Remembering Mikael Part 2

April 26, 2015, Sunday

To honour the memory of Mikael, at his funeral, we requested our friends that, in lieu of flowers, they might consider donating money to the Artspace on the third floor of the Winnipeg Centre Vineyard Church.

The Artspace would be dedicated to the memory of our son. We were pleased that close to $9000 was received to transform the Artspace into a multipurpose art gallery that hosts performances, visual art exhibits, language arts, and also serves as an intimate place of worship.

The dedication evening on June 24, 2011 was well attended by friends. A metallic plague with Mikael's own words embossed on it was affixed on one of the pillars of the room.


Nathan opened the dedication with his band. Mons played a song on the keyboard, I read two poems I wrote about our loss, and Debbie spoke.  The rest of the evening was a cordial visit among friends.

I put together a collection of Mikael's photography and two of my paintings on Mikael's home-going at a corner for visitors to see. It was a great evening that celebrated Mikael's robust and productive life on this side of eternity.

In December 2010, a few short weeks after
Mikael's passing, we planted a 12-year-old
oak tree at Assiniboine Park at a spot at an elbow of the river where Mikael frequented with his kayaking and biking.

An oak is a slow growing tree. Being a 12-year-old, it looked small and scrawny, though the Park really
took great care of it by tubing the bottom of the tree
and placing a protective fence around it.


The tree thrived for four springs and summers until an absolutely senseless act of vandalism killed it. It broke my heart. It was a memorial of our son, and it's gone.

The Park Forester is a very nice young man. He appreciates the significance of the tree in our hearts. He promises to replant another tree, may not be an oak,  in its place.

On Mikael's headstone where his ashes are buried, at Mons' creative suggestion, the latitude and longitude of the tree at the park was engraved so
one may easily find the tree with the use of these
coordinates:       49.873960 - 97.244460

                                                                              





The words on the plague at Artspace read as follows:

Funds Donated in Loving Memory of 

Mikael Vincent Tien-Doe Chan

 1984 - 2009

Composer, singer, oboist, photographer,

writer, adventurer, lover of the down-and-out

and a faithful servant of God.

"A life full of friendships and close relations

 a life full of love, a life full of music,

a life full of adventure and activity, 

a life full of contemplation and spirituality."

                                                           

                                                   Mikael Chan

Another "coincidence" happened when a teacher of ours, Tara Brown, was carrying twins last fall. Unfortunately, there was serious biological complications with regards to to the embryonic development of the twins. After an emergency procedure in a Toronto hospital, the concern lingered.

Premature birth contractions necessitated a C-section delivery of the twin boys at St. Boniface Hospital. Breaking the parents' hearts, one twin, Lukas, did not make it. The second twin boy, though not out of the woods yet due to a severe intestinal infection, is hanging on for dear life like a warrior. He is named Makale, and I suspect that Tara might have name him after our Mikael.

I do not know.  But, I shall inquire in due course when Makale grow sup to be a healthy, strong, and intelligent boy.

Bless Tara's heart, to honour me and our grandson about whom I bragged abundantly, she and her class of Grade 3 students created a picture book based on the lovely lyrics of Louis Armstrong's famous "What a Wonderful World". The students painted the pictures, and Tara sent it to a printer in the U.S.A. to be printed and bound as an early childhood board book dedicated to Atticus, our grandson.

Tara, I am so moved and grateful!!!

 

_________________________________________________________________________________

Remembering Mikael

April 25, 2015, Saturday

It has been practically over five years when I last posted on this blog since Mikael passed away on November 10, 2009.

I have not been able to do anything that reminds me of life with my son. Almost six years have gone by, I find that time does not heal any wounds; it simply provides me with different perspective with which to live.

There have been many significant life events that memorialize Mikael in the past near-six years.

A new baby boy was born to Mikael's good friends, Matt and Rebecca Van Otterloo, who attended the same home church as Kael. It was Matt and Rebecca who urged Mikael to go to the hospital for a check-up after an accident on his bike with a city bus. Mikael played his oboe to a hauntingly beautiful tune, "Gabriel's Oboe"  from the movie, "The Mission".

I did not know the Otterloos at that time. But, God, as usual, works in mysterious ways.

As I was leaving the hospital after having visited a friend, a young nurse came out of her nurse station and stopped me, "Are you Mikael's Dad?" I remembered the joy that swelled in my heart when I replied, "Yes. I am... You knew Mikael?" The rest is history. Matt and Rebecca came to visit us several times, the last of which, they brought along with them their new-born son whose middle name is selected to honour Mikael, Isaiah Mikael Van Otterloo.

Our Father God is a loving God to all of us, including an undeserving sinner like me, particularly and specifically to an undeserving sinner like me. He knows how broken I am at my deep loss. He gave us another boy to lift me up in my misery.

On February 16, 2014, our youngest son, Konrad, his wife and we celebrated the birth of our first grandchild, Atticus Leif Tsz Lim Chan. I know this graceful gift from God is not to fill the huge hole in my heart, but to lift me out of it to receive other gifts of grace God has provided for me in my life.

Debbie and I were over-joyed to have our first grandson. I was successful in making a special request of my employer to allow an extension to my Spring Break. Debbie and I flew to Hong Kong to welcome this new-born grandChan into our family. Atty, by which he is known, is a joyous blessing in our lives.

Though we are oceans apart, Konrad, Bena, and Atty came home for Christmas, along with Mons, Ming, and Erik. This past Christmas was a jubilant family reunion since Konrad and Bena's wedding five-and-a-half years ago in Vancouver.

