It's Good Friday Today

" The men who were guarding Jesus began mocking and beating Him. They blindfolded Him and demanded, " Prophesy!" Who hit you?" And they said many other insulting things to Him.
(Luke 22:63-65)

This is the passage I started reading on this Good Friday morning. Something stopped me from reading further, but to go through it over and over again to picture the scene in my mind. Here stood my Lord, the Son of God, the Prince of Peace before Him all knees would bow down one day, as a prisoner, hands bound, being mocked and beaten by mere men, servants of the Roman regime.

Abandoned by His disciples, followers, family and those whom He loved enough to heal, the Sovereign Lord stood alone amidst the mocking crowd without uttering a word to defend Himself. A word from Him would have brought down the heavenly angels for His rescue and revealed His true identity to the mocking men. But that wasn't our Lord's style. He never tried to impress human beings and prove Himself by doing  amazing things. Remember, that's what Satan tried to make Him do when he tempted Him in the wilderness soon after His baptism in the Jordan river. Then and there, the Son of God snapped back at the devil saying, "Do not put the Lord Your God to the test." Jesus had been firm on His statement from the start of His ministry and He was not going to back down from it just to save Himself from pain and humiliation.

After all, Jesus knew before hand what was in for Him for the next couple of days. Yes, His flesh pleaded with the Father in the garden of Gethsemane to remove the predestined suffering if possible. But when He found peace with His Father's will, He knew far too well that no amount of suffering nor humiliation would keep Him back.

So, instead of getting angry with those who were mocking Him, Jesus must have felt sorry for them. After all, they were just the tools of their masters and they were doing what they were doing best to show off their authority and power. What a vast contrast between the human and divine perceptive of authority. Here stood the King of kings who orchestrated the establishment of the universe silent without using His authority while servants of Roman regime showing off their authority in their time of opportunity. No wonder Jesus declared that unless a man is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. Unless those men had eyes to see who Jesus was really, they could act only in the way they knew to act. Jesus knew that. That's why on the cross, He prayed, " Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing." He must have prayed for all those who cried out and demanded Him to be crucified, those spat on His face, mocked and laughed at Him all the way to the cross, those who slashed His back with whips and nailed Him on the cross.

Surely it was painful torture Jesus underwent to redeem the world. His precious blood was needed as an atonement, It was a priceless sacrifice made out of love, even for those who beat and humiliated Him beyond measure. Their acts may have grieved Jesus and brought much pain. But He refused to give into anger and pass judgement on them. Instead, He understood their human nature and prayed out to His father to forgive them. What more do we need to prove Him divine? Who else in human form had ever displayed such love as what was showed on the cross at Calvary on that Friday two thousand years ago?***

Today, we call it Good Friday in its remembrance. As a child, I used to wonder why they didn't call it Bad Friday because Jesus died on that day. I was not mature enough at that age to realize that Good News was spread and goodness was berthed because of what happened on that Friday.
Strangely Good Friday is not a public holiday in California where I live now. It's my off day, so I didn't need to go to work. To make it convenient for all to attend, our Good Friday service is schedule at 6;30 pm.

I always cherish the memory of attending Good Friday and Easter services while I was growing up. As a teenager and a new born again believer, I used to be a vegetarian throughout the lent season and fast all day on Good Friday till I return back from church service that evening.

 Even though I grew up in a Hindu neighborhood and Buddhist country, we, the handful of Christians living in our neighborhood observed these day with great piety and servitude at a nearby American Mission built country church with high steeple beautiful stained windows. A huge  bell gonged loud enough three times before every church service so that  the churchgoers in the neighborhood could  hear and walk down to the church on time.

Good Friday service at our country church usually started at 3pm and went for three hours straight in order to bring remembrance of the three hours Jesus hung on the cross. I can still hear in my ears the sweet voice of our church's nightingale, Sakuntala, singing songs on the passion of Christ and playing her violin solemnly.

With a pin drop silence hovering in the sanctuary, all eyes closed and knees bent, the songs and prayers truly lifted us up to view the scene in our minds. The pastor along with guest preachers focused their sermons mainly on the seven words Christ uttered on the cross.

