Almost every day, some small incident causes undue heartache, undue pain, as memories of a time gone by, flood through with a longing for what  can never be again . Thoughts of a family once so close, thoughts of siblings now no more, longing for a time we romanticise, a time we once took for granted.

It maybe in the whisper of the rushing wind, the brush of leaves against the window pane, It could be the song of the cuckoo calling its mate , or the sunset tinting the sky pink before fading away. It could be the simplest occurrence that could stir the soul and pull at the heartstrings . What is this emotion, that lurks not far beneath the surface , to quickly raise its head, reminding us what we once were  . 

It could be the warm Christmas lights, bringing nostalgic moments of shared laughter, the shared gifts amongst friends , it could be the fire light casting shadows of people with whom we once shared a strong bond, it could be the cold night echoing carols that we once sang with abandon, or it could be just that one lone star swaying in the wind , reminding us there is hope still. 

At the end of another year, the last day we cling on to, dancing till the wee hours of the morning, partying senselessly, as if to hold on to the remnants of the past, simply overwhelmed by the fear of letting go of the familiar, we reluctantly welcome the unfamiliar. The new day, the future of yesterday, the soon to be past of tomorrow, a new day to herald the beginning of another three sixty five days, which we  pray will  bring good fortune, and new beginnings with not too many changes . 

But Life is nothing but a wheel of fortune, sometimes up and sometimes down, the past though we always picture as perfect , was filled with its fair share of troubles. Some trapped in situations with no escape, hope the New Year will bring them release, some soaring on wings of success, hope they will never descend , and those who are in between, hope for release from their stagnant lives . 

Where do we then hide from time that stops not, but like a tide pushes us along to the very end. Inspite of digging our heels in, saying no to the passing of seasons, refusing to see the creases in our face, refusing to acknowledge the frailty of our limbs and frame, we engage in activities of the young, for fear of growing old, for the fear of being a failure . Then too late we realise, we are but like thistle in the winds of change, being tossed and swept away to the twilight of our lives. 

I chanced upon a video on social media, a pop up choir, made up of random strangers, who got together for the love of singing . Not exactly organised, not with the best of band, but they sang so good, some so high, some so low and some maybe just lip synced, but it was ‘rocking’ music all along . 

It was not long after I heard from a friend that the event occurred every first Saturday of the month, at a location close to home and I could register for the next session. I was once known for my singing voice, not exceptional vocal quality but definitely one to add value to a choir . Needless to add, I didn’t pursue my talent. 

With years of neglect, my signing came to halt when I started a career and family. Now, after the eons of suppression, my singing is at best a croak.  Excited at the prospect of re discovering my voice, I joined them last month, on a rainy Saturday evening. Each one who came in introduced themselves, without much ado and the questions asked were simple, just two – is it your first time and which note do you sing – medium, high or low ? Of course I chose the safe ‘ medium’ . 

There was a game first . We were divided into four groups to play ‘Antakshari ‘ . With some excellent singers in the group, it was no wonder that we won the game. There were no prizes but the winning definitely raised my dwindling confidence. Soon after there were practice sessions for all the levels. We were quick to master the song and sang the final time for the recording.

As mentioned earlier, with my lack of proficiency, my singing was all over the place, sometimes high, sometimes low , sometimes medium or just mumbling , but the voice of the choir, singing as one, carried me along to the finish . There was no criticism, there was no pressure, there was just camaraderie as we sang along for the joy of singing and i must add, it sounded divine .

I then realised, the power of this pop up choir, lies in the sense of belonging one feels. Belonging to a community where the love for singing draws people, the young and the old, from far and wide, to gather, to make music. It is not to excel, not to compete, it is not for recognition but for self restoration, it is just to experience the abandon of singing without inhibitions. And to whether ‘The Soul Circle’ is a success – you well know the answer! ❤️😊

Can I have a second chance at life , can I make right all the wrong I did, can I slow my walk through the tunnel of time to savour the pleasures that never lasted long ? Can I rest in the arms of dear ones who left too soon, can I hold them tight never to let go, never to say the goodbyes that filled my life with sadness ? Can I live again the goodness of those long gone idyllic days, a time when we only chased happiness and dreams that never materialised ?

