25th Sunday in Ordinary Time: For Me, Life Is Christ

There are certain words in Scripture that we can hear many times, but every now and then, they speak to us in a much deeper and more personal way. For me, the words from today's second reading are exactly that: “Life to me, of course, is Christ.” The more I reflect on these words from St Paul, the more I realize that they are not simply beautiful words about faith. They are an invitation to look at my own life and ask myself what, or rather who, is truly at the centre of it. To say that “life is Christ” means recognizing that my life is not ultimately defined by my achievements, possessions, plans, disappointments or even the difficult seasons I have walked through. My life belongs to Christ, and everything I experience can become part of my relationship with Him.

That understanding has not come overnight. My own faith journey has had its twists and turns. I was baptized Catholic as a baby, attended catechism and grew up knowing the Church, but there was also a long period in my life when I walked away. I was away from the Church for many years, and for a time, I probably could not have imagined just how important my faith would eventually become to me. Then, about ten years ago, I found my way back. One of the most significant moments for me was going to Confession after being away for about fifteen years. That return was not simply about walking through the doors of a church again. For me, it felt like coming home. Since returning, I have never looked back, and I now see that God was never really finished with me, even during the years when I had wandered away.

My faith today is also very different from when I was younger because I have experienced more of life. I have experienced loss, disappointment, uncertainty, family struggles and moments when I have had to surrender things that were completely beyond my control. Through these experiences, I have learnt that trusting God does not mean understanding everything He allows to happen. There have been moments when I could have asked God why something happened or why certain things had to be so difficult. Yet, over time, I have learnt to trust His plan more deeply. I may not always understand what He is doing, but I have come to believe that God sees what I cannot see and knows what I cannot know.

That is why St Paul's words speak to me so strongly. When he says, “Christ will be glorified in my body, whether by my life or by my death,” he is showing us that his life belonged completely to Christ. His circumstances did not determine his faith, and his suffering did not cause him to turn away. Instead, he continued to trust and serve. I find that both challenging and inspiring because it is easy to say that Christ is at the centre of our lives when everything is going well. The real test comes when life does not go according to plan. Can I still say that life is Christ when I am hurting? Can I still trust Him when I do not understand? Can I continue to serve when I am tired or disappointed? I believe St Paul is reminding me that faith is not about having all the answers. It is about knowing who I can place my trust in even when I do not have the answers.

The first reading reinforces this beautifully when we are reminded that God's thoughts are not our thoughts and His ways are not our ways. How often have I tried to work out God's plan for my life? I have looked at circumstances and tried to understand why certain things happened, and I have tried to make sense of situations that simply did not make sense to me. But perhaps faith is learning to say, “God, I do not understand this, but I trust You.” That has become increasingly important in my own journey. I no longer want my faith to depend on whether life is going according to my plan. I want my faith to be strong enough to trust God even when His plan looks completely different from mine. Sometimes what I thought was a setback has eventually led me somewhere I never expected, and sometimes what I desperately wanted did not happen because God had something else in mind.

Then we come to today's Gospel, the parable of the workers in the vineyard, and this Gospel speaks to me in an especially personal way. The landowner goes out at different times of the day and hires workers. Some begin early in the morning, others are brought in later, and some only arrive at the very last hour. Yet when the day ends, the landowner gives them the same wage. Those who worked all day become resentful because, from a human perspective, it seems unfair. If I had worked from morning until evening while someone else had only worked for an hour, I might also have wondered why we were receiving the same. But Jesus is not really giving us a lesson about wages. He is teaching us about God's grace, generosity and mercy.

When I hear this Gospel today, I cannot help but think about my own return to the Catholic Church. I was not one of those people who stayed faithfully close to the Church every single day of my life. I wandered, I was away, and I took my own path for many years. Yet when I came home, God did not make me feel as though I had arrived too late. He did not ask me where I had been all those years before welcoming me back. He gave me another opportunity. He allowed me to rediscover my faith and to experience Him in ways I may never have experienced had I not gone through that journey. Looking back, I realize that God's mercy was there even when I was not paying attention to it.