 No one complained or left half-way of the three hour service. We didn't have any high school ministry at church to keep us teenagers occupied during the service. So we all attended the one and only service provided. Instead of drums and guitars, we had organ and violin as accompaniment when we sang hymns. When collection plates were passed around,coins of 5, 10, 25 cents equivalent to pennies were mostly put, rarely more valuable rupees.

I've attended Good Friday services at many churches in different countries in my life. But nothing brings me so much rich memories as the ones I had at the simple American Mission built church in my hometown in 1960s. There was so much depth and reverence in the worship that impacted all who attended.

Lesson learned from my pedicurists

It's time up for me to go for pedicure, I thought as I looked up at my toe nails at the verge of curling down. I could have walked up to the Nail salon just next door to our appartment complex, for it would have saved me money and time. But I wanted to go to the salon at Fashion Valley mall where I had been getting my pedicure done for the last four years I'd been in San Diego. Yes, it's $15 dollars more than the one next door and someone had to drive me across the town to go there. But I prefer going there for the pampering and special attention I get there. I think every woman needs to be pampered now and then to feel special. Especially it means a lot for a stay-at -home mom who somehow feels that it's her role to pamper everyone except herself. I work part -time now so I'm no more a stay-at -home mom, but that doesn't mean I avoid getting pampered.

I remember it well the first time I had the luxury of getting a massage and nail treatment in a spa. It was a gift from my oldest daughter for Mother's Day. I was in fact so nervous to walk into the salon that I almost turned around and walked back to the car. I wasn't sure what to expect in a posh salon like that where mostly young women came for beauty treatment and tanning. But when I walked out later after a soothing back massage, hands dipped in hot wax and manicured and the sole of my feet feeling like baby's bottom, I decided to count as one of my precious moment to remember.
Though I didn't follow up later with massage and spa treatments, I somehow continued to get a pedicure on a regular basis. It almost became a necessity because I could no longer bend down and cut my nails. Yes, aging does interfere and cause us to call for assistance. I could view that as a blessing in disguise, instead of blaming on my bulging tummy or poor back.

Lilly was my first nail technician at Spa &Salon in Fashion Valley. She was a petite Vietnamese woman in her fifties. It's not my nature to engage in conversation when I go to a hair salon, spa or grocery store. I like to be left alone with a magazine to read. But Lilly wouldn't allow me to do that.  She knew the art of drawing  customers like me into conversation. Also, she also knew how to pamper her customers by offering to bring coffee or water to the chair, bringing the latest People's Magazine filled with juicy celebrity news , choosing the perfect nail polish for the toes and giving a good foot massage. During the time I spent on the spa chair while she filed my nails and massaged my foot, I learned a lot from her and she, something about me too.

 Soon, I found out that she was one of the boat people who came from Vietnam in the early seventies. She was single and pregnant when she came and already she had three young mouths to feed. She neither knew English nor an education to support her young family. Thankfully, she had some relatives to give her shelter and food at the beginning. I can't imagine how this unskilled and uneducated woman from far east got the courage to pull through the early years in a foreign land probably in a hostile environment. Today, I see her as a strong, confident woman fluent in English and well skilled as a nail technician. In between years, only she knows how many challenging moments and precious moments she must have gone through to make the woman she's today. Unfortunately, Lilly is no more working in this salon now. She had been laid off a month ago due to job cuts.

Ann was another nail technician who attended to me when Lilly wasn't free .When Ann told me that her husband was once a diplomat serving in foreign service, I found it hard to believe her. Why should she , who was once a diplomat's wife chose to wash, massage and nail polish other women's feet? Hasn't she felt demeaning to do a job like that. After all , at one time she must have mingled with other diplomats' wives at parties and  beauty parlors and then to choose to scrub other women's feet and attend to their needs sounded unimaginable to me. Didn't she consider it to devalue her status in her community in some way? I would have definitely thought like that if I had been in her position.

Jesus Christ, before He had His last supper in the Upper Room,got down on His knees and washed the dusty feet of His twelve disciples, including Judas and gently wiped them with the towel in His hand. Here, I, who pride myself to be a follower of Him cannot even imagine myself giving foot massage to another person. Though I don't see myself a prideful person, such attitude made me to see what is hidden deep inside me. For sure, there are some ugly spots that need to be washed and bleached to make me humble and gracious.