I decided to retire at Christmas, 2014. Thus, the past Christmas we celebrated our family reunion, Atty's birth, Debbie and my 41st Anniversary, and my retirement from a fruitful and wonderful career for the past 41 years as an educator.

Both the students and staff gave me two heart-warming farewells. I felt that God has called me to take care of the young, and I left at the highest note in my calling.

Mikael would be proud to be at my retirement parties!

Now that I have learned to couch-potato for the past 4 months, I figure I must take care of my most unfit self festered by an inexcusable and sedentary lifestyle. I decided to dust off Mikael's awesome bike in the basement and take on a new activity.

Having spent nearly $200 to have the bike tuned up, I was ready to take it for a test-ride. Lo and behold! I fell down each of the three times, the last one hurt my left shoulder and bruised my ribs. I am still limping after a visit to my doctor's office, an X-Ray at a lab, and a sound chiding from my physiotherapist.

Oh well! I live to tell more stories. This is just a sequel to the "Misadventures of Mikael Chan", Mikael's own blog that lightheartedly story-tell his misadventures in life... and he had many, being the extreme adventurer that he was.

A Father's Grief Observed

A Father’s Grief Observed

Thomas V. Chan

Today is a particularly dreary and windy Sunday in April.

Listening to the hauntingly beautiful music our eldest son composed while driving home from an awesome worship service in which our God is exhorted as the risen Lord who wants to come in and reconstruct our broken lives - mine, in particular - I felt led to reconnect in a tangible way with our 25-year-old son, Mikael, who took his life two-and-a-half years ago. I drove to the park where an oak tree was planted in honour of his memory and then the plot where his ashes are buried.

The oak tree still looks bare, scrawny, and dead as if it has not grown an inch since we planted it soon after Mikael died. I immediately drew a parallel between that young, slow-growing oak and the enormity of my grief which continues to be raw, fresh, young-in-age, and hopelessly pitifully.

Since our tragic loss, there has not been a day when I stopped thinking about our son and lamenting his untimely death. Since the day Mikael left this world, the sun hasn’t shone for me. I have lost my joy and passion in most things I once enjoyed. I merely exist in a monochromatic sepia world drained of all living colour. I find the present difficult to bear and fear what other pain the future might bring. I am changed. I am no longer who I was. This persistent self-diagnosis frightens me.

I had a close relationship with Mikael, as I do with our other three sons, but, Mikael tugged at my heart in a special way. Debbie, my wife, and I became shockingly aware of the severity of Mikael’s mental illness after his first failed attempt at his own life a year before. He was admitted into a psych ward for several weeks while we made arrangements to move him back home with us upon release from hospital.

During the months before his death, Mikael and I did many things together. We went on a canoe and hiking trip in Whiteshell Provincial Park. On school days, I offered him rides to the university before going to work. We talked. He confided in me about his spiritual struggle as he walked through “the dark night of his soul”. I encouraged him to take life’s struggle one day at a time. On hot summer days, our neighbours would see the pair of us sitting on the front lawn, reading and enjoying a cold drink between us.

The slide shows in my mind remain as precious memories of my son, whom I miss so desperately each day. These happy remembrances, ironically, grieve me deeply, but not as deeply as a life-time of regret that I chose to pour my time, attention, and energy, during the children’s formative years, into my work, instead of into my family.

Yes. Many regrets! Yet many happy memories!

I wonder if my life, at its conclusion, will be reduced to unzipped mental images, many of which are fading fast in fidelity, colour, and pixels.

My wrestle with God as to why Mikael died continues daily. My wrestling and hoarse-sounding laments are, ultimately, my own deep-seated struggle with my own faith in a loving Father-Creator-Redeemer-God.

One day shortly after Mikael’s passing, I persisted with my daily questioning of God: “Lord, where is my son?”  To which both God and Mikael responded in unequivocal black-and-white as I read 1 Thessalonians 4:13-17 where Paul shares his belief about those who die in the Lord. I was reading from Mikael’s Bible, and in his inimitable tiny hand-writing, Mikael wrote beside the verses in the margin: “The dead will precede the living in getting to heaven.”

Cool!  Very cool!

As I read and re-read the laments I have written about our son, I noticed the tentative rising of a  resounding hope out of the ashes in a particular one.

                                    In the midst of my loss

                                    Unimaginable pain

                                    Unfathomable grief

                                    I behold your radiant countenance

                                    Smiling broadly into His.

                                    I smile and shudder

To ever doubt that

                                    His grace is more than enough

For here, now, and eternity.

Is that not sufficient for me for now in this pilgrim’s progress?

  

Dirge of the Heart

As my self-prescribed therapy, I write to my son, Mikael, a letter every other day or so... sometimes, daily, "telling" him what's up in my life and how I feel from day to day. So far, I have quite a fat folder of "Dear Mikael" letters. Besides writing to Mikael, I also, when led, spill out my wailing heart on paper in the form of, sort of, poetry, at which a true poet may grimace.

This post entry, entitled "Dirge of the Heart" is a collection of my visceral expressions through my silent voice coming directly from the rawness of my broken heart. The sentiments expressed in my poetry is essentially an important part of me. All I am asking you, the readers, is to pray for me, Debbie, Mons, Erik, and Konrad, for our healing and a brighter future in our lives gifted to us by our Heavenly Papa. Thank you.


