Images

“Fling wide the gates..” She pushed those words to the back of her mind.” Open the ancient doors,…” Nooo, she didn’t want to hear them, “….and let the king of Glory in.” Ahhh. The soft still voice was persistent.

It had been a couple of frustrating days. She was beyond irritated and angry. Her arched eyebrows and furrowed forehead as the hot summer sun beat down on her head would have made anyone hesitate to even ask her what was wrong. A soaked mask and the added irritation thereof. And then there were the tears she was fighting back- tears of frustration, lost battles, and the desire to emerge like the Hulk from her normal work clothes and just stomp over the world. Passionately angry. Because she had passionately loved. And passionately trusted and hoped.

And in all that mess, another passionate voice was calling out from deep within. Pastor had said that verse a number of times in church last Sunday, it was etched somewhere deep within her tired grey cells. “Let me in” the Father was saying. “Fling open your gates” She didn’t want to. She wanted to close herself up in her room and weep for sometime. Cry out the frustration, and spend some time wondering why she still did what she did. Didn’t want to let anybody in for that moment. Wanted to dwell in the darkness as the waves came crashing in.

After yanking the lock of her house open and banging her door shut, she finally gave in, letting Him in on the disappointment and the distress and the helplessness. And as she slept off on her knees from the heat and the exhaustion, the sound of singing filled her heart. The old hostel room. Her senior strumming this chorus on her guitar, ” Can you hear the sound of heaven, like the sound of many waters? Its the sound of worship coming from the throne of God…” As those notes played out, a loud thunderstorm woke her up. She ran up to the terrace and stood right there as the heavy raindrops washed over her. A calm descended and the din of the day died down, she let that river of living water flow right from the throne of God into her heart… some days don’t make sense, they hurt more than others, some battles are harder, some leave scars- but as long as her eyes were on her Maker, it was all worth the pain. She’d rather live out her life passionately being what God had called her to be than live from paycheck to paycheck- loving, laughing, crying, singing,sometimes winning, sometimes losing….living.

Tired, sojourner? The sun might beat down quite furiously, but it always rains . Look around. You’ll hear Him in the trees and the bushes and the birds and the plains and the valleys. Just throw open your gates, and let the King of Glory in. Let Him wash over you. Let Him remind you why you do what you do. Let Him take that burden. Let Him….Let Him…and then go live! In every sense of that word. Look up. It might hurt, but He is enough. More than enough.

Fling wide the gates,
open the ancient doors,
and the great king will come in.
Who is this great king?
He is the Lord, strong and mighty,
the Lord, victorious in battle. (psalm 24)

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries. _{-Elizabeth Barrett Browning}

Ever noticed that most hospitals have a chapel within the building or somewhere in close proximity? Or even a prayer room? They’re small, simple yet beautiful.

As a freshly admitted medical student, I used to think about our hospital chapel as such an oddity – a place meant for worship and prayer built smack in the middle of a noisy hospital corridor cluttered with the sounds of trolleys rushed to and fro, people asking for directions, doctors screaming out orders over the din to each other and so on. Weird! I’ve thought. Who would even notice this place in the midst of this craziness? And besides, who would have the time to come in here anyways?

A few weeks into my training I decided to enter the chapel one day. There was a sudden change of atmosphere from the noisy buzz outside to a calm that gripped my soul. As my eyes adjusted to the lighting within, I saw two hands lifted up just in front of the altar. An elderly woman wailing out loud on her knees. She wasn’t saying too many words but her desperation was palpable. As I sat and watched her for sometime, I started understanding the strategic positioning of this space.

Many years and different hospitals later, I’ve developed a sense of reverence for these places. They are places of solace. Of light. Of hope. Desperate pleas. Honest prayers. Unhindered praises. Freely flowing tears. Unmasked selves. These are some of the emotions that mark these chapels.

People seeking refuge from the only One who can offer one. Where scientific explanations end and miracles begin. Where the search for a highly experienced super specialist ends with the acknowledgement and the desire for a touch from the Creator of the Universe. The Healer. Where there is no pretence.

Broken souls. Melted candlewax. Raw emotions. And just outside, a world that keeps moving.

