Amen

It would be no surprise if, to Gracia, even in her infant years, language  was punctuated with Amens. Prayers said before dinner end with Amen. Prayers said whenever we hear the cries of other babies always end with Amen. The pre-bedtime crafted prayers from the LullaBible all end with Amen. In church, Amen punctuates the worship liturgy. Then there is the long melodious Amen at the end of John Rutter's The Lord Bless You and Keep You, Gracia's bedtime song (until it got recently replaced by Jesus Loves Me). I reasoned that although babies are not yet able to articulate their own prayers (in language understandable to me, at least), they could at least agree in prayer (and who knows what's invisibly happening in their spirit?). In those early days, I was certainly not expecting Gracia to understand what she was saying. But I knew that it would not be long before she would.

Then one evening, I heard the first Ammm. Before long, it was Amah, then Amahm, then Amahn, and now Amen. Those earlier days, I remember how Gracia loved to practice her new-found skill and understanding that Ammm / Amahm was something to be said at the end of sentences uttered with clasped hands, eyes closed, which began with Dear Jesus and come after In Jesus' name. Her enthusiasm actually motivated me to pray. I had found in my one+ year old a prayer partner! 

Our pre-dinner prayers were simple and repetitive, and functioned well as a prayer frame for my little language-learner. They went something along these lines:

Dear Jesus, thank you for this food. Please help Gracia eat it well. Please bring Papa back home safely. In Jesus name, Amen. 

Gracia has always been a very curious listener, attending to all the interesting sounds we hear in our HDB estate. Often, we would hear babies crying. She would look at me intently with her big eyes, questioning. I remember trying to explain the plausible situation to her - Oh, baby is crying maybe because baby is hungry, or baby fell down, and is pain pain, or baby needs to change diaper. Let's pray for baby. 

Dear Jesus, please help baby not be pain pain, and stop crying. In Jesus name, Amen. 

We'd also pray over each bump or scratch Gracia had along the way - no matter how minor. We'd pray whenever Papa or Mama coughed. Basically, whenever anything was amiss with people.

Sometime along the way, she started to say pray. She began to understand prayer as a response to any situation where something is not quite right, and would ask me to pray:

Pray baby not pain pain. Pray mama ahhuhuhuhuh (coughing sound). 

Then there is Uncle Dan. Uncle Dan is our next-door neighbour, to whom Gracia has taken a fancy (quite from the time she was first introduced to him). Or rather, she has taken a fancy to his name. I can't quite remember how it started, but my little prayer partner constantly asks to pray for him. He isn't a Christian, so I take that as an opportunity to pray for his family's salvation each time.

Closer to two, she started voicing prayers of her own. There was the time when we were cooking a salted egg and minced pork dish for dinner, and cracked open rotten egg upon rotten egg. After two rotten eggs, we prayed that God would give us an egg that hadn't turned bad. I remember Gracia clasping her hands just as I was going to crack open the last egg, and pray one of her first Dear Jesus prayers. Well, all the eggs were bad. And so we went downstairs to the provision shop to buy one, and that was how God answered one of the first prayers of an almost two year old. With a no, but. Well, how about that? A response questioned to no end by overthinking adults, accepted as a matter of fact by a child.

Then there were all the seemingly random jibber jabber ramblings along the way. I remember her starting a prayer with Dear Jesus, just while chattering at the dining table during dinners, with hands clasped and eyes closed, and a little smile, followed by a few sentences indecipherable mumblings, followed by opening her eyes, with a decisive Amen. That must surely be how my prayers sound like to her sometimes!

 Now, at 25 months, thank you Jesus has entered her speaking vocabulary. I've heard her say thank you Jesus when Papa enters through the door halfway through dinner, after we prayed that he'd be back soon a moment ago. 

Now, Amen is not just her response to my uttered prayers. Soon, may it be mine, in response to hers. 

