guess my blog has been collecting dust recently. so sorry. finally finished off my last paper last thursday. i thought i would be very happy and exciting, but i didn't. i wondered why. perhaps, i was too exhausted after the three weeks examination. but i still went out with my friends after that. quite enjoying. we laughed nonstop and the whole place became so noisy because of us. guess what? from early of the thursday morning (that was before i had my examination), till friday night, excluding sleeping hours, i was only staying at home for not more than 5 hours. can you imagine that? went out with friends all day long. hahaha.
well, during the friday night, jan asked me to join them for a thanksgiving dinner, celebrating that the spm had finally became history for us. hehe. altogether there were 8 of us, jan, andrea, pauline, amanda, andrew, elvin, tong kai and i. jan asked us to mention 3 things that we could be thankful of over the past. i knew there were many things that we could be thankful of but my mind just went blank when it was my turn for speaking. weird, huh? maybe it was because they were all speaking in english. shrug. i should really learn to speak in english. oh no... somebody help me...
yea, indeed there are many things that we can be thankful of in our whole life. be it big or small. we can even be thankful of a little piece of biscuit that we are eating. and also for the dawn, it is a new day, right? so why not? we can be thankful for everything and we should be grateful and satisfy even when we are in troubles because troubles bring perseverance and strengthen our faith in God. however, not all of us give thanks always. often i complain too much and forget that my circumstances are still better than others or others are also facing the same problems but they say no complain. so i will learn to be thankful always. please, do remind me if any of you hear me complaining again. thanks.
this is how He loves us
A TEENAGER'S VIEW OF HEAVEN
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was 'What Heaven was like. ' I wowed 'em,' he later told his father, Bruce. 'It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote..' It also was the last.
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.
The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. 'I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,' Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. 'I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him.'
Brian's Essay: The Room...
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read 'Girls I have liked.' I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named 'Friends' was next to one marked 'Friends I have betrayed.' The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird 'Books I Have Read,' 'Lies I Have Told,' 'Comfort I have Given,' 'Jokes I Have Laughed at .' Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: 'Things I've yelled at my brothers.' Others I couldn't laugh at: 'Things I Have Done in My Anger', 'Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.' I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked 'TV Shows I have watched', I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked 'Lustful Thoughts,' I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.
I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!' In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it.. The title bore 'People I Have Shared the Gospel With.' The handle was brighter than those around it,seemed newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.
He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. 'No!' I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was 'No, no,' as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.
He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, 'It is finished.' I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
Il Divo
falling in love with il divo recently. 4 great singers from different countries yet they still able to live with each others and together make the seemed-so-impossible task possible, making me so impressed. singing in harmony, calming the hearts of the troubled. especially love the two songs, isabel and mama.
again, the same title: SPM!
oh... give me a break. study everyday without a single word entering my mind. i'm dead. i need help. who can borrow her/his brain to me for two weeks? just the two weeks. then i will give you sweets. xP okie. enough of the joke. but i still need the brain. watching my brother and my little-kid friends being so excited after their exam, i am so so so and so jealous of them. i still have three more weeks to go. three more weeks. pray that i won't be a lazy bug. anyway, wish those sitting for spm and stpm friends all the best, God surely with you all throughout the days.
for myself: happy spm!
for myself: happy spm!
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