The Greatest Valentine Day Gift

One fine Valentine morning, many years ago, as I was about to walk out our front door to go to the store to buy the ingredients to make the Valentine cake for my husband,  On my way out, I remembered that I hadn't read my Bible that day. Guilt stricken, I slipped out of my winter boots and put my jacket back in the closet and walked back to my room.

 As I sat on my bed and flipped open my Bible, the familiar verse, John 3:16, well underlined in red ink hit my eyes in a very special way. Countless times I would have read that passage before, but on that Valentine day, it spoke to me with a special effect to give me a deeper understanding of true love.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life." John 3:16

No human being could outgive God in love or in gift giving. Dozens of red roses tied up in beautiful ribbons and boxes of chocolates given out in romantic love do not have a chance to compete with God's agape love and His precious gift of His Son. Even though we are unworthy to receive such a valuable unwrapped gift of love, God in His grace had chosen to love us so much that He opted to send His beloved Son to go to the cross so that we could have eternal life. Isn't that amazing or what?

In return, what could I offer Him? Knowing that He wouldn't be much interested in any card I write or the flowers I send, the candle I light or the beautiful cake I make, I decided to offer Him what He loves to get from me.

 Slowly in reverence, I got down on my knees and with closed my eyes, I pledged that I would love my God with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my strength and with all my mind. Because I uttered those words in heartfelt sincerity, it would have sounded so beautiful in God's ears. It was the best gift I could offer in return for His amazing love on that Valentine Morning.

Rahab- In Christ's Genealogy?

Last week, when I started reading the Gospel of Mathews in the Bible I came across the name of Rahab in the first chapter. I may have read this Gospel many a times, but it was the first time I took notice of Rahab's name in the genealogy of Jesus Christ.

I knew that Rahab was the prostitute who hid the two Israelite spies in her house in Jericho, and made them escape the king's men. I also knew that as a reward for saving the spies, she and her family were spared from being killed, when the highly fortified walls of Jericho fell down and the Israelites rushed in to kill and destroy the city. I've read all about it in the second chapter of the Book of Joshua in the Old Testament.

But now, it does seem to me that Rahab's story didn't begin and end within that single chapter. I see her name re-emerge in the first chapter of the Gospel of Mathews in the New Testament. I couldn't understand how a former prostitute and idol worshipper like Rahab's name be included in the genealogy of Christ Jesus? How could that happen? No human mind could ever think of linking her blood line with that of any royal . For that matter, in the ancestry line of King David and Jesus.

But God did. With Him nothing is impossible. In His great plan, no one is exempt. History would tell that in the story He crafts, He uses paupers, princes, priests, prisoners, prostitutes, fishermen, tax collectors and so forth to fulfill His purpose. He surprises us in His unique ways. He could make a mere shepherd boy with a sling and five smooth stones to bring down a giant like Goliath and later make him a great king of Israel. He also could make Saul, the devout  Jewish rabbi and persecutor of  Christ followers to transform into Paul-the Christ lover, preacher and writer of the most epistles in the New Testament.

Yes, God chose Rahab, when she was living in Jericho as a prostitute and as an idol worshipper. He used her to shelter the Israelite spies in her house and help them to escape from the hands of the king of Jericho. In return for her help, God spared Rahab and her family's life and made them enter the promised land along with the Israelites.

We don't know what made Rahab to choose the profession. The Bible doesn't mention about her family background or her growing up years. We don't know whether poverty, divorce, abuse, or the tradition handed down from her grandma to her mom drove Rahab to become a prostitute.

As I mentioned earlier, we come to know about her in the second chapter of the Book of Joshua in the Bible. By this time, Moses, the Israelites leader is dead and Joshua has become their new leader to lead them to the promised land. Israelites had to cross the Jordan river and take down the fortified city of Jericho to reach the land God had promised them. In order to evaluate the land and strength of the city, Joshua sent two spies to Jericho. To avoid suspicion from the people in city, the two men chose Rahab's house for their visit. However, the king of Jericho had somehow been alerted that two Israelites had entered the city to spy on the land and they're staying in Rahab's place. The king immediately summoned Rahab to handover the two Israelites at her place to him as they were considered to be spies.