Whoever thought of the concept of a place of worship smack in the middle of a crazy hospital environment couldn’t have been more genius. Beyond every level of expertise the world of modern medicine can offer, every man’s ultimate need is the need of a Saviour. In need of things only He can give. And that begins with the breaking down of walls we’ve built around our hearts , with taking off the masks we wear (No, not the triple layer/N95 ones). Right in the centre of our workplaces and our maddening lives.

He was a special child. Mentally challenged they say. Exceptionally intelligent I think. He’d seen me before and recognised me from a distance when his mom came to me to get his regular medicines. He kept nudging her to tell me to remove my mask so he would know for sure. I removed my mask for a few seconds for him. I did not expect the reaction I got from this 14 year old boy with developmental issues. A sudden throaty laughter- one of sheer joy, and a high spirited small jump. He was right about me! He came over and gave me a sideways awkward hug in a way he knew how. And then held his mom’s hand and walked away smiling through his teeth. That’s all it took to make his day. Me removing my mask for him. Covid-19 protocols had to go for a lunch break!

“It’s like we came to the chapel. He feels seen,” his mom called out as they walked off.

Hospital chapels, OPD waiting areas, ICU counselling rooms, operation theatres- are some places where all disguises come off. And they remind us of a greater need.

In a world that teaches us to pretend and live up to the expectations that nobody knows who laid out, there is also an aching people. Aching for grace, mercy and love. Aching for the love of Jesus yet not knowing where to find it.

A touch. A hug. A kind word. A nudge on the shoulder. A word of encouragement. A small note of appreciation.

A conversation with no pretence. A space where they don’t have to keep up appearances. Haven’t you longed for some authenticity like that?

This is what the Lord has been challenging me to be over the past couple of weeks and a thought I’m putting out there for you to ponder on.

Oh Child of God, you who have tasted and known of the goodness of this amazing God, what can you do today to reach out to an aching society? To be that space of no pretence to somebody who needs to be seen or heard? To be that conduit that guides them to the Saviour. To be the salt. To be the light. To shine. Beginning from right where you are. Right now.

In need of Grace, In need of love
In need of mercy raining down from higher above
In need of strength, in need of peace
In need of things than only you can give to me

In need of Christ, the perfect Lamb
My refuge strong, the great I am
This is my song, my humble plea
I am your child, I am in need _{(Ross King)}

“In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” ( Matthew 5:16)

On the drive between Palani and Oddanchatram, two small towns in southwest Tamil Nadu, there’s a particular wonder to behold in a particular season. Vast fields bathed in yellow. Yellow- the unapologetic bright kind. Oh yes, the colour yellow is associated with Palani a lot, especially ‘cos of the robes the pilgrims to the Palani temple wear and walk the roads on. But no, that’s not what I’m talking about.

It was Monday morning, and I was on the way back from an eventful weekend at home back to the place where I live and work. The driver anna was being his usual chatty self, filling me in on the local political scenes and all that was happening in and around his village and I kept him engaged with an occasional comment here and there and mostly with the vigorous nod that most South Indians have mastered over time. The kind that almost compromises the stability of the atlanto-occipital joint. We kept at it, me encouraging him to go on, while my mind kept busy, pondering over the demands of changing seasons in life. Noise on the inside and noise on the outside.

“Madam look!” He suddenly said, pointing to the sides. And there they were. Golden yellow fields. On both sides of the road. The sun shining on them enhancing their colour. Vast fields of sunflowers. Big ones. We stopped for a couple of minutes to just take in that beauty. As we gazed at those fields for a bit, the driver anna’s friendly voice faded into the background and the noises inside of me died down. There was a peculiar thing though. I was looking at the sunflowers. But the flowerheads were all turned in the opposite direction. Each one of those hundreds of flowers were faced in the same direction, their stalks straight, their heads held high- the direction the sun was shining on them. There was not a single flower that turned the other way round and not one of them drooping down. Not one flower turned the way the people who stopped to admire them were looking at. They just had one focus. And that was the source of their beauty, their nourishment and all that they were about. Named appropriately- Sun-flowers.

“Madam, polaama?” (shall we go?), the driver’s voice interrupted that moment with an urgency. As we resumed our journey forward, there was a strange peace inside of me. I was being reminded with as much clarity as possible- ‘ Why’re you looking around? Look to the Son (Jesus).’

