Dear Father, we come to You with praise and thanksgiving, for Your salvation, for Your sanctification. We thank you, for Your love and abundant mercy, for Your protection and providence, that we enjoy, day after day.

Lord, we take so much for granted, our life, our well-being, our family and our creature comforts, which we receive, only by Your grace. But it is when we face troubles, when we feel that thorn in our flesh, that we draw close to You and there is no place we would rather be, than beneath the shadow of Your wings .

Today, Lord we come before you, with folded hands and on bent knees, praying for Your compassion on those who are sick, those who are suffering,, those who have lost family and friends, those who are rendered homeless, those who are displaced and turned to refugees, overnight, all in the futile wars that are raging in this world, today.

Heal the suffering, heal those who are struggling, those who are overcome by the grief of separation. Heal the ones who feel betrayed and abandoned, save the hunted and the captives, strengthen the weak, comfort those who are mourning. Be a shield around little children who are lost and in danger, let no evil come near them, be a fortress to the pursued, those who seek protection.

O God of mercy and might, we believe that You are still on the throne, that nothing is impossible for You . We know You are compassionate and will take control of all the lawlessness, that is ruling the world. Reveal Your miracles, show us Your mighty deeds, heal and restore Your people, show forth Your glory and let Your goodness and mercy be our portion, all the days of our lives .

The Sunday congregation in church comprises of praying people, people with troubles and sorrows, people who are sick and needy, people who are wealthy and able, people who are there to meet and greet, men on one side, women on the other, all with their heads bowed in worship, heaving as one, in song and prayer, seeking God’s grace, each believing their need is greater than the other and expecting God’s instant blessing.

Today I saw among them, three people who touched my heart . A young mother with her little son, a child with Down syndrome and demanding. The mother at her wit’s end, seemingly tired , concerned and impatient, all at once, walking out with her hapless child, each time he got boisterous and walking right back in when she managed to calm him . Was she there to pray for her little boy, for his healing, or was she there to pray for sustenance and fortitude, to nurture her handicapped baby ?

A middle aged woman of no conspicuous or noteworthy appearance, except there were ceaseless tears streaming down her cheeks, which she desperately tried to conceal, wiping it off with her white hand kerchief, even before they left her eyes, leaving me wondering, what could be the cause of such abject misery? Was she mourning the death of a loved one or was it sad news she received, of a tragedy that was unbearable? Was she praying for comfort or the reversal of her unfortunate circumstances ?

Then came the third, an elderly woman, who walked up to the altar for Holy Eucharist . Labouring under her heavy weight, her gait painful and ungainly, she reached the altar, and after receiving the Eucharist returned to her seat, slowly. Her hands folded, her head slightly bowed , she stood there with tears trickling down her face, praying,. Was she praying for a transformation, for complete relief, or was she just weeping in gratitude?

My woes were soon forgotten, as I contemplated on the likely sorrows of the many, as we all stood before the Sovereign Lord, heads bowed, hands folded, praying for His favour, some to be rewarded, some to be disappointed, some to lose hope forever. If the angel of the Lord were to come down, as in the story of the Bible, to stir the water in the pool one time, the healing water for just the one who reaches first, who would it be, who would the angel pick, who amongst them is the most deserving ?

Would it be the boy born with disability, not because of his sin or that of his parents, would his mother be freed from a life sentence , would it be the woman crying disconsolately, probably from a grief that is inconsolable, or the other who may be suffering from some unbearable pain. Or maybe someone from the congregation, someone who has no need , no ailment, and bless him further, maybe it would be none or all of them and me,

As we pray incessantly waiting for God to dispense His grace, we wonder when is our time ? But then, who are we to question God’s Sovereignty, who are we to decide who should receive His favour or when? Who are we to doubt His plans for us, He who sacrificed His only begotten Son to save us from destruction ? Why then do we try to understand that which is inconceivable, why don’t we instead surrender to His will, and live with inexplicable trust, in the Keeper of our times?

Every morning rising with the sun, a moment spent in prayer, with thanksgiving for restful sleep, with gratitude for another day . The prayer however does not end with just thankful words, but is always followed by a long wish list . Protection for family and friends, healing for those who are sick, blessings for children, loved ones and then sometimes, a request for forgiveness and for self improvement.

After the daily devotions, stepping out into the world of temptation, a life full of trials and tribulations , we forget gratitude immediately. Soon complaining, all graciousness forgotten, we plod through the day, discontent and dismayed, paying no heed to the hour spent in the Lord’s presence, nor to the commitment we made in His presence .

