Contributed by Wendy ML Tan • Sep 26, 2023
In one way or another, my life parallels that of David’s. I know what it’s like to be left out. I remember the days when I would miss the evening walks with my brothers because I was always last to finish off my dinner. By the time I finished my food, there was no one to take me for a walk. I would go to the garden and climb the mango trees on my own. At school, I was never among the in-crowd. I did not make the cut at the selection for prefects, so I opted to be a quiet school librarian. Perhaps it was my grades; they were just above average.
David wrote psalms and played the lyre. When I was 9, I wrote short stories to which my mother used to say, “Why does your story always have a sad ending?” I couldn’t answer her, so I stopped writing stories. I wanted to paint but my teachers would always grade my art pieces with a C or D. I loved music, but to this day I cannot count the beat properly. While my late father paid for my piano lessons, I was never allowed by my music teacher to sit for practical exams.
Still, these things and many others, will not compare with what God revealed to me in recent weeks that culminated this weekend as I listened to the sermon.
Despite a difficult childhood, David enjoyed God’s favour. I too enjoy much of God’s favour. From simple things like getting parking spots at the busy streets of Taipan USJ to studying at the seminary, which is no walk in the park. So, I am thankful that my grades are sometimes beyond my expectations. Deep in my heart, I know that if God had no part in it, I would have made many blunders in my assignments and examinations. I have really good and supportive friends both at the seminary and at church too, especially at DUMC@Puchong. That is why no matter how tired I am on Sunday morning, I will still drive over to church there. Being in God’s community refreshes me, every single week.
But, like David, while I have seasons of favour, I too have seasons of difficulty and unfavourable conflicts. Due to differences in opinions and my direct criticism of a presentation, I began to feel a hostile reaction from a few course-mates. I prayed about the situation, asking God for an opportunity to break the ice. Otherwise, seeing these people week in and week out, with silent whispers behind my back would be so uncomfortable. God granted me an opportunity when these friends needed help getting a book from Canaanland. It was a doable task, and the outcome was pleasant. Today, we would still sit together for lunch and crack jokes at each other without feelings of animosity.
Then, there was a sense of overwhelming grief when August swept by. This year, Aug 1st marked 40 years since my eldest brother passed away at the age of 12 for medical reasons that my parents and relatives refuse to reveal to this day. I had wanted to visit his grave that day but my morning was spent editing an Engage draft followed by a lunch event with my lecturers and campus friends. The skies turned dark grey as I left campus. I felt God was telling me not to go to the gravesite so I did not go.
Fast forward to last Wednesday, I had a chit-chat session with my campus’ dean who advised me to think further about my relationship with my mother. I held back my tears as I brushed his suggestion off. I did not want to dig up and dwell on past issues again. I left his office unnerved but his advice lingered on in my head for three days. “God, what is it that you are trying to tell me?”
God promptly reminded me of fears that I had discounted in my life. They were the fears of abandonment and neglect. God brought to mind some childhood memories. Many years ago when I was about 3, when my father drove my mother to her sewing class, I would cry incessantly whenever she got out of the car. I would cry until she came home. Then, in many instances, when I woke up in the morning, I had been left alone in the house while my second brother had gone to school, my father to work and my mother to run errands. I hated the feeling of being alone.
When my eldest brother was hospitalised, I would follow my mother there after kindergarten classes. I have memories of eating sunflower seeds which she had peeled off for me. I roamed around the hospital floors on my own but on the day my brother left for paradise, I was sent to my cousin’s home. Days after, throngs of visitors came by the house. I don’t remember crying. In fact, I don’t remember my brother very much. I don’t remember his voice either.
Four and a half months later, my younger brother was born. Tears turned into joy. I doted on my younger brother. We all did. I have never felt jealous of him as we grew up, but I was angry at my mother once, on Christmas Day 1985. I woke up with a very cute cushion by my side. It was mine for about ten minutes until she said that it was meant to be my brother’s Christmas gift. I had my own gifts but I felt dejected because I had really liked that cushion.
For the longest time, I have always felt that my mother preferred my siblings. I could never understand why my brothers, nieces and nephew were so close to her. Whenever I did my chores, or when I had to bring her to the hospital for check-ups, she would sometimes remark that my effort was insincere. She was right. These chores felt obligatory on my part.
The word ‘love’ eluded me, until God opened my heart to see that like David, I had cared enough to tend to my mother’s needs as he had tended to the flock of sheep. It made me realise that circumstances around him were beyond his control and he would navigate a situation as best as he could. My mother navigated her life too, when she was about to lose her eldest son, and when her youngest child was born. All her energy and attention must have shifted between the two of them. My second brother and I were left to fend for ourselves during that crucial time.
As this new revelation unfolded before me, God knew I would feel hurt. Before the hurt could hit me, he cushioned me with His words. Three times within three days, through a worship song, an article and a pastor’s prayer, I heard God say to me, “God loves you.” I responded, “What do I do then? I don’t know what needs to be done to move on?” The answer was in the pastor’s prayer. It was an answer that God had given me earlier when I was preparing a sermon script for a Preaching Clinic session.
I am inspired by how David was so secured against the victim mentality. He stood his ground and did not let life’s challenges and difficulties control him. I am inspired by the apostle Peter, that when he was imprisoned for the third time (in Acts 12), he slept through the night, calm and collected with whatever that could befall him. I am inspired by Daniel’s three best friends (Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, in Daniel 3) when they were thrown into the furnace of fire. They were confident that God would be able to deliver them from King Nebuchanezzar’s hand.
It will be God who will heal and deliver me from my fears. I need not be anxious. I will trust in Him to replace the bad memories of my past with good ones. I can be rest assured that He will never forsake nor abandon me. He is my peace, and my comfort. My shepherd. To Him be all glory for ever and ever. Amen.