Fool's Gold

Fears fill
Empty thrill
Ruptured by a broken will
Tears trill
Moving still
Hovering o'er my window sill.

Living die
Firefly
Haunted by its joyful cry
Breathless sigh
Truthful lie
Underneath where stars are nigh.

Small the vast
Undercast
Disillusioned by contrast.
Future's past
Drifting fast
Interchanging first for last.

Upward fall
Solemn ball
Choreographed with cheetah's crawl
Dingy hall
Lonely brawl
Savouring the sweetest gall.

Right or wrong
Run along
Perfect judgement from the throng
Grinding gong
Distance strong
Dragging out the sorrowing song.

Float aground
Air bedrowned
Tide is out - inbound
Lost unfound
Upside-downed
Echoing the silent sound.

Forceful slight
Darkening light
Guided by a tailless kite
Temper might
Lessen height
Too polite for fight or flight.

Fire's cold
Spring's old
Timid faces bluffing bold
Tales untold
Blind behold
Memories of Fool's Gold.

A Different Christmas Story

I have a Christmas story to share: my Christmas story. Or rather, God's Christmas story in me. This story didn't start this way. Only afterwards did I realize its meaning, deep, deep down.

Growing up in a Mennonite Christian home, God was a household name. He was everywhere: at school, at church, at home, and at my friends’ homes. However, at thirteen years old, I didn’t understand Him or His call to become a Christian. In fact, I refused His call because I didn’t recognize it. But something quite indescribable nagged and festered in the back of my brain. I could almost imagine it away. Almost. Except when I couldn’t.

Sunday sermons and kindly parents mentioned the call of God. He calls for entrance to your heart. He calls everyone. It isn’t an audible call, but a call of the soul. In a sense, it’s a terrible call because it is far from peaceful. Why, that’s exactly the way I felt. But surely not. I had heard how to accept the call many times. Pray to God. Tell Him you’re sorry for your sins. Ask Him to forgive you. Ah, but that didn’t really make sense. I didn’t think about my sins much. I wasn't that bad. Besides, who said God was calling me?

Something was wrong. I was unhappy and didn't know why. Falling asleep betimes was more of a nightmare than sleep itself. I was depressed and horribly hollow. So I gave in. I couldn't rid my soul of its turmoil, so I asked Mum to help me. With her, I prayed to God for mercy and peace. It wasn’t a “correct” prayer. It was a crude and confused prayer. Somehow, I accepted God's call. Somehow, He entered my heart and soothed my soul.

It was a miracle. Even retrospect can't figure it out. However, morning came, and with it, the real world. What sort of dream had I had? What figment of my imagination had conjured peace? It must have been a farce. My heart seemed a fountain of confusion. Weren't my troubles supposed to melt like mist in the morning sun?

What I thought was a once-and-for-all transformation turned out to be the first step of a life-long sanctification. Through His church and the Holy Spirit, God started teaching. He showed me salvation is simple: just believe. He showed me His presence isn’t an emotional high but a sustaining strength suited for real, everyday life. He showed me that it isn't His plan for my troubles to disappear. Rather they remain so He can reveal the Solution. Most importantly, He showed me what grace really is. He showed me the stark truth: I am a sinner. He showed me that I deserve to be shot dead; only His grace has freely given me life. He showed me and keeps showing me that it’s not about what I have done, but what’s been done for me.

And that is God's Christmas story in me.