Dusty nooks and crannies , newspaper strewn all around, pet in the way, chewing your best shoe, family members uncooperative. The coffee is lukewarm, and breakfast is mediocre to say the least . Just as I survey this awful mess, the phone beside me rings like an alarm, a prelude to disaster. It is none other than the much awaited help, calling to inform she is incapacitated, laid up for the next few months.

The one small ray of hope, flew away on the wings of the butterfly, that had alighted for a moment, on my widow sill . After the initial concern for her well being it was all about me and my looming burden. The chores ahead , the long hours of toil that seemed to stretch for days, and not to mention the slow disappearance of my coping skills.. With no relief in sight, with a descending sense of helplessness ,wallowing in self pity, at the seemingly unfairness of life, I collapse in a heap .

Turning to the Lord I ask, is this Your answer to my prayer, strength for the day and peace within.? There was no instant reply , not even a whisper in my head . A while later, arising from a brief slumber, I look around hopefully but find no miracle, the mess is still waiting for me. I then realise, nothing is done and, nothing will be done, unless it is done by me .

Suddenly, galvanised into action, am bolting around, trying to finish the never ending chores. With an occasional snap at family members, who don’t understand this fever of activity and slink away quietly. Before long, there is some semblance of normalcy and a simple meal is ready . Then with remorse I look around at the faces of my loved ones, who patiently tolerated my tantrums and extended all the help they could, to make it easy .

The sense of gratitude for my blessings, then comes flooding back. I remembered the many who are lonely and have no home or family, who are weakened by sickness and age, unable to do any task, even to tend to themselves. Am I not then most fortunate, for the strength and health I enjoy, am I not fortunate to have a family to nurture, loved ones to care for, a home to look after . No longer complaining, my chores all appear less tedious daily.

And so goes the days, with my Lord’s promise ‘ My Grace is sufficient’ ringing in my ears, The spread on the dining table is now better, with the help of caterers and self, the floor is cleaner, the dust less dense and my complaints are fewer. Each day, rising with strength and fortitude, ready to take on any challenge, I set to work knowing I am not alone, but there is One who is stronger than I , within me. Though a better version of yesterday, I still am a work in progress, but I say thank You God, for answered prayers .

During my recent visit to the diagnostic lab, I was there by 8.00 am for the fasting blood tests which were required. A very early start for me, indeed! Filled with anxiety, overcome by fear of what the tests might reveal, I reached the counter, breathless, and restless .

There before me stood a mother and her anxious young daughter, the mother filling in the form with required tests. Distracted by their consternation, I lost my initial dread , and wondered, if the tests were for the mother or the daughter.

With that brief shift in focus, my fear subsided , and quickly filling in my name, I left the form in the hands of the efficient secretary, to fill in the tests as per the prescription. Turning around to watch the mother and daughter duo, I realised the child who was in her late teens , could be autistic.

When their turn came, the mother gently led the girl into the cubicle and stayed with her until the short procedure of drawing blood was completed. Coming out of the cubicle, returning to her seat, I noticed the girl was beaming, probably anticipating some treat her mother had promised..

She had not really felt the pain of the needle, for her mother had been there right beside her, she had no fear of the outcome of the results, for though she was all of seventeen she had a child like trust in her mother, to make right all that could possibly go wrong . Bursting with relief, she seemed unable to contain herself, and giggled uncontrollably.

Her laughter was so infectious, that I was soon smiling from ear to ear . I asked of her her name and she answered with no inhibition . There was nothing conniving or scheming in those eyes so pure, and I remembered what Jesus said , “unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Unless we have a child like trust in the Lord , unless we live with no fear of what lies ahead. Unless we have faith in the Lord, to resolve our problems, to fulfil our desires , in the way He knows best. Unless we believe that all things work together for good to those who love God, we will never enjoy the promised peace, or the Kingdom of God , here on earth .

Never have had reason to visit a doctor, for I can thankfully say, my gracious and loving Heavenly Father has always blessed me with good health. Then with the passing years, I developed the common hypertension, which my family and friends cautioned, not to ignore.

So off I went to visit, our friendly neighbourhood doctor, a physician well known to all in Cooke Town . Expecting a long queue waiting for his ministration, I was duly surprised to note I was second in line, but that unfortunately was not exactly a short wait in time.