That’s been the image in my head since. That sea of yellow.

No matter what everyone else has to say, or how much you’ve left to do or how impossible you think things look, will you look to the Son- the Author and Perfecter of your faith? Your Rock, your sure foundation.

Can we do that in our day to day lives, casting but a glance at what is around us, fixing our gaze though on Jesus? Unashamed, heads held high, undisturbed in our devotion to Him?

And when we do that, what others will notice about us is the light that falls on us- the glory of the Almighty God dwelling in us, His love brimming out from us. The colour of His love- that’s our ‘yellow’. Whatever season of life we’re in.

‘Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.‘ _{(Helen Lemmel)}

“and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith…“( Hebrews 12:1, 2a)

Weariness.
That’s what I saw in the eyes of that grandmother who’s been coming for steroids month after month with her little grandson with Nephrotic syndrome, whom his parents had forsaken, in the tears of the mom who brought her son with chronic kidney disease once in 2 days for dialysis simply so he’d be alive, in the face of the father who brought his daughter with Beta Thalassemia every 21 days for her next blood transfusion- there are many more- all of them with the same question- When will this be over? Or will it ever? And their eyes searched my face… for hope, atleast an inkling.

Funny thing is, I was asked the same question three times over the past one week that I’d been asking myself already- Is there hope? Is there an answer?

As I sat back against the terrace wall and closed my eyes, my thoughts drifted to that one blank page somewhere a little more than halfway through my Bible- the one that separates the Old Testament from the New Testament. That page was symbolic of 400 years of waiting- when so much of recklessness and oppression prevailed, and there was no prophet, no leader, no dreams or visions, no voice from God. A loud silence. Deafening in fact. A prolonged wait for a Saviour. Nobody knew when or how. They were a tired people. Weary.
Sounded like my life, I thought.
And when you turn that page over and as the gospel of Mathew unfolds, you hear a cry, a newborn baby’s shriek, breaking that silence. The wait for a Saviour had come to an end. He had come! And how!

My mind’s been blown away again and again as I read and reread the account of the birth of Jesus as given in the gospels. A young woman, a bewildered carpenter, shame, confusion, a census at an inconvenient time, rejection, a manger of absolutely no significance, a helpless baby- these were some of the circumstances that God chose to display His glory through. They were weary, Oh yes. Tired of what people were talking about them back home, tired of being misunderstood again and again, exhausted from a journey on a donkey’s back and about as comfortable as anyone could get in a stable surrounded by animals- and yet the baby’s cry brought hope- He had come to deliver us from eternal damnation.

You know, that’s the story of Christmas, that’s why the bells and the carols and the candles and all that jazz- it’s not about the big man in a red suit riding reindeer, it’s about a God who became man to save our souls. A God who came to give us that hope- the hope of eternity.
This story is the beginning of all other stories- a story where in the midst of weariness, pain, anxiety, disappointment, unanswered prayers and uncertainty- hope shone through.

Dear friend, I do not know what your Christmas might look like this year, whether there’s a family you’ll be going to or you’ll be in the ward, like me, on duty, whether you’re in a place of weariness and you’re close to giving up on God or you’re filled with thanksgiving, whether you’re drowning in your doubts and uncertainty or you’re hanging on for dear life, whether you’re prepping for an upcoming wedding or you’re wondering when you’ll ever find the one for you or whether you’re wondering like the parents of those children I mentioned earlier, “when will the suffering end?”.

Interruptions, inconveniences, unanswered prayers , doors that refuse to open- whatever this year has handed out to you, may I remind you as I was reminded that God chose to break nearly 400 years of silence with a tiny baby’s cry from a manger in Bethlehem. His magnificence shone through the darkest of times, through the most obscure circumstances, through two very normal people who were going about their usual lives that were suddenly interrupted with a lot of inconvenience.

What child is this
Who lay to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet
While shepherds watch are keeping

This, this is Christ the King
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him laud
The Babe, the Son of Mary

So bring him incense, gold and myrrh
Come peasant king to own him
The King of Kings salvation brings
Let loving hearts enthrone him _{(What child is this, William c Dix)}

There is hope. As the houses light up and songs are sung and gifts are exchanged, let’s remember- there is hope. Esperanza. Jesus is the hope.