That is why I believe so strongly that we should never make someone feel that they are too late to return to God. There is no “too late” with God and there is no expiration date on His mercy. There is always room in His vineyard. This is one of the reasons my Landings journey has been so meaningful to me. Joining Landings has given me an opportunity to reflect more deeply on what it means to welcome people who have been away from the Church and are trying to find their way home. It is not simply about bringing someone back to Mass. It is about listening, belonging and creating a space where someone can say, “I have been away,” without feeling judged. It is about allowing people to tell their stories and recognizing that everyone's journey back to God is different.

Perhaps because I have my own story of being away and returning, I understand how important that welcome can be. Sometimes people do not need someone to lecture them. They need someone to listen. Sometimes they do not need someone to remind them of everything they have done wrong. They need someone to remind them that they still belong. Sometimes they simply need someone to say, “It is okay. Come home.” My Landings journey has made me realize that my own experience of returning to the Church was not simply something that happened for me. Perhaps God can use that experience to help me welcome someone else. Perhaps my story can remind another person that returning to God is possible and that they do not have to feel ashamed of how long they have been away.

The workers in today's Gospel also remind me that God's Kingdom is not a competition. We do not earn more of God's love because we have been Catholics longer, and we do not become more worthy because we have served in the Church for decades. Someone who has only just returned is not somehow less loved because they arrived later. God's love is not measured according to our human calculations. When I returned to the Church after so many years, I did not have to earn my way back. I simply had to open my heart, and God met me there. That is the beauty of His mercy.

The Gospel also challenges me to look honestly at my own heart. It is very easy to compare our journey with someone else's, even within the Church. We can look at how much another person serves, how long they have been involved or what they seem to have received, and wonder why things appear different for us. But Jesus reminds us that we are not serving God for recognition or reward. We serve because we are grateful. We serve because we love Him. We serve because we have already received so much from Him. If someone returns to the Church after twenty years, that should be something we celebrate. If someone discovers their faith later in life, we should celebrate that too. Their return does not take anything away from us because God's love is not a limited resource. There is enough grace for all of us and enough room in His vineyard for everyone.

This is perhaps one of the greatest lessons I am taking away from today's readings. My journey back to the Church has taught me that God never stopped calling me, even when I was not listening. My Landings journey is teaching me that perhaps now I have a responsibility to help others hear that call too. Not by forcing, judging or telling people what they should do, but by listening, welcoming and sharing my own story. I want people who have been away from the Church to know that the door is still open. I want them to know that they are not alone and that their journey does not have to look like anyone else's. Because I know what it feels like to walk away, and I know what it feels like to come home.

Today, when I hear St Paul say, “Life to me, of course, is Christ,” I hear those words differently because of everything I have experienced. For me, it means that Christ is not simply a part of my life. He is the foundation of it. He is the One I turn to when I am grateful, the One I turn to when I am hurting and the One I trust when I do not understand. He is the One who welcomed me home when I found my way back, and perhaps now He is asking me to help make His Church feel like home for someone else.

The first reading reminds me that God's ways are higher than mine. The second reading reminds me that my life belongs to Christ. The Gospel reminds me that God's mercy welcomes everyone, even those who arrive at the very last hour. When I put all three readings together, I hear a very personal invitation to trust God, live for Christ and leave the door open for others to come home.

I do not know where my faith journey will take me next, but I know that I want my life to be a reflection of the One who never gave up on me. If I can help even one person who has been away from the Church feel welcomed, heard, loved and safe enough to take that first step home, then perhaps my own journey has a purpose beyond myself. Perhaps the years I spent away, the experience of returning and everything I have learnt since then can become part of how God uses me to reach someone else.

Because I have learnt that coming home to God is not something to be ashamed of. It is something to celebrate. And so today, I want to say those words not just with my lips but with my whole heart: “Life to me, of course, is Christ.” If Christ truly is my life, then I pray that my life will always leave a little more room for someone else to find their way back to Him.

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Reflection: Can I say the words of St. Paul, "Life to me is Christ"? What would that look like in my life now?

