(September 16, 2022: Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park)

Turning points

Yesterday was my 40th birthday. It is a strange thing to come to this juncture in life, where I can say I have travelled 40 times around the sun. A long – and yet surprisingly, quick journey.

Rather than face the passage of 40 years with a sense of trepidation and anxiety, I can say with full honesty and a dollop of relief that I face a new decade with a greater sense of equanimity and peace. 

This is a stark contrast to 15 years ago, when I was at the precipice of turning 25 years old. That was when I had extreme anxiety about growing up – my quarter century life crisis. I tell the full story of this crisis in my blog article “God answers”, so I will not get into the details here. However there was a moment that I describe in that blog story which I think perfectly captures the existential crisis I was going through:

“I remember there being a moment where I renounced God. I remember thinking, ‘Following God’s way is for suckers, the world is too cruel and cynical.’ Something within me snapped, and I finally gave in to a sense of nihilism. Life had become meaningless – that morass landscape of desolation that I read about once, somewhere.”

I recognise that moment as a key turning point in my life. In many ways, that descent into nihilism and disillusionment completely broke me. My entire sense of self and my relationship with God – one that was full of trust and love as a child of God – was completely shattered. 

In many ways, I define the periods of my life this way: before the crisis, and after the crisis.  It has taken 15 long years to re-establish a sense of equilibrium – a wholehearted surrender to God. In fact, it was only in the past 6 months that I started noticing the underlying sense of anxiety and bitterness no longer residing in the knot at the base of my neck, a tension that wing-spanned my shoulders, punctuated with sharp pangs to my heart and mind through a remembrance of a painful memory. If I had a pound (stirling) for every time I caught myself grimacing, striking my head at a shameful memory, or simply shuddering in the past 15 years – well, I would be embarassingly rich. What I have noticed though is that this pain has lessened and is increasingly replaced with a greater sense of balance, peace and acceptance of the past, and even joy in the present moment. 

Reaching here required the discipline of practising faith, hope, charity and humility. I understand that we could see faith, hope, charity, and humility as being innate virtues that a person has, or doesn’t have. If that was the case, I may as well have given up when I was 25, and accepted being in a permanent state of despair. 

Fortunately I didn’t. Knowing the person who I was before the crisis – as a person who knew what it was like to love and be loved by God – made me continue to pursue Him. This was in spite of my disillusionment, and my anger at God for this sense of abandonment and exposure to an unfair, broken and cruel  world.  

What these 15 years have taught me is rather than being innate, acquiring these virtues does require practice – an understanding of what each one is, and developing a discipline to notice when I am not practising these virtues, and making an active decision to change course so I do pursue them. For pursuing them not only combats inner nihilism, cynicism, anxiety and despair – it has finally got me closer to where I want to be: much more in a harmonious relationship with God. 

I would not say that I have “arrived” at a point that the practice of these virtues have become innate, nor is my relationship with God now continuously harmonious. Unlike the other blog articles of “God heals” and “God answers”, I do not have an astounding set of miracles to serve as witness to how God intervenes in my life. But what I would like to provide as a personal witness is a set of reflections of how actively making the choice to practise these virtues has helped reduce my anxiety in navigating a complex and polarising world with greater equanimity and grace through a love for God, and accepting His deep love for me – even if I do not get my own way, or things do not seem fair.  

For me, this is the most profound miracle of all and the best of birthday gifts.

Faith – Do I trust God?

It always makes me laugh when I hear anyone say that faith is just an unquestioning belief in the existence of God. I laugh because in my times of high anxiety and crisis, I am always crying out to God, “Where are You? Are You there? Why aren’t YOU DOING something about it?”  

In short, a very questioning belief in the existence of God. And a deep frustration with myself for my lack of faith. Faith for me is a matter of being willing to trust God in the times of uncertainty. When it is not clear in the midst of challenges and what the outcome of things will be – whether things will really work out – that is when I need faith most. Because that is when I need to trust Him. And whether it has taken a week or years to see how things will play out, I have known He has never let me down. 

I can distinctly remember times in my life where my faith did help me navigate what otherwise would be highly anxious situations with greater equanimity. I remember when we immigrated from the east coast of Saudi Arabia to western Canada. Before this trip, we had never been past the west coast of Saudi Arabia, and never even seen a real snowflake. In less than 6 months we would experience the range of temperature that was close to 50 degrees Celsius of the Saudi desert to negative 40 degrees (not including wind speeds) of a brutal Canadian winter, complete with a blizzard bringing snow banks that towered over my head. Few people can say that they experienced the difference of almost 100 degrees Celsius in the span of 6 months but we – along with so many other Asians who immigrated from the Gulf of Arabia to Canada in the 1990s – can attest to the enormity of the change. We would immigrate to Canada without my parents having jobs, and uncertainty about when they would get one. And yet, I remember distinctly in my first week in Calgary, kneeling by the bed in our Travel Lodge motel, and entrusting this adventure to God, knowing He would help my family navigate it. And He did. 

