Archive for January, 2017

I wrote this piece for my Speech and Stage Arts subject (I crammed it and finished two minutes before I was called up front, but yeah), dedicated to all my younger PNU sibs out there who struggle with all that life–and college–throws at them. This is for you. Remember, we can hear you. ❤

“Love, Light, Hope”

When I entered this university about four years ago, I did so with much hope, and determination. I entered college with the hope of a new start, of a clear record to work with. And there was determination—I was determined to make things right, to not make the same mistakes my high school self did, to make things work this time. I was so sure that I won’t mess up my college days the way I messed up my high school. Turns out I did mess it up. Turns out I failed.

Maybe, just maybe, you are like me. Maybe, you too were so eager to leave behind your traumatic years of being bullied and of failing, and trying harder only to fail again. Maybe you were all too willing to close that one dark chapter in your book and to proceed to a hopefully lighter one—only to find out that the first pages are just as dark as the ones you tried to forget.

Maybe you find it hard looking for the place where you belong, like a puzzle piece whose edges were too rough to fit anywhere, like a piano key that’s a little too low or high for the octave. Maybe you’re like me; trying everything you could to juggle everything that life throws at you—from term papers to terror professors to friendships lost and misunderstood—yet somehow all your efforts are still not enough. If you are, I just wanted to tell you: you will get through the dark clouds of today because you will find love, light, and hope.

I was a sophomore—tired of myself and of my faults—when I have found love, or rather, when love has found me. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t get a boyfriend—I still don’t have one. But when I saw love, I saw it in the form of a friend. A friend who lovingly puts up with my heavy silence to listen to the story that comes after. A friend who loves me like a peculiar treasure, and understands me despite my flaws. Love has found me at the right moment. Let love find you too. Remember, I’m willing to listen to you.

I was a sophomore—down and doubting—when I have found light, or rather, when light has found me. It found me not when I went out to meet the morning sunshine in the streets. Rather, light found me in the dark corner of my room looking like a candle—light not too bright, just enough to make me see that someone still cares for me. Someone does care, struggling one. Someone longs to reach out for you. You’re not alone—that’s what the light has told me then. Let me tell you the same. You are not alone. And if the candle whispers aren’t enough to convince you, let’s take this a notch higher—let’s have a coffee session together.

I was a sophomore—depressed and totally giving up—when I have found hope, or rather, when hope has found me. And this is nothing I could ever claim to have accomplished. I was totally fed up with my flaws and incompetence—from reports gone wrong to friendships severed and lost. I decided it would just be a matter of time before I vanish in this story book. But the Writer of my novel thinks otherwise. He let me find hope in my darkest moments—in the form of a loving friend. Sister. In the form of someone who loves and understands. And if you haven’t found it yet, let me be that ray of hope to you. Let me be God’s extending hand to show you that your story is far from being over. That your story is just about to take leaps of plot twists that would turn your dark, stormy clouds of trials and failures to a peaceful rainbow of happiness.

Love, light, and hope have found me. Just at the right time. Just at the exact moment. Let them do the same to you. I am here. And so are the others who care. We can hear you.

This year, the Lord revealed truths about Himself to me—
Not in grand gestures and excessively dramatic style,
Not in the form of a burning bush or a speaking donkey,
Not even in the guise of an angel in a dream.
But He showed Himself to me in the little, everyday things—
in verses daily read, in hymns often sung,
in casual conversations, in trivial tasks—
which I think is even more majestic and astounding.
 
This year, He taught me He knows me inside out
And that He’s the best person to teach me lessons—
Never too hard so I’d inevitably fail,
But also never too easy so I’d get too comfortable.
He taught me to fully let go of my life’s steering wheel
And wait on His every turn with patience and complete trust.
He taught me to never doubt His loving care,
To never question why He puts me in situations,
But simply to ask how to best glorify Him there—
How to best bloom in the garden He has placed me.
 
This year He revealed to me matters of the heart,
Teaching me to love more unconditionally His people,
And let go of things that aren’t meant for me.
This year He taught me that letting go doesn’t always have to be painful,
And that painful breakage can be beautiful too.
Like a vessel breaking and showing up cracks,
Only to reveal golden light inside.
 
Yes, this year, God broke my heart—a lot.
But it all turns out to be a beautiful breakage
And, dare I say it, may He prepare me for more heartbreaks.
Because it was when he broke me that I’ve seen—
I am in need of nothing and no one else but Him.
 
This year I learned to be more honest with the Lord—
With how I feel, what I hope for, what I’m confused about,
Things I want to know from Him and of Him.
My relationship with Him grew so much deeper as He taught me
That I can really and literally talk to Him as I would an esteemed friend.
And isn’t He the best person to be friends with!
 
This year I learned to laugh more heartily—
Not because I have no more cares and concerns,
Not because I can see the solution in every problem,
But because I’ve clearly seen how God is very intimately involved in my daily life—
And with a loving and Almighty God writing your story,
Who needs to fret on the plot development and ending?
 
This year I found myself singing along with Horatio Spafford when he wrote,
“Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, ‘It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Has God spared me from traumatic trials?
It is well with my soul.
Has He kept me from getting things I thought I’ve wanted?
It is well.
Has He told me countless times to let go?
It is well. It is well.
 
Because what He ultimately taught me this year
Is that I may never be enough,
But He always is. Always will be.
And I guess that’s the best lesson of all.
 
And so, yes, I’m now facing a new “turn” in the road.
And I can only smile excitedly as I wait to see,
just right there at the corner, what He has in store for me.
 15025228_10154744429769433_500059488593818502_o