When finally sitting in the hot seat, facing my nemesis, it was pleasant to note, that he came as a kind old man, looking most harmless. After the initial greeting , my details were sought in a soft calm voice, that changed to one of astonishment, when I mentioned my age, for he thought I was younger .

Checking my family history, my blood pressure and my pulse, he was convinced I needed medication, which had to be started immediately. He advised certain basic blood tests, to eliminate anything he may have missed, and a date for a second meeting with the reports, was fixed for ten days later.

Armed with my recent blood works, I went back to him. Having already googled the effects of the results, the variations, I knew what to expect. With some apprehension I walked in,expecting another long wait, but this time there was no one, just an empty clinic. However on hearing me, the doctor, appeared with alacrity, it seemed he had had no patients all day.

After checking the reports, more medication was prescribed, and mentally I decided which were to be disregarded . Close to the end of the session, the doctor had a question for me. Unable to contain his curiosity he asked, if everyone in my family has black hair ? Strange question that, I thought and unsure how this would affect my diagnosis, I quickly answered ‘ yes’ but went on to add that mine had started to turn grey only recently .

He then observed, to my considerable relief, that my hair he thought was quite black for one so old . Oh not quite, I said, there is a lot of grey in there and maybe it is time you changed your eye glasses, was my reply .With that free advice to the doctor, I left him sipping on his wife’s homemade ginger lemonade, as he pondered over the apparent black of my hair and his faulty eye glasses.

As I walked away from the clinic, dwelling on my new found distinction, of belonging to those with lifestyle ailments, a slave to medication, falling prey to pharmaceuticals, I was melancholy . Then came to mind, the health I enjoyed all these years, with no need to even visit a doctor, and I was filled with abounding gratitude once again. My Lord has carried me thus far, and He will carry me the rest of the way, so why should I fear ?

Quite by chance, I stumbled upon, an old telephone book, and was instantly transported back to the days of yore, a world without the internet . Turning the pages, seeing the telephone numbers, five and six digits, neatly written by people, of people, now all mostly gone to the hither world, much like the dial up instruments we once used.

A time when private phones were scarce, the privilege of a few, a time of pay phones at the neighbourhood post office. A time when we knew from memory the numbers of those dear and near ,a time when we were smart and did not have ton rely on our smart phones. A time when we did not have to seek an appointment to call a friend, for help or to make plans for the weekend, a time when we could express our feelings vociferously, without depending on those characterless emojis.

Before the internet, time stood still, went by languidly. A time when days were long and idyllic, a time before the winds of change, when it was still a caressing breeze. A time when the fluttering leaves,were never in haste, but descended gracefully. A time before the storm clouds gathered, when it was still white and woolly, dancing in the blue skies, when Spring and Summer, seemed to last forever. A time when the slow afternoons were spent, chasing cars, and it was time well spent, if we counted more than one . It was a time before the ‘ self driving’ cars.

Before the internet, the games we played were all outdoors, flying paper kites, running with the Brahminy kites, romping in the fields, grazing our knees, singing with the birds, hopping with the frogs, terrifying the unsuspecting tadpoles, in muddy ponds, pursuing elusive butterflies, catching green grasshoppers and dragonflies, for entertainment . Oh it was a time of freedom and open spaces, when the air was clean and vitalising, when the nectar of wild flowers, was sweeter than honey, and the changing colours of chameleons, we found fascinating. A time before the ‘ Real Estate’ boom .

Before the internet, our choices were few , Natraj pencils were our good friends, Bata shoes our faithful companions, it was before Adidas and Jordans, ruled the world . A time when toys were limited, when X box and play stations were unknown, we played with sticks and stones, gilli danda and lagori . Wholesome, home cooked meals were our delicious fare, bondas, bhajis, fritters , our favourite fried tea time snacks, a time before ‘Keto’ entered our diet, and ‘ Gymming ‘ took centre stage. A time when market visits were common, the sights and smells new everyday, fresh vegetables and fruits stacked on high, in a splendid array of colour, their staggering heights defying gravity. A time before the apps, before the contactless home deliveries.

Before the internet, travelling was so simple, to call an agent for air, train or bus tickets, and hotels, a time before the laborious online bookings. A time when finding a location was to stop at every cross road, asking friendly pedestrians, eager to help with directions to any destination. Now we surrender to google maps, to a voice without a face, to lead us through confusing roads and alleys, at times, through near unnavigable lanes . Always with a smile, with a short cheerful exchange, we met people,at every street corner, a time when a friendly ‘ hello ‘ was a welcome greeting, and not considered a threat.