Rahab could have easily done that and got on with her business. But she didn't. She put her life at risk to save the two Israelites. She was also wise enough to make a deal with the two spies. She told them that she would help them to escape, but they had to assure her that they would spare her and her family from being killed when the Israelites take over Jericho. Rahab didn't seem to be a prostitute who was keen on making money out of her profession. She was someone who was also interested in knowing what was going around in her country as well as in the nations around.

It was her inquisitive nature that helped her to learn about Israelites and their God. From the mouths of the travelers who came across the Jordan river to visit her house, Rahab had come to know how the God of Israelites had dried up the water of the Red Sea for Israelites to walk through and escape from Egypt. She also had heard of how their God helped them to overthrow the two kings in East of Jordan and completely destroy the place. She knew that at any time these Israelites whom even the courageous men in her country dread, may walk in and take over the entire Jericho for themselves. She knew for well, neither her king's men nor the high and fortified walls of Jericho, nor her gods could protect her and her family from a nation backed by a powerful God.

Probably, Rahab must have been tired of the life she was living in her land and was looking for an escape. So, when the opportunity knocked at her door, she was wise enough to grab it without delay. Thus a verbal agreement was made between her and the two Israelites spies that if she helped the spies to escape from Jericho, they in turn would spare her along with her parents and siblings when the Israelites walk in to fight and take over the city. To identify and spare her household, the spies requested Rahab to tie a scarlet cord in her window and get her entire family to be inside her house at the time of the attack.

As agreed, the Israelites honored the spies' oath and rescued Rahab and family during their attack on Jericho. It might have been painful for Rahab to see her city ruined and her people killed when she left Jericho and joined the Israelites in their journey toward the promised land.

 When Rahab left Jericho, she must have left her past behind and started a new chapter in her life in the promised land. By embracing the God of Israelites and following His ways, she must have found hope and redemption. Gladly Rahab's story didn't start and end within the second chapter of Joshua in the Old Testament. We see her name emerge in the New Testament too.

Do you know that the same Rahab later became the mother- in -law of Ruth, the loving and honorable Ruth for whom an entire book is named after in the Bible. But, wasn't Naomi ...Ruth's mother-in-law? you might ask. Yes, Naomi was Ruth's mother-in-law by her first marriage;Rahab was Ruth's mother-in-law by her second marriage.

In the Book of Ruth, we read that Ruth, a Moabite woman got married to Naomi's son Kilion, a Benjamite in Moab. But he died leaving Ruth childless. When Naomi decided to go back to her land Judah, Ruth was determined to accompany her mother -in -law and take care of her. In the new land, Ruth not only embraces the God Naomi worshipped, but she also get married to Boaz, a relative of Naomi.. Boaz was  found to be a kind and highly respected man in the community. And his mother was none other than Rahab.

No doubt, when Rahab left Jericho, she must have left her past behind and started a new chapter in her life in the promised land. By embracing the God of Israelites and following His ways, she must have found hope and redemption.

In the course of time, she got married to an Israelite named Salmon and gave birth to Boaz. Rahab must have done a great job as a mother in raising a highly respected man like Boaz.
Ruth and Boaz named their son Obed, who became the father of Jesse. David, the shepherd boy who killed the giant like Goliath and later became the King of Israel was the youngest son of Jesse.
Down the royal line of King David, after twenty eight generation came Christ, the King of kings and the Lion of Judah. If you in doubt, check out the first chapter of Mathew to verify the lineage of Jesus Christ.

Yes, God gave a place for Rahab in His story ( history) to play an important role and revealed to the generations to come that He, the Almighty God, the Alpha and Omega is far beyond any barriers. By making His only Son to be born in the blood line of former prostitute, He declared that His ways are far superior and righteous than ours. Prejudice doesn't fit into His equation to thwart His plans. He sees things which we human beings cannot foresee, and incorporate people and events into his plan without the need to ask permission from anyone of us.

