The "posture" for healing

"Healing is found when you dare to love even when you're not ready to hurt."

i heard God whisper this to me when i was lying on my back 4 days ago, in balboa park (san diego) listening to a spanish guitarist 7 feet away. it was a divine moment; my eyes widened in silent, tearful awe. "I AM your Balm," says the Whisperer. 

"Really?"

to extend love although your heart may be filled with trepidation. 

scared of being disappointed, dropped, defamed, disadvantaged.

john mayer calls it "dreaming with a broken heart..."

and waking up is the hardest part.

so, what constitutes 'waking up'? 

if one has no expectations towards others' responses to one's extension of love, does one 'wake up'? no expectations to how others would be for the better as a result of that extension, no expectations to how others reciprocate. expectations, nonetheless, realistic or not. 

admittedly, i cannot imagine having no expectations when i demonstrate love, albeit the best way i understand it, however lacking in its totality and depth. we reach out in the hope that we are meaningfully impacting peoples' lives, and that we find ourselves refreshed in the process to keep giving. and giving. we call it 'mutual'. 

but expectations are trappings of our ability to love in a sustained, transformational way. because expectations have deadlines. and preset notions. don't you think so? 

and reciprocity? possibly overrated. so we become self-absorbed, and think "i need to heal first before i can give." but could it be that healing doesn't happen that way? that it is found in the process of embracing vulnerability at the expense of self-preservation?

in one of the books i'm reading, posture is highlighted in a most profound way. i love the insight. in retrospect, this past year has been a journey to understand a little bit more of how a person's passions communicated with a bent can be detrimental to relationships. it's really our mindful posture that opens hearts and minds. whatever you have to say to others, say it louder than your words. so, i used to be much more adamant about a lot of things. i still am, obstinately so. opinionated, some say. yet hopefully this journey of improving my listening and reflecting has bettered my posture somewhat. a little, if not much.

how is your posture in loving others? do you struggle, too? 

we can posture ourselves with our guards fully up.

we can posture our hearts to open only to those we feel safe with.

we can posture our ears to hear what we wish to hear and are comfortable with.

we can posture our minds to learn based on our preconceptions and mental framework.

or, we can posture otherwise *selah* 

to tread towards threatening territory with trepidation. (there's your tongue-twister for the day!)

how can i love with liberty, not so much out of confidence but trustingness? my posture determines this. to return to that whisper i started this post with: my posture, not so much to protect myself from getting hurt but loving others even when there are no guarantees, becomes the place where my healing finds perfecting by divine Providence, to truly understand agape in its purer form. when you correct your own posture, others may be more inclined to receive hesed. then, you can talk about mutual transformation. 

obviously, my mulling has not finished its work. 

and i'm still working on spinal correction, that's for sure.

P/S: One more thought...good posture is key to aging gracefully, too. 

He calls me 'angel'.

He calls me 'angel'.
My heart stops.
And I hold my breath.

You see, one of my friends is in the hospital. Struck by a sudden illness. Taken by surprise.
"Oh, you can come by this afternoon. We'll expect you."
We went to see him today, it was what made my day.
"It's good to see you guys. Thanks for coming."
He sat in his chair, in the corner, frail yet beckoning.
"We sometimes wonder why we go through the things we do, don't we?"
He spoke softly. His eyes teared up, it pained to watch. There we stood in our discomfort. I was glad we went.
"I asked God why this is happening."
His wife looked over from the side of the bed, as his voice trailed on...
"How can I make sense of all this?"
He shifted his stare, towards each of his guests. 
"Surely pain has divine purpose."
I agreed, but I was not the one sitting on his chair. Heartfelt, sincere - he shared his heart. His loved ones. His concern, his ultimate burden.
"Then I thought of those I know who need reconciliation. I said to God, "If this is what it takes, make it worthwhile, Lord"."
At his words, I ached. I sang to him. We prayed. So did he. It was numbing. 
"We listen in our sorrow for that whisper in the wind. It's louder than you think."
We stood in awe. Of life, of friends, of God. Presence filled the room. I wonder who's more blessed. Me, or the one sitting on a chair?
"You are angels, His ministering angels."

He called me 'angel'. Unbelievable.
So tonight I reflect, with a deep incision in my heart. O, that all pain experienced leads us into an inexchangeable, solid brokenness in our spirits that brings others to repentance and reconciliation.
Pain that drives the nail all the way through, and shatters our wrist bones of self-sufficiency and pride.
Pain that pins us to the cursed tree, in hope of life ransomed by each drop of blood.
Pain that locks our bodies in the darkness of the tomb for the rags of our filth, the filth of our mortality, to be exchanged for eternal glory.
Pain that takes the path of forgiveness, three times asking "Do you?", ever patient, never forsaking or condemning, but always restoring.
Pain that walks with the ordinary & untrained down the road of Emmaus, preferring calloused feet than calloused hearts.
Who do you think of that went through all that pain? And what shall we grasp loosely, so that we can trust fully, even in our pain? Not the people we love. Or is it?
Reconciliation = people. Pain should involve people. 

