“As we turn to …

“As we turn to the fundamental principles of physics, we discover that order does not really emerge from chaos, as we might naively assume; it always emerges from greater and more impressive order already present at a deeper level. . . . The simplicity to which scientific reductionism leads us, then, is of a very paradoxical kind. It is a simplicity that is by no means simpleminded.”

–Stephen M. Barr in Fearful Symmetries

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More than words

Most of the content on this blog has been rather heavy, but here’s a casual recording Ben and I made last night. Ben is a good old high school friend who’s visiting from Boston U (where he’s majoring in Vocal Performance). He’s as incredibly talented as his soul is incredibly warm and compassionate.

This is one of my favorite songs of all time, and though it was probably written as any other secular love song (but more awesome than most), it reminds me a lot of a Christian’s walk with God. It almost sounds like a dialogue between man and God.

Saying I love you \ Is not the words I want to hear from you \ It’s not that I want to \ Not to say, but if you only knew \ How easy it would be to show me how you feel \ More than words is all you have to do to make it real \ Then you wouldn’t have to say that you love me \ ‘Cause I’d already know

Think how we’re called to be doers, not just hearers, of the Word (James 1:22-25). How Christ calls us to love another if we’re truly his followers (John 13:34-35). In Isaiah 58 God declares separates false, superficial worship from true worship, that is to break the chains of injustice and set the oppressed free.

And the second verse gets me really emotional, as it brings me back to the lowest point of my depression, of hopeless surrender, where I’d given up laying claim to all the things of this world, realizing that all I really needed was to know, for certain, that God really loved me as the Bible says he does.

Now that I’ve tried to talk to you and make you understand \ All you have to do is close your eyes \ And just reach out your hands and touch me \ Hold me close don’t ever let me go \ More than words is all I ever needed you to show \ Then you wouldn’t have to say that you love me \ ‘Cause I’d already know

And he answered my cries spoke into the darkness to give me hope I couldn’t refuse. In a desert land he found him, in a barren and howling waste. He shielded him and cared for him; he guarded him as the apple of his eye.” (Deuteronomy 32:10)

(Oops, was this a “heavy” post too?)

The occupational hazards of supporting a depressed friend/loved one

I have been with the same man for over 27 years. He has always been supportive of my depressive episodes. I only found out recently, that he was keeping a bunch of stuff inside. He was frustrated with me, and didn’t understand. Even though he reads my blog, I have given him articles to read, and I have described the illness to him until I feel I can’t talk about it anymore. He still doesn’t understand … That doesn’t mean he isn’t loving, supportive, helpful, and patient. He is all of these things and more — he will just never understand that depression doesn’t go away simply by taking a walk, being with other people, healthy eating, exercising, or thinking it away.

The above reads like words snatched right out of my own mouth (minus the part about being married for 27 years). I don’t know if it’s becoming some sort of an obsession/hobby, but lately I’ve been spending a fair bit of time talking to people who are suffering or have suffered from depression and other mental illnesses (thank you, internet!). You get an instant window into the life of a complete stranger, even if it’s a 55-year-old in a different continent. It’s instant solidarity. When I describe my last tussle with depression as “being trapped in a vortex of mind games, self-loathing, and lies that form your new reality,” they get it.  But the common understanding extends beyond the complexity of one’s suffering; you also understand how depression (or other forms of mental illness) complicates your relationships with the people who love you, in a way no other circumstance does.

It’s been almost 3 months since I’ve been freed from my last (and worst) cycle of depression. During this time I’ve begun to cherish life more than ever before, and to be more convinced of God’s love for me, as an individual, more than ever before — two things that have led me to become passionately pro-life (more on this another time). As I recount my incredible journey, I tend to focus mostly on the ways I’ve been unshackled. As I praise God, I tend to focus mostly on the miraculous way he sustained and delivered me. But I have forgotten the unsung heroes: my family and my closest friends.

You tend not to see them as “heroes” because they didn’t technically do anything to rescue you from depression. But though they couldn’t and didn’t calm the storm, they waited it out with you. And this wait was in no way passive. They continued to be your friend when you couldn’t be a friend, to love you when you loved neither yourself nor them. The storm was you.

It takes a huge toll. Time, emotional energy, spiritual vigor. All your conversations are peppered with “You don’t understand.” They try to understand but they can’t, and they beat themselves up for it. They push and talk you into going for counselling and taking your meds when you’ve given up. They lose much of the time they had to themselves, because to leave you to your self-torment would be cruel. Their schedules and lives in general begin to revolve around you. And not the you who were a ball of sunshine, but an unfeeling black hole that vacuums up all their attempts to cheer you up and restore your hope in life.

And no matter how much they love you, they’re still human beings with physical and emotional limits, so at some point you do become a burden to them. Except they can’t ever admit it or show it in your presence. Over time, in their exhausted state, your negative thoughts and outlook on life become harder and harder to combat, and seep into their consciousness.