Rahab might have been a prostitute and an idol worshipper in the past in Jericho. But she was wise and courageous enough to leave her land and past behind and walk towards the promised land and embrace the worship of true God. The new found life gave her hope to emerge as a good wife, great mother and a great, great grand mother of a great king like David. Rahab's wisdom helped her to spot an opportunity and grab it to help her escape from destruction. God's grace gave her redemption. Rest is history with her name in Jesus' genealogy. Isn't that amazing?***

Christmas-My childhood Memories

 “There is nothing sadder in the world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.” Erma Bombeck.

I grew up in a neighborhood where Christians were in the minority. Yet Christmas brought so much joy not only to us Christians but also to those who lived around us. 

Christmas preparation started early in October at our home, when my mother along with my two older sisters and I went shopping downtown for clothing and cake ingredients. Exchanging gifts at Christmas time was not a custom for us then. However, wearing pretty new clothes to church on Christmas morning, making the traditional Christmas fruit cake, and having a feast-like Christmas lunch with family and neighbors were part of the celebration.

The dark and moist fruit cake my mom made at Christmas was called Rich Cake, because almost all the ingredients that went into the cake were imported from either Britain or Australia and that surely cost a lot of money. Along with 25 freshly laid eggs collected from our chicken coup, large amounts of  imported raisins, currants, cherries, strawberry jam, butter and vanilla went into making this cake. At that time, we didn't have a cake mixer to beat the batter, or a food processor to chop the large amount of dried fruits or even an oven to bake the cake. Yet that didn't stop my mom from making the cake.

Along with my two older sisters, she spent long hours chopping the fruits and soaking them for days in brandy and golden syrup and beating the cake batter in a huge enamel basin with a wooden spoon. She then poured the batter into large baking trays and sent them to the bakery to be baked a month ahead.  Once the cake was brought back from the bakery, no one was allowed to see, touch or taste the cake until the Christmas morning. It was stored securely in barrel-like steel containers away from ants and the family’s sight. As a child, I wasn’t fond of the fruit cake, and so it didn’t bother me much. My favorite was my mom's fluffy raisin and cashew nut cake.

We didn't have Christmas lights blinking on our rooftops or a decorated Christmas tree in our living room. Instead red, yellow and green loops of crepe paper hung across our front porch and living room with clusters of huge colorful balloons pinned at every corner.  From the middle of December, Christmas carolers from our home church as well as from neighboring churches would start marching down our lane with candle lights in one hand and tambourines in the other, making a joyful sound to wake up any dozing soul. Yet, no neighbors complained nor did they throw a stone to show any displeasure. Love and respect for each other gave no ground to feud  over petty things.

On Christmas morning, we would wake up to the sound of firecrackers blasting in our backyard and far across our streets. My ears, in the mean time  would be perked up to hear another kind of sound, the jingling of keys on my father’s almirah (free standing cabinet) in the next room, and for my father's voice calling my name. No sooner did I hear that, I’d jump out of bed and run towards Dad’s room wondering what toy Dad would be holding in his hand this time. As always Dad would  be waiting with a huge smile and a gift in his hand-a beautiful doll in a box, or a winding toy-like monkey beating a drum or a shaggy dog barking , a toy train or a tea cup set . He would also present me with a beautiful taffeta or a frilly lace dress to wear to church that morning.  Since my sisters were old enough then to sew their own clothes, he got mine made at the seamstress' shop in downtown where he worked.

Until we returned from church on Christmas morning, we were not allowed to eat anything. But when we returned, we would find all kinds of Christmas goodies and cakes laid out neatly on plates on the table with bunches of a variety of plantains. Soon, Kaakka, an old Muslim man, who worked at  my father’s office would walk in to help my mom prepare the Christmas lunch. Kaakka resembled the genie poofed out of Aladdin’s lamp, and his broad toothless smile and gentle manners charmed anyone who came  across him.  In no time, he’d get ready to prepare his famous ghee rice and goat curry in two huge barrel like containers over open hearth under at our backyard The aroma of cloves, cinnamon, cardamoms and other spices in the curry and rice wafting in the air would soon bring the neighbors around to celebrate the Christmas meal with us. Invitation was not needed for anyone to drop in, and whoever came never left without eating on that day.

