Thank You

There’s a place I was, and there’s the place I am right now. These add up to make me lift my heart to You O Lord. Thank you; I am grateful.

There’s a place I couldn’t imagine myself to be, and there’s the place I am right now. Lord, I am grateful; I say ‘Thank you’.

Thank you for walking me through the storm, and not just lifting me out of it. Thank you for letting me experience the gale and hail, and showing me that you weren’t going to let me drown in the sweeping current.

I am shaken and keep looking at the skies, looking to see if the shadowing clouds will let out again but the burst of sun brings back my smile.

I don’t know it yet, but I reckon all things work for good. The bigger picture is hazy for now but you make things beautiful in their time.

I rejoice not because I have seen, but because you said, “Blessed is he who has believed, yet has not seen”. Through every experience You are making a better man out of me.

Thank you for each angel you provided to walk with me, and thank you for making them think they were just living their lives while doing it. Truly, their reward lies in heaven and I won’t spoil it for them.

Thank you for these moments of faith, where realisation hits me, that I do not have to be perfect to come to you.

Thank for letting me see, that there is a place I was and the place I am right now. Thank you for the faith and assurance of the place I am going…that the seed of greatness will grow in me – and through me for Your glory. Blessed be Your name O Lord.



Putting it all to thought, the turn of a new year may mean one thing to a teacher; starting the same thing all over again.

Five years into it, I dare say this is not quite true. Look at it this way; does a mother of three have the exact same experience thrice? I don’t think so. The same goes for a teacher. Each class has its unique experience and share of joy and challenge.

One class may have a majority of mature students – motivated to do the right thing at the right time and make teaching a joy. Another class may seem to have all the ‘wrong’ crop of students; a group whose existence is buried in what the next great hip hop beat would sound, or what the hot ‘chick’ teacher might be doing at that moment. Going into such a classroom just may be a pain in the neck.

The art of teaching the same thing in a thousand different ways is the beauty God put into this experience, realising that even as a teacher you don’t quite know it all. You have to be creative about singing the same song with different tunes, all the while being interesting and relevant.

Teaching is not a vocation for churning more human resource into the world of labour. It is a journey one walks with individual students. Some are confident enough to go across the bridge but still hold your hand, others are scared that they will not make it across, yet they do.

It is true that some make a neat mess of everything, and don’t make the cut, but it is they that build our patience and help grow our character. As we pray for them, we learn to lean on hope that they will make something out of life in their own way.

The flipping into a new year is then an anticipation of a new experience, not just with the admission of a new lot, but even with each of the older ones as they face a new class year. The returning of alumni with their flashy cell phones and the outlandish sense of fashion, adds icing to the cake. It is a worthwhile journey.


You are a gift, Mich. I remember the tight grip of your tiny hand and the bright look on your curious eyes this day one year ago. You never cried much and for a time, I worried much about that. It also took you a while to learn how to suckle but you got it eventually – and became good at feeding.

I am always amused by the memory of you rolling over to get to things then squinting, snorting and shaking your head with glee. You are awesome, Mich.

I looked forward to a lifetime of seeing you grow, feeling that grip and hearing your voice every other time.

I hope to be with you one day, son. I am sad to miss so much about you; your first step, your first words. That can never be retrieved but I pray God will give me something of you to make life bright.

Happy first birthday big boy. I love you.


Roller Blading

It starts with a slow roll
As soft music oozes its tune.

With a swoosh,
gliding and the rhythm synchronize;
The body swaying in appreciation.

I am soon lost in this dreamy world of grace;
A place where poise and elegance meet.

The soft beat quickens,
Increasing speed with new pulse,
As wheels ‘eat’ concrete in earnest.

Leaning round the bend,
Faith keeps me on course
And music adds to joy.

The thrill of this experience reminds me that life is full of possibilities,
Each of which is laced with risk.

Some options can be taken now,
Others need a little more learning;
But every effort is worth something.

The music softens
And wheels slow.

Sweat trickles down
As I take a seat.

That’s another beautiful evening gone.


A heavy head with a running nose wobble about my neck as I rise from the desk.

It has been a heavy day at work and catching the flu doesn’t make things rosy.

I would have to be in the office till late, but intuition bids me to call at the house – if only for a short while.

My wife took a working trip and the point in making a non-essential trip to an empty house does not look sound.

Well, I end up at the doorstep and decide that I would justify my presence here by taking a nap. The warming scent of home hits me as I open the door. In an instant, my head clears.

The effect leaves me stunned.

A steady head head and wide open nostrils express their gratitude for being relieved from erstwhile distress.

I know home to be a place of comfort, a hideout of refuge when work and the cares of life threaten to break their banks, for there lies the smile of a loving wife, a brightness that glows on even when she is away.

Today, I’ve learned that home is a place of healing too – and I am grateful.


A true mark of selflessness.

Accolade and title, he bore, yet never was blind to the plight of the ‘mouse’.The lowly man’s joy was his.

For a long time I wondered who he is. His strong resemblance to one of my grandfathers was not just in bodily appearance, but even in the car he drove.

I never knew I would be a part of his family but in knowing Lorraine, my love, I was shocked to be introduced to Babu as his new grandson.

We never had long conversations for we both bore a quiet demeanour. Silent smiles and one off words quite describe our relationship.

I’m glad I knew Babu. Through him I saw that impact doesn’t have to come in being loud; even silence touches hearts beyond what souls could know.

Doesn’t this make me smile? It sure does.

He led, and knew when to step down. He was exceptional.

My desire is to impact, just as he did…and to lead my family as he led his.

Farewell Babu!

The Three Zero

A new road came under my feet,
It is the three zero.
There’re trotters that have graced it,
Some are on it
Others are yet to come to it.
It will be walked and God’s grace will abound.

Thank you Lord for the gift three zero.

I’ll take good care of it for a whole one zero.

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