Can I embrace the joy that was once a way of life, can I retrace my steps, can I turn away from the path of disappointment, and walk the sure path of success? Can I un-speak the words that caused dissent, the words that made enemies of even trusted friends ? Can I wave a wand to undo the hurt I caused, can I erase the grief of careless actions, can I go back and heed the warnings of wisdom before my unwise choices resulted in disappointment ?

Can I stop time, can I change the one wrong decision made in haste, that shaped my life and those of loved ones, can I coax a whisper of consent from time, to halt and alter that which is unalterable? Can I wipe out  from the past that tragic accident, that one life changing incident which fashioned our destiny and even of those not yet born ? Can I go back and heal the pain, the suffering I witnessed every single day since ? 

Can I return to reclaim the time I lost, squandered in the pursuit of futile goals ? Can I break the silence of time, confess to my sins of neglect, wastefulness and apathy, can I chase away the guilt of actions that caused anguish in others and me ? Can I find that momentous cross roads again , stop and walk the right path, to avoid the endless chaos, can I go back to change, to delete the past, and start over again?

Can I relive life on my terms, rewrite my script, knowing the road ahead, knowing where to tread, knowing the pitfalls, circumventing them, knowing actions best suited for a contented life ? Can I live knowing the people to avoid, the people to hold close, knowing when to say ‘no’ ,when to speak and when to stay silent? Can I return to the past and grab the innocence I left behind, can I re-learn that happiness is my wealth, can I try once more to experience joy in the small things, can I rekindle those long lost dreams?

Will I get it right the second time, can I really change my fortune, can I change what is already engraved in time ?Then looking back I think, is my life not exactly what it is meant to be, is it not according to my God’s plan, as He wished it for me? Each time I strayed, each time I took a misstep, there was always a gentle Hand to guide me, each time I mourned, His angels He sent to minister, to comfort me . Each time strife overtook, each time pain reared its ugly head, His abundant grace surrounded me.

Each time I erred and repented, I felt His overflowing mercy and forgiveness, each time I faltered, His outstretched arms caught me. He made my wrong His right, turning it around for my good. Each time I wallowed in self pity, each time I felt sad and lonely, He whispered tenderly that I was not alone, He used the tears I wept, to wash away my sorrows, filling me with His peace . Now I stand strong knowing, the One who gave me life walks by my side, He has set me free from the shackles of the past, and I have no need for second chances, for He holds far greater things in store for me !

On a much awaited vacation recently , we were surprised by a gift from our son, a road trip to some of the major cities on the east coast of Canada . The dawn of the trip, graced by a sunrise so glorious that no hand could paint, no lens could capture, we set out with great excitement.

Enjoying every moment, every sight and beauty of creation and the created we were transported to a world of the unexpected . Tall pine trees like sentinels, guarding the wooded regions behind them holding secrets never to be known. The winding roads, undulating to a rhythm of their own ,picturesque countrysides, quaint houses holding stories never to be told , terrace cafés filled with beautiful people, talking and laughing without a care in the world.

Historic monuments, monoliths, we saw, swift flowing rivers, carrying tales of those who had been there before, emptying into lakes that stoically gathered them. The mighty Niagara took our breath away, not dwarfing in height but wide, the great volumes of water like sheets of glass falling and breaking below thunderously. No man nor mind can fathom or measure the depths or the volume of water that flowed riotously, every moment.

White sandy beaches, milky waterfalls, parks with lush green grass, sprinkled with lavender. Maple trees lining the tracks, their leaves nodding sagely in the breeze, emanating a caramel scent that enveloped us as we walked alongside the sparkling stream. Nature unsullied lying before us, like a touch of heaven on earth. To make a mention of the proprietary geese in the park, honking irritably at the humans, is only proper .

The cities with their towering buildings in shapes and sizes that defied gravity, were interspersed by areas known as the old part with their cobbled streets and charming quaint gabled roof buildings. Squares decorated with flowers and murals, cafés boasting local delicacies on their menus, impromptu artists and bands performing, to an enthralled audience .

A whole day could pass, just sitting there, with the sun on your head, enjoying a cup of coffee , chewing on a delectable cookie, and just watching people go by . Tourists in their leisurely manner, locals hurrying around on some business, people mostly friendly, except for some looking on with just a tad of annoyance, at the intrusion .

