royal Selangor Club padang in the heart of Kuala Lumpur at 12 midnight on August 30, 1957. Apparently there were 7 shouts (not 3 as I always erroneously assumed), even as our nation’s first PM Tunku Abdul Rahman hailed the ceremony as the “greatest moment in the life of the Malayan people”. I was only a 3 year old toddler when he subsequently proclaimed the formation of Malaysia by welcoming Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore into a common federation on 16th September 1963. Of course as a 5 year old kid, I was a total ignoramus about Singapore pulling out to go her own way later in 1965. Fast forward 4 years, on May 13th 1969, I was just another 9 year old kid, running around oblivious of the fighting, bloodshed and emergency curfews on that day. - See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/a-nation-in-search-of-her-soul-christine-sk-lai#sthash.nHmhSD8z.dpuf

Merdeka! I wasn’t even born yet when that shout reverberated off the grass of Royal Selangor Club padang in the heart of Kuala Lumpur at 12 midnight on August 30, 1957. Apparently there were 7 shouts (not 3 as I always erroneously assumed), even as our nation’s first PM Tunku Abdul Rahman hailed the ceremony as the “greatest moment in the life of the Malayan people”. I was only a 3 year old toddler when he subsequently proclaimed the formation of Malaysia by welcoming Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore into a common federation on 16th September 1963. Of course as a 5 year old kid, I was a total ignoramus about Singapore pulling out to go her own way later in 1965. Fast forward 4 years, on May 13th 1969, I was just another 9 year old kid, running around oblivious of the fighting, bloodshed and emergency curfews on that day. - See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/a-nation-in-search-of-her-soul-christine-sk-lai#sthash.nHmhSD8z.dpuf

I drifted through school, did the things every child did back then, got into scrapes, got ‘rotan-ed’ and grew up eventually. On official forms requiring me to state my race, I would put Malaysian Chinese. That’s the only way I had ever seen myself. I was never much into ‘religion’, being the ever capable perfectly independent young adult I matured into, until very much later when God decided to show up in my life. Today past the half-century mark, I call myself a Christian, a Malaysian and a Chinese, in that order.  I don’t think I need be ashamed of or have to defend that order as my personal identity.
I am not much into politics; I  march or decline to march in an occasional public rally or two, according to my God-given conscience.  I am not an activist, a revolutionary or a freedom fighter. I don’t hate or blame “the government” for everything that happened, is happening or will happen.  I am just an ordinary widow, earning my keep in this land that I call my country. I don’t know anything about my Chinese ancestors except that they must have come from China, and nope, I don’t even speak my own mother-tongue. Instead I pride myself that I am very fluent in Bahasa Malaysia (or at least that’s what I am told). Given the choice, I would rather ‘mind my own business’, as has been repeatedly advised by certain quarters these days.
But there comes a time when ‘my business’ goes beyond the 4 corners of my own secure and actually quite comfortable existence in my  little corner of my world. Because in between being Christian and Chinese, I have defined myself as Malaysian. I have tied myself (for better or for worse) to some 28 million other humans who apparently call themselves Malaysians too, although all may legitimately have ‘multiple’ separate identities of their own.
Perhaps I am a simpleton. But is it that difficult for us to appreciate that we are all in the same “Malaysian” boat, irrespective of the garb we wear, the food we eat, the language we talk, and that really is our fundamental unchangeable position? (unless of course you consider yourself anything but Malaysian) As it is, if history is correct, the original indigenous inhabitants of this land weren’t the Malays, Chinese, Indians, whites or whoever - that honor is reserved for the Orang Asli tribes. So I beg everyone’s pardon, but let’s face it, aren’t we all (ie everyone who isn’t an Orang Asli)  actually the ‘others’ who have ‘invaded’, exploited and milked this land for all its worth, settling  hereupon to multiply, live and prosper ourselves and our progeny, by whatever means? Isn’t that how basically we came to consider ourselves “Malaysian”?  Is that offensive? Well, truth is still true, even if it be offensive.
So if we can face the truth that we are all not as ‘great’ or as ‘good’ as we each claim to be, perhaps we can choose to be mindful not to say things without thinking through, to refrain from asserting our own cleverness or superiority, to assume everyone else is wrong, misguided or idiotic. We talk so much about freedom of expression, and that’s all fine and good. But perhaps we can also choose the greatest freedom of all, which is not to exercise our ‘rights’. Could it be that in the pursuit of nationhood, we have forgotten how to be just a ‘decent’ human being one to another? Why do we have to fight, push and shove each other off the boat? Can’t or won’t everyone who claims to be Malaysian see the ‘big vision’ of what Malaysia should really be all about? This is surely a blessed land, and surely Malaysia has more than enough to accommodate and prosper all who shelter under her sun.
After all the shouts of Merdeka, what have we become? Has this nation lost her soul? I see Malaysia hurting, and I hurt. Perhaps we can learn from the words of Abraham Lincoln, as he addressed a racially-torn America in his days, “With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.” Nelson Mandela dreamt of an Africa ‘which is in peace with itself’; he started the process of dismantling century-old walls of apartheid simply with truth and reconciliation.
I am just one, and as a Malaysian Chinese, I can’t do much to ease what I see as the ‘growing-up’ pains of this nation. But as first and foremost a Christian, this 1 thing I can and determine to do – I can shout less and pray more for my Malaysia.