A decade later, when my parents told me about my father’s diagnosis of his brain tumour and going to Houston to have his neorosurgery (the miracle story written in “God Heals”), I distinctly remember hiking up Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh, and praying to God to take care of my father. I remember there was a deep sense of peace coming within me, and going through that entire episode with that continued deep peace. That year in Edinburgh and that summer in the hospitals in Houston, I distinctly remember feeling God’s presence, His Joy, His Peace. I remember it being the happiest year of my life specifically because I felt God’s pleasure and presence within me.

And then a decade after that, the same peace came when they told me Dad had thyroid cancer, and again, I entrusted this to God as well. This time, I was in the period of my life that was after the crisis. I had been anxious for the past 5 years because I had struggled with bringing my PhD together. On the first of January 2015, with 33 days to go to submit my thesis which was only 25% written, I again prayed to God to be able to focus my mind. Upto this point, my mind was a swinging monkey of medium-grade anxiety.

I prayed for focus so I could get to the heart of my thesis question and explain my findings in a clear and profound way. I remember the moment of determination and peace that made me decide to scrap the abstract and literature review paper that I had already written and start over again. Steadily, comprehensively and with great equanimity. And I submitted in time, and had a wonderful PhD examination. And Dad was healed a second time. 

In moments of crisis and anxiety, it is important for me to remember those moments of time where I made a distinct and clear decision to trust God. And to remember the peace that descends when I do. These memories become my faith touchstones, to remember the times when God has pulled through in providing me peace, so that I can actually face and address challenges rather than be crippled with anxiety.

Faith is not about waiting for God to do things for me. Faith is the trust that comes from being willing to cooperate with God to take the next step from a space of confidence, courage and peace.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14: 27)

In the more recent years, I have become more active in moving away from my own memories to reflect on Christ and His Life. His acts of faith. A meditation that has helped me navigate anxiety in more recent times has been meditating on Christ on the Cross.

Talk about an anxious time.

Ablandoned by His friends, jeered by the crowds, tortured, and now struggling to breathe by being nailed to the Cross. What would it take to actively trust God the Father then? And yet, to His last breath, He entrusted His Life to His true Father. 

His death, and His resurrection, not only changed the course of history – in the west, we literally define history before and after Christ’s birth – but humanity’s chance at eternal life after death.

Whilst it can be overwhelming to contemplate the macro, in my meditations of Christ on the Cross, I gain the determination to actively entrust my own life to God the Father. Because He did, against all odds. And in doing so, I gain equanimity and peace to take the next step. 

Having the courage to hope

Sometime in the past year, I realised I was operating my interior life with faith, but not hope. I trusted my life to God, but I was not necessarily hoping for anything. 

My cousin Rex had said to me once that you stop living when you stop dreaming. And I suddenly realised that I had stopped dreaming. Instead, I was going through the motions of my life – work, Church, family, friends. Years were going by in routine, and I had realised that I didn’t dare dream for anything outside the blessings God had already given me. 

That made me realise that I didn’t dream for anything new, because I did not have the courage to hope for anything new. Whilst I have so far mentioned all the times God has pulled through for me to give me touchstones of faith, there have been plenty of disappointments. Failed relationships, the years of toiling anxiously on work projects, the times I felt like a stranger to myself in my home. Life was more about surviving, instead of living. 

What made me realise that I had stopped hoping was because each time I thought of going outside my comfort zone, I would psyche myself out by believing it would not work out. I realise I am also carrying around touchstones of disappointment and hurt as well.

These millstones of discouragement dragged me down, and kept me from being courageous. In truth, they even blinded me from being grateful because the disappointment veiled all the times God had indeed pulled through for me.

It was true that faith gave me the courage to address things that were bothering me at the time. I needed faith to have the courage to address challenges that I needed to face, instead of burying my head in the sand.

But life isn’t always mottled with challenges. When things are going well, do we have the courage to dare hope for something more? For that matter, do we dare hope for anything better when things are going horrendously?

I am settled into a community of family and friends whom I love, a home I love, work that I try to be in balance with, and a much more harmonious relationship with God. But do I have the courage to hope for anything more?