A visit to St. Joseph’s Oratory, the tallest church in the country, the largest shrine in the world, dedicated to St Joseph, with its impressive dome, located on Mount Royal in Montreal, was an exceptional experience . A remarkable work of architecture, the church was founded in 1904, and built by various architects . The sculpture of the Angels Unawares depicting refugees, huddled together on a boat, subtly covered by emerging angel wings symbolises the Divine presence . The view of the city from above is worth documenting.

More churches and spires, more statues and stained glass, each more magnificent than the other . Breathtaking scenery and awe inspiring monuments, overwhelming the senses . Gourmet foods, exotic fruits, scents and sights were altogether an assault to the senses ! Oh it was not all fun and frolic, there were times of anxiety and stress, yet there was an all pervasive sense of freedom, a feeling of unfettered abandon, of being at peace with creation. It was by far the best holiday we ever had !

For days we prayed for Arie, a child whose body was wracked by a deadly blood disorder. a disease that was diagnosed when he seemed healthy and well. The parents were heartbroken at the news of this disastrous illness, that had descended like a blight on their darling boy . Sparing no expense, they rushed him to the best hospital, they gave him the very best of treatment, they garnered the help of family and friends in prayer support, as they left no stone unturned to find healing for their son .

Day after day they sat in the hospital room, taking turns the mother and father, sitting by the bed, watching their baby boy in pain . Praying without ceasing for healing, praying for a miracle, for deliverance from suffering, for their little child. Not giving up hope, not acknowledging this could be the end, they strove to snatch him back from the clutches of death. And when they saw babies in adjoining beds getting well, leaving to go home, their hope knew no bounds, believing it would be their son next .

The mother was pregnant with his baby sister who Arie longed to meet and play with, but little did he know that life would play a cruel trick and he would leave the land of the living, on the day she was born. The mother weeping,found little joy or comfort in the life growing within. The father stoically watched his beloved son wasting away but his faith still strong, he trusted his baby would make it through. When the whispers of woe were loud sometimes, he still ignored them and didn’t give up till the very end .

The community of family and friends rallied behind them, supporting in everything, praying together in unison, sure that the Heavens would show mercy and God Almighty would spare little Arie. But God in His wisdom, had another plan, a plan most painful, which He had formulated, set in motion even before we were knitted in the womb. On the day the mother was wheeled in to deliver her second baby, God called Arie, relieved him of his pain and struggle, and took him from this earth to be by His side .

That, there, was the miracle ! After a long and weary fight, it was a release for the suffering child, for the parents a new baby born to fill their arms as they relinquished their darling boy, to death . The pain was devastating, as they bid Arie goodbye, the joy was bitter sweet as they welcomed their baby girl and if I were of another faith, I would say his soul was reborn, in a fair exchange . I pray the Lord wraps His loving arms around Arie’s parents, to comfort and strengthen them as they walk through the dark valley of death, holding on to the light of the new born baby .

A sad poem, a declaration by a soldier, was passed around on social media. A soldier relinquishing his worldly attachments and treasures , leaving it behind for family and friends, as he walks towards the battlefield, a field that holds his destiny. 

He carries his earthly belongings in a knapsack, and the tool of his trade his rifle, as he readies to face the enemy.,an unknown man on the other side . He steps out with a prayer on his lips, with thoughts of his loved ones back home , of shattered dreams, his heart overflowing with emotions that cannot be dammed even by the line of control. 

His eyes, the windows to his soul are bleak, as he waits terrified at the prospect of killing, of taking a life, which he was taught was a sin , or of being killed by a stray bullet, never more to enjoy the life which he knew as a sacred gift . The thought of sacrificing his life, or that of the innocent many, for the glory of his country had just lost its appeal . 

Standing alone, in a trench so far from home, he looks at his companions on either side of him, some familiar faces, brothers in arms, some just strangers in uniform. Driven by a sense for survival he is galvanised into action, shooting to kill, though he had never in his life taken another’s life . As he surveyed the battlefield, all he saw was death and destruction. A terrible sense of dread and futility, washed over him . 

