Far from home, close to Love - when mom goes away for three weeks!

I had expected more suspicious looks and carefully let-out recriminations that sum up as:

How Can You Leave Them?

It is the first thing that wormed within me when the email came that I received the scholarship.

I thought about how my mother didn't even buy herself anything fancy, visit a spa or expect gifts, until she had retired and our support had been steady and strong.

Just a generation away, and the responses I received were:

I am envious man
You deserve it
What an opportunity
Great break, go for it!

I am committed to grow as a person and in my vocation as a pastor-writer. Still, my mom-heart is so dead-centre in my being that the decision was anything but easy.

It isn't because I am a hovering parent. It's not even because of the son's exams. It's not that I fear they will unravel without me, for they won't.

I am the kind of momma who has knitted her soul with her children. I am pretty sure we haven't always made all the best choices for them, but my love is deep. My soul quivers, rises and falls sullen upon their childishness, their stubbornness, their strengths and weaknesses. My children affect me deeply, and I let them.

I think we affect God deeply, and He lets us.

But I am aware of a beckoning.
I sense a weariness in my soul.
Extended solitude is safety for the soul.
And it's time to write.

So I packed very slowly over a few days, quite unsure what I will need as I watch the weather. [It is a good thing I am a minimalist, so I am here with 4 sets of clothes and no hair dryer].


When I arrive, I know straight away this is a place their souls will come alive and miss them.

But this is a gift for me and I need to receive it.

The children are brave. Of course, they want to come. Of course, they blurt out that I am 'on holiday'. Of course, they are missing me. But the best love a momma soul can have? They believe that their momma is on adventure with God. They encouraged me and assure me that they will be fine!



We love to try to make sense of everything, but this hiatus is quite awkward to make sense of.

The productive ones who use a ledger want to know what i gained by this 'sacrifice' (so, have you written anything so far?).
The romantics want to see lovely pictures, read about my jaunts and share the adventures.
The worriers don't need to say anything, I am quite capable of conjuring worse case scenarios myself!

I only know God carved out this space and time for me. He will have the answers to the rest if I really need them, in His time.

So, till the end of April, please know that if you need to make any decision and it's not easy, it's okay.

And do pray for me to return stronger, more loving, and hopefully with some writing too.

A letter from a 50 yr-old to my Ma and Pa

Began Friday, 1 July 2016
1:53 PM

Dear Mother and Father, I will turn fifty at the end of this year. Considering that the earth may be 6000 years old, fifty is pretty old - just take a few zeroes away!

I so wish you both are around with me; living together in good health, mutual respect and easy love.

Of course this is an idealized state - except for the mutual respect which we clearly had -  and even that required a lot out of us.

Mother and my firstborn. Every grandchild knew your love.

I remember grumbling so much about you Father: that you did not have a job title I could report to my school teachers with pride. While my classmate rattled off 'driver, manager, hawker'; I had no clue what it was you actually did. That in turn triggered off memories of times when Mother would say quietly, "just tell the teacher I will pay her next week" , I wondered if you did anything for us. What was obvious were the Toto receipts, the smoking, and the long stretches of time you weren't at home. 

But of course, I was only just figuring out about life as a kid.

No one, absolutely makes pigs' tongue soup like you did. I can still taste it; clearly some fireworks went off in my brain the few times you ladled it out for us. The pasty combination of soy, onions and melt-in-your-mouth potatoes and the chewy bits of meat (I ate unquestioningly and avoided the unfamiliar looking bits with the gristly surface, but knowing it was tongue did not deter me in the slightest for I had been won over by the aroma and the taste!),

In my teens, my self-righteous indignation ruled me with a ferocity and I persuaded, scolded, debated and gave you the cold shoulder for the many imperfections I saw in you.

It would be a few years of such suffering for you before your daughter grew up more to realise that you have a personal story that may account for the person you are; and to develop a compassion and curiosity to know about it, and so treat you as a person and not just someone who owed me proper fatherhood.

Mutual respect took us a long time. But I am glad we reached that shore.

Probably out of convention, I asked you to all the most important occasions of my life: my baptism, graduation, and my first public sermon. Convention has its place for sure; because your presence normalised us - I now have regular photos with parents - and for sure, we are both glad for it.

We did grow to respect and like each other. If there is anything I feel sad about now; it is that you did not get to walk me down the aisle and blossom into the amazing Grandfather I am sure you would. My children will never get to hear you tell your lame jokes, play the accordion, and watch your favourite Hindi movies and follow every episode of whatever David Attenbrough was up to ( I was shocked one time when I heard the august commentator's voice and instantly recognised it). And of course, that soup.

I wonder if you tell stories about us in heaven.

One thing we felt sure would happen in heaven. In fact one of us dreamt about it even. It was that when Mom arrived, you were thrilled to bits but she ignored you, like she did on earth.

Mother, you are a wondrous mystery to me. You weren't perfect for sure, and you often lacked the wisdom to guide us as the world spun crazily fast in the decades of immense change. You had no words for what to study, who to date or marry, what to do for a living. 

