Leaven of God

Sunday, September 11, 2011

I’ve finished my write-up for WYD. You guys will see it up on the youth wall soon. But there’s another part of WYD that is very personal, thought I’ll just share it on log blog. This is an extension of the sharing I gave outside the basilica before Taize.

There was once, during a confi camp I was serving at, my parents came to visit in church, or they had some meeting in church I forgot. I think we had just finished one of the major sessions, praying over or praying with or something like that. I was on a spiritual high and when I saw my dad, I rushed over to give him a big bear hug. But my father wasn’t the affectionate kind and he had somehow pushed me away. I remember feeling really hurt, and I looked around to see if anyone had seen it. I don’t think I ever blamed him but sometimes I cant help but feel sorry for myself.

Fast-forward a few years later, I started to wonder about whom I was praying to when I pray. Is it Jesus the son, or God the Father? (somehow its easier to identify the Holy Spirit :/ ) And I think someone (Fr. William Goh at awaken?) mentioned that the relationship with the earthly father is supposed to reflect the relationship with the heavenly Father. But I didn’t know who my father was. He provided well for my family and I know his values and beliefs, vaguely. But I didn’t share his worries, concerns or interests. And so, I concluded I probably was not interested in God the Father and his plans for me. I did not know how much He loved me. Hence, when I pray, it is difficult to visualise God the Father.

When I was at Valladolid, I met a coordinator named Jesus (pronounce yeh-soos). He spoke no english but during my one week there, I experienced an indescribable fatherly love that crossed the language barrier. He would tease and tickle me, cheekily give me a shove and pretend it wasn’t him, listen when I sang, and when music played, he would randomly take my hand and encourage me to dance. I laughed like crazy, and with joy, during those few days. He wasn’t afraid to hug me or be affectionate. (putting it down in words make it sound so paedophilic) It didn’t feel like he wanted anything from me, just being myself was enough. And I genuinely felt I was a delight in every of my actions. He gave me the affection and endearment that my biological father could not give (which isn’t actually his fault, in his defense).

Another coincidentally funny thing tt happened was, during one of the days, the reading was ‘Jesus said: no one knows the son except the father, and no one knows the father except the son, and anyone to whom the son wishes to reveal him’, and Jesus did reveal the Father’s love for me. On the last day, he tried to have a conversation with me using whatever limited vocabulary we both knew and a whole lot of hand signals. He worried that I would lose my ‘expressiveness’ when I got back to the realities of daily routine, and I promised to try not to.

I still cry when I think about it. And when my body reacts this way, I know he must have touched me much more than my mind can comprehend or put into words.

This is something he shared with me: The Butterfly Circus

Enjoi.