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| www.joellim.com The journey continues... | | |
| There is a city of bright lights called Samsara. Its populace reek of splendour, plastic and clever gadgets. The neon signs flash themes of merriment, sex and power. In that city are an odd bunch called Believers. Believers believed in what was unbelieveable to the masses. They knew about and believed the existence of a Kingdom. They believed in a Kingdom called Kirk.
Kirk was regularly attended by Believers. It was very important to go to Kirk. Kirk was the Kingdom! Kirk was found in a big building - a wonderful one with tallish steeples called Pedestal and Prestige. To ensure that its facilities were maintained and steeples looked good, Believers were exhorted time and again to give funds to Kirk. Nobody wanted Kirk to close down. So into suede bags the dollars went.
Kirk was IT... I mean it was the all in all for Believers. It was where the Believer went if he or she wanted a taste of The Glory. Kirk existed for The Glory. That warm tingling feeling in your stomach at the right pause at certain times in the Kirk. Oh, yeah. The gut, The Glory! Halle-kirk-jah! Believers lived for that. Well, actually, once a week they woke up, read the papers, had coffee and toast, and drove to Kirk for that.
And why was The Glory worth getting up for? Because The Glory proved beyond shadow of doubt that the Kingdom was there - in the Kirk. C'mon, that sensation has got to be Kingdom! So the faithful Believers knew about and believed in a Kingdom called Kirk and that was all there was. Until one day when Believer on Seat 32XV9001L had an interesting find.
Seat 32 (what we will call him) found a dusty forgotten book on the shelf of the Kirk's huge library of tomes. It was simply called Love Story. Seat 32 picked it up and sneezed many times, it was so dusty! Seat 32 had not felt The Glory for some time. For all his life, actually. He heard other Believers talk about The Glory; the ones who sat more to the front, especially, had so much The Glory tales to tell. But Seat 32 had none.
When Believers asked Seat 32 if he felt The Glory, he'd just nod his head but say nothing. He felt ashamed every time he did that. But to have no experiences like that, he'd be deemed an irregular Kirk goer. And nobody wanted to be known as that. It was too shameful. So nod he did and smile he did, but he never said Yes I did.
Back to the old book. Seat 32 read the pages of the Love Story as he walked home that day. The book did something to him as he read each word. Tears began to flow from his eyes. His tummy felt wrung like a wet mop that desperately wanted to get dry. He gasped as he read how a good and mysterious man, for three years, helped people supernaturally, was misunderstood, and then given a terrorist's death.
He struggled with how this man who was a king could live poor among society's refuse. And talk about wrong timing. Why did this man choose to walk on the very soil of Samsara at a time when colonialists ruled with chains? No splendour, plastic or clever gadgets. Just blood and taxes. Everywhere he went, needy people followed. Sick people. Dead people. Demon-possessed people. All kinds of literally damned people.
Seat 32 read on till he finished the last page. As he shut the book, something life-altering happened - his mind opened. It dawned on him that Kirk was not all it was meant to be. Over the years, Kirk became a convenient Sunday ritual for lazy people who filled seats and suede bags. It was largely irrelevant to the dwellers of Samsara city. It had no voice. No heart. It was so different from what the man in the Love Story was like.
Another big problem: The Glory was not what the book said it was. The pages of Love Story contained powerful miracles and other supernatural phenomena. Men and women in the book did mind-boggling things inside and outside of Kirk. They foretold the future, they read minds, they raised dead people, thier shadows healed others, they walked out of maximum security prisons, they experienced teleportation, they walked on water, they could feed an army with a Happy Meal, they spoke languages they've never heard before, they heard God's voice. The Glory was surely not a tingling in the stomach!
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| To spend more time together, Viola and I have decided to move to PJ. We're looking at January 07. We'll keep coming over to Cyberjaya for Vineyard on weekends to keep discipling the people we have. Have a plan to rent an apartment in Cyberjaya as a "base" for our ministry. A place for us to gather, for ministry teams to stay, for me to stay when I go there to spend time with students. Am praying for finances to come in for the base. | | |
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DRIVING HOME
Driving home for me is a very long trip. I am tired at work, am more tired as I drive home. Only a bath refreshes me.
FICTION
The joy of reading a good novel. Much better than watching a movie. More imaginative. I recently finished Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. It was a "dark" novel, a mysterious story about a home for children who were "special". Not that they were handicapped. Won't ruin the fun...You will discover the truth as you read past the chapters. It made me sad - the ending. Poignant throughout. The Life of Pi was ten times better of course, but The Life is just extraordinary in storyline, style and surprise.
NON-FICTION: TIPPING POINT
Just go out and buy this book. I've learnt about how people relate to each other. How trends, movements have their beginnings. If you like human behaviour studies, you will enjoy this book. | | |
| How well do you know your father? I mean, do you know who he really is? If I were to ask you to describe him in 10,000 words, would you know what to write about him? What if you could only write 7,000 words? What if you could only write 3,000 words? What if you could only write 300 words? What if you could only manage 30? If you are a father, how many words can your child write about you?
I grew up in a home where my father was in his own world. In his world of books and reading and bible studies. In his working world, he struggled to build an archiving business from scratch; after he worked very hard on a very early computer business which didn't take off as he'd expected, and after he migrated (we were to join him) and returned from Australia. I recall that before his foray into computers he was an accountant. A successful one, I believe.
I wish I could tell you that my dad and I have many memories of doing fun stuff together. I can only say that I have a few. Learning to ride a bike. Playing with remote-controlled toys. Going to the forest park many times. Searching though my memory banks, those were the fun stuff I remember clearly doing with him. I notice they were in my pre-teen days, between ages 1 and 12. Twelve years and those were the fun things we did together. Later, in my teenage years, I don't recall doing anything fun with him. I was doing my own thing with my friends. He was wrapped up in a new business. All we did together was work together in the business. That was not fun. It was, well, work.
So looking back, I have to say that I hardly know my father. He came from a broken family and I think he grew up not knowing his father. Somehow, his lack of closeness with his dad has influenced the way he relates to me. The question for me is, how well will my children know me? And if my child was to write about me, how many words would he or she write? | | |
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