The Remains of Our Lives

Elongated shadows cast by the trees
Against the late-afternoon sun
Always tug at my heart in
Non-descript terms, merciless ways.

In this melancholic twilight of life,
I am neither joyous, fulfilled,
Downcast, nor sorrowful.
I just am… falling, grieving, restlessly pining.

Treasuring memories of hearty living
At the remains of our lives
Where he chose one fork of the road leading to the other side,
And I, mine, remaining here to reminisce and cry.


Tom Chan
November 19, 2009
Mourning Mikael’s passing


Christmas Crafts Show

Folks milling about
Shopping for
Pieces of their lives
In this jubilant Yuletide
Artisans' carnival,
Wishing surrealistically
You were here and
Be part of the show
As you always were,
While, in fact, I sit here
Among the throng
Alone,
Hurting from
Your untimely passing.


Tom Chan
At the loss of his son, Mikael
November 28, 2009



Season of Discontent

Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning
When the sun battles in vain
To dissipate the shroud of gloom
Vacuum-packed tightly around my heart.

Thick amputated limbs of the widow’s tree next door,
Laden with over-night snow, reach over my window,
Beckoning me to consider our common fate
In this season of discontent.

I am neither living nor dying.
I go through restless living-like motions
In dying-like lonely hollowness,
Too fearful to hear the occasional echoes
Of my weakened tell-tale heart.


Tom Chan
Missing Mikael
December 06, 2009


Tears are not Enough

Tears are not enough
Comforting words sound hollow
Promises of tomorrow fall short
Restless anguish fails to
Bring back a lifetime of
Relationship between father and son.

In the midst of my loss
Unimaginable pain
Unfathomable grief
I behold your radiant countenance
Smiling broadly into His.

I smile and shudder
To ever doubt that
His grace is more than enough
For here, now, and eternity.


Tom Chan
Missing Mikael
December 11, 2009


Tapestry

With dark yarn our life is cross-stitched
At the loss of our precious son
Who valiantly fought his demons
In a never-ending tunnel of darkness.

The Great Sadness descended
Freeze-wrapping my life from
Any hint of living and joy
In my solitary stumble through the dark night.

Zooming across the miles, we, the survivors,
Make desperate attempts to catch rays of the sun
Beams of the moon, sparkles of the stars
To weave our tapestry with heavenly colours
In celebrating the nuptial of one son
And sorrow’s end of another.


Tom Chan
December 23, 2009
Vancouver



Past Tense

Life lived in past tense
With was, did, and had been
Since you left.
Never-again haunts me
Since the Great Sadness descended.

My life on earth
Is in sepia black-and-white
Bled of living colours
Hollow of simple joy;
A dirge poorly sung
Out of tune and out of time.


Tom Chan
Mourning my son’s death
January 03, 2010



The Presence of Your Absence

Like a galloping nightmare
The presence of your absence
Haunts me
With muffled screams
Of pain and despair.

I cry out
Each waking moment of living
Wishing to be carried away
By the slumber of not-living
To where you are
In the presence of Eternal Goodness
In the absence of earthly sorrow.


Tom Chan
March 01, 2010
In missing my son


Spring Thaw

April is the cruellest month
When the red-and-white kayak
Crafted to glide fluidly on
The Assiniboine and the Red
Sits land-mired, tarped and held down
On a pair of saw-horses
In our side-yard.

Spring thaws
My broken-winged flight
Frozen in mid-life
As I prepare for my landing.
Will there be somebody
To catch me when I crash?


Tom Chan
Mourning my son, Mikael
March 22, 2010

Dark Night of the Soul

It was a year or so ago when I and Mikael spoke about the "Dark Night of the Soul", a wintry season in life that St. John of the Cross phrased. I encouraged my son to keep trudging through the deep snow and march on with the strength and courage God provides.

Now that Mikael is gone, I find myself wandering sightlessly, aimlessly, and restlessly through the anguish of my dark night.

I am overcome by the "Great Sadness" as so aptly described in William P. Young's acclaimed fiction of redemption, healing, and forgiveness, The Shack.

God, when will I be whole again? Or, will I ever?

Jesus, You are the Light of the world. Come and provide me with a glimpse of your hope, please.

The Continuing Misadventures of Mikael Chan's Family

The day before Remembrance Day, our third son, Mikael, 25, took his own life. He had been suffering from deep depression for at least over two years.

Now, Mikael is safely in the arms of his Heavenly Father, free from pain and unhappiness.

We have been surrounded by so many people who love us and mourn along with us for the past week.

Mikael had a blog that documented his life's many adventures, most of which were misadventures, as he put it.

Read Mikael's "misadventure" blog at mikaelsmisadventures.blogspot.com

Now that Mikael is gone, his family seems to carry on his misadventurous tradition.

The upstairs toilet conduit sprang a leak. Water fell from the ceiling of the living room where family members and guests sit, visit, and mourn.

I called my friend, Chris, to come and help. Bless his brotherly heart and mechanical savvy, he was able to diagnosed and treat the problem for the time being. Now we have a gaping hole in the living room ceilng above where Debbie usually sits.

Yesterday, the entire family went to see Dr. Gordon, Mikael's psychiatrist for a de-briefing session.

When we emerged from Dr. Gordon's downtown office on St. Mary Avenue at 4:15 p.m., we discovered, much to my great distress, that our van and Mons' car were ticketed and towed.

We called Mom and Barbie for help immediately. Mons has an evening class to attend, he called his friend for assistance as well.

In the end, we retrieved our vehicles to the tune of $134 each.

