The thing about mixing with big cities is that one comes in contact with so many people in a day, all strangers, all passing within a split second. Real people, real souls, real stories. I often wonder about those stories, or make them up in my head as I stand on the MRT rides and watch them come and go. That girl is on her way to work a long shift at a department store. Those two schoolchildren are in the throes of young love (and how young they are!). That guy doesn't realize what he's missing by playing with his cell phone while his girlfriend gently talks in his ear. ...
There was one young lady from whom I was able to learn her story tonight. She is not a stranger, being related to me by blood, but I often feel estranged in the way that time, language, and distance creates. We met up for dinner tonight and she shared with me her teaching experiences, being an English teacher at a cram school. I never realized how much energy she poured into her work, or how passionate she was about making a difference in the hearts of her students. My admiration for her as an individual (and a fellow teacher) rose like the mercury of a thermometer. In spite of the misrepresentations and misunderstandings from the past, I know that I cannot truly appreciate a person or really love them until I know more of their story -- more of who they are, what makes them tick.
I have been reading a book called "The Shack," something that has been very subtly changing my perspective of God: His relationship with Himself and with people. I realize how little I know about the whole thing. I acknowledge His Wholeness, and I catch glimpses of that completeness as it pours over individuals and fills them up and over with Love. But how little do I grasp it. Perhaps it is the beginning of a journey of understanding it for myself.
Fill me up.
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