Apart from the neighbors, those who usually worked at our yard fixing fences, plucking coconuts from the trees and chopping firewood would also come with their children  to eat and take some food back home. Because of the caste system that prevailed, they didn't sit with us at the table to enjoy the Christmas meal. Instead, they sat under the mango tree at our backyard and ate on huge banana leaves. 

As a child, I couldn't understand why they were not invited indoors or eat with us, but I never questioned.  Probably, my parents feared that if they invited the workers to sit with us and eat, our neighbors, mostly Hindus, would object and would leave without eating. Looking back today, such things look stupid and outrageous. But at that time, no one questioned and no one wanted do anything about it. But I was happy to handout candies, balloons and firecrackers to the children at the end of the meal, while my parents presented  new clothing and money to their parents.

 I may have born in a Buddhist country and grew up in a Hindu neighborhood, but the joy of  Christmas experienced during my childhood was extraordinary.  I didn't have the pleasure of  walking down lighted streets or sitting on Santa's lap to take a photo or have a pile of wrapped up gifts under the Christmas tree, but I had everything what Christmas is all about- love, laughter and sharing.

Pain Could be a Blessing in Disguise

 It was one of those October afternoons in Madurai, South India in 1970’s when the sun was burning bright and wind was nowhere to be seen to blow on the Neem branches to make them sway and wave. Meanwhile, inside the building which was marked “Chemistry Lab,” on the outside door, fifteen women in their late teens with lab coats worn over colorful cotton saris were busy doing experiments at the bench stations or scurrying up and down the room with test tube or a beaker in hand to get the necessary reagent for their experiments. I was one among those final year chemistry major students in the room on that day.

Because our professor Miss.Rhine was away that afternoon, we were at ease to smile and exchange some funnies whenever possible. Always watching the clock on the wall and the supervising TAs walking around the room, we tried to some fun amidst tiring work and pungent smell of chemical fumes coming out of our experiments. Being on our feet and doing experiments all day long had been hard enough, but managing the time to finish the task in hand was a challenge to most of us in the room. Especially, to someone like me, who was slow and a perfectionist.  Time seemed to be running fast , and  It was then I realized I was running short of a reagent.

Quickly grabbing a small measuring jar off the rack, I hurried to the shelf on which stood strong acids and corrosive liquids. Scanning through the printed labels on the brown bottles across the shelf, I quickly spotted Phenol, the reagent I needed for my experiment.  The bottle being full, felt heavy when I took it off the shelf.  In my haste, I overlooked the nature of the liquid and tried to pour it into the narrow mouthed - cylinder from a rather heavy bottle. Result- the corrosive liquid quickly overflowed the cylinder and ran down my left arm within seconds.  At first, it felt like cold smoothy running down my arm; but, within seconds its coolness turned into vengeance and started to scorch my hand with intense pain. I felt as if my whole arm was set on fire and I was about to faint.

Quickly, the cry of those nearby alerted our lecturer and the TA to rush to my side and apply first aid. After my injured arm lavishly powdered down with baking soda like substance, I was rushed to a nearby hospital in a taxi with our college nurse. At the hospital, the wait was long and my pain became intense. Because my case was not life-threatening, the staff at the hospital let me wait till they attended to more serious ones. After sitting an hour or so on the hard wooden bench in the emergency room, I was finally called in to be seen by the doctor. The doctor quickly me a tetanus shot in the other arm and applied my left forearm from elbow to the wrist with a dark purple ointment. Painted in purple, my arm would have looked perfect to wave on a parade, but the scorching pain made me to whimper and groan instead.

Back in my room an hour later, I blurted out in a loud cry.  Far away from home, I longed for my mother’s touch and her gentle strokes on my back at such a time. I also longed for the company of my brothers and sisters, who would have tried to make me laugh and forget my pain by their humor and comical gesture at a time like this. On any other afternoon, especially,  after standing long hours in the laboratory, the gentle breeze coming through my wide open windows on the upper floor would have lulled me to sleep. But, not that afternoon. Utterly feeling alone and homesick, I cried out to the Lord in self-pity.