Debbie tried to help me see the hillarity of the misadventures, but failed miserably. I feel miserable.

Lord, you are telling me something. Please make it clear to a less than intelligent man as I.

I'll see what today may bring.

Letter to My Son, Mikael

November 11, 2009

Dear Mikael, my precious, dearly beloved and missed son,

I miss you so much already! My heart is broken without your earthly presence.

When I tried to resuscitate you yesterday morning, it was my last embrace and kiss for you, Mikael.

You lived a Godly life, a colourful life, a life that is full of adventures that was beyond human comprehension. What I just said is not a hyperbole; nor is it a metaphor. No one has the will power, imagination, and gumption to do the things you did so daringly well, like riding solo on your bike all the way to Sioux Ste. Marie in 12 days, jumping over tall buildings, kayaking in the Assiniboine in April just after ice-break-up, driving all the way to Kananaskas, Alberta to climb the foothills with your brother, Konrad, and so much more.

Quoting directly from your will, you gave me an exceptional advice on how to live when you wrote, ”A life full of friendships and close relations; a life full of love; a life full of music; a life full of adventure and activity; a life full of contemplation and spirituality. If I can achieve this, and I think I'm living life to the fullest right now, by those definitions, death is welcome at any time.”

I am so happy that you knew you had lived your life to its fullness. You certainly had attained all your goals within a brief life time. I am particularly humbled that at such a young age, you had the wisdom to discern that the things that can be counted may not count, but the things that cannot be counted, count. None of your goals in life had anything to do with fame, fortune, and success as measured by the world.

Kael, you were indeed a superman! Not a metaphor either.

Now, you’re safe and sound, happy and painless in Heaven with God, the three Guys whom you read about and we had talks on after you had finished reading The Shack.

How does God look, sound, feel, and be like? He must be so glorious and an essence of warm tingling love!

Mikael, say “hi” to God for me, and tell Him I am so sorry for all my sins that nailed Him on the cross. I want to be with God, too. But, now, I want to be with you.

Mikael, it must have been a very trying life which you lived. You must have to fight off valiantly, as you did on Saturday night, the lies of the enemy and your heavy self-doubt.

From what I see and where I stand, there IS NO DOUBT who you were and what you did. You were a young man of honour, noble spirit, gentle heart, and deep faith in a loving Triune God. All you did in your life and all you were attested to that fact.

I wish I had written this letter two days before and told you what I think you are… a masterpiece of God, His poema.

Mikael, in the past two years, we had talked and done so much together, including moving you out, and moving you back home. I will always treasure the canoe trip we had together this past August at Caddy Lake, and the trails we walked. You lived your keenest when you were in the outdoors, climbing a hill or canoeing in swift currents.

This afternoon, the Carneys came over to grieve our collective loss with us. We all agreed, one after another, about your zest for life, living to the hilt.

Heather and Sean shared with me your last good-bye e-mails to them. God! Why was I not attentive to catch you before you fell?

Kael, you were a great son, a faithful servant of God, and an inspiration to all!

“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” John 12:24. Your life has been positively impactful, and your death, though tragic, is a call-to-arms to follow God no matter what, as you had so faithfully done.

I love you, son, and I shall always cherish memories of you as long as I live on this earth before I join you on the other side of the Great Divide.

Much love and affection,

Your Dad on earth

Purcussive Art

I am so privileged and honoured last spring to be taught, coached, tutored, and mentored by a top-notched North American taiko drum group, indigenous to Winnipeg, Hinode Taiko, for my Annual Principal's Reading Challenge stunt-performance (alias, Tomfoolery).

For six solid weeks, twice a week, six energetic and talented young ladies coached me how to taiko-drum, the traditional Japanese way. The pupil-teacher ratio was 1:6. Who can fail to learn with that kind of learning intensity?

I had a jolly good time learning to do two songs on stage with this august group of artists in June, 2009.

I was so particularly privileged and honoured once more when they invited me this past weekend to take part in their two-day intensive taiko workshop which looked more like taiko boot camp. This time, the pupil-teacher ratio for this two-day workshop was 1:1, with six talented teachers to six "newbies".

Taiko drumming is at once aerobic and intelligently poetic. It works on all parts of one's body, particularly those non-moving parts for those who are sedentary, like me. However, it does not stop there. Taiko, as an art form, requires focus, discipline, and a big portion of intelligence to pull through. Thus, we worked, and we worked hard for eleven hours over the two-day boot camp!

I noticed a special quality about Hinode members. They are exceptionally talented, intelligent, physically fit, rhythmically magical, and oh so caring!

Not only did the group map out the weekend's lessons, they delivered them methodically, incrementally, and most caringly with tons of personal encouragement for every participant. I wish all teachers are like that, exuding the joy of teaching with unlimited stretchability in patience and wisdom.

I am a better person by being associated with this group of artists, teachers, taiko masters, and, wonderful human beings who see gifts and talents in every person.

Thank you very much, Karleen, Margaret, Peggy, Sandi, Dana, and Zoey.

I am so honoured to dance in your shadows and drum in your echoes!

Leadership or Servanthood?

Is a true leader a servant?

Do those two concepts share identical roles and functions?

Are they synonymous?

Well, conceptually I know the answers to those questions. Practically, I yet have to prove it in my life.

When one thinks of a leader, what comes naturally to one's mind would be Sir Thomas More, Lee Iaccoca of Chrysler, John F. Kennedy, Mohandas Gandhi, Winston Churchill, Pierre Elliot Trudeau, General MacArthur, John A. McDonald, Nelson Mandela, and Mother Theresa, to name just a few.