When I ask myself whether I can truly say, “Life to me is Christ,” I realize that this is not about how religious I am. It is about what guides me when life becomes difficult, what I hold on to when I do not have all the answers and what kind of person I choose to be each day.

For me, saying these words means allowing Christ to shape the way I live, not just the way I pray. It means trying to be more patient when I am frustrated, more forgiving when I have been hurt, more generous with my time and more willing to reach out to someone who may need encouragement. It means choosing love over resentment, gratitude over focusing on what I do not have and trust over fear.

It also means accepting that I cannot control everything. I like to understand things and make sense of situations, but faith reminds me that I do not always need to have all the answers. Sometimes I simply need to place what I cannot control in God's hands and trust that He will lead me where I need to be.

My Landings journey has also made me realize that living for Christ can be found in the simplest things. Sometimes it is listening to someone without judging, making someone feel welcome or simply being present when another person needs a little encouragement. I do not have to do something extraordinary to reflect Christ. I can do it through the ordinary moments of everyday life.

I know I will not always get it right, and I am certainly still a work in progress. But perhaps “Life to me is Christ” is not about being perfect. It is about choosing, day after day, to let my faith shape the way I live, love, serve and treat others. If I can carry Christ with me beyond the church and allow even a little of His love to be reflected through my life, then I believe I am beginning to live those words rather than simply say them.

First Reading - Isaiah 55:6-9

Second Reading - Philippians 1:20-24,27

Gospel - Matthew 20:1-16

Movie Recommendation: Joyful Noise (2012)

 If you are looking for a movie that combines music, faith, family, laughter, a little romance and plenty of heart, Joyful Noise is one I would definitely recommend adding to your watch list.

Released in 2012 and directed by Todd Graff, Joyful Noise is a musical comedy-drama centred around a small-town church choir in Pacashau, Georgia. The community is struggling financially, and the choir is facing the possibility of being shut down. Their hope is to win the National Joyful Noise Competition and bring some much-needed encouragement and pride back to their town.

But the biggest challenge isn't necessarily the competition itself. It is the clash between two very strong-minded women.

And this is where the movie gets really entertaining.

The two women at the centre of the story are Vi Rose Hill, played by Queen Latifah, and G.G. Sparrow, played by Dolly Parton. After the death of the choir director, Vi Rose takes over the choir. G.G., the director's widow, believes she should have had more say in what happens. The two women have very different personalities and very different ideas about how the choir should sound.

Vi Rose believes in tradition. G.G. believes that tradition should not stop you from trying something new.

Their disagreements create plenty of funny moments, but underneath all the arguments is something much more meaningful: both women genuinely care about their community, their families and their faith.

One of the biggest reasons I would recommend this movie is Dolly Parton.

Dolly plays G.G. Sparrow, and honestly, she brings so much personality to the role. G.G. is confident, outspoken, funny and completely unafraid to say exactly what she thinks. That makes her a wonderful character for Dolly to play.

What makes it even better is seeing Dolly share the screen with Queen Latifah. The contrast between the two characters gives the movie much of its energy. Their chemistry and musical performances are among the film's biggest attractions. Contemporary reviews also highlighted the strength of their performances and the musical numbers.

And if you already love Dolly Parton, you get the added pleasure of watching her do what she does so naturally: entertain, sing, make you laugh and occasionally deliver a little wisdom along the way.

Of course, you cannot talk about Joyful Noise without talking about the music.

This is a gospel choir movie, but it doesn't restrict itself to traditional gospel music. The film mixes gospel with contemporary pop influences, creating some wonderfully energetic musical performances. The choir even performs gospel-inspired versions of familiar popular songs.

The result is a soundtrack that feels joyful, uplifting and very accessible, even if you are not normally someone who watches gospel musicals.

There is something particularly wonderful about watching people who may be struggling with life come together through music. Singing becomes more than entertainment. It becomes a way of expressing faith, hope, frustration, love and community.

And that is really the heart of the movie.

Although the National Joyful Noise Competition provides the main storyline, there are several smaller stories happening at the same time.