Our lives are to ignite others.

Job-times, to unite brothers.

Kindness, to impart grace. 

Suffering, to include those needing embrace.

Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.

And when we forget, send angels to remind us, again and again. 

In the form of a stranger in disguise, sitting in a chair.

Here In My Home

Where diversity and unity is possible = Where God is.

(image taken from www.malaysianinsider.com on March 11, 2009)

Malaysians from all walks of life passing in front of a billboard showing Malaysia's ethnic diversity in downtown Kuala Lumpur. A new RM60 billion stimulus package announced by Deputy Prime Minister Datuk Seri Najib Abdul Razak is targeted at weathering the world's economic storm and cushioning the blow that will be felt by ordinary Malaysians. (Read more...) – AP pic

Heal my heart and make it clean

Open up my eyes to the things unseen

Show me how to love like You have loved me

Break my heart for what breaks Yours

Everything I am for Your Kingdom's cause

As I walked from earth into eternity

Hosanna...Lord. Here in my home.

Listening...

A life lived listening to the decisive call of God is a life lived before one audience that trumps all others - the Audience of One. - Os Guinness

Listening.

Reflecting.

Two of the most important lifeskills I have had to learn much about. Why?

Because they act as the tracks on which a train chugs forward to where it is to go.

As in, life as a train.

I cannot fathom how to hold on to God's 'decisive call' if I cannot recall a single decisive moment in which God had taken hold of my heart, and fully. Woe, if that is true.

I cannot imagine the overwhelming sense of bewilderment I should experience if I had never listened to the orchestra that has played since as far back as I can remember, of different but distinct sounds taking place at varying tempos and trajectories over the years and months, highs and lows, but all for one symphony. It's like a note that was played last week merging with a note strummed last decade, both to find harmony with a 3rd note that is to be plucked 5 years from now. Sounds that reverberate, transcendent in time and space. If your life was one song, your days are pages of its eternal, hyperlinked, virtual score, to be completed one note at a time but not in neatly sequenced lines in time. Can you picture it???

And if you picture yourself walking through a desert trail, your insides screaming for hydration - any kind! Cast a look behind you and see all that which appear randomly strewn across the landscape of your past like pebbles on the desert ground, no conceivable pattern to the human eye but from the eagle's perch, ahh... a formation of beauty - a life well lived. If I suffer no thirst for oasis, would I stop and look around me - reflect, listen?

Backdrops to a theatre play change like scenes in a modern-day Korean drama. One minute blissful and jovial, the next ominous and sinister. Twists in the plot too dark, you say? Oh, but is it not that for which you paid? Shall we not say performance is part of life, if life is to be lived as to an audience (even) of One? Forget auditions. Forget safety nets. Forget fake knives and cushioned plunges. Forget blank bullets, artificial airguns and packed ketchup-pellets. The real thing takes real risk. When you watch something that deeply moves you, moves you to your very core, would you break the spell with words so deficient you would rather not speak too soon? Suspense. Shh! Don't talk now, pay attention to the heroine.

Do you not hear the breathing of the One sitting, engaging, watching in the shadows of His seat? You can't see his face, but you KNOW he's there. Sometimes from where you stand, you sense his movement, even the thickness of his emotions. 

Are you listening for shouts you want to hear, applauds maybe? Bravo! Encore! Fantastique!

Yet...silence. 

Was it good?

Hear a pin drop.

Did he like it?

Curtain!

Will he stand to his feet, and break the deafening silence with his claps of joy and a smile that says it all?

"No one could've played that role any better than you!"

"Oh, you were magnificent."

"Absolutely captivating performance."

"I don't think anybody can top that!"

Really? *smile*

All that was JUST for you, my Lord.

The only One who came to my show.

Not meant to be replayed or recorded.

I performed my best, flaws included.

Oh, your smile at the finale speaks louder than words in between!!!

It was all worth it, my audience of One.

If you only knew

If you only knew,

The scribbles on the wall

Drawn with a thought so small;

I chant, I recant,

Ever so distracted,

But never too demented;

If looks could kill,

My heart has died,

Flipped over, dried,

Propped up on the side,

Overlooked, stepped aside;

Droning, rezoning,

Mindlessly toning;

Scribbles are confusing,

But the only way to being;

When the time isn't right,

Guard your heart real tight;

No one can hear,

But it's all on the wall,

Read, chant,

Do you even know? 

Sound of brown leaves,

She breathes,

Nails on the hood,

He broods;

What are you writing?

I can't read.

If you only knew.

If you only knew.