As leaders, what they had in common were their transcendent vision, their uncommon valour, their personal charisma, and their ability to influence and mobilize the hearts and minds of people around them.

There is a marked difference between secular leadership and spiritual leadership. The latter does not lead as a landslide result of a popular vote. Rather, they lead by offering themselves sacrificially to meet a dire need, having been the first to identify that need.

Mother Theresa certainly met that criterion. So did Thomas More, Mohandas Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, and our Redeemer, Jesus Christ. The charisma that exuded from them was nothing more than the uncanny willingness and impeccable personal integrity with which they abandon themselves for the good of others whom they had come to love, be they friends, strangers, or foes.

A true leader leads by personal example by charging headlong into the discomfort zone first.

As one leadership credo declares:

"True leaders are not those who strive to be first; they are the ones who are first to strive.

True leaders are those who give their all for the success of the team (A leader is not a Lone Ranger!).

True leaders are first to see the need, envision the plan, and empower the team to take action in meeting those needs.

By the strength of the leader's commitment to success for all, the power of the team is thereby unleashed.

Therefore, leadership is not a trumpet call to self-importance; rather, it is an opportunity to quietly serve."

What a quaint credo sharply juxtaposing the "Me, Me, Me!" culture of the world!

But, that's what makes a person stand out head-and-shoulder above all others as a leader, not a wind-tossed follower.

Another one of those paradoxes that makes one re-think what truly counts in life.

Saying goodbyes

I do not like saying goodbyes. Not at all!

I said goodbye to my Dad at age 21, and I never saw him again.

Just last week, we said goodbye to Willow, an "adopted" daughter of the Chan Clan, who was heading out on an indeterminable journey to find herself. It was hard for me, thinking I won't likely see her again. It must have been hard for the boys.

Konrad has been home for two-days-short-of-a-week already. He took time off work to come by Greyhound bus and attend his good friend, Jeremy Kroeker's wedding.

On Sunday, Konrad will be leaving for Vancouver again. Another goodbye to say. The next time we'll see Konrad will be at his wedding in Vancouver on January 2, 2010. We will likely drive through the States to his wedding. And, I'll be flying back the day after the wedding as school will start the day-after.

Bill is not doing well. His cancer has invaded all parts of his body. His vital organs are beginning to shut down. He has been incoherent for two weeks now at palliative care at St. Boniface Hospital. I visit him almost everyday. I read him appropriate passages from the Scriptures, hold his had, and pray for him.

Pat is in a state of surreal being fed by pure adrenaline. She is exhausted and is just be.

It would be a matter of days before saying goodbye to Bill. Except, this is more than an earthly goodbye. This is a farewell... a bon voyage on his way home where his Heavenly Father is eagerly waiting to embrace Bill with His open arms.

The glory of God said to His apostle John about life after death about this "New Reality":

"Now the dwelling of God is with men, and He will live with them. They will be His people, and God Himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." Revelation 21:3b-4

God promises to be with Bill as spoken by His Word.

Amen and Amen again.

Oh! What comfort, and what joy!

Yes, "goodbye" in earthly terms, but, "welcome home" in heavenly chorus.

Still, I do not like saying goodbyes.

What tugs at my heart?

In the past six weeks this summer, I happily surprised myself with having read six novels, each averages 400 pages. I now have a head-start on my own reading challenge this school year.

All these six novels are Christian fictions by my favourite writers: Davis Bunn and Ted Dekker. I read Bunn's All Through the Night, My Soul to Keep, Ted Dekker's The circle Trilogy: Black, Red, White, and Showdown. Now, I am ready to delve into Dekker's Three.

All these novels have something in common: no matter how dark the plot turns, good always, always wins out in the end to God's credit. I feel so uplifted with having read them, particularly Dekker's portrayal of God's incomprehensible but victorious love for mankind.

It a neat thing what fiction writers are able to do! They depict unseen and unseeable concepts such as God's sacrificial love through the cross of Calvary, His immeasurable grace and forgiveness, His miraculous healing of hearts torn asunder, and God's triune nature and His three-in-one relationship and fellowship. These are not scriptural revelations, neither are they theological truths; nonetheless, these are the creative conjectures of inspired minds who help the readers to grasp highly ethereal notions in a tangible way.

What else tugs at my heart?

My friend Bill is dying of cancer, and he has just days to linger on this side of the Great Divide. I am glad that before he was totally overcome by his illness and while he was lucid, he accepted Christ as his personal Saviour. He is heading home where there is no more tears, pain, death and sorrow. He will be with his Maker and Saviour, the One who loves him so much.

Our youngest son Konrad has come home by Greyhound from BC for a week to be at his good friend's wedding. Only one week! I do not even know how to begin cherishing his presence. He has all his friends to visit and things to do. Then, he'll be heading back to Vancouver by Greyhound.

Konrad is getting married in January, and the family is going west to celebrate his nuptial at Christmas. Konrad mentioned that he and Bena might go to Hong Kong to teach EAL. That means, he may not be home at his birthplace anytime soon. That tugs at my heart.

Mikael and Erik's good friend, Willow decides to go on a journey to find herself. I am convinced that she is on a spiritual quest. I hope she find Jesus. As a matter of fact, I am certain she will ultimately encounter Him. But, on the first three hours of her journey to the USA, she was rudely turned back because she is young, single, looks unconventional with a shaven head, has no job nor home in Canada, and her newly purchased second-hand van was full of her belongings. She was refused entry into the USA because she was deemed a high risk for illegal stay in that country. That broke her spirit and tugged at my heart. Now, she is on her way to BC instead.