Vi Rose is raising two teenagers and trying to protect her family while dealing with her own struggles. Her daughter Olivia, played by Keke Palmer, is talented and independent and does not always see eye-to-eye with her mother.

G.G.'s grandson Randy, played by Jeremy Jordan, also arrives and becomes romantically interested in Olivia. Their relationship adds another layer to the story, particularly because the adults have their own ideas about what is best for the younger generation.

There is also Walter, Vi Rose's son, whose character brings another dimension to the family story.

So while the movie is wrapped in music and comedy, it touches on some surprisingly real themes: parenting, grief, financial hardship, generational differences, relationships, faith and learning to accept that sometimes another person's way of doing things may have value too.

Perhaps the message I enjoyed most about Joyful Noise is the idea that harmony does not mean everyone has to sound the same.

That is true in music and, perhaps even more importantly, it is true in life.

Vi Rose and G.G. are very different women. They disagree, they clash and they certainly know how to get under each other's skin. But eventually they have to realize that their differences don't necessarily have to divide them.

They need one another.

And perhaps that is one of the loveliest messages hidden underneath all the singing and comedy: sometimes we create something beautiful precisely because different people bring different voices to the same song.

Joyful Noise is not a complicated movie, and it certainly isn't trying to be a serious theological exploration. In fact, critics were divided about the storyline, with some finding the plot predictable while praising the musical performances.

But sometimes you don't need a movie to be complicated.

Sometimes you simply want something that makes you smile.

Something that reminds you about faith.

Something that makes you want to sing.

Something that reminds you that difficult seasons don't last forever.

And sometimes you just want to watch Dolly Parton and Queen Latifah arguing, singing and trying to save a church choir!

So if you enjoy feel-good movies with music, humour, family, faith and a little bit of romance, I would definitely recommend giving Joyful Noise a try.

And if you are a Dolly Parton fan, that's even more reason to watch it.

After all, with Dolly Parton, Queen Latifah and a gospel choir involved, you already know you're going to get plenty of joyful noise.

The Things I Knew Mattered, But Still Chose to Avoid

 

There are some questions that make you stop and really think. Not because you do not know the answer, but because you know it all too well.

“What did I avoid that I knew mattered this year?”

My first instinct was to think about the things I did not accomplish. The plans I postponed. The ideas I left sitting in notebooks. The conversations I kept putting off. The dreams I told myself I would get to when life became a little less complicated.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that perhaps the things I avoided were not really tasks. They were feelings. They were decisions. They were moments of vulnerability. They were the things that required me to slow down long enough to ask myself what I truly wanted, what I truly needed and what God might be asking me to let go of.

This year has reminded me that being busy is not the same as moving forward.

I have always been someone who keeps going. Give me a challenge and I will find a way. Give me a problem and I will try to solve it. Give me an idea and I will probably turn it into a project before I have even finished thinking about it. I have built things, written things, helped people, served, worked, created and carried on even when life was not particularly gentle.

Sometimes I think I have become very good at keeping myself busy because busy means I do not always have to sit still with the questions that make me uncomfortable.

Perhaps one of the things I avoided this year was rest.

Not simply having a quiet afternoon or taking a day off, but genuinely resting without feeling that I should be doing something productive. I have often associated progress with movement. If I am doing something, I feel useful. If I am achieving something, I feel that I am moving forward.

But maybe there are seasons when moving forward means being still.

My faith has been teaching me that lesson in ways I did not expect. Be still and know that God is here.

Being still is harder than it sounds.

When you are still, you hear your own thoughts. You notice what hurts. You recognize what you have been avoiding. You begin to see which things are worth holding onto and which things have simply become habits because you were afraid to release them.

I also avoided having some conversations with myself.

The honest ones.

What do I really want for the next chapter of my life? What deserves my energy? Who deserves access to my heart? What am I doing because it genuinely matters to me, and what am I doing simply because I have always done it?

Those are uncomfortable questions because sometimes the answers require change.

And change can be frightening, even when it is good.

This year has also taught me that I cannot keep waiting for everything to be perfect before I allow myself to move forward. There will always be something unfinished. There will always be another responsibility, another problem to solve, another person who needs something from me.

