A Blip in Eternity.

At 2am in the morning, under the blanket of a starry African sky, I felt pushed past the point of exasperation. Feeling vulnerable, stressed and trespassed, I was distraught.

 

“Madame, please go back to your home. It is dangerous out here,” said the security guard.

 

We could not. With strangers claiming rights to our doorsteps in the day, and now psychotic laughing, inconsolable caterwauling and the continuous heart-stopping slamming of doors in the wee hours of the night, we had no peace, night or day.

 

Our rude discovery of an invasion of our space was only sheepishly explained to us the next day. Because the public health institute’s building project of a private inpatient ward had been stalled and their urgency to generate income, they had decided to move their inpatients directly next to where we lived, in the same building which our room was just a small part of.

 

That midnight, the continuous boom of slamming doors echoing through the corridors, the clanging of plates, and continuous loud talking, was only the prelude to an early morning pandemonium of piercing wails mixed with delirious laughter bordering on insanity, as yet another patient gave his last breath.

 

It was a Ugandan colleague who shared with me, “You know in Africa, we over-cry. I’m sorry for your situation. ”

 

Under the stars, I was burning with vexation.

 

When we first decided to stay at the public health institute, we were promised the living quarters would be quiet, and built within a hostel where other health professionals might stay at from time to time. The clinics and hospital were further downhill, which gave me peace, given Cliff’s immunocompromised health status.

 

No one told us of earthshaking disco music from 10pm to 5am four nights of the week, or the insidious invasion of our living quarters by a new plan to house inpatients who were direly ill. Within a week, two patients had passed on, which spelled crowds of people, from the town and villages, coming to mourn and weep in the day, and nights of continual movement and unrest. A room next to ours, which had direct window access to where we slept, was converted into a waiting room for the public, instead of being kept empty as promised.

 

Having not been informed of these changes, it was hard not to feel betrayed. A long walk on the chilly, windy hilltop of the gated compound brought no relief to my seething hurt and injured pride. For months, we had tried to adjust to various disturbances and discomforts- people coming to our home to stare at us and use our facility, and blaring music in the nights. Now, the line had been crossed and I was outraged.

 

Seeing my frustration, a bleary-eyed Cliff said to me with a sigh, “Wai Jia, you can’t expect to be comfortable if you’re doing missions. You just can’t.”

 

Those were words I hated to hear, but I knew were right.

 

We both huddled back to bed, closing our eyes but failing to sleep the entire night, hardly relieved when another explosion of howling grief signaled the patient’s final breath.

 

When the housing manager at the public health institute wanted to meet us to discuss our housing challenges that afternoon, we held onto the hope that the inpatients would be relocated. After all, we had signed a formal housing agreement, and this was clearly a poor management decision to build an inpatient ward next to a private residence. Very flatly, we were given “a myriad of options”, which involved either staying put, or moving out to less favorable places.

 

“Those aren’t really options,” Cliff said with a laugh, trying to sound friendly but realistic.

 

“Of course they are options,” said the housing manager in his oversized suit, patronizingly. “You are our customers, and we just want to make you happy.”

 

Why didn’t anyone inform us of this arrangement in advance? Why were we lied to about our housing arrangements? Why all the empty promises? Bitter, self-righteous thoughts bubbled up within me. The little tigress within me hissed and growled.

 

“Okay, I would like to beat the rush-hour traffic home,” the housing manager looked at his watch, ending the meeting abruptly.

 

We both felt the carpet had been pulled from our feet. There we were, hoping to discuss solutions and possible compensation measures, but were now left with “options” which left us no room for a decent solution or dignified exit.

 

The housing manager claimed he had explored moving the inpatients elsewhere but maintained it was impossible, a short fence was built between us and the clinic for security, and the nurses were briefed to inform caregivers to observe consideration for others, as far as possible. Nonetheless, our adrenalin was so high at night because of the expectation of uncertainty, that we could hardly sleep with ease. Yet, to move out would mean more stresses of adjustments- adjusting to a new rhythm of water cuts, power cuts, security, and noise. With the pattern of unforthcomingness we had observed, there would be no guarantee of better living conditions.

 

Sitting at our front porch, we asked God what He wanted us to do.

 

“Wow, I guess this is it, Cliff,” I said, with almost revelatory wonder, “It’s just a continuum of discomfort we have to choose from.”

 

Cliff burst out laughing, “Wai Jia, our whole earthly life is a continuum of discomfort!”

 

We both laughed, albeit a little wryly.

 

We are both learning, Cliff faster than me, that living a life of comfort is not an entitlement we earn. For the sake of the Gospel, we must be willing to live our lives through the shades and hues of inconvenience, disgrace and discomfort, and rejoice in the illuminated moments of comfort, joy and relief, which come by God’s grace to us, however rare.

 

We are learning, that when we are called to serve, it means serving in humility at all times, when people are easy to love, and when they encroach into our space and privacy.

 

We are learning, that resilience is built not when projects are moving and people are cheering you on, but when you struggle through the anxiety of constant change, when you ride out seasons of aggravation and distress, and when you endure injustices, bear with injured pride, and exercise self-control in moments of vulnerability, even when all you want to do is claim your rights.

 

We are learning, that meekness is not passively sitting around receiving a beating, but neither is strength fighting tooth and nail for what we think we deserve.

 

As we enjoyed a rare quiet moment in the afternoon sun, Cliff turned to me, “In the big scheme of things, this will just be a blip in eternity, Wai Jia. It’ll be okay.”

 

As I looked at my husband, I saw in him a steely determination and yet a spirit willing to be yielded and submit to God. In him, was a steady self-control and stoic resilience, easily mistaken for passivity in our self-seeking, self-justifying culture.

 

Where I am eager to submit feedback, lodge a complaint or demand compensation, he is keen to recalibrate his spirit, submit to authority, and surrender to God’s voice.

 

“The devil may try every ploy to distract and detract us, but nothing can keep us from fulfilling His purpose,” he said. That explained why, even after a sleepless night when I asked if he wanted to sleep in to rest instead of taking a long trip to town to purchase more sewing machines for the sewing ministry, he insisted we should carry on.

 

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, our flesh cries out for the taste of the comfort of home. Yet, it only takes a sobering moment for us to realize we no longer have a physical house to call home, either in Singapore or Canada. Where God has called us, we must follow. Even the Son of Man had “nowhere to lay His head” (Matthew 8:20).

 

But if we can unveil our eyes to look at our lives from God’s perspective, then truly, all our light and momentary sufferings, are, as Cliff rightly put it, but “ a blip in eternity”.

 

And with that, we can live in hope, faith and anticipation, of a glorious Home in heaven which awaits us, however much discomfort we are in at the present time.

 

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time

are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

–              Romans 8:18