- See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/a-nation-in-search-of-her-soul-christine-sk-lai#sthash.nHmhSD8z.dpuf

Merdeka! I wasn’t even born yet when that shout reverberated off the grass of Royal Selangor Club padang in the heart of Kuala Lumpur at 12 midnight on August 30, 1957. Apparently there were 7 shouts (not 3 as I always erroneously assumed), even as our nation’s first PM Tunku Abdul Rahman hailed the ceremony as the “greatest moment in the life of the Malayan people”. I was only a 3 year old toddler when he subsequently proclaimed the formation of Malaysia by welcoming Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore into a common federation on 16th September 1963. Of course as a 5 year old kid, I was a total ignoramus about Singapore pulling out to go her own way later in 1965. Fast forward 4 years, on May 13th 1969, I was just another 9 year old kid, running around oblivious of the fighting, bloodshed and emergency curfews on that day.

I drifted through school, did the things every child did back then, got into scrapes, got ‘rotan-ed’ and grew up eventually. On official forms requiring me to state my race, I would put Malaysian Chinese. That’s the only way I had ever seen myself. I was never much into ‘religion’, being the ever capable perfectly independent young adult I matured into, until very much later when God decided to show up in my life. Today past the half-century mark, I call myself a Christian, a Malaysian and a Chinese, in that order.  I don’t think I need be ashamed of or have to defend that order as my personal identity.
I am not much into politics; I  march or decline to march in an occasional public rally or two, according to my God-given conscience.  I am not an activist, a revolutionary or a freedom fighter. I don’t hate or blame “the government” for everything that happened, is happening or will happen.  I am just an ordinary widow, earning my keep in this land that I call my country. I don’t know anything about my Chinese ancestors except that they must have come from China, and nope, I don’t even speak my own mother-tongue. Instead I pride myself that I am very fluent in Bahasa Malaysia (or at least that’s what I am told). Given the choice, I would rather ‘mind my own business’, as has been repeatedly advised by certain quarters these days.
But there comes a time when ‘my business’ goes beyond the 4 corners of my own secure and actually quite comfortable existence in my  little corner of my world. Because in between being Christian and Chinese, I have defined myself as Malaysian. I have tied myself (for better or for worse) to some 28 million other humans who apparently call themselves Malaysians too, although all may legitimately have ‘multiple’ separate identities of their own.
Perhaps I am a simpleton. But is it that difficult for us to appreciate that we are all in the same “Malaysian” boat, irrespective of the garb we wear, the food we eat, the language we talk, and that really is our fundamental unchangeable position? (unless of course you consider yourself anything but Malaysian) As it is, if history is correct, the original indigenous inhabitants of this land weren’t the Malays, Chinese, Indians, whites or whoever - that honor is reserved for the Orang Asli tribes. So I beg everyone’s pardon, but let’s face it, aren’t we all (ie everyone who isn’t an Orang Asli)  actually the ‘others’ who have ‘invaded’, exploited and milked this land for all its worth, settling  hereupon to multiply, live and prosper ourselves and our progeny, by whatever means? Isn’t that how basically we came to consider ourselves “Malaysian”?  Is that offensive? Well, truth is still true, even if it be offensive.
So if we can face the truth that we are all not as ‘great’ or as ‘good’ as we each claim to be, perhaps we can choose to be mindful not to say things without thinking through, to refrain from asserting our own cleverness or superiority, to assume everyone else is wrong, misguided or idiotic. We talk so much about freedom of expression, and that’s all fine and good. But perhaps we can also choose the greatest freedom of all, which is not to exercise our ‘rights’. Could it be that in the pursuit of nationhood, we have forgotten how to be just a ‘decent’ human being one to another? Why do we have to fight, push and shove each other off the boat? Can’t or won’t everyone who claims to be Malaysian see the ‘big vision’ of what Malaysia should really be all about? This is surely a blessed land, and surely Malaysia has more than enough to accommodate and prosper all who shelter under her sun.

