White, white gold.

We are gold.

Gold, even in the furnace, neither rots nor dies. It becomes refined, purified and precious.

When I bought my ring, I had the old jeweller enlarge it a little for me because while I understood the binding it meant between God and myself, I despised that a love relationship should feel too tight, too uncomfortable. I wanted a little space between the white-gold rim and my fourth finger, I wanted a little freedom. Not too much so that it would slip off, but I wanted to negotiate a little freedom.

“I don’t want it too tight, Uncle. I like it a little loose- it’s more comfortable this way.”

In front of my eyes, the old jeweller shone a torch of fire on it, put it through a metal rod to enlarge it a little before exclaiming a little moan of regret.

“Ah… I’m sorry, madam. It cracked. “

“What?” I said. I was disappointed- I had seen many rings and I knew this one belonged to me. It was simple and plain, the way I like most things- it was a classic wedding band. “Why so?”

“This white gold you chose- it has some impurities inside which makes it a little inflexible, too hard.” He gave a sigh of frustration. That was one good, saleable ring wasted, he must have thought.

“No, it’s okay, Uncle. I’ll take it, still. Just weld the crack back for me.”

“Okay. I’ll bring it back to the factory and put it through the welding fire. But there’ll be a mark on it. It won’t be perfect, you know.”

“It’s all right, Uncle. I’ll take it. “

That night, out of curiosity itching from poetic inspiration, I did some research on what rings mean. I chanced upon a little trivia on Wikipedia: In some countries in Eastern Europe, it is believed that if a ring cracks some important event will happen or has happened.

I laughed. How very interesting, I thought.

We are gold. We are white, white gold.

Gold, even in the furnace, neither rots nor dies. It becomes refined, purified and precious.

I am gold, and this day, I am put together.

I did nothing this past weekend. Nothing, but the things I loved. Running freely without time, watching the clouds chase me, laying skin-on-sand at the beach, watching a play, admiring artwork, being at church, reading away the afternoon in a large, beautiful library… helped to calm my spirit, clear my mind. It came to me- We are gold. We are white, white gold.

It was so cold where I came from, and then it was so hot. And now I see the heat had a reason, and I am no longer crushed. We are gold, remember? Gold, even in the furnace, neither rots nor dies. In the heat, the impurities surface. It becomes refined, purified and precious.

In all these past 3 years I have claimed to know God, claimed to love, trust, have faith in Him… I now realise I never fully loved Him in the wild and decadent and ferocious way He loves me, loves us. I specifically asked for the ring to be enlarged- because I was afraid of being bound by such a fierce love, such a binding bond. So I negotiated. In wanting my own freedom, I negotiated “a little space”, a little space to seek self-control, independence and self-sufficiency.

It is what I have been doing all this while. Kitesong, Rainbow, projects, my grades, accolades, anorexia and my little careful hints of pride gave me my space, space for control and my own sense of power and stability, space to weasle out of what I thought was a too-tight, too-fierce binding love I was afraid I was too small to receive, too afraid to trust and lose myself in. They gave me the space I wanted to glorify myself in, find self-worth. They gave me the space to pride myself in my own self-sufficiency. They gave me the space where I could exert my own control over- We all could do with a little space, couldn’t we? But we forget, God’s love is gracious and beautiful, but also jealous, all-consuming, non-negotiable.

My lips and my ring shouted all my love for God, but my pride and the little space between the white-gold rim and my finger screamed for space, space for self, self-glorification, self-sufficiency. It wasn’t a lot of space, just a little- “I don’t want it too tight, Uncle. I like it a little loose- it’s more comfortable this way.” My own choice to negotiate “a little space” from a true and pure love brought its own fire on myself, the kind of fire that rebellion, ignorance, self-striving and control brings.

In wanting my space as a result of insecurity, I forgot that love, the kind worth having, is always the kind that takes risks, loves fierce and hard and hot. I forgot. I wanted “a little space”.

And so this is what it is. We are gold. I was put through my own fire, and have been put through, will be put through the Fire again, albeit a different kind, in the months ahead, because deep down inside, this white-gold “has some impurities inside which makes it inflexible, too hard.” Those were the old jeweller’s words to me.

God puts us through the welding Fire to refine and purify us. Refine and perfect this imperfect love that we have for Him and for the people around us, for one cannot truly love, cannot truly grow up, cannot love wildly, decadently, truly if one harbours pride, insecurity and selfishness. I am all of that, I am all of that and worse. And this is the fire that has come, not to crack or punish, but a fire that has come to love, discipline, refine, purify and heal me, weld me up where I wa broken.

Perhaps this is what it is. That we are gold. White, white gold.

Thank you for your love for me. I have been put together by the love, support and encouragement of many of you. This day, I am put together. I realise, that the depression was festering beneath the surface because I was letting the anorexia go, which really was a coping mechanism to deal with the depression. As I let it go, the depression got worse. But today, I am put together. I realise, that all this has a reason, and help from professional people who understand is there. One day, I will be able to figure this out and God will help me let both go.

” You’re glowing today, Wai Jia.”

Yes, I am put together this day. Things will be okay.

It is not over yet. This is a long process. It will be hot again and I will think the pain, at some point, unbearable. It will a red-hot pain, an Anvil hammering me into shape, sealing up the cracks. There will be intense heat, pressure, a surrender to the Welder’s flame and His refining purpose for my life.

This is a different type of Fire. I hold on to the promise of being sent back to the Welder, to be welded up, healed and sealed up right again. We hold on to the promise that we are gold, refined, purified and precious. Through the Fire, our faith is strengthened, tested, tried. We will come out, true.

We are gold, gold with impurities. But through the furnace, we will become choice gold. True riches.

“It is believed that if a ring cracks some important event will happen or has happened.” Being welded up right, going through a second Fire, the kind God’s fierce, decadant and wild love produces is important, essential to the purposes planned for our lives. Perhaps this is what it is.

The past week has been an intense search for answers to my questions. I am only trying to find understanding in my confusion- Someone said, “He who knows the why of things can always cope with the what.” This is just my feeble interpretation, but it is enough for now to have me put myself together, be determined to go through this process of heat without so much fear. It is a different kind of Fire, the kind that purifies, refines and heals.

This time, things are different. It is not like the last time. I no longer fear what I used to because this is a good kind of Fire, God’s fire that builds, that welds, that heals and that resurrects. I am human, I am naturally afraid of heat, pain and the lonely suffering that I know I will have to endure.

But we forget, we are also gold. White, white gold.

Gold that endures, that perserveres, that lasts. Gold that can be, will be refined, purified and precious. The hotter the fire, the more impurities that surface, and the more refined and pure and useful the end product will be.

Maybe this is what this fire has been all about- God’s love.

Maybe this is what this fire has been all about- God’s welding, healing power over the cracks in our lives.

We are gold. And because of this fire, the fire of God’s love in our lives, the fire of His discipline, we will hold on to that promise and know that all this has a purpose, that something big and important will happen in our lives someday, something cracked and broken will be welded up right, something beautiful will be birthed from the flames.

We are gold. White, white gold.

And through the fire, we become choice gold.

It is enough for me. I hold onto this promise, and I gain strength from this trusting. For as sure as my ring now fits on my finger, I know that I will be welded up right, that we will all, in the heat of the furnace, come out right, sealed and healed.

“But there’ll be a mark, you know, after the crack is welded up.” the old jeweller said.

It is a good kind of mark.

The mark of enduring the Fire.

“No, it’s okay, Uncle. I’ll take it, still. Just weld the crack back for me.”