Advancing forward, pushing the enemy line back, he knew his side was winning, but there was no elation, there was no cheer, no one to raise a cry of victory. There were men still dropping , victims of bullets from unknown enemies desperate to kill the other, rather than be killed. And if he survived, battle scarred and battered, he would return home, to be welcomed, not with pomp and show, but by his relieved family and friends. 

Then there was another battlefield, a stadium filled with excited fans . Fans from far and wide come to watch their favourite team, play their favourite game, cricket . The sound of the ball striking the bat, lifting off to fly high,  drew roars from the thick crowds, as they watched the slow progress of the game . The players considered heroes, adored by the multitude, their names on every lip, dazzled the spectators with dizzying swings of their bat . 

The crowd shrieked with joy at each scored run or cried in woe at each ball drop, there were screaming highs or saddened lows, as the match progressed, soon to approach its finish. When finally the game was over, the winners were awarded the cup, as the stadium rocked with thunderous applause and cheering, the fans back home were in a fever of jubilation and celebration . 

Then came the announcement on the following day of a felicitation arranged for the players at the team’s hometown stadium. There was no stopping the excitement that swept the city, tickets were sold and the afternoon took on the air of much festivities. The fans gathered, men women and children alike, to capture spots that would afford the best visual of the victory parade . 

Oh, but what a crowd that was, growing like a tsunami, with multitudes flowing onto the street, people climbing over one another, over the walls and the fences to catch a glimpse of their favourite heroes . Needless to add, the crowd was soon out of control, turning the event into a stampede. What followed was a tragedy,with people wounded and dying . A welcome party, a felicitation, soon turned into the worst calamity.  

The irony was not lost on many. A soldier, going to battle, willing to lay down his life for the safety of his countrymen, receives not the welcome of pomp and grandeur on his victorious return but the cricket players are welcomed as heroes , in a manner fit for kings and unfortunately on this occasion, at the cost of the lives of their fans, the very lives the soldiers had fought to protect.

The second greatest commandment of all and Jesus added a codicil , to love your enemies not just friends as even sinners love those close to them . A tall order in a society where relationships are fragile and even the very best friends can soon become enemies, if there is a small misstep. None of us can qualify to be blameless or without sin, especially when we apply such a difficult commandment . Who amongst us can even try to emulate Jesus, the commandment of loving our neighbour, leave alone our enemies. 

Often it would be just a small mistake that we are quick to judge, resulting in the immediate exclusion of the culprit from our lives. We  see this pattern, especially on social media , we notice how certain members of a group are sidelined for slights they may have knowingly or unknowingly committed. of which they are sometimes even unaware . We set high standards for others and seldom feel the necessity to follow the same . 

An incident that occurred a few weeks ago comes to mind, a perfect example. A dear friend from the past, I did not greet this year on her birthday, for she did not acknowledge the last greetings I sent. However, on my birthday, she sent special greetings, though I had ignored her . That is not the end of the story. Being busy on my birthday and several days thereafter, I did not notice her greetings nor did I acknowledge it . Many days later I saw her birthday wishes and felt most guilty . 

Was it not for the same reason I had been offended, which now seemed trivial ? For it is obvious it could not have been deliberate but just oversight. I had mercilessly condemned her not giving her the benefit of doubt. I had presumed it was an intentional act of omission meant as an insult . Feeling convicted, I realised it was my Lord showing me what a hypocrite I was for needlessly blaming someone for what was unintentional. 

How many of our friends and acquaintances have we turned away from, stopped speaking to, never trying to resolve what we thought was a hurtful comment, a damaging act, which probably was not even intended to be that . Let us try to bridge those chasms, restore and heal broken relationships with family and friends before we try to love our enemies. 

In conclusion I felt the following passage was relevant.

Matthew 7:3-5

3 “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? 4 How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? 5 You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.

Woke up one morning, with a memory of a bygone day, a home, the one where I lived when I was very little. Trying to recollect its many features, I drew a blank every step of the way . There is no one now, from the idyllic past of my young childhood, no one with whom I can share those beautiful precious memories, no one to fill in the gaps of lost times, no one to reminisce with, the cherished times of yore. 