Mikael is till struggling with some of his mood swings, seemingly lost friendships, and the side-effect of medication. He struggles with social anxiety and depression. That tugs at my heart.

Erik just met a new girl friend. They seem seriously involved. I still miss Marita, Erik's former girl friend. Also, her step-dad, a very nice guy, unexpectedly passed away last month. That tugs at my heart.

Mons is doing very well in his university studies and his music creation. He will resign from a nice job from the school division. That also tugs at my heart.

Debbie is not doing that well health-wise. She lacks energy to perform a task. She experiences the occasional "melt-downs". That tugs at my heart.

There is so much I want to do everyday, and there seems to be so little time to accomplish what I would like to do. That tugs at my heart.

I want to do things and relate with my family, but, everybody has divergent foci and interests. Not being able to have as close and sustained a relationship with each member or with the entire unit truly tugs at the deepest recesses of my heart.

However, I am learning to let go of things that tug at my heart into the hands of the One who is absolutely sovereign and more than able and capable to satisfy the deepest yearnings of one's soul.

I had it all wrong!

I was at the Willow Creek's Leadership Summit yesterday and today. The messages from speaker after speaker rang loudly and impressed indelibly in my soul that the church today is out of sync, out of step, and out of tune with the changing world for whom it's supposed to serve. We tend to serve superficially and ritualistically, not Christ-like sacrificially.

Yes. That makes a world of difference! In other words, Christ's bride is not keeping time and step with her Bridegroom in the eternal waltz.

Particularly poignant was Tim Keller's treatise on how many of us who profess to be Christians have it all wrong. Many of us fail to focus on the cross when we apply biblical principles in living a Christian life. Keller draws a chasmic distinction between biblical thinking and Calvary living.

In his latest book, The Prodigal God, Keller, for the first time in my life, makes the parable clear for my own reflection and use.

Though "prodigal" means "wayward" when it was used to describe the younger son in the parable, it incidentally also means "recklessly extravagant". Thus, "prodigal" and "prodigious" are etymologically related words. The father in the parable is indeed a metaphor of that descriptive word, prodigal, recklessly extravagant in the way he welcomed and rejoiced in his son's return.

The father watched in the distance, as he did so everyday, saw a lone figure coming down the country road, rested assured that it was his son, ran to welcome him half way down the path, hugged and kissed him, wouldn't have time for his son's prepared apology, placed a fine robe over him, slipped a family ring on his finger, slaughtered the fatted calf, brought out the fine wine, and had a great celebrious party that said it all: "Welcome home, my son! Welcome home! I love you!"

There are three main characters in the parable: the father, the younger son who had turned prodigal (wayward), and the elder brother who dutifully ran the family farm.

Of course, the father is our Heavenly Father, and the elder brother represents many of us who are His church universal, and the prodigal son is the un-churched and wayward back-slid sinner that I am.

The father loved both sons equally well and lavishly. It broke his heart when the younger son did not love his Dad and did not bother to hide that fact. The younger son in effect told his father in his face that he had no love for him by his words and actions: "Give me my inheritance. I want to get away from you!"

Inheritance is passed on only when the parent dies, not while he lives. The prodigal son in essence is saying, "I wish you were dead!"

The elder brother was the "goodie-two-shoe" who dutifully did his father's bidding: "Yes, Dad. I know what to do. You can count on me. I won't disappoint you."

The elder brother was the religious crowd, the biblical Pharasees, scriptural teachers, and temple keepers. They did what they perceived as doing God's work, and they were proud of their dutiful good works. Even when they sinned and repented as instructed by the scriptures, they rejoiced that they had so quickly repented, and were proud of their ability to swiftly repent... particularly in public, as on street corners and on roof tops. They lived a life that is in keeping with scriptural principles.

But, do they love their Father more than their prodigal brothers? Not a chance! Their life is a ritualistic doing; not a deep humble surrender to and enjoyment of the Father's love. What's worse is that they are under the delusion that they love the Father by doing what He wants.

Why is that so?

Unless I go beyond living in accordance with biblical principles and become truly pained by looking at the cross on which God suffered and died for me, I would have never understood the extravagantly generous and self-sacrificial love God has lavished on me ... His running to meet me half-way, His hug and kisses, His return to me my membership and inheritance in His family, and the rejoicing in Heaven.

Why did the elder brother get so upset when he saw what his father was doing... welcoming his wayward brother home with an extravagant party?

As it turned out, though believing that he had filial love for his father by being a dutiful son, the elder brother did not truly love his father either. He just waited to get his share of the inheritance in due course. In the mean time, he did what he thought he was supposed to do. "This is Tuesday. It must be a day for weeding."

"This is Sabbath. It must be a day to turn our mind and heart to God."

"I find it hard to forgive her for stabbing me in the back."

"I am so cynical and bitter about how our government works. There is so much unfairness and injustices."

"I must offer my tithe because I do not want to steal from God, or cheat Him with what He deserves. He deserves one-tenth of what I have. The scriptures tell me so."

The above examples indicate my lack of understanding of what God has done for me. They are illustrations of biblical-thinking, but not Calvary-living.

