For the longest time, I was idealistic.
But that is an euphemism for naivety. My brother bluntly told me once that he thinks I live in an universe of my own.
Though it’s exaggerated, I know what he means.
Airy, dream-like, almost ethereal.
I had ideals. Ideals impossible in this fallen world of sin.
God had to pull them down, one by one.
He did, this year.
By the mistreatment and the eventual break.
By working life, which officially marked the start of adulthood.
Were not the ideals wholesome and innocent?
That I should be loved, cherished, treasured by one who claims to do so?
That I should not have to go out and fend for myself in the corporate world, and be trampled for my lack of assertiveness and dominance?
But these are still my own ideas.
And any ideas that stand in opposition to God’s
are ideas stemming from self-will.
not my ideals,
My ideas were
Yet I am not.
and emerged stronger,
having come face to face with reality.
I can laugh the more joyfully,
smile the more steadily
because whatever comes my way
in God’s Providence,
There are none of my ideals that God’s future for me must conform to anymore.
And that is good, for His thoughts are higher than my thoughts.
Buy a HDB flat/condo at the age of 35 to live with my pet dog for company? Sure.
Be wife to a wealthy businessman and mother to seven children? Sure.
Die, poor and lonely, in a remote third world village whilst doing missions? Sure.
Just as long as it’s God’s Will,
My soul is assured of the victory.
And the will of God becomes so dear to him that he loves it best when it triumphs at his cost.