If I wait until life is perfectly organized before I pursue the things that matter, I may spend my whole life waiting.

I have also avoided giving myself enough credit.

I can be quick to celebrate other people. I can encourage someone else, remind them of their strengths and tell them how far they have come. Yet when it comes to myself, I sometimes move straight on to the next goal without stopping to acknowledge what I have already survived, learned and accomplished.

That needs to change.

I have lived through difficult seasons. I have experienced loss. I have had moments when I did not know what the future would look like. I have watched plans change. I have had people come into my life and people leave it. I have experienced disappointment, uncertainty, grief, love, faith and unexpected blessings.

And somehow, I am still here.

Not just surviving.

Growing.

That is something worth celebrating.

Perhaps I also avoided trusting myself.

There have been moments when I have second guessed my instincts, questioned my decisions and wondered whether I was asking for too much or dreaming too big. But I am beginning to understand that confidence does not mean knowing exactly how everything will turn out.

Confidence means taking the next step anyway.

That is something I have been learning in my faith too. I do not need to know the entire road before I take the next step. God does not always give us the full map. Sometimes He simply gives us enough light for where we are standing.

And perhaps that is enough.

One of the biggest things I avoided this year was accepting that some things are simply not mine to control.

I can love people, but I cannot make their decisions for them.

I can offer advice, but I cannot choose someone's path.

I can work hard, but I cannot control every outcome.

I can pray, but I cannot dictate God's timing.

That last one is probably the hardest.

I have learned that surrender is not giving up. Surrender is trusting that I do not have to carry everything myself.

There is tremendous freedom in that.

Looking back, I realize that the things I avoided were often the very things that mattered most. Rest mattered. Honest conversations mattered. My dreams mattered. My boundaries mattered. My happiness mattered. My faith mattered. My relationships mattered. And perhaps most importantly, I mattered too.

I do not want to carry the same avoidance into another year.

I want to be braver about the things that matter.

I want to make the phone call. Have the conversation. Start the project. Say the prayer. Take the opportunity. Walk away when something no longer serves its purpose. Say yes when something feels right. Say no when something does not. Rest without guilt. Love without fear. Dream without apologizing for the size of the dream.

Most of all, I want to stop postponing my own life.

There will always be reasons to wait.

There will always be another Monday, another month, another year.

But life is happening now.

So perhaps the real lesson from this question is not about what I avoided this year. Perhaps it is about what I will no longer avoid moving forward.

I will no longer avoid becoming the woman I know I am capable of becoming.

I will no longer avoid choosing myself when choosing myself is necessary.

I will no longer avoid the dreams that keep returning to my heart.

I will no longer avoid the quiet moments where God may be trying to get my attention.

And I will no longer be afraid of the unknown simply because I cannot see the whole road.

I have learned enough to know that I do not need to have everything figured out.

I just need courage for the next step.

Faith for the next chapter.

And the willingness to finally give myself permission to become everything I was created to be.

Maybe that is what this year was really trying to teach me.

The things that matter most are often the things we are most tempted to avoid.

So next year, I want to meet them head on.

With faith.

With courage.

With an open heart.

And with the quiet confidence that whatever comes next, I will be ready for it.

24th Sunday in Ordinary Time: The Courageous Act of Forgiving

 Forgiveness is one of the hardest things God asks of us, yet it is also one of the most freeing. When someone hurts us, especially when the hurt is deep and personal, our first instinct can be to protect ourselves, hold on to the pain and remember what was done to us. Sometimes we may even feel that forgiving means saying that what happened was acceptable. But the readings for the 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time remind me that forgiveness is not about denying the hurt. It is about choosing not to allow that hurt to control the rest of my life.

In the first reading from Ecclesiasticus, we are reminded of something very challenging: “If a man nurses anger against another, can he then demand compassion from the Lord?” These words make me stop and think. How can I ask God to forgive me for my own mistakes, weaknesses and failures while refusing to extend forgiveness to someone who has hurt me?

