Just A Little Bit

Just a little bit brokenhearted
Just a little bit sad
Just a little disheartened
This fear is driving me mad. 

Just a little bit hopeful
My mind for what it craves
Just a little regretful
At what I've thrown away.

Mamela

Night
And the spirit of life
Calling
Mamela

And a voice
With the fear of a child
Asking
Mamela

Wait
There's no mountain too great
Hear these words and have faith
Oh have faith

He lives in you
He lives in me
He's watching over
Everything we see
In every creature
In every star
In your reflection...
He lives in you.

The Lion King Musical was one of the best experiences ever; and my first time watching a live theater musical act. While there were many captivating songs and scenes and outstanding performances, one particular song and scene stood out to me: Mufasa singing "They Live in You" to Simba.

Yes, this particular scene. Obviously this isn't from my personal photo archive and I grabbed it off the internet, along with the other photo above, but I just wanted to give a picture as to how that scene was like.

Let me tell you how that song and scene affected me beyond expectation.

There was something about the song that gave me chills, and the thugging of my heartstrings at the tender father-son relationship that displayed the immense love Mufasa and Simba had for each other. But what stood out to me more than anything was the song.

"They Live in You"/"He Lives in You".

The song is obviously one that speaks about the legendary kings of the past, of how they lived in each Lion King and continued to guide them from the stars above. I didn't see it that way. In fact, I saw it as... as a worship song. It has been two days since I watched The Lion King Musical, and I am practically obsessed with the song. It has stuck in my head like a radical idea that refuses to go away, but instead of singing it only because I loved it(it -is- an amazing song, ever so beautiful), I thought for a moment... why not sing it as if singing it to worship my Lord? 

The verses and words in there describes Jesus in near perfection. All I had to do was tweak a few words... 
(No offense to the original songwriters; but this song has inspired me for God!)

This is my worship version of "He Lives in You". A song I continually sing to myself the past couple of days.

Night
And the spirit of Light
Calling... 
Mamela 

And a voice
In the soft singing wind
Asking
Mamela

Wait
There's no mountain too great
Hear these words and have faith
Oh, have faith

He lives in you
He lives in me
He's watching over
Everything we see
He created every creature
And burst the stars
He's your reflection...
Cause He lives in you.

"Mamela" means "listen". How many times have we been urged to just be still, and listen for the Lord's quiet, soft voice in our souls? Does not our Lord constantly knock on the door of our hearts, calling out to us, waiting patiently, for us to finally look at Him and answer? Does not the Holy Spirit silently guide us daily, as long as we have faith as small as a mustard seed in Him? 

Does not our Lord live in us? 

So, to whoever wrote that original song(I think it's Tim Rice), thank you. Thank you for a truly beautiful song that I can lift up as worship to God. Isn't it amazing how the gifts God grants to humans can touch others in ways so very unexpected? Even if it was never meant to be for the Lord in the first place. 

I went to that musical only out of wanting to be entertained and I came away with so much more than that. That musical will now be an exceptional memory for me because of that beautiful scene and haunting song that will always remind me of my God. Of how I a simple story originating from a classic cartoon can in turn send me seeking for Jesus.

Isn't it strange the things that God does to get your attention? He certainly works in strange ways!

The Definition of Love

I have now come to realize that I am slowly dreading every Monday, Wednesday and Friday which is to come for the rest of the semester. Not so that I have a 7am wake up call just to make it in time for an 8.30am class, or that I have four classes on those days itself, but also because the first class is always... so boring. 

It's called Creative Writing with emphasis on Short Stories, and isn't particularly difficult. Okay, I take that back, it's pretty easy when all you do is read short stories, discuss them in class, post some reactions online to a prompt question and eventually write out drafts for two or three short stories. No problemo. 

Except the discussion part, O goodness, it's all we do for an hour. Sit there and discuss about one story. It's not that I don't like dissecting these short stories and pulling them apart to inspect every single element in its body and making hypotheses and inferences based on my own interpretations, but my brain refuses to function so early in the morning despite me pumping it with breakfast energy. Second week of school, and I have yet to contribute to a single discussion because my head is too busy trying to stay awake while feeding me vague ideas and shallow observations of the story which was on the plate. 

Since when did I suddenly become so scientific in my metaphors? 

Must be all that science of biology and chemistry and physics coming back to haunt me. 

Anyway. Now that I'm done with my usual funky off-topic introduction rant. 

Today we had another discussion in class, all the while in which my head was drooping second only to my eyelids. We were talking about Anton Chekov's "The Lady with the Lapdog", which, to be honest, didn't interest me very much. It was set in Russia during Chekov's time, I suppose, which was a long time ago. Long enough for this story to now be available free for all on the internet without having to fear royalties and copyright battles. 

The story talks about a man who is a serial adulterer, whom, despite being married with three kids, is unsatisfied with his arranged marriage and sleeps around while openly admitting that women were the "lower class". Talk about feminist rage, one of my female classmates(who takes things VERY seriously) balked in sheer anger at the character, as if he was real. This male character meets an innocent-looking young newcomer in town, a woman who walks around with a white Pomeranian and sets her as his next target. As the story goes, it is implied that they fall in love, but cannot be together as they are married to other people. The man undergoes significant changes in his character, due to this young woman who, despite the affair, thrashes herself about for her "sins" and for her vice and unfaithfulness. 