Calvary-living compels me to sob uncontrollably at the empty cross of Jesus and understand the price He has paid for my renewed family membership. When I begin to understand the unfathomable price God paid for my sins to make me sinless, then what is 10% of my income in comparison to His all! In fact, what is material possession and even life itself if not to be used prodigiously for His Kingdom?

When I begin to appreciate the betrayal and injustices that God Himself had endured while on earth, who am I to nurture my bitter roots of critical spirit, resentment, judgement, unforgiveness, and a temptation to back-stab a few?

Both brothers wanted the same thing from their father... his money. The elder brother in effect said, "Dad, I have been such a faithful and hardworking servant to you. I deserve my inheritance."

"God. You owe me my salvation. As a matter of fact, I am my own saviour."

The prodigal son wanted his father's money as well. He turned wayward. He back-slid into a life of moral blackhole. How he fell (Not too differently than Lucifer in that regard)! But, at the bottom of the deep dark mucky well, at the end of his resources and himself, the prodigal son could only look up and saw light above. He knew that to survive, he must make all attempts to climb up.

To his big surprise, as soon as the prodigal extended his hand to make his first climbing motion, his Heaven Father extended His loving hand to pull him up out of the miry depth... in the same graphic depiction of how God the Father reaches out His hand and finger towards Adam who extended his hand and finger rather half-heartedly on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in St. Peter's Basilica.

God's love and salvation is a finger's breadth (a prayer) away!

Towards the end of this parable, the lost son truly ran back into his father's embrace; and he truly enjoyed the party thrown for him by his father.

The prodigal son said in effect, "I am a sinner. You do not owe me my salvation. YOU are my salvation!"

The object of living a Calvary-life is to appreciate the distance God has gone to save me so that I may enjoy His holy presence in His family again.

Too bad for the elder brother who sulked and refused to join the party. Instead, he spent time complaining how unfair his father was to HIM, the loyal son, the heir-apparent, and now, the (self-) dejected.

"Dad. How could you even think of spending prodigiously the portion of my inheritance for this wayward brother of mine? What gets into you?"

To whom did Jesus tell this parable?

Read the Gospel of Luke, chapter 15 and find out.

My rhetorical question is: "As a confessed follower of Christ, how do I live my faith? Live biblically and spiritually? Or, live everyday appreciating the price and victory of the cross?"

Living my faith the latter way is to awake from my spiritual deadness, as Jesus beckoned Lazarus at his tomb with: "Come forth and live!"

Too Proud to ask for Direction

This past weekend, my third son, Mikael and I attended the annual Promise Keepers Conference. We came out of it exhilarated and exhausted at the same time. There were a lot of spiritual nuggets to digest, and yet, those were delectables that give nutrients to the spirit.

The inspiration behind this year’s conference theme is Jeremiah 6:16: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient path...and walk in it.” The conference focused on finding God’s direction in life. Four speakers, a dramatist and a worship band fueled the hearts, minds and spirits of 2,000 men listening to the messages March 6 and 7 at Church of the Rock in Winnipeg.

It’s one thing to lose your way on the highway; it’s quite another lose your way in life, says Lennett Anderson, keynote speaker who opened the sessions with his energetic and inspirational talk in the two-day men’s conference.

Lennett regaled the audience with one of his car window-shopping sprees where he became quite disappointed when he sat in the cockpit of a luxurious Lexus that seemed to have everything, from a DVD player, a monitor, and wireless Bluetooth Internet access, a hand-free mobile phone, to a superb Surround Sound stereo system, except a GPS system.

When he complained to the car salesman, Lennett was told, “You don’t need a GPS. You have your own operating system.” At those words, Lennett woke up to the fact: “That’s my problem in life all along. I have been using my own operating system, that’s my fleshly desires, my carnal wants, and anything that begins with ‘my’. No wonder I do not get anywhere.”

Speaking at the men’s conference for the third consecutive year, Lennett Anderson, a dynamic and motivational pastor from Nova Scotia, addresses the masculine resistance to direction, recommending a navigational instrument: GPS.

No! It’s not the electronic gadgetry that seduces one with a coy and seductive female voice directing one to turn this way or that way.

GPS is “God’s Programming System”, guys!

“We rely on our carnal operating system and go round and round in life much like the Israelites did. They wandered in the desert for forty years when it should have been a four week journey. One of the devil’s tools is to get us caught up in a deadly cycle,” Anderson says. “We can break this hopeless cycle by accessing GPS through God’s Word and the work of His Spirit. If you humble yourself and ask God for His GPS, you’ll encounter Him.”

“With GPS, you move when God moves like the Israelites who followed the Ark of Covenant. They eventually crossed River Jordan and arrived at the Promised Land of milk and honey,” says Anderson.

“The creator of a product knows how it should work. He has the user manual.” To access GPS, one needs to go to God’s word, watch the movement of His Spirit, and listen to His still, small voice, Anderson suggests.

Professional actor, Jason Hildebrand, performed a one-man three-act play, “The Prodigal Trilogy”, in extrapolating the deep emotions of the three main characters (the prodigal son, the older brother, and the father) found in the Gospel story, “The Prodigal Son”. The emotions portrayed were intense, ultimately expressing the Father's Heart of God for each one of us.

Nate Larkin, an author, a speaker, and a one-time minister, gave an account of his sexual addiction to pornography and prostitution while in ministry. He spoke about masks, which he referred to as personas, that we put on “to win the day” in different life situations.