“ Lord, I’m in terrible pain. My whole arm is burning as if it’s set on fire. Why don’t you do something Lord? Please make the pain go away soon.”  I tried to remind Him of His promises and expected Him to make my pain go away at once.  No miracle took place. The pain remained intense and unbearable.

Then something strange happened. Suddenly my attention turned to the suffering of Jesus Himself on the cross. I began to see the pain He underwent on the cross, with huge iron nails piercing through his palms and feet, and a crown of thorns poking His head all around. What an agony, Jesus must have gone through at that time. In comparison, the pain in my arm was like a pin prick. If the Lord could endure such pain patiently for my sake, what am I wailing about? Why am I making a big fuss over a little pain in the arm. How much more Jesus should have complained of the terrible pain He underwent for you and me? To my surprise, the more I thought about it, the lesser I became aware of the pain in my arm.  In fact, the moment I took my eyes off myself and focused on Jesus, I felt my pain sliding away. Within minutes, the scorching pain left me without a trace.

Truly I couldn’t even believe it at first. But it did happen. The pain that was tormenting me all this time simply vanished. When I shared this experience with someone years later, she thought it might the injection the doctor gave me. I was told the shot the doctor gave me was a tetanus shot and not something for pain.  Even if the doctor had given me a pain killer shot, I doubt whether it would have brought me instant healing like this. We could call it a coincidence, medical intervention or a miracle. I would call it a miracle, for I had never experienced such an instant healing like that ever before or after.

 Yes, God has the power to heal us when we cry to Him in our need. But, His methods differ from time to time. Sometimes He does it miraculously; sometimes through medication and other times through changing our focus, hearts and circumstances.  God has His unique way of answering our prayers.

I also saw this incident as a blessing in disguise. Many in my resident hall, including my juniors, to whom I haven’t even uttered a “hello!” before, came to my aid when I needed to use my injured hand. Because I needed to keep that arm from getting wet to prevent any inflammation, I could only use my right arm. In our college at that time, we didn’t have the luxury of dishwasher or taps in our dining room or kitchen. We had to wash our own plates and tumblers by pumping water from the ground by hand.

So, when the girls in my hall found out about my injury, they offered their hands to help me wash my plate, carry my books, comb my hair, dress up in my sari, and making me comfortable in every way. Not only God enabled my pain to go away, He also opened my eyes to see the love and care of my fellow colleagues-Christians as well as Hindus.

This incident taught me a great lesson which I’ll never forget. When our eyes are on Jesus, our mindset seems to change. When our focus is on others’ needs than on our very own, our problem  seems to matter less.  What a better way to overcome pain and strife?***

Thanksgiving Day has come and gone

Thanksgiving Day has come and gone in the US
Family and friends have flown back home
Mom's chinaware washed, dried and putaway
until the next Thanksgiving celebration at our place
A week had already gone, yet the leftover
turkey and pickled beets and greens are still finding
their way into our lunches somehow these days.
Tempting are still the wrapped up pumpkin cheesecake
and sweet potatoe pies in the fridge
yet, the weight showed on the scale this week
does want to make us to run
to run away from the fridge,
and to run and run around the block non-stop.

Yes, it's great to have Thanksgiving Day every year
And to be with the family and feast to your fill
We do remember to thank God for all His blessings
for the family and friends,good health and jobs we do have.
Now that the Thanksgiving Day is over and the house is gettign back to normal
Do we forget to thank the Lord for our day to day blessings?

No, not at all.
To be alive and to be fed, clothed and sheltered in a safe environment
are something we can never taken for granted
How many who went to sleep last night failed to see this day, we cannot count
The house we live in, the job we do and the love of the family we have are not guaranteed for life
Disasters come, accidents occur, hurricanes and tsunamis shake and sweep away lives without notice
So, what we have now at hand is something we need to be thankful for whether they're big or small
Each day is God given gift and each of us need to be thankful that we are alive and loved and cared.
Let us not wait for another Thanksgiving Day to thank and celebrate
Instead, like the psalmist in the Bible, let us sing and thank the Lord as below.

" It is good to give thanks to the Lord, and sing praises to Your name , O Most High,
To declare Your loving kindness in the mornings
And Your faithfulness every night!" Psalm 92:1