After all the shouts of Merdeka, what have we become? Has this nation lost her soul? I see Malaysia hurting, and I hurt. Perhaps we can learn from the words of Abraham Lincoln, as he addressed a racially-torn America in his days, “With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.” Nelson Mandela dreamt of an Africa ‘which is in peace with itself’; he started the process of dismantling century-old walls of apartheid simply with truth and reconciliation.
I am just one, and as a Malaysian Chinese, I can’t do much to ease what I see as the ‘growing-up’ pains of this nation. But as first and foremost a Christian, this 1 thing I can and determine to do – I can shout less and pray more for my Malaysia.
* Christine Lai reads The Malay Mail Online
- See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/a-nation-in-search-of-her-soul-christine-sk-lai#sthash.nHmhSD8z.dpuf

Merdeka! I wasn’t even born yet when that shout reverberated off the grass of Royal Selangor Club padang in the heart of Kuala Lumpur at 12 midnight on August 30, 1957. Apparently there were 7 shouts (not 3 as I always erroneously assumed), even as our nation’s first PM Tunku Abdul Rahman hailed the ceremony as the “greatest moment in the life of the Malayan people”. I was only a 3 year old toddler when he subsequently proclaimed the formation of Malaysia by welcoming Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore into a common federation on 16th September 1963. Of course as a 5 year old kid, I was a total ignoramus about Singapore pulling out to go her own way later in 1965. Fast forward 4 years, on May 13th 1969, I was just another 9 year old kid, running around oblivious of the fighting, bloodshed and emergency curfews on that day.