“The religious persona is by far the most tragic,” Larkin says, “My daily struggles [with porn and sexual promiscuity] continued for many years. I became quite tired of spinning around in circles. I wanted a private solution to my private problem. No! It didn’t work until I gathered the guts to confess them to others and invited them to hold me accountable.”

Larkin advises men to follow God’s prescription found in James 5:16: “… confess your sins to each other so that you may be healed”. “Don’t be a solo disciple!” he warns.

Doug Weiss, a marriage counsellor, gives the audience a fresh outlook at marriage. “Your wife is God’s precious daughter, and that makes God your Father-in-law.” Weiss draws a parallel between Christ’s relationship with His church and the relationship between husband and wife: “The purpose of marriage is not to make you happy. It is to make you Christ-like.”

Doug Weiss gives practical tips in making the daily journey of marriage a joyous one. He suggests praying with one’s spouse, walking patiently as bearing the fruit of the Holy Spirit, knowing that the purpose of marriage is to become more Christ-like, and living a life of sexual purity.

“A woman needs emotional release as much as a man needs sexual orgasm,” says Weiss. He suggests that a husband shares two feelings each day with one’s wife and attentively enquires about her needs with “What can I do for you?” and “Is there anything else?”

Bruce Wilkinson, author of The Prayer of Jabez and Secret of the Vine, describes five stages of a spiritual journey. The moment we accept Christ as our personal Saviour marks the first stage. In the next stage, God tests us with difficult decisions: “God wants to see where your loyalty lies.” At the third stage, God asks us to surrender to Him as a “living sacrifice”. The fourth stage finds us saying ”Yes” to God more when He exacts what’s precious to us. Those who freely dedicate their lives to God as His bond-servants are at the final stage of spiritual maturity.

In the final session of the conference as a reprise, Bruce Wilkinson shares alarming Gallup Poll statistics that say “90% of churches are declining, and, most young people under 23 are leaving the church and not likely to return.”

He asks, “What’s broken?”

Wilkinson attributes plummeting church attendance statistics to misplaced priorities. He believes the Church is suffering from “Sunday-itis,” and it fails to help believers translate Sunday fervor into Monday-through-Saturday living. “We are more concerned with church building, operating costs, administration and attendance than with touching others. A pastor’s primary role is to disciple his flock (“Feed My sheep”), who in turn will disciple others. This is the vision of Jesus’ Great Commission,” says Wilkinson.

Wilkinson gives an impassioned and almost-impromptu plea in urging the Church to return to the way Jesus intends it to be: “We have drifted from God’s will. We are all called to be ministers…to minister, through the work of the Holy Spirit, to one another as they did in Acts,” he said. “The early church would serve as an effective model of interpersonal support in these tough economic times. The hope of the world resides in His Church.”

Let’s live out the prophetic words that we, the church, may prove to be the hope of this fallen and broken world.

Even the Devil Believes

It's an oft-used cliche in pulpit circuits: "Even the Devil believes in Jesus."

That's true. Satan believes that his arch-enemy is Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God. But, Satan does not, and cannot follow Jesus. He wars eternally with God, and he is condemned to do so until Jesus' Second Coming in bringing about the New Heaven and New Earth.

But, what about us, those who proclaim to be believers of Jesus? Other than not considering Jesus as our arch-enemy, how ought we be different than the evil believer?

We are invited to go beyond believing in God. We are created to follow Him, like Jesus' disciples did.

For me, it's a gargantuan fear to follow Jesus. It means I would live a life that is consistent with what Jesus teaches in the "Sermon on the Mount".

Consider the famous Beatitudes.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

I need to soul-search whether I watch out more for my own pleasure than for taking some responsibility in helping the poor, the needy, the widow, the fatherless, the oppressed, and the marginalized?

When God calls, as He did to Isaiah, did it ever occur to me to respond, "Here am I, Lord. Send me"?

I am so afraid to be a follower of Jesus. There is so much I want to hang onto, and not to let go.

Like the rich young ruler in the Gospel story, I am sad and on edge because I care more about myself than I do about God and the world of hurting people around me.

But, am I content to remain being a mere believer, or am I willing to take one more step... a very steep step of a plunge and become a follower, a disciple of Christ in living out my life for what He stands for - justice, peace, charity, mercy, grace, love, other-centredness and Kingdom-mindedness?

My life, thus far, says, "I don't mind being a Christian... only up to a point. But, to go all the way? I'm not that sure."

God didn't say give me a tithe of your life, Tom. He has called me to be a living sacrifice and give Him my ALL!

That's a huge gauntlet thrown onto the floor for me to content with.

Tony Campolo says there's nothing wrong with making a million dollars. But, it's wrong to keep it for myself. The issue here is not how much I tithe for God. The issue is how much is left for me to possess after my tithing is done... in material possessions, my heart, spirit, and life.

You see, following Jesus is self-actualization and self-fulfillment, not too different than Abraham Maslow's prescription for attaining the two top rungs of his hierarchy of human needs, those of self-actualization and leaving a legacy.

On my own volition, I can never will to become Jesus' disciple. He has to first invade me... deep in my soul and the core of my being, like His apostles who left everything behind and followed Jesus.

I have to allow Christ , who is knocking at the door of my heart, to come in... to invade me.

With His strength, I will be strong enough to live out my faith in God and be His follower, eager to collect the dust thrown up by the Master's sandals.

Lord, I hear You knocking at the door. I am totally humbled that the King of kings and Lord of lords is seeking me. Please come in, Lord! Invade me! Give me Your strength to believe and follow as one of Yours!

Amen