You did better than that. You showed us that learning is something we can all do. You did not get to start school because the war broke out, but you did not shrink from learning: going out to work, basic English conversation,  singing, crochet, reading your Chinese Bible, swimming, using the ATM, traveling, cooking new dishes, dancing… Your life demonstrated the meaning of the word 'possibility'  for us. What a precious gift. We knew we could suggest anything to you and never feel put down.

When we felt like quitting, you wouldn't let us. Opportunities don't come easy. While you never pushed us in any direction; you showed us that some things are worth every sacrifice, and that effort is what counts. Your fierce commitment to the family, your pride, your core values are the lights for a family that had little and could have turned out very differently. You took illness, nasty relatives, work injustices, hunger, lack, all in your stride. Never once did I hear you whine, complain your lot or blame others, except the glaring frustration you had with the government when you applied for public housing. If it had to be done, you saw to it that it was.

You stayed up long nights to twirl old calendar pages into beads and strung them so we could have some beauty in the home.  At night, as we lay together like sardines on floor mats, you sang us the silly song about the boats at Clifford Pier that 'fell down' and ate dog shit. I never got to ask you where that came from. You did everything you knew to ensure the family would be provided for: cooking and selling fried noodles at dawn to folks making their way to work, operating a Tontine, going out to work at the hospital despite your aversion to it (just take the job that comes), joining an MLM briefly….and always, bringing whatever donation cards schools required of us to help us get it all filled out.

I dig not know it then although I certainly felt it - mothers have a way of being pervasive in their influence.

You grew up without a father, and your own Mother was a compulsive gambler. As a daughter, your future would be marriage. In the meantime, your older Brother must be cared for, and supported through school; so from an early age, your life was turned outwards to solve problems and care for others. You survived the war after being recruited to work in the soldier's mess, and your diligence sometimes paid off with a few sweet potatoes above the rice they paid you with. You figured out how to make a quick buck by selling theatre tickets at black market prices.

But when it came to your own life, you did not take charge as you had for others. Your mother took a liking to Father, in part because they were both gamblers and had good chats over their games. So despite your own conviction about the evils of gambling, you acquiesced and married Father - and stayed faithful to him all the long and hard years.

 We are a bundle of contradictions aren't we?


I am not sure why, Mother and Father; but I really want you to be proud of me.  I want you to know that your pain, suffering, sacrifices have meant something.

It feels unfair to me that only as a young adult, when I was beginning to take the effort to understand and truly appreciate the contours of your lives; that my life became so full of my dreams and commitments, that although our conversations and interactions could be so rich; they often stayed mundane and thin. That when the roles were reversing and I was meant to take charge, I was too absorbed with my world. I did not neglect you per se, but there is so much I want to say to you and do for you still.

And then, you left suddenly, painfully, and alone.

Some things in life just cannot be managed: the heart attack, the car accident.

Father, we could go bargain hunting together. I now see the value and fun in it.
Mother, where else did you want to travel to - for once - not in order to visit one of us?

I don't know how you two did it. In your authentic and courageous lives, I witnessed and received Providence, Grace, and Mercy. Through your refusal to give up on life, I have a legacy of resilience and optimism.

Fifty years feels a long time. You were more than half of it; and I am going to make sure you will always be a part of whatever remains….until we meet again. Then, let's read this letter together.

Love,
Jenni Popo

Moms' day--"'over-rated' / disappointed - and why i will give you a look.

So Mother's Day is two days away (for countries including: United States, Italy, Australia, Belgium, Denmark, Finland, and Turkey). And yes there are poster, stickers, photos, words lyrical everywhere... and then, 

someone, somewhere is going to say the whole thing is over-rated, we made too big of a deal, we should be nice to our mothers everyday.

If you say that to me, I will give you  my finest "you are so wrong" look.  Because -

we need special days to make everyday special. It's just us.

The baboons don't need it. My cat is happy with her routines. The fish gurgle gladly to where they were first spawned. Not us. We were made for more; so we will reach for more. 

But we forget and we lower ourselves - each day we busy with our pedestrian appetites of buying, selling, getting ahead ... we forget. We forget what truly matters. We forget how good it is to be alive. We forget how much love we have received {and so can give} - even if, yes, much of it came through broken  containers and sometimes we suffer cuts as that love is poured clumsily, fitfully through our very human mothers.

Honour a special day for it cracks your heart that bit more and Life flows into spaces opened up. And our days - they flow one into another, don't they?

Another group I will reserve the "you are so wrong look"  for will be my fellow-moms who due to a day on the calendar that has gotten us looking forward to breakfast in bed, flowers, thank you notes... and as a fellow mom* admits, we expect it and huff when we don't get it. 

What we expect can become entitlement. 

"We deserve it distorts the  the sacrifice of motherhood and spins it in dizzying, disorienting circles.

Motherhood bends. Entitlement demands.
Motherhood serves. Entitlement stomps its foot.
Motherhood delights. Entitlement keeps lists.
Motherhood laughs. Entitlement whines.
Motherhood celebrates. Entitlement sulks.
Motherhood forgets itself in favor of remembering her dimple, his fastest mile, their mouths all ringed around with chocolate.