I drifted through school, did the things every child did back then, got into scrapes, got ‘rotan-ed’ and grew up eventually. On official forms requiring me to state my race, I would put Malaysian Chinese. That’s the only way I had ever seen myself. I was never much into ‘religion’, being the ever capable perfectly independent young adult I matured into, until very much later when God decided to show up in my life. Today past the half-century mark, I call myself a Christian, a Malaysian and a Chinese, in that order.  I don’t think I need be ashamed of or have to defend that order as my personal identity.
I am not much into politics; I  march or decline to march in an occasional public rally or two, according to my God-given conscience.  I am not an activist, a revolutionary or a freedom fighter. I don’t hate or blame “the government” for everything that happened, is happening or will happen.  I am just an ordinary widow, earning my keep in this land that I call my country. I don’t know anything about my Chinese ancestors except that they must have come from China, and nope, I don’t even speak my own mother-tongue. Instead I pride myself that I am very fluent in Bahasa Malaysia (or at least that’s what I am told). Given the choice, I would rather ‘mind my own business’, as has been repeatedly advised by certain quarters these days.
But there comes a time when ‘my business’ goes beyond the 4 corners of my own secure and actually quite comfortable existence in my  little corner of my world. Because in between being Christian and Chinese, I have defined myself as Malaysian. I have tied myself (for better or for worse) to some 28 million other humans who apparently call themselves Malaysians too, although all may legitimately have ‘multiple’ separate identities of their own.
Perhaps I am a simpleton. But is it that difficult for us to appreciate that we are all in the same “Malaysian” boat, irrespective of the garb we wear, the food we eat, the language we talk, and that really is our fundamental unchangeable position? (unless of course you consider yourself anything but Malaysian) As it is, if history is correct, the original indigenous inhabitants of this land weren’t the Malays, Chinese, Indians, whites or whoever - that honor is reserved for the Orang Asli tribes. So I beg everyone’s pardon, but let’s face it, aren’t we all (ie everyone who isn’t an Orang Asli)  actually the ‘others’ who have ‘invaded’, exploited and milked this land for all its worth, settling  hereupon to multiply, live and prosper ourselves and our progeny, by whatever means? Isn’t that how basically we came to consider ourselves “Malaysian”?  Is that offensive? Well, truth is still true, even if it be offensive.
So if we can face the truth that we are all not as ‘great’ or as ‘good’ as we each claim to be, perhaps we can choose to be mindful not to say things without thinking through, to refrain from asserting our own cleverness or superiority, to assume everyone else is wrong, misguided or idiotic. We talk so much about freedom of expression, and that’s all fine and good. But perhaps we can also choose the greatest freedom of all, which is not to exercise our ‘rights’. Could it be that in the pursuit of nationhood, we have forgotten how to be just a ‘decent’ human being one to another? Why do we have to fight, push and shove each other off the boat? Can’t or won’t everyone who claims to be Malaysian see the ‘big vision’ of what Malaysia should really be all about? This is surely a blessed land, and surely Malaysia has more than enough to accommodate and prosper all who shelter under her sun.

After all the shouts of Merdeka, what have we become? Has this nation lost her soul? I see Malaysia hurting, and I hurt. Perhaps we can learn from the words of Abraham Lincoln, as he addressed a racially-torn America in his days, “With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.” Nelson Mandela dreamt of an Africa ‘which is in peace with itself’; he started the process of dismantling century-old walls of apartheid simply with truth and reconciliation.
I am just one, and as a Malaysian Chinese, I can’t do much to ease what I see as the ‘growing-up’ pains of this nation. But as first and foremost a Christian, this 1 thing I can and determine to do – I can shout less and pray more for my Malaysia.
* Christine Lai reads The Malay Mail Online
- See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/a-nation-in-search-of-her-soul-christine-sk-lai#sthash.nHmhSD8z.dpuf

Merdeka! I wasn’t even born yet when that shout reverberated off the grass of Royal Selangor Club padang in the heart of Kuala Lumpur at 12 midnight on August 30, 1957. Apparently there were 7 shouts (not 3 as I always erroneously assumed), even as our nation’s first PM Tunku Abdul Rahman hailed the ceremony as the “greatest moment in the life of the Malayan people”. I was only a 3 year old toddler when he subsequently proclaimed the formation of Malaysia by welcoming Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore into a common federation on 16th September 1963. Of course as a 5 year old kid, I was a total ignoramus about Singapore pulling out to go her own way later in 1965. Fast forward 4 years, on May 13th 1969, I was just another 9 year old kid, running around oblivious of the fighting, bloodshed and emergency curfews on that day.