I won't go on too much about it, but you get the point of the plot. Eventually, the discussion turned to the "meaning of love". My professor wondered aloud "what is the meaning of love? Love is so conventional, yet I have never read anything that truly defines it. What is love?" 

Obviously, there came the round of different opinions from my classmates, but for the first time his question made me perk up. Brain juices suddenly got restored or something. 

"What is love?" 

My professor is a published writer and novelist; he must have read a ton of literature. And yet, he doesn't even know the simple definition which comes from the mouth of the One God:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

1 Corinthians 13: 4-7

Okay, yes, so maybe we're just focusing on literature here. Definitions of different kinds of love in the voices of several men and women. But that verse just... triumphs it all. It embraces every kind of love each human being is capable of. Why? Because God Himself is love, God Himself loves, and God Himself gave man the right to love as He does. In fact, he commands that we do so. 

This, however, was what was running through my mind while my classmates were giving opinions on something "spiritual, uplifting, etc.". No disrespect to one of them who said that, he knows not what he says, at least. Or, he probably doesn't know who God is. 

What is love?

Love is God sending His only begotten Son down to earth, in a world plagued by sin, to suffer and die for us, to shed His blood and be the perfect sacrifice so that all mankind could have a clear path to Heaven. Love is Jesus willingly trapped in the body of a fleshly human, subjected to the blackness and darkness of this world for many years, only to be killed for us. Love is Jesus willingly subjecting to immense torture and pain, a slow death, a crown of thorns and nails in his limbs, to be crucified for our souls. Love is God willing to give up so much... just for us puny humans. Love is the Lord's huge patience and capacity to forgive and still bail us out of our troubles for the million times we screw up. Love is God comforting us in our sorrow, love is God protecting and guiding us each passing day with His invisible presence. Love is God reminding us how much He still loves us despite the wrongs we committed in our past. Love is God promising that He won't leave us even in our broken faith. Love is God promising to still love us and save our souls with second, third, fourth, a hundred chances despite the future wrongs we will commit... as long as we believe in Him.

God is love. And His love never fails. 

That is what my definition of love is. 

In my opinion, I am the weakest person of faith. I struggle and struggle each passing day between the sorrows of my depression, my negative thoughts, my empty feelings and self-pity. I struggle with my feelings of jealousy and attention-seeking, my selfishness and bitterness. I struggle between temptation of the world and the Word of God. I struggle to heal my soul, to be a better person, to bless others for God. I struggle to give myself fully to Him, because I am selfish and I do not fully trust Him. 

In my opinion, I am a broken soul. I see nothing good in me in which I can bless others with. 

Yet it is these small moments when the Holy Spirit brings such quiet joy and comfort to me. God's reminder that He still loves me even though I can't even love myself. That sometimes it's okay to be weak and tired, and feel useless and stupid, if only I would go to Him and let Him comfort me. 

I am trying Lord. I am trying. 

Forgive me once more for all that I have done. 

And thank you for Your love. Your faithful, perfect love which nothing on earth can ever rival with. Show me how to love like You have loved me, thank you for the amazing grace in which you bestow on us.

The Midnight Run

Got soaked, shoes wet
Still the most fun I've ever had. 

It's true, indeed, you really have got to appreciate the little things in life.
Such as the joy of the unexpected and the dash of poetic expression.

Ode to Poetry

What is it about the imagery

That warms me like no other

What is it about the words
That flow without a stutter?

What is it about the melody

A soothing mockingbird's song

A cheerful cry, a bitter sob

A cold sad sigh, a soulful throb

King of the senses

Queen of emotions

Throne of romances

Asylum for the heartbroken

To feel his touch, that silky soft skin

His warm embrace, all warm and lean

His Majesty's voice is like a deep rooted echo

Bewitching and stunning, he is a sight to behold. 

The  happy flock to celebrate with her,

The cold and hard cannot withstand her gleam

She brings them to tears, heavenly are her words,

She caresses the heartstrings of the depressed and injured. 

Your Royal Highness, how you make us laugh! 

Watch out, O men, for she too can be sharp...

Men are entranced, however, by the beauty of the sedan

Upon which the royalty grace with pride imbued

It whispers sweet songs, of true love and beyond

Of couples and kisses, and oh--! How rude!  

Along comes the Prince, skipping with a cheeky grin

He teases and pleases, chess games in mind

The Prince claps his hands; his power unknown

The courtiers turn beetroot red, their covers exposed.

The weeping now enter, begging for a place,

For some food, for some drink, for a fireplace

To heal from the frostbite of the Winter War

Bleeding hearts, stabbed souls and broken love galore. 

They cast a dark look upon the beautiful sedan, 

Clothed in all its glory, and promises abundant

They scream at it to be silent, branding it a whore 

Refusing to see truth, until they hurt no more.

What a portrait, what a beauty

Is this family of Royalty.

What is it about their melody,

That sings and soothes and feels,

What is this, their hidden royalty,

Oh, the power that it wields!

A Prayer in Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.

-Robert Frost. 

For the first and not the last time, Robert Frost will always be one of my favorite poets. I am utterly in love with every word of his.
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