I truly hope so. For the courage to hope is to have the courage to dream. To push the boundaries and be willing to step outside of comfortable routines and comfort zones. Faith is a necessary virtue to survive, but not a sufficient virtue in order to truly live life to the fullest. And God meant us to live life to the fullest by realising all He meant for us to be.

A dream of mine that I did not realise I had been nurturing is becoming a children’s author. In the past few years, I have had stories in my mind that I have finally started putting pen to paper – and then digitally posting under the instagram JOWTSE (Jumping Off Where the Sidewalk Ends). Rediscovering and exercising this part of myself – the whimsical, the imaginative, the droll – has re-charged my life. It adds colour to my life, and makes me dream.

It brings me joy, and I hope, for others, it brings joy as well. 

Charity – the antidote to bitterness and cynicism

As I mentioned earlier, the existential crisis ensued after a critical admission: ‘Following God’s way is for suckers, the world is too cruel and cynical.’ 

I think one of the harshest lessons in “growing up” is accepting that life is actually not fair and unjust. That being a nice and good person does not somehow shield you from the cruelty of the world. In fact, it is the opposite: it is more likely that you will get used and taken advantage of.

I remember speaking to someone who said his son was too kind, just like he was when he was a child. He said he needed to toughen up his son so that his son wouldn’t be taken advantage of. His son wouldn’t survive this world by being good and nice.

When I was 25, this kind of thinking broke me. I will admit that I truly believed that as long as I was nice, and good and kind – somehow the polite thing to do was for the other person to also reciprocate by being nice, good and kind. 

How many of us believe that? And become embittered when that is not how things play out. And then carry those millstones of bitterness and resentment within us as well? 

It is amazing how quickly bitterness and resentment can breed cynicism. And whilst I just couldn’t give into cynicism, I certainly carried around bitterness and resentment about how nice people get taken advantage of.  

Jorge, another friend of mine, pointed out to me that there was a difference between being nice versus being kind. When people are nice, they are doing it out of an expectation that people will reciprocate by being nice back. However when someone is kind, they can practise kindness without expecting it back. The difference between a nice person and a kind person is confidence – a kind person can be kind because they inherently know their value and worth,  and do not provide kindness for any other reason than they are overflowing with charitableness and magnamity. Nice people lack that sense of self-value, so their niceness is more a strategy to get people to like them rather than from a spirit of generosity. 

In other words, kind people can afford to be magnanimous because they approach life – and encounters of unkindness or even cruelty – from a space of abundant love. Love in it’s truest sense, as Thomas Aquinas defined it: “To will the good of the other, as the other.”

Niceness comes from a space of deprivation – where one feels the hole of rejection and a lack of truly knowing one’s own worth. And therefore to fill that hole, and seek connection – one goes for niceness in the hopes of it being reciprocated. Sometimes it works. Many times – particularly when it goes into the territory of being sycophantic or people pleasing – the reaction is the exact opposite. The more we try to please, the more likely we are going to be rejected, or be taken advantaged of. It’s highly damaging to what is already a fragile sense of self worth.

I found this distinction incredibly useful, and I will often ask myself in situations: Am I doing this to be nice, or to be kind? Am I coming from a space of abundant love, or seeking to fill a hole that is empty of love?

I find asking myself this question is really helpful because I know life is unfair – and if I were doing things to be nice, then it’s a quick recipe for bitterness if the niceness is not returned, or if I find out later I have been taken advantage of or manipulated.  

Whilst I think everyone will struggle with this dilemma of choosing to be kind rather than nice, I particularly found it hard when it came to following Christ. In His Gospel on the Mount, Christ says:

“But I say to you, ‘Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also” (Matthew 5: 39). 

This is the teaching I continue to struggle with – particularly in a world where viewpoints are increasingly polarised, and it becomes easier to get cancelled.

What is the strength it would take to be able to calmly follow through with Christ’s teaching in such circumstances? Peaceful resistance that was truly peaceful, but still managed to stand up for itself? This teaching was what Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr used to stand up to their oppressors. I truly think it takes deep spiritual practices in order to be able to exercise this grace. To get into a space of inherent self worth so that one can respond to hatred in a pacific state.

In reflecting more on how to get into a space to peacefully and confidently resist, I have reflected more on another teaching of Jesus:

“to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16).

This passage seems contradictory and yet I have found it to be incredibly helpful for it acknowledges the brokenness and corruption of how this world operates when it sees kindness as a sign of weakness, and seeks to take advantage of it. The passage tells us not to be naive – yes, the ways of the world will try to manipulate or take advantage of you – so be shrewd about it. Yet, the mark of kindness is to not play the serpent’s game of manipulation. Instead, respond from a space of magnamity – with the innocence of a dove. 