I drifted through school, did the things every child did back then, got into scrapes, got ‘rotan-ed’ and grew up eventually. On official forms requiring me to state my race, I would put Malaysian Chinese. That’s the only way I had ever seen myself. I was never much into ‘religion’, being the ever capable perfectly independent young adult I matured into, until very much later when God decided to show up in my life. Today past the half-century mark, I call myself a Christian, a Malaysian and a Chinese, in that order.  I don’t think I need be ashamed of or have to defend that order as my personal identity.
I am not much into politics; I  march or decline to march in an occasional public rally or two, according to my God-given conscience.  I am not an activist, a revolutionary or a freedom fighter. I don’t hate or blame “the government” for everything that happened, is happening or will happen.  I am just an ordinary widow, earning my keep in this land that I call my country. I don’t know anything about my Chinese ancestors except that they must have come from China, and nope, I don’t even speak my own mother-tongue. Instead I pride myself that I am very fluent in Bahasa Malaysia (or at least that’s what I am told). Given the choice, I would rather ‘mind my own business’, as has been repeatedly advised by certain quarters these days.
But there comes a time when ‘my business’ goes beyond the 4 corners of my own secure and actually quite comfortable existence in my  little corner of my world. Because in between being Christian and Chinese, I have defined myself as Malaysian. I have tied myself (for better or for worse) to some 28 million other humans who apparently call themselves Malaysians too, although all may legitimately have ‘multiple’ separate identities of their own.
Perhaps I am a simpleton. But is it that difficult for us to appreciate that we are all in the same “Malaysian” boat, irrespective of the garb we wear, the food we eat, the language we talk, and that really is our fundamental unchangeable position? (unless of course you consider yourself anything but Malaysian) As it is, if history is correct, the original indigenous inhabitants of this land weren’t the Malays, Chinese, Indians, whites or whoever - that honor is reserved for the Orang Asli tribes. So I beg everyone’s pardon, but let’s face it, aren’t we all (ie everyone who isn’t an Orang Asli)  actually the ‘others’ who have ‘invaded’, exploited and milked this land for all its worth, settling  hereupon to multiply, live and prosper ourselves and our progeny, by whatever means? Isn’t that how basically we came to consider ourselves “Malaysian”?  Is that offensive? Well, truth is still true, even if it be offensive.
So if we can face the truth that we are all not as ‘great’ or as ‘good’ as we each claim to be, perhaps we can choose to be mindful not to say things without thinking through, to refrain from asserting our own cleverness or superiority, to assume everyone else is wrong, misguided or idiotic. We talk so much about freedom of expression, and that’s all fine and good. But perhaps we can also choose the greatest freedom of all, which is not to exercise our ‘rights’. Could it be that in the pursuit of nationhood, we have forgotten how to be just a ‘decent’ human being one to another? Why do we have to fight, push and shove each other off the boat? Can’t or won’t everyone who claims to be Malaysian see the ‘big vision’ of what Malaysia should really be all about? This is surely a blessed land, and surely Malaysia has more than enough to accommodate and prosper all who shelter under her sun.

After all the shouts of Merdeka, what have we become? Has this nation lost her soul? I see Malaysia hurting, and I hurt. Perhaps we can learn from the words of Abraham Lincoln, as he addressed a racially-torn America in his days, “With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.” Nelson Mandela dreamt of an Africa ‘which is in peace with itself’; he started the process of dismantling century-old walls of apartheid simply with truth and reconciliation.
I am just one, and as a Malaysian Chinese, I can’t do much to ease what I see as the ‘growing-up’ pains of this nation. But as first and foremost a Christian, this 1 thing I can and determine to do – I can shout less and pray more for my Malaysia.
* Christine Lai reads The Malay Mail Online
- See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/a-nation-in-search-of-her-soul-christine-sk-lai#sthash.nHmhSD8z.dpuf

Is Love Enough?

Put together a (soppy) love-story, dazzling displays of high flying and web-spinning interspersed with literally 'electrifying' battles and you can walk away quite satisfied with the latest Hollywood re-boot of SpiderMan 2, altho frankly SpiderMan doesn't rank very high in my list of super-heroes to drool over as I find his alter-ego Peter Parker kind of nerdy. I like my super-heroes handsome, funny, charming, dramatic and bigger than life.

But watching the on/off somewhat torturous progress of the romance between Peter aka Spidey and his lady-love made me consider perhaps I have 'undervalued' this super-hero after all. Granted, Spidey or rather Andrew Garfield who played the part isn't exactly the quintessential virile handsome hunk who would score 10/10 in my books (though at certain angles he is cutesy enuf). And he can be dead-pan funny. But what touched my heart-strings was the underlying current of love that made this super-hero so very 'human' beneath his costume. When he flung his father's briefcase into his cupboard -unopened- it spoke volumes of the effect of his parents' abandonment of him as a kid. Likewise when he turned up unannounced to (literally) offer a shoulder to his childhood friend (and eventual enemy) Harry, it showed this super-hero had a heart that's in the right place for those in need. And of coz the tussle between choosing to leave or to chase his fair lady brings out all the pathos of relationships, which are undeniably rather complicated affairs, no matter how simple we try to reduce it to. 