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times.” (Micah 5:2)

‘Doesn’t this look like something from the Enid Blyton books?’ My brother asked, after sending us this picture. Oh sure it did, only it was a miniature version of it. It was a bonsai tree and he was looking through a nursery when he came upon this sight and was blown away by how expensive it was!!

I looked at that picture for sometime and smiled wryly. My mind recollecting the excitement I had felt as my younger self read those books, how I’d checked on a few big trees outside the school campus later on to see if there was any magic to them. Almost expecting to see some branch leading to a door that opened to fairies or brownies or animals that talked in them! Like the Magic Faraway Tree.

“there was such a lot of whispering that it sounded like a thousand leaves rustling at once!”
― Enid Blyton, The Enchanted Wood

Isn’t there one particular tree all of us remember or have fond memories of? It might be the one in our backyard that’s older than our grandparents or the one huge tree in our school campuses that looked like it knew every dirty secret from yesteryears? One such tree I remember that well is one from our college campus- right next to the mess hall. We called it the ‘mess tree’ ( not very creative, I know, but a landmark nevertheless) . Oh that one tree knew it all! It stood tall like the whole campus was built around it. It has given shade on many a sunny day to those who preferred the outside air to the lecture halls, has attempted to shelter a few strays in heavy rains, has seen friendships strengthen over relentless rants, has been the meeting place for all kinds of meetings, has tolerated overenthusiastic college kids hang decorations on it for every festival all year round, and has been the one thing that really brightened the entire campus when it lit up with on New Year’s Eve with an explosion of lights. It still stands strong to this day and whether we remember our batchmates or not, every student in that campus had and still has a story with the ‘mess tree’. It left a lasting impression.

The bonsai had the shape and the looks, but it could never ever provide the experience of that enchanted tree we read about as children or the ‘mess tree’. Nope- no one could rest in it’s shade, it would not bear fruit, it’s bark would never have anyone carve their names on to it, it would never have any stories to tell. Because, though it looked like a tree, but it had been robbed of it’s very potential to experience the fullness of its existence when science decided to genetically modify it to fit into our comfort zones. That which was supposed to thrive and live in all its glory in some park or in our yard, now sat in our living rooms or terrace gardens- a poor excuse to what it was actually meant to be.

Do we live bonsai-sized lives? That’s been the question on my mind ever since I saw that picture. Teeny-weeny pretty versions of what we were actually made to be, self designed to fit into our comfort zones, while the Creator himself longs for us to live in the freedom that He offers? To thrive and not just survive? Are we afraid- to make commitments, to take stands, to follow the One who has been calling out to us even before we were born, to live to the fullness of our existences?
Pause for a moment. And think about it.

Bonsai is safe. Very comfortable. Pretty. Yet… way too small… To make a difference.

Or will we respond to the Shepherd’s call- committing our lives to Him and thereby stepping out into the glorious freedom He offers- selflessly loving, fully giving and thereby truly thriving and engaging with the world around us. (John 3:16)
I asked myself this today, “Would I be like that tree that stands tall, bearing marks of a race well run, having stories to tell, having been a shade to many, standing strong in the wind and the rain- unapologetic, because I know and I’ve trusted the One who called me?”

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.” Jeremiah 17:7,8 (NIV)

What about you? Do you want for your life to amount to more than cosy decisions and safe hideouts?

Bonsai lives or not. You get to choose.

“Akka, neenga super !” A smiling starry eyed five year old popped her head back into my OPD cubicle, just to drop in this statement and then danced off into the rest of her life, her shiny black plaits waving around in reckless abandon. It took me a few seconds to realise she was paying me a compliment and then by the time I registered a confused smile through the layers of masks on my face ( these days it doesn’t even feel like a foreign object on the face) , she had already disappeared.