With technology advancing in leaps and bounds, we now live in the realm of the internet, a digital world, with no personal touch. Our identities a number, our details no longer private, floating in the virtual cloud, controlled by passwords and OTPs. A time when communication is fast but intimacy is lost, a time when family is at the end of a text, or a FaceTime call. A time when we share our lives with everyone, on social media, yet feel so lonely and alone. A time when’’Work’ is from home, when distances don’t matter, but disconnection is encouraged .

A time when the world has shrunk, borders are seamless, our horizons have grown,, and knowledge is at our fingertips. With the intermingling of cultures, our values changed, and we forgot our traditions. A time when relationships are not cherished, a time when self interest is uppermost , and a solitary lifestyle is not the exception, but the accepted norm . With our growing dependence on the phone, there is now a new term coined, ‘Nomophobia’ to describe the fear of being without a mobile. And somewhere along the way, we lost our faith in God and mankind, we lost the joy of simple living in fellowship with Him, and in harmony with our fellow men .

Saturday, the start of the much awaited weekend, yet mundane in our household. The chores seem to multiply as all needs are to be met before the quiet, peaceful Sunday. Slowly completing tasks and errands, waiting for magical Sunday to dawn, we go through the day, making lazy plans for the upcoming day of rest .

Running through the list of duties for the help to complete, I wait on her arrival. Quite indifferent to the disarray ,oblivious to the disorder around, I wallow over the breakfast preparation. When she does arrive, it is earlier then habitual, and I look up to see, instead of the customary recalcitrant, an uncharacteristically cheerful face greeting me.

Draped in a colourful saree, decked in jewellery, earrings and bracelets of gold, silver anklets and painted finger and toe nails . Curious I ask her, what is the occasion for such splendour, the saree covered with sequins, the dangling earrings, the bracelets, the jangling anklets and the purple coloured nails .

And this she told me, most profound, with not a moment of hesitation, leaving me speechless. The saree is old, though it looks new as it was packed and kept away. The jewellery, though not worth tuppence, yet so glamorous, the painted nails, courtesy her errant daughter in law, who left for her mother’s home in a huff, leaving behind her makeup kit .

She went on to say, why do I store, why do I save, when my days here on earth are numbered, why do I keep for a generation most ungrateful, ? Why can I not enjoy what I earn, enjoy small luxuries, indulge in some of my fantasies, when I am still alive ? After my time, no one will remember my sacrifices, no one will care for my cherished possessions . So why should I not live abundantly , each day for the rest of my life ?

Her simple words struck a chord in me! Like a fountain of wisdom, an understanding flowed through me. Our endeavours, great or small, our achievements, significant or insignificant, our passions, our possessions and our sacrifices, are just momentary, like a puff of wind . A moment in the sands of time that is erased quickly, a moment that is buried deep, with each new falling grain . Why do we then hoard, why do we put away for a time that can not be ours ?

Throwing open my wardrobe after this brief exchange, I see clothes arranged in different categories, day wear, evening wear, special occasions, some seldom worn, some decades old and some have never seen the light of day, all neatly stored for a tomorrow, that may never be mine . Quickly whisking out, the old the unused, casting away that which can never be used, I pull out my favourite dress, my Sunday best, to wear for a mundane day of chores and errands . I pray, the Lord give me strength and courage to live and love each day, as if it were the last day .

It is that time of the year again, Onam, the cultural festival of Kerala . The much awaited time of boat races, pookalam , thriruvathira ,not to forget the sumptuous Onam lunch, with family and friends.

Men and women, at gatherings in the traditional dress of kasavu mundu and saree, impeccably draped, a cynosure for all who behold . But alas, though a Malayalee, in my possession there is no kasavu saree !

Growing up in an orthodox Christian family, away from the verdant God’s own country, Onam was not considered a festival in our household, nor a time for celebration. Leaving home for the faraway cities while still young, maybe the custom and significance of Onam faded from my parents’ mind . There were no pookalams, no dressing in kasavu, nor visits to, or from extended family.

Often Onam came and went, with no notice. Just another day, an ordinary day, with work for adults and school for the children. There was no special Sadhya, but the everyday sambar & thoren, with an additional Avial or payasam, to mark the occasion, arrived on the table, for dinner. And no one really missed the elaborate vegetarian meal or the celebration that we never knew.