But I guess that's what and how love is, really. So it wasn't the usual triumphing of good over evil plot but rather the tragedy of a love lost that lingered in my mind, as the hero grieved over the death of the lady of his heart, who ironically was killed because he managed to save her. What a dumb way to go, just when everything finally seemed to be working out between them. What's the point of loving so much and so deep? How cruel to cut a perfect dream to shreds. But sometimes (many times perhaps?) perfect dreams don't come true. 

I woke up to my 54th birthday in this kind of pensive mood. As the day wore on, I know I have much to be grateful for - the flowers, cake, food, chocs, presents, good/great wishes and prayers from family, frens, church folks. All evidence of how much I am loved and thought about. I know too there are other faithful souls who don't communicate all that often or that much with me, yet are supporting me in unseen, unheard and even unsolicited prayer, to whom I can never say Tq enough. Yep, certainly birthdays make me so aware of what/who I have in my life. Yet adding another 365 days to the number of days of my life also makes me look back...with nostalgia, regret, even pain for all the past years slipped by so fast. The things I could have done better, the words that should or should never have been said. The dreams that held so much promise but never bloomed. The prayers that were uttered so confidently but remain unanswered as wishes yet to come true.

And I suddenly realized the one thing that I  have always held onto throughout all these years of following Jesus as my Lord, my God wasn't so much faith, clever deductions or logical reasoning - it was love. It is love that enables me to have the faith to believe and follow still. Yet, I wondered and I asked God, "Is love enough?" After all the loving, what's there to show except wistful memories of tears and laughter, joy and pain of lives intersecting with one another - sure to be 'gone with the wind' one day, any day for that matter. So if love isn't strong enough to bind   human souls who can physically see, hear, touch and sense each other; if ultimately no matter how powerful that attachment is, it will inevitably be severed by death -  what's there to talk about the love of an invisible, 'unfeel-able' God who doesn't seem much bothered about His creation anyway? After all, as Jesus remarked, "For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen" (1 John 4:20). If loving humans can't last beyond earthly life-times, what more something as nebulous as loving God??
The answer came unexpectedly through 'standard form' emails from 2 NGOs who has me on their subscriber-lists. One was captioned (most appropriately) "Celebrate a Day, or Celebrate a Future", emblazoned with the words, The Most Precious Gift.... HOPE, followed by a blurp asking for donations for the coming Mother's/Father's Day. The other was a birthday greeting with a short excerpt about a 101 year old lawyer who when asked how he managed to live so long quipped, "By not dying", followed by a more serious explanation, “I’m a firm believer that God has His hand in everything that happens. He is letting me live for some reason. I try to do the things that I believe He wants me to.” It ended with an inspirational quote, "If you know that God's hand is in everything, you can leave everything in God's hand".

The words from those 2 messages flitted through my mind throughout the day. But it was only as I sat typing out my thoughts that I managed to 'get it'. For as I see in my mind's eye the pierced hands of Jesus nailed to the cross, I know I was right that it is indeed all about love. But I am also wrong because it's not my love for Him, but rather His Love for me that will always be enough - for encompassed within those bleeding Hands stretched out to their maximum reach, is the most precious gift of Hope that celebrates not a day, but an entire future of forever days, forever alive without death (right into glorious eternity), and all dreams and prayers in accord with His perfectly good will do indeed come true. That is the wondrous power, not of any love, but amazing Redemption Love. I couldn't ask for, I can't get any greater blessing than this Love, freely given, not just on a birthday, but everyday of my life forever more. Thank You, Jesus.

"This is how God showed His love among us... not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent (Jesus) as an atoning sacrifice for our sins....We love because He first loved us" - 1 John 4:9-10, 19