In the place I live, the word ‘super’ is pronounced ‘sooper’. Give them a chance and they’ll even spell it out like that for you. There are certain English words that’ve been localised by the locals here ( yes, a befitting punishment to the ones who introduced the language to us in the first place.) ‘Sooper’ is one such word. It’s a compliment word y’know – more like a word that comes from a full heart. It can mean anything ranging from a delicious meal, a good friend, a nice looking dress, a pretty girl, a fulfilling time, an exciting cricket match or even a brilliant idea. Many meanings, just one word- Sooper. Broad spectrum. No specific grammar rules. No particular contraindication to use it. Can be used freely. For all age groups. Yeah. But a compliment nevertheless and one that is uttered from an overwhelmed heart. There are many other such words that’ve been forcefully converted into the local language, and very seamlessly woven into daily vocabulary, but that’s a discussion for another day.

Anyways, as I wondered as to which of these meanings my little patient was alluding to, there’s no denying the warm fuzzy feeling that settled in on my heart on an otherwise cold and grey afternoon. She had taken that time out of her regular buzz of activity, to just run back in to let me know she appreciated the time we spent together. She didn’t need to. She’d gotten what she had come for. The exhilarating pleasures of childhood were beckoning her from beyond. But she set apart a teeny tiny moment of her universe to gift me a ‘sooper’. She didn’t need to. But maybe I needed it that day. Kindness. And a reminder.

A reminder that my Creator and Father God also looks at me today, right where I am, and sees me not as a frail human being with this innate tendency to fail Him at any given moment, but as a broken vase He took, cleansed, purified and justified – calling me precious, the apple of His eye. Sooper.

So also each one of you reading this today.

This year with all its incessantly flowing unpleasant surprises has neither been easy, nor a pleasurable journey. Fed up? Frustration, anger, irritation, disappointment , resignation, loneliness, exhaustion- are some of the many emotions most of us have been going through. But dear friend, would you look up today, lifting your eyes from the darkness around you to the Father above? And hear His voice in your ear, calling out to you?

“I will give up whole nations to save your life, because you are precious to me and because I love you and give you honor.”                                                                         ( Isaiah 43:4)

When we dwell in that overwhelming awareness and assurance that we are so precious and so loved by such an amazing God, kindness will flow out of us to the people around us. Like that little child, we’d be able to take a tiny moment out of our universe, to maybe tell the next person (Be it your boss or the milkman ), ” Hey you’re appreciated!” The more we open our hearts to His love, the more we would be able to see God’s fingerprints in these dark times.

Put this blog down, and look at the mirror today. And remind yourself what God Almighty thinks about you this very moment:

Days will come when you don’t have the strength
When all you hear is you’re not worth anything
Wondering if you ever could be loved
And if they truly saw your heart, they’d see too much

You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
You are made for so much more than all of this
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
You are treasured, you are sacred
You are His
You’re beautiful ( Beautiful, MercyMe)

And when you’ve done that, open your door and tell the first person you meet, ‘You’re beautiful!’ or if you come from where I write this from, ‘Sooper da!’

In His Eyes.

Pontine Glioma- a diagnosis I had to explain to two different sets of parents over a time span of 24 hours. Not easy… not on the eyes, not on the mind and definitely not on the heart. Two smart, absolutely bright six year olds, with the promise of a whole lifetime ahead of them. A fall while playing. Sudden unexplained weakness of one side of the body. One visit to the OPD and a scan later, that promise of a future suddenly snatched from them without any mercy. A grave diagnosis. Poor prognosis. Tears. Disbelief. Lots of gasps. More tears. “Is there nothing we can do? No where we can take him/her?” The same questions. The same profound helplessness on both sides- the doctor’s and the parents’.

Finally when I did hit my bed at 3 am early morning the next day hoping there would be no more calls from the ward, my thoughts were racing. For all the exhaustion of that day, sleep evaded my eyes. The weight on my heart drove me to my knees. And this time the tears were mine. The mother’s fearful eyes, the father’s brokenness, their testimony of how they conceived after nearly 10 years of infertility and how special this child was, the child’s innocent unaware voice asking me if I wanted to hear him recite his favourite Psalm to me again. I felt so undone. Why these children? Why such terrible suffering? It felt like the carpet you were standing on was suddenly pulled away from under your feet and you had landed face forward on the ground. I didn’t have answers to the questions that were raging in my head and heart. But I knew and still know that God is good. He knows what He’s upto. But in that moment of grief, and multitudes of questions, and exhaustion- the only thing I could do was weep- weep not out of sympathy or pity, but just knowing that I was sharing their burden by pouring out my tears at heaven’s altar in intercession- not just for those two families, but also the ones I knew around me who were suffering- either from loneliness, depression, one physical ailment after another, torment for taking stands for their faith, lack of gratitude after years of work or just the feeling of hopelessness at unanswered prayers and unfulfilled desires.

