It's January the seventh.
My parents are celebrating their 35th anniversary… separately. Mum is with us, might be visiting our close relatives with simple dishes as a thanksgiving. Dad is somewhere else, definitely in a much better place, probably enjoying heavenly food and entertainment. It's hard to imagine. Some people can still celebrate a special day regardless the distance. Having lived away for home for a few years, I often made a food graffiti, took a photo of it, and posted it on facebook or emailed it to the birthday person. At other times, I recorded a short clip of myself singing or playing an instrument. They are all very small, very simple, but from people's response I'm pretty sure I got my message across - I would love to take part in their celebration.
Without having dad around, it makes me wonder if I should wish my mum a happy anniversary. Tricky, isn't it? I ended up sending her a text, saying all nice things about how we cherish their love and have learnt how to love others from they way they loved each other. I also prayed that God gives her peace and strength. But still it's not the same. Something is missing. In fact, the biggest part of it is missing. And I broke down in tears. I believed mum did, too. Oh, perhaps my sister did too.
Last month I celebrated my 30th birthday. When my friends asked me how I would like to spend my birthday, I shared my plan to do some carolling at the nursing home. God is so kind to have made it happen. With my musical housemates who are very supportive, we went to a local nursing home, carrying a keyboard (which we borrowed from another friend), and had a wonderful time with the elderly there. It meant so much to me as having a chance to sing with these people brought back memories of my dad. He wasn't old - or that old. However, those nursing home residents and dad share distinctive features of dementia. I wanted to sing with these people on my birthday and draw a smile on their face. I wish to see a glimpse of joy in their eyes. I longed to share my gratefulness of being alive. But in the end I can't deny it - I wanted my dad.
Today, January the seventh, will be my first day volunteering at the hospital. Never worked in a hospital before, I was so excited to start this volunteer job. Whom am I going to see this morning? The elderly people. The ones with dementia. Again. I'm completely alert to the potential complexity I might encounter myself. It's risky and some people who know me would suggest me to step back. On the contrary, I believe that it's part of God's big plan. He took something away for a reason. Reaching out to these elderly people may be a step to understand the reason, although as a human being I will never fully comprehend His amazing plan.
Yes, His amazing plan. His amazing plan. I will type and say these three words over and over, just to remind myself of a much bigger picture, a much greater love story. Mum's yellow rice and longevity noodles might be the tastiest in our hometown, but it's nothing compared to the food in heaven. So is my singing/piano playing. The best thing we can do to celebrate God's love is by giving thanks to Him and loving Him whole-heartedly… in the same way as a husband loves his wife (and the other way around).
So on this day, January the seventh, I celebrate my parents' love once again. Last year was for 34 years of togetherness, and this year is for having brought their vows to perfection - Til Death Do Us Part. Thank God for being the foundation of their love. Praise Him for His infinite love.
:)
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