Entitlement tastes bitterness in every bite of a day that doesn't go as planned."


Let's pray for, and do something loving for our moms, for Love never fails.

Fellow moms, let's gladden our hearts in our high calling and perhaps inspire ourselves afresh as the whole world give recognition to our calling.


Here's a bit of inspiration and something to think about then -

A good mother is a role model for her immediate family and for everyone else she meets. Her joy makes those around her happy. And every woman is called to be a mother, whether married or single, and whether or not she has had children. People notice a woman who loves God and whose primary concern is serving others.

I cannot thank God enough for the love of my own mother, and for her deep relationship with my father. Even though they could never be called "religious" people, it was obvious to us seven children that our parents loved God, each other, and each one of us. And while it was clear that our father was head of the family, he never tolerated the slightest disrespect from us towards our mother.

Many women today resent the idea of motherhood, but they forget that it is a privilege as well as a task. Once regarded as the highest calling of woman, it is now pushed aside by "real" careers and viewed as an inconvenience or even an embarrassment. While this rebellion might be understandable in the case of oppression and abuse, it achieves nothing. How different family life could be if we admitted our confusion over the roles of man and woman; if we sought to rediscover God's plan for both, and regarded one another with respect and love!

Women today hold important jobs right up to the time they go into labor, and that is admirable. But when pregnancy and children require it, a woman's first priority should always be motherhood. She should be a mother first and foremost – and only after that, a doctor, teacher, lawyer, manager, or accountant. Far from regretting or resenting it, she ought to feel that motherhood is a gift, and that in God's eyes, there is no sacrifice more worthy than one made for a child.

Finally, watch this:

Moms, these things you are. Be great-ful!

Credit: Inspiration from Johann Christoph Arnold & mom sharing taken off http://lisajobaker.com/

Shopping with the daughter

SHOPPING is not exactly my thing. I love to buy stuff; but to shop ie. walk in and out of stores, sampling, comparing prices and tempting my heart-purse-strings is not really for me or my feet (and today my head joined in the protest when it quivered after only 2 hours).

But, the nearly twelve needs some clothes and hey, a mommy-daughter bonding time...come on...!

We went to really, the nearest mall, 2 train stations away..and at first could absolutely find nothing for her size (she's a puny teen). One kind salesgirl said, "er..teen shops..don't have..go to children's and buy the bigger sizes?". This little trick worked well, even for me when I was a teen, but this time it was a no-go. Her very definite taste buds said no.

So we traipsed on some more..and finally found the rather ubiquitous Hang Ten and Bossini. O well. Last year when we were all the way in HongKong, shoppers' paradise - we ended up in Bossini (we could not find Hang Ten). So you know where my imagination borders.

A hundred dollars poorer --yes and this is because it's HT and B not Mango or Abercombie [hey i do know some stuff]...we realised we were done in already! Our feet were protesting and our heads seemed to lag behind our bodies..

We stumbled into a bookstore where we both grinned at the sight of a book with a nice Burmese kitty on the cover and a tagline that went: cats and daughters are alike: they dont come when called. Touche! I felt a secret triumph as my girl squeezed my arm tight and we exchange a warm hug...and agreed that shopping - except for books - isn't really our thing.

The icing on the cake came when she said, "i dont understand why some people must have so much clothes!" Bless her heart; may she hold true to this thought forever..and long live affordable stores!

a view of the Mall - and the shop i had vouchers for but she found nothing she favoured!

love nearly fade

How fragile our love and loving is - when it's about warm, welcoming feelings of closeness, comfort and cosy-mosy fuzzies...imagine this, i almost, yes, lost love for my precious daughter for whom i have invented a dozen words of endearment!

She was so obstinate, so full of contradicting (me), so whiny...i was after her for hair pins, homework, music practice, meals...and all this after spending so much time as a stay-home-mom! something wilted within me. In fact we were trying to grow this plant which tested our faith to the limit by staying wilty - not alive, not quite dead...just a few minutiae of leaves at the end of its skinny two stalks - a perfect picture of how i felt.

O gosh, whenw e were in the car and the familiar whine went off, i just shut up. Cajoling was out. Threats were too tiring. But as i kept quiet, i could lmost feel the hum of the engine of my heart slowing down too! Like an early frost. Thankfully that sent shivers - and i shook myself and awakened to the realities that no doubt all good responsible parents face: the real possibility of relationships souring.

i hunkered down, wiped my tears and said my prayers. Then i got up and shook off my silly needy self and rose up afresh - a grown up, responsible for reining in my feelings and cultivating creative avenues for transformation. i opened the deep chest of memories and pulled out a few favourites and stared at them a long time until the warmth forced the frost to beat a retreat.

Then I stepped out again. We will grow through this - together.

a portait

here is the picture that looks back at me each time i get back to the lift lobby of the guest house i stayed in for four days in Bangkok. A friend who works there tells me that missing fathers and unfaithful husbands have come to be expected in many households.
So at first i had romanticised this picture and thought how much it made me miss my kids;
but the sad fact made this picture of a greater pain. True, where is the male figure in this picture?
What hope is this woman clinging to?