So it was, until some years ago, when an invitation for an Onam Sadhya landed on me. I was sans the Kasavu , sans the knowledge of pookalam, Thiruvathira or any of the trappings of the celebration. As it was a pot luck lunch, we each had to bring a dish. Armed with some store bought chips, wearing my regular party best, I arrived at the venue, to quickly feel out of place, not like a Malayalee . The decision was made, to remedy this remiss immediately, by getting a kasavu and being better prepared, for the following year.

From then on each year , out came the kasavu from its packing , to be draped on self, but must add none too gracefully, for the exciting gastronomic treat and fun filled, Onam experience . Then five years ago it was deigned once again, to be not a Christian tradition and thus not to be celebrated . Strange this seesaw of belief, about a cultural festival, a harvest festival in the land of plenty. Now my kasavu has slipped into the dark recess of my wardrobe, never to see the light of day, never to be worn, until the tide changes again.

Sleeping in late on a Sunday morning, not an option for the devout Christian, rushing to church to catch the Sunday Service, in some denominations, starting as early as 6.00 am, and others maybe slightly later. Skipping breakfast and leaving most household chores,undone, dressed in our Sunday best, a beleaguered congregation we are, as we gather to worship the Lord.

The devout reaching well in time, the slackers straggling in late, some walking reluctantly shuffling their feet, as if there under coercion, yet others hanging around outside, chatting till just before the raising of the Eucharist . All in all, everyone gatherrs together to attend the Sunday Service. This Sunday however, was a special service, a prayer to honour the mother of the Holy One . Candles in holders were passed around to each, then lit one by one, going down the pews .

But alas when it came to ours, no sooner than it was lit, the candle was snuffed out . After repeated attempts with no success, we were concerned about this strange occurrence. It was of course no mystery, just the lone ceiling fan over our heads, making mischief. Requesting it be turned off, we were soon able to hold a steady flame, joining the rest in the veneration .

While striving to keep the flame alive , the parable of the ten virgins came to my mind. Five with well trimmed lamps to greet, to welcome the bridegroom, while the rest, careless ,with no oil for their lamps, were rejected and left behind. When all the congregation stood with a burning flame, we in our pew held extinguished candles, because of the overhead fan, which we neglected to turn off .

Faith, a fragile flame, when under the attack of worldly cares, is blown out, like a candle in the wind. Turning away from our troubles and fixing our eyes on the Saviour, knowing His grace is abundant , we can win the battle. Shifting our focus from the challenges, and resting in the shadow of His wings, we keep the flame of hope alive . The ‘ Kingdom of God ‘ , will blossom in our hearts, when we step off the shaky ground of worldly distractions and stand firm on the solid ground of The Word .

Friendship, like a tendril twines, to support, to lift, to raise us in our weakest moments. Friendship like a warm breath of air on a cold winter’s night, like the first rain on a hot summer afternoon, envelopes us. Friendship like a light, shines in our darkest hour, and surrounds like an all prevalent scent, to comfort us . Friendship is the arm that upholds, when we falter, when we stumble.

Friendship binds us together like a filigree, though delicate, yet so strong , a trellis we can lean on , a partnership we can rely on. A lattice so tightly wrought, to lose not its hold on us, even after the lapse of many years . Friendship is the bond that allows freedom to call for help in the dead of the night, sure of someone to share in our sorrow , sure of a shoulder to cry on, of solace in our worst despair.

Friendship like a tapestry, weaves through our lives most intricately, filling the gaps, the empty spaces with colour, completing that which is incomplete, to form a picture most beautiful. Friendship mends the broken strands, makes a design where there is none, brightens with joy that which is joyless , brings to life an otherwise lifeless portrait. Friendship is the ground on which we stand, when we are torn and tormented.

Friendship leads like a beacon burning bright, a guiding light when we are lost, and anchor less. When battered by storms , when sailing aimlessly, friendship like a warning light, steers us through treacherous waters , to bring us safely home. Friendship signals loudly when we err, warns when we walk the path of transgression, firmly chastises our wrong doing, to keep us on the path of righteousness.

But friendship is also fragile, like a candle in the wind, battered by life’s many challenges, and at times to die away . When not nurtured or cared for, it fades with each distance placed, and is quenched by the gusty gale of life. Though the flame may burn no more, a glimmer of light still remains, a precious friendship always there, ready to be rekindled, never judging or holding a grudge, just waiting to be reclaimed .