Bringing them one by one to the Master with nothing but a broken heart for them in the wee hours of the morning, a beautiful revelation dawned on me. I had allowed them to be a part of my life, to have a share of my time, to make me care enough to be broken for them , to keep me awake at night praying for them.

In short, I had let them get to me. I had opened up my heart to love them. So much so that my needs and wants didn’t matter to me as much as theirs did!

These many many people who’ve walked in and out of my life. Some leaving footprints, yet others , scars – a patient, a colleague, a friend or a dear family member- yet they are deeply loved and immensely valued. In those moments my eyes were opened to see what loving a neighbour as myself looked like. If that was what only a minute finite portion of God’s love in me looked like, I can’t help wondering at how passionately, how fiercely, how unconditionally He loves me, and each one of you reading this. Oh how His heart breaks each time for us!

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

I rose up from amidst those tears and prayers for mercy and healing, knowing that I’d given the best I could for those children who were my patients and their families , and to the ones around me whom I knew to be suffering- not my scientific prowess or skills as a paediatrician- I’d made a case for them to the King of kings, the Master of the universe, Jesus Christ, my Lord and Saviour- in love.

People may fail us, institutions may fail us, systems we fought to put in place might be ripped apart right before us, but there’s still scope for love.

So hey, are we capable of living a life of love, rooted in the faith and shielded by the Lord Most High, yet vulnerable? Despite and even if? I say….. Yes!!!

“You lead and I will follow
I know you hold tomorrow
Lord, make of me one big yes

Wherever this road takes us
Lord even if it’s just us
I surrender, Lord, it’s yes.. ”

( Yes, Larry Gatlin, Gaither Vocal Band)

“I want to be straight with you: there will be no return to the “old normal” for the foreseeable future.” This was part of the opening remarks made by the WHO Director- General a couple of days ago at a press conference.

Well even if he hadn’t said it out that obviously, all of us can testify to the fact that this reality has started to sink in slowly for most of us, right? One of the things that this pandemic has taught us is that there is no shortcut out of this. This has to run it’s course.

Strangely that’s pretty much how life is in general. It has always been “not easy” ( In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m refraining from using the word tough). No shortcuts. Somehow when life confronts us in all its reality and glory, there’s no easy way out. No, I’m not going through a midlife crisis. But yes, I’ve been having to face a lot of difficult realities lately. And there have been not one but a multitude of moments when I have honestly wished things were so much easier, wished there was a shortcut, a less tedious exasperating way about this.

Amongst the mess the world is in right now, there’s a lot of mess within and amongst us as well. They say ( I don’t exactly know who), that post graduation is like a public toilet ( yeah! an Indian one). You must be desperate, to get in, however once you’re in, you can’t wait to be done with it and get out. Well, now explain to the person inside a public toilet that it’s gotten locked from the outside, and the key has been lost! Now that’s more like the exact feeling a couple of my loved ones waiting for the dates for their final postgrad exams to be announced are going through.

Indefinitely postponed. Don’t know when. Cannot say how. No solution in the foreseeable future. Cancelled till further notice.

These are some of the phrases we’ve been hearing over and over again over the past couple of months, with respect to many other things apart from exams as well.

As the day drew to a close yesterday, the culmination of events over the last few weeks finally descended on me like a heavy blanket. Oh and was I overwhelmed! Drowning in all the voices in my head competing for attention, the pain of people around me, the uncertainties in front of me and just generally life’s storms threatening to tear me apart into a million pieces. And I just knew that there was only one posture to be in when all this weight bore down on me- on my knees. There was no where else I wanted to go to at that point even if there was no lockdown.

