forgotten

Almost half a year has passed since the last entry. The past few months have been filled with joy brimming over. I was like those in Psalm 126 who dream. My mouth too was filled with laughter, my tongue with shouts of joy, because the Lord has done great things for me. I didn't think I would experience so much happiness and joy on this side of heaven. Innocent, youthful joy, not calculated, not intellectual, not philosophical or even ethical, but carefree, instinctive, welling up from the prehistoric depths of our nature. The joy tickles up giddy laughter, and eyes are brightened to the manifold contrasting brilliance of life. I had stopped brooding over the days of my life, because God has kept me occupied with the joy of my heart. (Eccl. 5:20)

Last week, my wise and trusted friend observed warningly, "You're different this semester." That comment jarred the running melody like a discordant minor 7th intrusion. I probed a bit more, but she didn't say much else. She didn't need to. I think I had known all along. There was so much personal happiness I didn't have eyes for much else around me. I didn't even have eyes for my past experiences, for other eyes wet with tears, or dry with dehydration. And I only had ears for walloping laughs, but not ears for wimpers and for mourning.

Today, I received a newsletter from a young friend who will be embarking on her first medical missionary journey. She will be working in the same hospital which has blessed me with God's love. On her newsletter, among the many photos which symbolized Africa, there was one of an utterly malnourished child, with head slightly bent backwards due to the weakness of neck muscles. He was sitting up, which is already better than most of the children I had seen while I was there. But the likelihood is that this little child is probably dead now. If he is lucky enough to have survived, there would've been hundreds who had already taken his place in graves.

I zoomed in on the photo three times. Yes, a very familiar picture. It could be a picture in medical textbooks, or on humanitarian pamphlets. They all look the same to our desensitized eyes. Yet each little child has a name, and each name is a unique and beloved. Each little child is a human being, like me. And each little child is beloved of God, though forsaken by the world.

In merely five months, I had forgotten Jean's departing admonition. I had forgotten the deep concern of God for His world.

O God of mercy, as I enjoy this season of joy with which You have blessed me, let me continue to have eyes of sight, and ears of keen hearing, and feet ever ready to walk in the direction of Your voice.