With Open Hands

Lunch today was all about laying down expectations, and receiving the unexpected. I have found myself too often saying no to so many opportunities to connect with people, through workday lunches, through social media. Head full of suspicion regarding others' intentions at getting close, or genuine interest in getting to know me, I have found myself more and more alone. It is as though I would rather have no friends, if not perfect-match ones.

Today, though, I said yes, remembering that I had promised. I chose to connect over a meal with non kindred spirits. Yes, I would not be sharing my deeper thoughts, I would need to behave properly. It was not likely conversation would turn to my favourite subjects. I would have to listen to others. I would feel awkward, because I'm not a great small-talker. And I was right about all of it.

Still, there will come a time when I will look back upon this day, and cherish it, simply for what it is. I shall remember that when I stubbornly grasp my preconceived notions and expectations in relationships, my hands are unable to receive the many precious, simple gifts that come with everyday relationships.

Today, the gifts were simple, but so, so needed. There was glorious Thai food - with layers upon layers of flavours and just the right amount of spice. There was a mellow cup of matcha latte, bitterness and sweetness calibrated to perfection. There was even an art exhibition we stumbled upon - with a message so clear it was not possible to miss. But most of all, there was a growing sense of acceptance of these colleagues as my friends - just as they are.

Thank you, J & C, for reminding me, without words at all, of what friendships could be - simple, free, and open.

Holding onto God's promises in the area of relationships

What a perfect reminder of what God values - community

Still Life in Gratitude

This may seem like a rather ordinary dish of ngoh hiong, but for me, it was notable enough to deserve a picture. It was primarily because of the sliced cucumbers encircling the pile of golden morsels of meat, accompanied by prawns, mushrooms, and crunchy bits of water chestnut. Being a full time working mum to a two-year old, who still insists on cooking almost every meal, embellishments such as cucumber garlands are simply not a priority.

The ngoh hiong - tasted again now by the heart 

And I'm so glad I did capture that quite ordinary gift, before it was digested and forgotten all about, for as I now see, it was really quite extraordinary. 

Wrapped up in beancurd skin, there was so much to be thankful for. 

My Mum

It was she who prepared these ngoh hiong meat rolls, steamed them, and brought them over one day during a week of solo-parenting. She knew that I would surely not have bothered to cook for one (adult). But she also didn't anticipate that I would have saved them when the husband returned, and I would have to cook! 

My Grandmother

It would have been her recipe - or an impression of it, which my mum used. She's no longer with us, but it is a wonder that we continue to be blessed by what she used to cook.

My Niece 

The meat rolls, themselves, were an extra portion from a birthday gathering for my niece the day before. Thus, she, too, had a role to play in how they came to be! Ngoh hiong are among my all time favourites, so I am thankful I got to enjoy them twice in a week. 

My Husband

Those ngoh hiong were gifted to me steamed, fully cooked, and edible, though not exactly how they would be most delicious. All who are familiar with this dish would know that they must be pan-fried to perfection - golden brown and crisp. All who are familiar with cooking this dish would know that this often proves to be no easy endeavour! This is especially when there is no non-stick frying pan in the house. That evening, as I gave my full attention to each little detail required for perfectish ngoh hiong, in the background I could hear the lively chittering of a little voice responding to her father's animated read aloud. That's something to be thankful for. He was just home from a few days away on a mission trip, and it was our first home-cooked meal together since then. That ring of cucumbers - it was my attempt to be celebratory! 

So here it is, my little study in gratitude - surely a gift in its own right! These simple, common graces are so much sweeter when they are noticed. In noticing, gratitude is deepened. And so it goes on an on. "Thank you" becomes so much more than merely a matter of manners. 

Five Loaves

A basketful of empty notecards in celebration of Good Neighbours' Day sat invitingly in church one Sunday. We happened to be sitting beside this basket for church lunch; so conveniently I picked a few, naming them as I went: This is for Uncle Dan, this is for Uncle Alvin, this is for Aunty so and so, and so on. It would be nice to send these along with a little gift. My little accountability partner heard it all.

Our five loaves... and one extra! 