The way I use this passage is during the times when I am in a situation where I suspect I may be taken advantage of or manipulated. I think through all the ways in which this could be the case as I do not want to be naive about it. But by thinking of all the proverbial pitfalls, I also think about why I want to offer my help, my time, my generosity. Is it to be nice so I can get something back? Or is it because I want to show kindness because I want to show the love and grace of Christ, and am in the spiritual space that I can “lay down my life of my own accord” (John 10:18)?

I try to remember that the person across from me was made by God, and therefore worthy of dignity – no matter how the person decides to treat me or others. I do not know them, their back story, where are the broken spaces that makes them being unkind, ungenerous, manipulative or even cruel. Perhaps here is a situation where a true showing of kindness, and generosity, can break through their own cynicism. And it may not be the first time, or second time, or it may never happen at all. But the choice to answer with love and generosity, patience and peace – in other words, to be charitable –  in the face of hatred is powerful. Even if the person hates, my ability to accept their hate and respond with charity shows me that I am one step further from my own ego and one step closer to giving space for Christ to work His love through me. 

So I ask myself: Is there anything about difficult situations or people that gives me the opportunity to “kill it with kindness”? And if providing kindness leads to sneers and rejection, can I accept it without becoming angry and embittered? 

If the answer to both questions is yes, then I ask the grace from God to have the fortitude to proceed with charity and kindness. If the answer to either question is no, then I try – operative word, being try – to firmly and respectfully set boundaries of what treatment is not acceptable, and walk away. I recognise I am not in a mental, emotional and spiritual space to practise true charity. And I pray for the grace of charity so that if I have no choice but to engage, I will be able to respond with charity. 

I have come to see that true kindness and charity is actually acts of resistance against cynicism and manipulation – both within ourselves and in our response to others. To be willing to lay down our lives to show a greater glory, just as Christ did when He willingly submitted to the crucifixion. The willingness to love and forgive His enemies whilst nailed to the cross. That still blows my mind. But Christ on the Cross was the Saviour who knew who He was as the Son of God. And His love was so abundance that He would be willing to lay down His life for the chance for us to have eternal life. He loved us enough to pay that price. 

Humility – from turning in to looking out

The last virtue that I found essential to practise is humility. Humility is a definition that can often be misunderstood as being thinking less of yourself by putting yourself down. That interpretation of humility is completely false. In its more benign form, it’s self deprecation or false modesty. In its more malignant form, this interpretation is hurtfully and unnecessarily self-destructive. 

This false definition of humility is a contradiction to how God sees us, which is a gift of life. How many of us see our lives as a cherished gift from God? How many of us even know we are cherished by God? If our lives are gifts from God, then we are worthy of love, dignity, self-respect and self-worth. 

So what exactly is humility? I remember listening to Father Mike Schmitz – who was quoting someone else – that “humility is not thinking less of yourself, it is thinking of yourself less.” 

I remember that definition being one of the most clarifying things for me. Because I realised that on any given day – and many times, laying awake at night – a good part of my mental, emotional and spiritual energy was thinking about my latest problem or cause for anxiety, and wrestling with it. It hit me like a rock how much time and energy I wasted in worrying about my problems. Decades even.

Sometimes, I just need to give myself a mental break.

And the best way for me to do it is to spend time with other people. I am naturally an extreme extrovert. I definitely get energy being with other people, and I like talking things through with other people. However I realised a key benefit of being with other people was that it gave me a break from thinking about myself.  In focusing on others, and listening to their stories, their concerns, their joys and their sorrows, I could just forget about myself and be of service to others. 

So I want to thank you – my family, friends and even perfect strangers – who do share your stories and friendships with me. And also for when you listened to my stories, my pain and my joys. Your company and trust has been my saving grace, more than you could ever know. 

Also thank you for the many times I have failed to practice faith, hope, charity and humility. And forgiving and supporting me anyway – whether I asked for forgiveness or not. I have realised that the mark of a true friend is the person who saw me at my most pathetic state where I was completely self-involved in my own pain – and reminded me of my worth. Your love and support in reminding me that I am worthy of love continues to humble me.

Now matter how much of a cliche it does sound, I do want to thank God. For my family, my friends, a wonderful home, and giving a purpose to my life. For showing through the life of Christ why practising the virtues of faith, hope, charity and humility are actually important skills in managing the anxiety that comes with navigating a complex, complicated and increasingly polarised world. To actually approach this next stage of life with greater equanimity and peace. 

When I think of where I was 15 years ago, to where I am now, I can say with gratefulness and joy: God truly saves. 

“I have told you these things, so that you may have peace in me. In this world you are going to have trouble. But be courageous! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)