It was almost like putting a housecat on top of a giant cardboard box, to prevent the lion within from tearing its way out.
One night, as I lay in bed wondering when the torture would come to an end, it was Cliff who turned to me and said, “God’s in control, Wai Jia. Just wait and see.”
Nothing within me wanted to wait. Back home, self-entitlement was an ingrained survival skill I had learnt, honed to perfection in the name of progress, expressing itself in the prompt articulation of feedback and the expeditious report of injustice. It was necessary, to push ourselves to greater heights. When injustice is done, it must be reported and rectified. Restitution, with suitable recompense, must then follow. Staying silent about trespass, negligence or wrong-doing, must be spurned.
So, when my framework of justice was unceremoniously overturned, I felt like the immutable laws of the universe had been defied.
But this time, the lion had to stay put.
When part of our living quarters was suddenly invaded by inpatients and strangers, our haven became a prison. With strangers milling around our front door during the day, and unexpected disturbances during the night, various surprises violating our initial housing agreement were sprung upon us with each new day and night.
Tested by injustice, deceit and insult week after week, unfamiliar levels of pride and intolerance arose within me. Angry, vengeful thoughts rehearsed themselves in my mind like a bad play: “How could this be right? How can they do this to us?” At one point, because of the conversion of our adjoining room into a waiting room for patients without our consent, we could not talk in our own home without being overheard.
“You guys need to get out immediately.”
“Don’t see the option of moving out as failure.”
The concern, prayer and encouragement about our housing crisis touched us deeply.
While we did explore alternative housing options elsewhere, none proved suitable. Yet, something inside the both of us felt God would make a way out.
We encouraged ourselves, that while often painful, prison experiences are fertile ground for precious lessons to be sown. We were learning, that at times, when we are too eager to jump out of agonizing experiences without learning the lessons God wishes to impart to us, we may jeopardize the opportunities allowed by Him to refine us. We had an unexplainable peace, that as long as we could tolerate the uncertainty of what tomorrow would bring, God would prove the certainty of His grace to us by showing us how He would unravel our problems.
One early morning at 4am, I felt God’s gentle whisper for me to release my rights, forgive those who had trespassed and lied to us about our housing situation, and to allow God Himself to vindicate us. I wept. The lion in me wanted to retaliate, fight tooth and nail for our rights and to demand fair recompense. Yet, the familiar image of God being described simultaneously as both a strong Lion and a meek Lamb reminded me of how even the greatest King of all kings had suffered the gravest injustice with a spirit of meekness, and is thus known as the Lamb taken to the slaughter. At the end, it was not Christ who fought for His own rights, but His Father who vindicated him, and restored him to the throne.
On the contrary, very little in our society today celebrates meekness. Meekness is seen as weakness, an infirmity almost. People who are meek are trampled upon and taken advantage of. Yet, this time, I knew it was a lesson I needed to learn. Through my husband’s example, I saw his meekness exude strength, patience and godliness. I learnt, that meekness is also wisdom; meekness is profound trust in God’s ways; meekness is strength. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth (Matthew 5:5). As I recollected the birth of Christ, I remembered He entered earth in utter humility and meekness in a manger, and not with a grand entrance.
With tears in my eyes, I asked God for the strength to put the lion in me to rest. Instead of reporting the injustice, Cliff gently directed me to do the opposite: We ended up packing Christmas presents for all the staff we knew, including the housing manager.
That very morning after I had surrendered my rights to God, the Executive Director requested to meet us before her Board of Directors, where she not only apologized on behalf of the organization for the oversight of her staff at our expense, but committed to making drastic changes to improve our living conditions, at no cost to us.
Since then, a fence has been built between the clinic area and our home for our privacy, a doorway has been cemented to prevent noise bouncing down the corridor from the inpatients to where we sleep, rubber bungs have been installed to prevent the heart-stopping slamming of the wooden doors from the clinic, day visiting hours and curfews for visitors in the night have been implemented, and most importantly, we now have the keys to the adjoining room, which means peace and privacy for us.
God fought for us.
The lion never needed to roar, bare its teeth or raise a paw to claim its right- that was not the war. The true war, was the battle within myself- to surrender my rights and my pride, in order to learn meekness and forbearance. When that was done, God did the rest and the victory was ours.
We now have peace, both day and night, in a place where we can celebrate Christmas, where we can now call home again.
Thank you all for praying with and for us.
We thank God for His grace and mercy,
and thank you for all your love and encouragement to us.
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”
– Matthew 5:5