And who’s to know how long the storm was going to last? Not even a counsellor or a psychiatrist can. Are we talking a month? A year? Years..?

goodsamaritan2That’s but a glimpse of what my loved ones did and endured for me. I did get better, and am now happy to be back in the game, renewed and with a sharper vision for this lifetime. These people may not have healed me, but if not for their fierce loyalty I might not have hung on long enough to be healed. More than I thank them for their joyful service and companionship, I thank them for continuing to support and serve me when it involved much sacrifice and self denial.

 

And that makes me praise the God who taught and modelled this very kind of sacrificial love.

“In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus, who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death — even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:5-8)

This post is dedicated to Grace, Dora, Felicia, Joe, Eamon, Pastor Joshua, Papa & Mama, and everyone who supported me through prayer.

“Made for joy, …

“Made for joy, we settle for pleasure. Made for justice, we settle for vengeance.” –N.T. Wright

Brothers and sisters in Christ, let us remember not to settle for filthy rags, or even second best. Brothers and sisters who don’t already know Christ, there is immeasurably more than we ask or think.

Happiness, hope, reason, and other things we take for granted

Predictably, as with my last cycle of depression, the first thing I lost this time was my capacity to experience joy. And then I quickly lost my capacity to feel any positive emotion at all. To a point where I started to count self-pity positive, because at least I still considered myself worth feeling sorry for. At the same time, part of me thought, been there, done that. I knew, from the previous time round, how depression rolls. Just give it a couple of months, and I’ll soon be spending more time out of bed than in bed.

But before that could happen, I managed to convince myself that I was going insane. One night, I found myself staring at the same PDF document of class readings for 6 hours and not comprehending a thing. I could read the words on the page but couldn’t piece them together. I could sometimes figure out the logic within a paragraph, but quickly forget what I’d come up with as I wrestled with the next. I began googling brain disorders, because surely depression doesn’t do this to you! I told my roommate how incredulous I was that I couldn’t understand my reading (it wasn’t even Marx or Kant or anything like that), and how I feared I was gradually losing my sanity. I didn’t bother remembering what she said in response. Kind words don’t change anything.

Before I knew it, my world had descended into an unrecognizable level. My roommate was sitting on her swivel chair next to my bed one night. She had a colored pen and paper in hand and was drawing out a visual chart of my last 2.5 years at UChicago, accounting for the ups and downs, making sure to record the significant events that had once made me happy, and accomplishments I had once been proud of. While I appreciated the effort, I could not believe. I believed that I did write the script for a successful play, but that was sheer luck and even the lamest of Singaporean humor would have been a novelty to an American audience. I believed that I was once so proud of a paper I wrote on Mormonism, I shamelessly emailed it to a bunch of people. But of course I was just delusional. What was I thinking? I couldn’t bring myself to imagine what people must have thought of me when they read it. I had come to believe that I was hopelessly stupid. Not just average or slightly below average. I was flat out stupid and had always been.

On the first day of class of spring quarter, I left The Sociology of Reproductive Rights nearly in tears. I had felt so naked in class. Surely they could see through my eyes and see my fear? Surely they could tell I was only pretending like there was anything interesting to introduce about myself? Surely they agreed that I didn’t belong in this school? Or any school at all, for that matter. I walked aimlessly around campus, my mind swimming in a new idea: I would flourish in a primitive, hunter-gatherer society, where one’s sole aim was to survive. My roommate called me, as part of her new daily routine, to make sure I wasn’t alone. She was alarmed when all I could say was, “I’m just wandering around. I’m not sure where I’m going.” And this was after the previous night’s “I wish I was a human vegetable.”

I couldn’t overhear any conversation without thinking, “I could never talk like that.” And while I used to look at families with little kids and swoon, I now couldn’t help but think, “Someone like me should never be allowed to get married. Or have kids.”

The last 21 years were wastefully and delusionally spent. I resented the people around me for colluding to trick me into thinking I would ever be a functional, let alone valuable member of society. I didn’t even know how to be a friend. The people who are my friends are my friends because they’re too nice to not be anyone’s friend. I, on the other hand, was sick, twisted, cold, uncaring, unfeeling. I’d always been and had simply gotten tired of putting on an act.

I stopped dressing well, why fool others and yourself with a polished exterior, only to hide how filthy you really are? I stopped eating well, why treat your body nicely if you feel you’re better off dead? Looking into the mirror was a painful experience. It would show me how ugly I was, inside and out.

One day, during the summer, while a couple of friends played beach volleyball on the sand, I sat at a nearby bench with my journal. I started off praying to a God who seemed to love everyone but me, but it quickly turned into pure self-berating. I wrote: My heart is a filthy piece of trash. If only I could dig into my ribcage, yank it out, and fling it out of sight.

Then  I reveled in a new idea: if I’m wishing this hard that I would cease to exist, there’s no way it wouldn’t come true. It thought it was genius. It would save me.