I know that I am not perfect. I have made mistakes. I have said things I wish I could take back. I have disappointed people and I have needed forgiveness myself. Every time I go before God and ask for His mercy, I am reminded of how generous His love is. God does not keep a record of my failures and use them against me. He invites me to repent, to learn, to grow and to begin again.

That is why forgiveness is such an important part of my own faith journey.

There have been moments in my life when I have been hurt, disappointed and let down by people. There have been situations where I have struggled to understand why someone behaved the way they did or why certain things had to happen. I have learned that it is very easy to carry these experiences with me. We can replay conversations in our minds, think about what we should have said, wonder why someone treated us a certain way and quietly allow resentment to take root in our hearts.

But the longer I hold on to anger, the heavier my heart becomes.

Jesus takes this teaching even further in today's Gospel. Peter asks Jesus how many times he should forgive someone who sins against him. Peter probably thought he was being generous when he suggested forgiving seven times. But Jesus answered, “Not seven, I tell you, but seventy seven times.”

I love how direct Jesus is.

He does not give Peter a number so that we can keep count. Jesus is teaching us that forgiveness cannot simply be a mathematical exercise. It has to become a way of living. We cannot say, “I have forgiven this person seven times, so that is enough.” Forgiveness is something we may have to choose again and again.

Sometimes we forgive someone and then the memory comes back. Sometimes the pain resurfaces when we least expect it. Sometimes we think we have moved on, only to discover that there is still a part of our heart that hurts. Does that mean we failed to forgive? I do not think so. Perhaps it simply means that forgiveness is a journey.

For me, forgiveness has taught me that I can acknowledge that something hurt me without allowing that hurt to become who I am.

I can recognize that something was wrong without living in anger. I can seek truth and justice when necessary without filling my heart with hatred. I can create boundaries when I need to protect myself while still asking God to bless the person who hurt me.

That is not weakness.

That takes courage.

The parable Jesus shares in the Gospel makes this even clearer. A servant owes his master an enormous debt and is unable to repay it. The master shows him mercy and forgives the entire debt. Yet when that same servant encounters another servant who owes him a much smaller amount, he refuses to show the same mercy.

Jesus is showing us something uncomfortable about human nature. Sometimes we are very aware of the mercy we need from God, but we can quickly forget the mercy we have received when someone else hurts us.

How often have I asked God for patience, understanding and forgiveness for myself? Yet when someone else makes a mistake, how quickly can I become frustrated or judgmental?

The Gospel challenges me to look at my own heart.

God has forgiven me more times than I can count. He has given me opportunities to start again. He has remained faithful even when I have not always been faithful to Him. If I truly believe in God's mercy, then I have to allow that mercy to change the way I treat other people.

Forgiving someone does not mean I suddenly forget everything that happened. It does not mean I have to restore every relationship to the way it was before. It does not mean I have to put myself back into a situation that continues to hurt me.

Forgiveness is something that happens within my heart.

It is saying, “Lord, I give this to You. I cannot carry this forever. You know what happened. You know how much it hurt. You know what I have struggled with. I choose to place this person and this situation into Your hands.”

Sometimes that prayer is easy.

Sometimes it is not.

Sometimes I have had to pray it more than once.

And perhaps that is exactly what Jesus means when He tells us to forgive seventy seven times. There may be days when I feel that I have forgiven someone, and then another memory brings the hurt back. On those days, I can choose forgiveness again. Not because the person necessarily deserves it, but because I want to be free.

I have come to realize that forgiveness is not primarily about releasing someone else from responsibility. It is about releasing my own heart from the prison of resentment.

When I hold on to anger, I remain connected to the hurt. When I surrender it to God, I begin to move forward.

This does not happen overnight. Some wounds take time. Some require many prayers. Some require tears. Some require difficult conversations. Some require distance. But through all of it, I believe God is gently teaching me that I do not have to carry everything myself.

There is also something very beautiful about forgiveness because it allows God to work in places where I cannot.

I may never receive the apology I hoped for. I may never understand why someone did what they did. I may never get the explanation I wanted. But I can still choose peace.

I can choose not to become bitter.