The face that was once so dear, fading from our minds, a name that was once quick to our lips, a word that was familiar in its use, all hiding behind the veil of time, turning off like a flickering light going dark sooner than later. The old memories playing hide and seek, sometimes tantalising, like a peekaboo, some falling deep in the crevices of our minds, are difficult to retrieve and, some lost forever, forgotten in the abyss of time.  

Standing in the doorway we look back at the vast expanse of our past but we recognise naught, except for those close to our mind. Casting our eyes beyond, we struggle to see through the obscurity of time, for the memories once loved and cherished, escape us, not affording comfort anymore . And when we look ahead, the future is but a narrow tunnel , with no more room for unceasing dreams, but hurtling through unfamiliarity, to choppy seas, a stormy passage in time. 

Where did they go, the moments we once treasured and turned into memories, to store away for posterity ,to savour in our despair? Where do they hide, when we long to relive them ? Are they in the particles of dust that swirl around, in the peeling paint on the walls, in the dry leaves that we trample beneath our feet, are they the broken pieces of melody that wander into our thoughts, are they the shattered pieces of our dreams, swept away beneath the carpet of our lives.

I then pray, Lord, if you take away our memories, please leave behind the good. Let me always remember the hands that first held me the face that first loved me, the bosom against which I lay as a helpless babe. Let me always remember with love, the woman so resilient, the woman who nurtured, and raised me . Let me never forget the shoulders on which I rode, the strong feet on which I took my first steps , the voice that taught me the first note I sang . Let me always remember with admiration , a man so selfless, who taught me the values of life, to believe in myself .

Let me remember the one who played pranks , who made me laugh, taught me to swing a bat, to throw a ball, a bit of mischief here and a bit there . Let me not forget the little one, who showed me the joy of playing a domesticated game of ‘house’, the one who always let me have my way, taught me that love can conquer all . Let me remember the innocence of my childhood, the happiness I shared with my birth family. Let me remember the first book I read, my first friendship, my first crush , the first stirrings of womanhood, the pride in my first pay cheque.

Let me always remember the fun I had, the joy I felt. Let me never forget my first Christmas tree, the vibrant colours of spring, red gold and green. Let me remember the mornings, glistening with the dew drops, melting quickly with the rising sun. Let me never forget the thrill of the first rainfall cooling the parched earth beneath, and the colourful rainbow suspended above. Let me remember the long summer evenings, the air heavy with the smell of jasmine and jackfruit, listening to grandma’s tales, under the sickle shaped moon, and the shimmering stars.

Oh there is so much to remember, from a past that seems ever so elusive, but like all good things that must end, they dissipate from our minds like mist . Then I pray to my Lord, when all is lost, and my heart’s desires cease, when darkness falls, and the demons attack, let Your rod and staff be my protection. Let your peace like a spring of hope water the wasteland of my life. Lead me through that perilous journey and make smooth the rough patches. Teach me to wait patiently, until that day in Your glorious presence I can rejoice and be reunited with all those who have gone ahead.

Received a message this morning from a cousin, informing the passing of her brother’s mother in law . The turn of phrase used, I found odd – ‘ promoted to Glory ‘ . That surely is a strange way to express someone has passed . I then gave it some thought and realised how apt it was . Are we not being promoted from our lowly station of life on earth to a glorious eternity? 

Thinking about the life of my cousin who is most spiritual, I realised she would definitely portray death as a release from this carnal world to greater joy in eternity. From a very young age she seemed to have a closeness to Jesus that none of us ever had. I don’t know what her aspirations were but when we met during vacations she was always kind, helpful and maybe to some extent, a bit of a bore . 

Being brilliant, she went on to do engineering at REC , far more academically accomplished than her more average cousins like us . On completing her course she came to Bangalore to work at BPL, an opening she got due to the effort of my parents. She of course, gave all glory only to God . Soon after, my uncle decided to get her married . Through their connections they found a groom, good match, an engineer, a priest’s son working in Muscat . 

My cousin moved to Muscat after the marriage and I lost touch with her . Later a child was born and I heard the baby had problems, the child was mentally challenged . My cousin’s life changed drastically, she was fully occupied with nurturing her daughter whose needs were many. Special schooling, special activities, special attention, all of which she gave selflessly . 

