bandoo
There was little ruminating over the decision to choose this particular ministry field for the compulsory Shadow Internship module. I was at the end of my third year in school, and heading into my fourth and final year in this utopian religious-bubble called seminary. By the third year, I was sleeping an average of 5 hours a night. I had my first breakdown, and was also about to receive my worst ever GPA in my own seminary history. Sleep-deprived, brain-deranged, heart-demoralised, I knew that I had to get out of this country which recently had the unenviable accolade of “most expensive country in the world” bestowed upon it. But it was not to be until the holiday before my final semester as a Masters of Divinity student.
I had a beloved missionary senior and his family who was serving in northern Thailand. S was also a Singaporean, and he was married with a beautiful Thai lady, K, and had two young girls. His older daughter was born in his first year of study, and his younger daughter was born in the final year. I had a special connection with the younger one especially since she was born when I entered the school. When school life overwhelmed me, I would run over to their tiny, cramped dormitory room and cradle the little darling in my weary arms, and allow the warmth of innocent life revive my cold, languishing heart. Only this time, I needed to fly there to do so.
I eagerly counted down the days to 13 November 2014, and off I went. I was to be in Thailand for 42 days, with the first half spent in Bandoo, Chiang Rai.
There was almost no part that was disappointing. I felt liberated from the expectations of the known; I was no longer at the beck and call of people. My Thai language ability isn’t great, but not being able to speak gave me more ability to see. Just 10 minutes into the flight, I was able to hear myself think. Wow. I kept a handwritten journal specially for this trip — a luxury of time I now cannot afford (I used to journal a lot more by hand, then by blog).
I kept myself away from the Internet as much as I could help it. I played with the girls who were growing up too fast. I met old friends, and made new ones. I picked up on my Thai, and forced myself to converse with locals. With paltry Thai and an angel — the top student in Chiang Rai in my class — I managed to teach basic English in a classroom on a solo effort. It was found out that I knew some music. So on a Sunday when the village church’s musician was late, I was motioned to pick up the guitar with no rehearsal and no knowledge of the song. I helped another missionary in her ministry. I played football and had jamming sessions with the kids of the village church. I even picked up a new skill — riding a manual motorbike. For the first time in my life, I witnessed an actual rice harvest happening, and saw the echoes of Psalm 1 resound with the rustling of the flying chaff. I learned, I unlearned, I cooked, I ate, I cleaned, I gleaned, I played, I prayed, I wept… I slept.
It does sound like I was still doing a lot for 3 weeks. Was that really a break — many would ask. It was. This was a time away from the humdrum, the routine of life that was extending its creepers over me in a binding choke. I had hardly any time to myself. But in Bandoo, I was with my self. Because I could hear myself think, I could find the words to speak. Because I could feel my heart, I could find the cries to pray. Because I could see my self, I could find my place before God. Ironically, in doing, I was being.
So it dawned upon me — perhaps it is not always about the length of time that we put in to accomplish a goal, but what we actually do with the time. It is not so much about stopping, but recalibrating. I could have chosen to rest and simply do nothing — go on a meaningless spell, vegetating in front of the computer and the TV, and slept for days on end, and consider it a "Sabbath".
Yet the paradox lay within: Doing nothing would have meant that I would be setting aside my humanity, which was created for work. But doing that pulses with the heartbeat of God would be embracing our roles as image bearers of our Creator. (On a stretch, perhaps the same could go for our communication with God, of which we need to ask: Is it how long we pray, or what the content of our prayers are, or both?)
It was a profound realisation, at least for me, that the relationship between being and doing is a constant dialetic. Although we are unable to fully be in this current fallen state, if we do what Christ requires of us, we will start to see who we are to be. And by His grace, we continue life on this forward-spiralling trajectory to maturity.
I had a beloved missionary senior and his family who was serving in northern Thailand. S was also a Singaporean, and he was married with a beautiful Thai lady, K, and had two young girls. His older daughter was born in his first year of study, and his younger daughter was born in the final year. I had a special connection with the younger one especially since she was born when I entered the school. When school life overwhelmed me, I would run over to their tiny, cramped dormitory room and cradle the little darling in my weary arms, and allow the warmth of innocent life revive my cold, languishing heart. Only this time, I needed to fly there to do so.
I eagerly counted down the days to 13 November 2014, and off I went. I was to be in Thailand for 42 days, with the first half spent in Bandoo, Chiang Rai.
There was almost no part that was disappointing. I felt liberated from the expectations of the known; I was no longer at the beck and call of people. My Thai language ability isn’t great, but not being able to speak gave me more ability to see. Just 10 minutes into the flight, I was able to hear myself think. Wow. I kept a handwritten journal specially for this trip — a luxury of time I now cannot afford (I used to journal a lot more by hand, then by blog).
I kept myself away from the Internet as much as I could help it. I played with the girls who were growing up too fast. I met old friends, and made new ones. I picked up on my Thai, and forced myself to converse with locals. With paltry Thai and an angel — the top student in Chiang Rai in my class — I managed to teach basic English in a classroom on a solo effort. It was found out that I knew some music. So on a Sunday when the village church’s musician was late, I was motioned to pick up the guitar with no rehearsal and no knowledge of the song. I helped another missionary in her ministry. I played football and had jamming sessions with the kids of the village church. I even picked up a new skill — riding a manual motorbike. For the first time in my life, I witnessed an actual rice harvest happening, and saw the echoes of Psalm 1 resound with the rustling of the flying chaff. I learned, I unlearned, I cooked, I ate, I cleaned, I gleaned, I played, I prayed, I wept… I slept.
It does sound like I was still doing a lot for 3 weeks. Was that really a break — many would ask. It was. This was a time away from the humdrum, the routine of life that was extending its creepers over me in a binding choke. I had hardly any time to myself. But in Bandoo, I was with my self. Because I could hear myself think, I could find the words to speak. Because I could feel my heart, I could find the cries to pray. Because I could see my self, I could find my place before God. Ironically, in doing, I was being.
This was Sabbath. I imagine that it was like the Israelites who were toiling for sustenance 6 days a week; on the seventh, they stopped. They stopped doing to enjoy the being — but what they stopped was laborious work to realise who they are as YHWH’s created. My toil in seminary was blinding my eyes to see who I was as YHWH’s child. As I stopped toiling, I was able to enjoy the being. It was the Sabbath.
So it dawned upon me — perhaps it is not always about the length of time that we put in to accomplish a goal, but what we actually do with the time. It is not so much about stopping, but recalibrating. I could have chosen to rest and simply do nothing — go on a meaningless spell, vegetating in front of the computer and the TV, and slept for days on end, and consider it a "Sabbath".
Yet the paradox lay within: Doing nothing would have meant that I would be setting aside my humanity, which was created for work. But doing that pulses with the heartbeat of God would be embracing our roles as image bearers of our Creator. (On a stretch, perhaps the same could go for our communication with God, of which we need to ask: Is it how long we pray, or what the content of our prayers are, or both?)
It was a profound realisation, at least for me, that the relationship between being and doing is a constant dialetic. Although we are unable to fully be in this current fallen state, if we do what Christ requires of us, we will start to see who we are to be. And by His grace, we continue life on this forward-spiralling trajectory to maturity.
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