anobody

I was reading John Piper’s “Brothers, We Are Not Professionals” when I came across the following words from Luther.

”Night and day I pondered until I saw the connection between the righteousness of God and the statement that “the just shall live by faith.” Then I grasped that the righteousness of God is that righteousness by which through grace and sheer mercy God justifies us through faith. Thereupon I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise**.**”

Last year, in March, a few weeks after reading the following passage.

Jesus,' he said, 'remember me when you come into your kingdom. Indeed, I promise you,' he replied, 'today you will be with me in paradise.

In my agony of many moments last year, I desired that I would be with Jesus as clearly and surely as he was with the murderer on that day in paradise.

My agony stemmed from my surety that whatever I have striven for was in vain. For I was torn in all directions by the demands of career, family, travel, and a girl for the first time. After a mere few weeks, the girl told me we were incompatible, and the heights of my agony were reached. Failure greeted me, and I fell into despair.

All my striving, all these eight years of study, all these five years of saying yes to family, study, and research and no to games, all these two years of trying to recover from my lust whilst earning a solid sum of money for the first time, it all came to naught. I could not find anything left within me to keep going. The only will that was left in me was to sin, and naught else. Lust and laziness plagued me.

And so in my agony I wished for paradise. For surely, I said to myself, if I was treated like Jesus treated the murderer, I was already in paradise with Jesus.

For was not earth once paradise? Were we not made for the Garden of Eden?

But the happiness of paradise, the freedom of paradise, where was it?

And yet deep was planted the hope for paradise’s freedom, paradise’s happiness.

For I am still caught in slavery to many sins. Pride especially. Lust, less so. Unbelief and its fruit – doubt – undulating. My life is far from freedom. My life is more like death.

But no longer do I relentlessly despair. At times during the day, I wait with my head buried in the carpet, as I await the salvation of the Lord. May Jesus save me from all my chains so that I may experience paradise fully, as much as is able, on earth.

My heart is cold, but I am still awake. Time still trickles to me, second by second. Oh may I use it well! The Lord gives time. People give money.

26 it is good to wait quietly     for the salvation of the Lord. 27 It is good for a man to bear the yoke     while he is young.

28 Let him sit alone in silence,     for the Lord has laid it on him. 29 Let him bury his face in the dust—     there may yet be hope. (Jeremiah et. al. -586)

And so there may yet be hope. I am walking in the dark. Trying to strain to see what future I would hope for – what plans I must make to wrest my destiny out of existence’s rough hands – is too painful to dwell on. Dreaming is mostly futile to me, at this time. Reason only endlessly asks questions, over and over again, incessantly. Reason exhausts me.

There may yet be hope.

earning

I may not have been earning money for the last 177th days of my sabbatical year …

But I am earning trust. My own trust. The trust of my family. The trust of God.

But I am earning the skills of a comic book artist. Spending that valuable time – given by God – on a project that was left to me by my younger self.

But I am earning a good sleep by interleaving my work sessions with my physical regime sessions. Earning a stronger physique.

Finally, I have been given time as the days are doled out to me. Saving time by working from home. No longer spending three hours a day – fifteen hours a week – on public transport, where your physical position to do work is not ideal for health.

What will the future hold? I don’t know. I needn’t worry. I am just going to stick to the malleable plan. Cross those bridges when I come to it.

asking

And most importantly, keep asking God above for help. Everyday. I asked that 377 days ago. It has come full circle, and I am back to saying these words.

“God, will you help me?”

These words are like the words spoken by an elderly lady I met on the train. The clothes on her body were soiled, the odour that rested on her body signalled many days of no shower, and she asked me in tears “Can you help me?”.

I gave her twenty dollars. Not much help, really.

I asked God today the same question she asked me. I pretended that God said “I will help you”.

I responded “Even if I didn’t really help that lady on the train?”.

God said, “I will help you still.”

As someone who overthinks, it is easy to let that critical voice overturn all my plans, saying it’s not good enough, and call my bluff when my morale falls through the ceiling.

It is easy for me to be immobilized by the hundreds of suggestions that pour in whenever I make a mistake. Suggestions that point me in all kinds of directions. Before I even lift a finger, I am mentally exhausted and paralysed.

It is easy for me to let the seeds of these toxic thoughts grow into veritable weeds that choke me of my living and happiness, reducing it down to existence and dreariness. Even basic actions like push-ups or (physical) weeding (in the garden) can be made unnecessarily harder by a flood of voices that want to tear me down.

These are the moments that I learn I must stick to my guns. Stick to the plan. Don’t question. Don’t think it through. Do the thinking through some other time. There is a time for everything.

Reflection and reassessment time is 07.00 pm for me. That’s when I can turn a critical eye to the plan. And make AT MOST one modification, if none at all.

It starts with grace.

I am no teacher. No guide either. I am just sharing where I am as I am given day after day.

There are phrases or sentences – phrences (a silly portmanteau)– that remain in our hearts and heads.

Phrences spoken by people, be they audible or written.

Sometimes, these phrences inform and guide us on our journeys on earth. Sometimes, they haunt us, ringing the bells of doom unnecessarily, shutting down our brains, paralysing us.

These phrences may mean something to us that is not intended by the author. The words that make up these phrences may carry our meanings or definitions that are unlike what was held by the author.

English is hardly literal.

But yet they stick, leaving indelible marks on our limited memory.

In this way people form the references of my existence. Their pieces of advice – some laced with hope, others with doom – will ring at times in my heart and head, in resonance with the things that I do.

Where there is no [wise, intelligent] guidance, the people fall [and go off course like a ship without a helm], But in the abundance of [wise and godly] counsellors there is victory. (Proverbs 11:14)

To know who are wise and godly is difficult nowadays.

The only way to be sure that they can be trusted is to see for yourself how they live. Yes, reason stands alone to the person, for living by reason alone and fully is currently impossible. Yes, truth can be spoken from those who do not live up to it.

Truth can only be fully known if it is heard and experienced.

Every time I find myself in a tearful, it feels like the walls are falling down inside. Like I am moving forward. Evolving.

Or is it unlocking the potential that was always there?

When the walls down, it hurts. When the chains fall off, it hurts. The irons have been clamped down for a long time. The skin is raw from the irons. The irons of society.

'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains (Imagine Dragons).

While every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. (John 15)

Sure feels like pruning. It’s painful. Inside.

Time is from God. Money is from people-kind.

I love my time. So I save it in every way I can. I limit my trips outside – two times a week. I don’t work a regular job so I don’t have to make the commute.

I hate my money. But I do exist in this world, so I scrimp and save. I say no to myself so my savings can drain slowly – as slowly as I can. Bluetooth keyboard? No. Studio headphones? Maybe. TV series? No. Health insurance? No. Gym membership? No. More gigs for my phone plan? No.

Time is from God. Money is from people-kind.

There is was no fucking money in fucking Eden.

Eden = Paradise.

I pretend that I live in Paradise since 370 days ago.

Luke 23:42-43 New King James Version (NKJV)

Then he said to Jesus, “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” And Jesus said to him, “Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.”

A fucking mystic. Paradise ain’t here boi.

I am confused and hurting,