Then came the second child, a son who was born perfectly normal but they soon discovered he was autistic.  She was again thrown into the vortex of a special needs child. Sometime during all of this it was learnt that her husband’s family had a genetic disorder of children born with deficiencies, which the priest did not reveal . My cousin now had two children, demanding her time and full devotion . Never once did I hear her complain, instead in all our troubles she was most supportive and encouraging.

During all of this she never once turned away from God her Saviour. There was no bitterness, no resentment against family, no depression. She accepted her life as it were because she believed it was God’s will and she surrendered her circumstances to Him totally. Her faith has only grown and she is a testament of total acceptance of what life has thrown at her, for she believes nothing can go wrong unless it is allowed by God, and if it is allowed by Him, He surely has a reason for it . 

The children are now grown , the daughter in some kind of home during the week for vocational training / work, the son is almost independent and employed. She doesn’t worry about what will become of them, especially after her time, for she knows God’s plans for them are far greater than what she can ever imagine or hope for . And if she doesn’t see His goodness in this world, she is willing to wait to see it in the next .

Sharing today’s Sunday sermon . I woke up this morning and my scripture reading was from Luke ch 5 about the paralysed man who was healed . Surprisingly the scripture reading in church was the same and the sermon based on this incident from the Bible . Have read it often and the only things that registered were the faith of the man , his 4 friends, Jesus’ compassionate forgiveness and healing. 

The focus in the sermon was about the man and the men who brought him there . Who was the paralysed man ? Was he abandoned by family and friends, lying alone in a darkened home with no love, cheer or joy but only suffering ? And who were the four friends, maybe just random acquaintances who knew about his condition and came together to help ?  Men who kept aside their priorities to fight the crowds and bring him to Jesus for healing ?

The priest went on to narrate Abdul Kalams’s experience at a sports event for mentally challenged children. During the running race, they all set off together, no one vying for first place but with a goal to finish the race together. When one of them fell and was left behind, they stopped as one and went back to pick him up and bring him with them to the finish line . 

The teaching being that we should collectively uplift those amongst us who have fallen on hard times . So this Lenten, let us pray to be like one of the four friends who carried the paralysed man, let our goal be to bring those who are lagging, to the finish line . 

The Canaanite woman’s faith in Jesus 23 rd March 

The gospel reading today was Mathew 15:21-28, about the Canaanite woman, a gentile woman’s faith in Jesus, a faith so strong, that she did not give up until He acknowledged her persistent, tenacious faith and healed her daughter. 

Many of us have situations, turning us to God in prayer, especially for our children. Our faith should be unwavering, unstoppable even in the face of opposition and adversities. Praying constantly, not letting go, until we receive God’s favour for our children.

Sitting there, watching the young mothers, watching the old mothers, some praying earnestly, some seeking out their little children in the crowd, I realised, each of us is there to worship and ask God for His grace, especially on our hapless children . We bring our children those who comply, to church for God’s blessings and hope He will cover those not there, beneath the shadow of His wings .

Healing on the sabbath 30 th March .

Gospel Reading for today was Luke ch 13:10-17. A woman who was crippled by a spirit for 18 years, though bent and unable to straighten, still found faith and strength to visit a Sabbath meeting at the Synagogue where Jesus was teaching. She did not loudly pray or implore but still He saw and with compassion, touched her and healed her .

An amazing miracle for the woman and the people who witnessed it, except for the synagogue leader and teachers of the law who objected to any kind of work on the sabbath, even healing the sick . Jesus asked, what then of your work untying your animals from the stalls, to lead them to water, how much more then is this daughter of Abraham, who has to be freed from pain kept prisoned by satan for 18 years .

The previous Sunday we saw the Canaanite woman’s faith, her cry for mercy, above the din of those around her, above the demand of those who tried to quiet her, her persistence resulting in Jesus healing her daughter. Now we see another suffering woman, not crying out loud but just being there, to listen the Lord and His teachings. She was not there for the healing but to listen to His teachings. But the Lord saw her and in His compassion, healed her .

And then I learnt, it is not required to always pray aloud,it is sufficient to be in the presence of my Lord. Even if I am suffering, in agony, even if I do not see the light in my darkest moments, even if I do not know how to express my fears and anxieties, or cry out to Him, He will still see me, He will see my pain and heal my very being .