NOVEMBER 21 — It happened months ago during the holiday season, but I still remember David. We had to make a trip up north to attend the wake of an aunt from my husband’s side. Penang lived up to its notorious reputation of horrific holiday traffic. It had been bad enough with intermittent jams on the NS highway, but at least we were moving along. But sitting in a car for 1 hour on a journey that should have taken 15 minutes normally was really the pits. Still what was a trip to Penang without visiting our usual haunt at Miami Beach. So I stuck it out, bidding myself to not tear my hair or swear at drivers trying to cut into my (already stuck) lane. By the time we got there, we had only 1 hour to loll about. Actually I go to the beach to see a very old friend, David, whom I call the sea-man. He was my husband’s childhood beach kaki [companion], since he lived near the beach he would visit David in his (then) little hut and go out to sea to fish together. They were die-hard buddies; somehow they ‘clicked’ despite being worlds apart. My husband the educated, middle-class Chinese town boy and David, the scrawny, illiterate Indian beach boy, so dark that his teeth flashed white against his tanned face. He would have made for a good toothpaste advert.
Whenever we visited Penang, David would immediately arrange to take the family out to the islands in the boat my husband had bought and let him keep/maintain a long time ago. My husband had named the boat after me. But after his passing, David or more likely his brother-in-law had changed it to one of their kids’ names. Not that I minded; what would I do with a boat anyway. After the cremation, I made a trip back to the old beach-spot. David was the one who took me out to sea to drop my husband’s ashes and hopefully he will be the one to guide my kids to do the same when my turn comes.
But looking at him now, I wondered if he or I would last longer on earth. His long-standing battle with the bottle was obvious; he had become all sticks and bones, his yellowed eyes were a dead give-away of his sick condition. His wife had left him years ago and taken the kids along. His sister who runs the beach cafe and takes care of him as much she can shakes her head and complains about his drunken escapades. Still he pretends everything is alright and is all eager to take the kids out to sea; only this time, the boat is gone. I asked him what happened; he muttered something incomprehensible, and offered to go get a friend’s boat as alternative. The kids were hopeful, but I smiled, shook my head and firmly told him no need. I knew he wouldn’t be able to pull it off, and we really had no time anyway.
As I sat with him, there were no words necessary between us. He knew I was sad for him, he knew and surely regretted his condition. Still he grinned and repeated his standard line — ‘I go sea’ , pointing out to the waters beyond. I knew what he meant, he and the sea were one; the sea has been his life all along, and I am sure if he could, he would die at sea too. Indeed, all he had left was the sea. As we parted, I pondered what do I have, what will I have left at the end of it all?
I could point to a lot of my achievements and successes, I guess. Publishing a devotional in Bahasa Malaysia must be one of the highlights. So would my work in the street ministry, which has taught me so much about endurance and love beyond personal comfort, opening up a world so totally removed from mine. Or my job running the church kindy, experiencing the joy of being surrounded by little ones and knowing that what we teachers sow into these young lives will outlive us. I wish I could say I have no regrets.
But I do. I regret things I did and didn’t do. I regret words I said and didn’t say. Those commissions and omissions showed up a lack of love in me. It’s easy enough to confess and repent of my sins before God, and I am sure He forgives me. I can say ‘sorry’ to the people I have hurt but I suspect it would be too little too late.
So really, of myself I have nothing to boast. What is there for any human to boast about? No matter how what how great the exploits of man, “All people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall” (1 Peter 1:24) The Bible points out the truth, “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes” (James 4:14) So what profound insight could I possibly leave behind if I knew tonight would be my last night on earth?
On the one hand, I would be more than happy to go. Indeed, when life goes all haywire, as it’s apt to, I often ask God to please take me ‘home’. I do get sick and tired of this earth-life; I wouldn’t have any problems bidding a very happy “Goodbye, World”, when I draw my last breath, because I know where I am headed. I already have a mansion waiting for me in heaven, not because I am so great, but thanks to Jesus, who promised it when I first believed. But that’s a very selfish desire, it’s simply escapism from the ever-present problems of life on earth. Then there’s always on the other hand, the realisation that God didn’t save me for my sake, but for His, so that I could be transformed to impact my world for the time He gives me on earth before I get to enjoy eternity with Him.
I don’t want to end up like David, the seaman, regretting the past, with nothing to hope for except live for today. Because as much as today can satisfy, it can never be enough. It is not enough to just live a good life on earth and then die. Jesus Christ came to show us there is indeed more than just a bad yesterday or a good today. He proved there is a fantastic tomorrow when He resurrected from death. To settle for less because my mind can’t reasonably see or comprehend such a grand hope in the here and now simply means I am really a coward at heart for not daring or wanting to believe the impossible.
Sure, it’s safer and easier not to believe, to live and let live. But I don’t want to live limited by and answerable only to myself; that’s at best an illusionary freedom. Author Warren Wiersbe pointed out, “Some may say freedom means the privilege of doing what you want to do. But that is not freedom. In fact, that’s the worst kind of slavery in the world — to be controlled only by your impulses and inclinations. Real freedom is a life controlled by God’s truth and motivated by His love.” We kid ourselves when we enslave ourselves to ourselves, and we don’t or refuse to recognse the flaw in our own thinking.
David’s life is anchored ultimately to the sea; he’s got nothing else to look forward to. People hang onto all sorts of anchors of their own making. Me, I want my life anchored to a God who not only frees me from sin(s) and prepares me to live to the utmost for today, but guarantees me a forever life, embraced by the power and passion of a love divine, a joy unspeakable. Now that’s an anchor worth clinging onto in the midst of life’s storms.
Even if I don’t ‘see’ God and have absolutely no proof in the physical or ‘this-world’ sense, I have nothing to lose and all to gain. After all, if there is a God, I certainly want Him to be bigger, better, greater, grander and more powerful than I. What’s the point of a god who is created in my image according to my own pet ideas, who answers to me? To be the most High Almighty God, He must delve and deal in the impossible, and I must answer to Him, not out of some compulsion called religion but out of a relationship called love, because He first loved me.
“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” — Hebrews 6:19
* This is the personal opinion of the writer and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail Online.