My heart kept singing this song over and over again as the darkness within me seemed greater than the night closing in on the outside:

Lord, I come, I confess
Bowing here I find my rest
Without You I fall apart
You’re the One that guides my heart
Lord, I need You, oh, I need You
Every hour I need You
My one defense, my righteousness
Oh God, how I need You. ( Lord I need you, Matt Maher)

So that’s exactly what I did. I took a knee- not in protest or to express my anger as we generally understand that phrase, but in absolute surrender to the King of Kings, the One who holds the seas and has each hair on my head numbered. On bended knees and with lifted hands, amidst free flowing tears, that heaviness lifted, slowly but surely being replaced with a certain peace that I know no words to describe.

Friend, when the waves come crashing in, when the wait is unending, when there seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel or the silver lining seems to be missing, when it all comes sweeping over you, when there are no answers but only a lot of questions, here’s the thing – Take a knee. Actually both. Bowing in His presence, you’ll find your rest.

“I’ve told you all this so that trusting me, you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I’ve conquered the world.” (John 16:33, The Message)

One of my strongest childhood memories is of loud, really loud laughter. My siblings and I grew up with that sound of ringing laughter echoing off the walls of our home- some days we woke up to it, some days we heard it in the middle of our otherwise quiet study time ( interrupted only by the thud of me falling asleep over my books), some days all of us joined in. Appa had and still has this amazing ability to make even the most tight jawed individual burst into splits of laughter- something anyone who has acquainted themselves with him even once would testify to. And it’s always amazed me. Irrespective of the language they spoke or the kind of office they held, they couldn’t resist his smart wit or quick observations, most of the time the object of the joke being himself.

If we were relatively less naughtier during the week, he’d take us for long walks on the weekend on the sandy beaches of the Arabian Sea, in the place we grew up in. And while my younger siblings ran off to play with the waves, he’d hold my hand and give me one of his ‘life lessons’. A distinct memory that has stayed with me over the years is of one day when he’d just cracked up somebody over the phone, and he looked at me after that conversation with a twinkle in his eye saying, “Kunje learn to laugh at yourself every once in a while. The lesser you think about yourself, the more room you’ll have for others.”

Now the paediatrician in me would tell you that the palmar grasp is a reflex that we see in babies as soon as they are born. You might’ve noticed them having a very tight grasp. The moment you stroke the palm, they curl their fist up quite tight. Forgive me for the science class, but an interesting fact we learn is that as they grow, this grasp has to loosen and disappear if they have to learn new skills such as holding an object or reaching out for something. In other words they’ve got to let go if they have to get going!

As the pandemic progresses and lives are being lost at a rate nobody is even sure of, one fact that has struck a chord with me is that there’s only so much we can hold on to tightly. We’ve had to reschedule and replan, we’ve had to wait endlessly, we all have more questions than answers. But what we also have is today- this day that the Lord has made. We don’t know about tomorrow or the next day. What we can do is not take ourselves so seriously that we miss out on what God has planned for us today- the blessing we can be, the impressions we can leave, the prayers we can offer for people around us, the lives we can touch.

I’m often asked, “Do you really need to do all this? Do you even have enough time for yourself? Aren’t you tired?” And as I look to the Lord with these questions, more often than not He reminds me of this lesson I learnt from my dad a long time ago and He points me to the fist of the newborn baby- just to remind me that it’s okay to loosen my tight grasp over my own dreams, desires, and life. In being willing to let go of what I think I deserve and have a right to, I let God into that space, letting Him build the broken pieces into something beautiful. ‘Cos at the end of the day that’s what makes all the difference. The frustrations, anger, bitterness and dissatisfaction will slowly melt away when we slowly turn our gaze from ourselves to the needs of the other.

I stand at the threshold of another decade of my life today, knowing that I can hold on to this life I live a lil loose, ‘cos my Father in heaven has got a tight grip of me.

In other words, being expendable to be expandable for the kingdom of my Saviour.

If there ever were dreams
That were lofty and noble
They were my dreams at the start
And hope for life’s best were the hopes
That I harbor down deep in my heart
But my dreams turned to ashes
And my castles all crumbled, my fortune turned to loss
So I wrapped it all in the rags of life
And laid it at the cross.

Something beautiful, something good
All my confusion He understood
All I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife
But he made something beautiful of my life

_{( Something Beautiful,Bill & Gloria Gaither)}

‘Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ.’ ( Philippians 3:8, NKJV)