Did I know I should never take happiness for granted? Sure, anybody who’s ever been unhappy knows that. I didn’t know I couldn’t take hope for granted. I always thought of hope was a choice: you can choose to have hope, or you can choose to wallow in hopelessness. Until I came to a point where I could not accept any source of hope, be it from family, friends, myself, or the Bible, because I was so convinced there was no way out of the pit I had unwittingly dug for myself. And then there are those things you thought you could never lose. Your intellect, your capacity to reason, your sense of humor, your wit, your interests. When such things are lost and later restored, you learn that nothing apart from your decisions is yours. You’re not entitled to anything. You didn’t earn anything. You don’t say you found your sanity. You say your sanity was given to you.

How I got out of that dark pit of endless mind games is a whole other story. And a mysteriously wonderful one. But for now, I want to end with a few precious thoughts: I was thoughtfully and lovingly created by a Heavenly Father. When I find hope I cannot refuse, it is a gift from him. When I have compassion on others, it is from him. When curiosity propels me to seek truth, it is him. All that I am and all that I will be are from him, and so I’ll strive to spend the rest of my life stewarding these things for his kingdom, his people, Him.

I echo the words of King Nebuchadnezzar uttered some 2,500 years ago:  “At the same time my reason returned to me, and for the glory of my kingdom, my majesty and splendor returned to me. My counselors and my lords sought me, and I was established in my kingdom, and still more greatness was added to me. Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are right and his ways are just; and those who walk in pride he is able to humble.” (Daniel 4:36-37) Praise and glory to the Lord who gives and takes away according to his perfect will.

Thoughts on transcending compassion

As a little girl with plenty of time to spare, I spent a fair bit of it with eyes glued to the ground, watching  trails of ants avoid me like a river round a rock. Each time, my instinct would be to stomp on them, at first because I thought they might bite, and later on in life, just because I could. Occasionally, though, I’d feel unusually merciful and so choose to simply watch. It’s a kind of detached mercy, barely bordering on compassion. The same inconsistent and dispassionate kind that sometimes made me spend extra time in the shower simply letting the water run, so the rats and cockroaches in the sewers could have clean water to drink for a change.

This pastor at a church I was visiting in Jakarta was talking about how we do not like to receive pity favors. Unless utterly and desolately desperate, which in some cases still doesn’t deter, we do not want to receive help when we know the other party is offering it out of pity. We want things to be done for us out of respect, out of love. And for another person to help us out of pity us implies a difference in level.  He goes on to talk about how Jesus did so much more than save us out of pity. In becoming a man, he descended to our level, an act that also displays just how much he values and loves his creation.

For sure, God looks upon us with compassion, and that compassion plays a part in his plan of salvation (the word “compassion” is applied on God many times in the Bible), but this got me thinking about transcending compassion. Remember when Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40)? In the few verses preceding that, he identifies himself with those needing clothes and food, the sick, the imprisoned. No, he essentially subsumes his identity with theirs. I always thought, how compassionate of Jesus to identify with those of the lower rungs (“the least of these”), but am now realizing that perhaps he’s saying that there are no rungs. Jesus is saying he’s one of them, and so they’re one of us and we’re one of them. When we help the needy, we’re not doing charity work, it’s solidarity.

Too often, when I think about not withholding God’s love from others, I think about it in terms of not withholding the Good News of salvation, to proclaim it loud and proud, what Jesus did on the cross and what his death and resurrection accomplished. But Jesus’ ministry cannot be reduced to his final act. Nor just his final act + calls to repentance + teachings + healings. He, fully God, first also became fully man.

I first began to glimpse the gravity of this back in October while preparing Luke 4 (Jesus being tempted in the wilderness pre-ministry) for small group prep. I’d previously thought that of the 3 temptations, the first one seemed most trivial: “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread” (Luke 4:3). But upon deeper reflection, it hit me that it’s a taunt that carried so much more weight. You could imagine the devil saying, “Oh Jesus, Jesus…You had all the riches and glories of heaven, you had angels serving you, you had no need or want. Are you sure you want to be reduced to a mere man at the mercy of petty needs? Whoa, let alone face death? Do you know what you’re getting yourself into? Have you really done your calculations?”

Jesus didn’t look upon us and confer mercy simply on a whim, out of pity, or even as a favor. Let us not forget that he forsook his heavenly throne and became an ant, was an ant, died like an ant thoughtlessly squashed under under our sneakers.

And so what? For us who call ourselves Christians, do we stop at singing of this radical love? Christ explicitly said, “As I have loved you, so you must love one another” (John 13:34). As he has loved us. And the precedent set for us beckons, compels us to transcend compassion. I want to strive towards that. What would it look like if we saw a homeless person, or to not romanticize things, just a struggling friend, and saw them as ourselves? We are each surrounded by some imaginary hamster ball, and we occasionally let people in, be it people of our choosing, those we “love”, or circumstantially depending on how charitable we feel. But maybe to love doesn’t mean that these hamster balls have semi-permeable membranes. Maybe it means not having hamster balls at all. I honestly believe this mindset is a social construct (sorry, Sociology major here) we are too quick and too happy to adopt because they’re convenient and comfortable.

And it occurs to me, am I being a starry-eyed idealist? No, I think I just think I’m being idealistic because I’ve been brainwashed by societal standards that fall short of God’s standards.