And so we did. Cookies were not meant to be, as white chocolate and cranberries were missing. There were overripe bananas, perfect for baking, so mini banana loaves it was. With a second pair of little helping hands, we measured, poured and stirred and ate spoonfuls of mashed bananas and chocolate chips along the way. 

We did the first round of door-knocking on a Saturday evening - only one family was home. Sunday was a busy day for us, and it would have been challenging to go door-knocking, but this time, it was God who divinely arranged for us to run into three other families while we were going out or returning. With one family, we felt the ice break - I've always wanted to get to know them better, but it was not until last night that we chatted a little more at their door step. What an encouragement this was to me! 

I hadn't had the presence of mind to reason and figure that a recipe for a single loaf of banana bread wouldn't be able to feed five families adequately. But mini-loaves are the perfect size for gifting by little hands! And how eager these hands were. When I suggested that it could be time for the gifting of gifts, two eager feet pitter-pattered straight to the door, and two little hands were quick to put on her shoes. There was no shyness, no reserve in my little two year old, only childlike confident expectation that her gift would be received. She knocked on doors and waited, then offered her little packages as though it were the simplest thing in the world. 

And it should be. Thank you, little bunny, for setting the example and leading the way. You've shown me that giving can be approached with boldness and simplicity, without expectation. As for shyness and fear of rejection, what are they? 

And so, bake on, we shall, my bunny and I!

Banana and Dark Chocolate Mini-Loaves
Adapted from Jessica Fisher's Not Your Mother's Make-Ahead and Freeze Cookbook
Makes 6 mini loaves

Ingredients
2/3 cup golden granulated sugar
2/3 cup extra virgin olive oil*
2 eggs
1/4 cup full-cream milk
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup very-ripe bananas, mashed
2/3 cup plain flour
2/3 cup whole-wheat flour
1/3 cup rolled oats
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup dark chocolate chips

Method
Simply measure out all ingredients into a large mixing bowl, and stir all together. Pour into 6 mini-loaf parchment cases. Bake in a preheated oven for 30 min, at 180 degrees celsius.

Note:
Little hands love pouring ingredients as they are measured into the mixing bowl, and stirring after each addition! I think coconut oil would be a lovely substitution. Note to self to try that next. The original recipe is for a single family-sized loaf - if so, bake for about 60 minutes.

About Me

"Tackle the most challenging task first." Often, this is the advice given to those of us immobilised by procrastination or overwhelm. So, here goes. 

My internal landscape seems to me a constant whirl of words and thought, surging to be let out, but always suppressed, swallowed as though it would erupt as an indecorous burp in the middle of a formal dinner. I'll be honest and admit that I've felt much discomfort from trying to keep in the reflux. 

No more of this. I'll write if I have to. 

What has kept me from writing?  I have no reservations writing anonymously, but there is also little impetus for doing so. Perhaps as a kind of exercise or practice it may be worth something, but there is also something inauthentic about writing behind a mask. There is the secret desire that someone out there would find my words worth reading. There is, at the same time, the safeguard - if no one reads this, nothing is lost. But, neither is anything gained. Writing needs an audience, and what is it without one?

I think it is time that I wrote as me, to an imagined audience of family, friends, co-workers, acquaintances, both present and future. Pride manifesting itself as self-consciousness prevents me from doing so. It strikes fear in the heart - mainly fear that baring my thoughts (and heart) so openly before others would mean I am judged. This is fuelled by some illusion that I could otherwise be untouched by man's opinion. But the truth is that no one is safe from the judgements of others. Attempting to keep myself safe from the judgement of others has only meant greater isolation - I am somewhat kept from man's opinion, but I have also given up chance to possibly connect in a greater manner with others. 

What if, through my words, others are come to know me in greater measure? What if our friendship is deepened by openness, authenticity and a greater measure of freedom? What if future friends are drawn to connect with me by what I write?

If not, nothing is lost, but the burden of words I bear.

And so, welcome, friends and future friends. It is to you I am writing - as honestly as I can. 

A Single Step

There was a week-long struggle. I had been nominated for a role, which would require me to contribute in a more significant manner at work. I felt apprehensive about my own ability, uncertain this was the right thing for me, unsure that I was ready. I considered telling my bosses my feelings upfront. I almost decided that I should tell the interview panel straight off that I didn't feel ready. But, I just didn't feel at peace about doing so.

There was uneasiness, yet accompanied by the undeniable conviction that the act of going for the nomination interview, instead of closing that door, would be a step of faith - a step ordered by God. I didn't want to do it, and procrastinated about preparing for as long as I could. Still, I did it. 

I went for the interview, having prepared all I could, and didn't breathe a word at all about being less than ready, far from adequate. There was some turmoil. 

Had it gone well, I might never have had thought it needful to write. No, it went awkwardly. There were questions I could not answer, and many encouraging smiles from the kind interviewers in their attempt to eke out a lengthier, more well-informed response from me, all to little avail. It went embarrassingly. The impulse to call it quits was quick to hit, the moment I left the interview room. The felt need for a career contingency plan presented itself readily.

And yet, a mere hour or so later, peace arrived. The uneasiness, embarrassment, apprehension were all gone. The joy found in doing each waiting task returned. There was a newfound commitment to develop myself professionally. The self-doubt departed, being dismissed as irrelevant. This quiet assurance came - that it is possible to keep on walking this path. This is not assurance that promises a known destination: the destination envisioned by the organisation, my bosses, my peers, society at large, or even myself. All that is known is the voice which has called me to keep on keeping on - taking each step ordered by Him alone. 

Remembering, tonight, that this was how it all started. That first step. That lack of certainty of a destination. This was enough. It still is. 

"Take your time... Walk as far as you like and then return."

"And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left."  Isaiah 30:21 (ESV)

"The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and He delighteth in his way." Psalm 37:23 (KJV) 

"By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going." Hebrews 11:8 (NIV)

Reservations are now being accepted

Day after day, I have left the pages of this blog virtually blank. Can't I even find something to say?

It is a mixture of doubt, confused purposes, poor organization and conflicting priorities that has led to its neglect. Unlike an overgrown garden, however, this feels more like a boarded-up beach house, which calls out daily for summer and guests, guests, guests. This blog wants to be lived in. 

Re-reading my favourite blogs recently, I found myself wondering why I am so often drawn to them, whilst others make their way into my blogroll, but are not often more than glanced upon. 

Of course, there is that connection and resonance with my values, likes, style, concerns. But there is also these : authenticity and lifelikeness. I find myself reading and re-reading, anticipating blog entries when what I read makes me feel This is real! Things are told as they are. I like especially to read about days as they are, moments captured and somehow conveyed to me the reader intact such that they arrive almost untarnished (but can they ever be?). 

And, I've come to realize, that although blogs with recipes (not food blogs per se!) occupy a large part of my blogroll, I favour those which share recipes which were part of a real meal, intended to feed real people, not so much cooked so that they could primarily feed blogrolls. 

I love reading blogs which are full of the miscellany of life. If I wanted Perfect Pictures of Airbrushed Cakes, I'd read a cookbook (I love doing that, by the way). If I was on a quest for the Best Croissant Recipe, I may trust one that's on a blog, but I would be reading the blog not as a blog-genre blog, but as an informational test-genre blog, which is a strange thing that I am convinced actually exists nowadays. 

But if it is a blog I am reading, I'd love it to contain bits of this, and bits of that, which remind me of all the bits of this and that in my own life that would usually belong to the realm of triviality, and thus the Realm of the Unnoticed and Unimportant, and even the Unseen.

Why is triviality so attractive, I often wonder? Perhaps it is that life cannot be lived without trivialities. Perhaps it is a fight against labeling some things as important and everything else as not. What's worth words, and what's not? 

I don't really know, honestly. And perhaps, that not-knowing is precisely what's kept this little beach house so tightly boarded up, all these months. 

It's time to unscrew those boards. Boldly. Welcome in, reader.