I can choose not to allow another person's actions to change the person God is calling me to be.

And most importantly, I can choose love.

When I think about my own relationship with God, I know that I have been given far more mercy than I could ever earn. God's forgiveness is not something I deserve because I am perfect. It is a gift because He loves me.

That is the heart of today's Gospel.

Jesus is not asking us to pretend that pain does not exist. He is asking us not to become prisoners of it.

“Not seven, I tell you, but seventy seven times.”

Perhaps every one of those seventy seven times is another opportunity to say, “Lord, help me let go.”

Help me release the anger.

Help me surrender the resentment.

Help me forgive what I cannot change.

Help me remember that I, too, am someone who has needed forgiveness.

And help me become more like You.

I am still learning. I do not always get it right. But I believe forgiveness is one of the greatest acts of courage we can make. It takes courage to acknowledge our pain, courage to surrender our need for revenge, courage to trust God with what happened and courage to choose peace when anger feels easier.

Today, I pray for the grace to keep choosing forgiveness, not just once, not just seven times, but seventy seven times and as many times as my heart needs.

Because forgiveness does not change the past.

But with God's grace, it can change the future.

And sometimes, the person who needs forgiveness most is not the person who hurt me.

It is the person inside me who is still carrying the hurt.

Lord, give me the courage to let go, the wisdom to know when to set boundaries, and the grace to forgive as You have forgiven me.

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Reflection: When I remember God's mercy toward me, does it make me more patient and compassionate with others?

When I remember how merciful God has been towards me, I realis how much I still have to learn about being patient and compassionate with others. I have made mistakes, wandered away from God, and yet He never gave up on me. When I returned to the Church after being away for many years, I experienced His mercy in a very personal way. He welcomed me back without judgement and gave me the grace to begin again.

That reminds me that I cannot expect perfection from others when God has never expected perfection from me. I am learning to be more understanding, especially when people disappoint or hurt me. I may not always understand their actions, but I can choose compassion instead of judgement.

God has forgiven me countless times, and remembering that helps me pause before reacting. It reminds me that everyone is fighting their own battles, carrying their own wounds and trying to find their way. If God can be patient with me, I can learn to be patient with others too.

For me, mercy is not just something I receive from God. It is something I am called to give.

25 Years Later: We Remember the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001

Yesterday marked the 25th anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, in New York City.

Twenty five years ago today, something happened that changed the world forever.

I caught 102 Minutes Inside the Towers on the History Channel, a documentary that tells the story through the voices of survivors who lived through those terrifying minutes inside the World Trade Center.

As I watched, my heart ached.

I cried.

There were so many emotions running through me that I honestly cannot even describe the feeling. Listening to survivors speak about their ordeal, the fear, confusion, desperation and sheer nightmare they experienced, made the events of that day feel incredibly real, even 25 years later.

I cannot imagine the nightmare these people suffered through.

I cannot imagine what those who lost their lives must have felt in their final moments.

And I cannot imagine what their families went through, waiting for news, hoping for the best, fearing the worst, and eventually having to face a reality no family should ever have to endure.

Yet, through all those emotions, there was one feeling that became stronger than everything else.

Gratitude.

Because I am still here today.

And that thought is deeply personal for me.

Twenty five years ago, I was supposed to be in New York.

I still remember the early days of August 2001.

My boss and I were in discussions about a trip to New York to meet with people from Robb Peck Real Estate. Their office was located on Broad Street, approximately one kilometre from the Twin Towers.

I remember the plans so clearly.

We were supposed to arrive in New York on September 9, which would have given me a couple of days to tour the city before our meeting on September 11.

I was excited.

New York City had always been a city I dreamed of visiting from the time I was a child. I watched so much American television, especially Beauty and the Beast, and New York seemed like this incredible, magical place that I had always wanted to experience for myself.

I told my mum and my family back in Singapore about my plans.

Mum was thrilled for me because she knew how much I loved New York.

Then, a few days before the trip, it was cancelled.

The meeting was postponed to October.

At the time, it was simply a change of plans. A disappointment, perhaps, but nothing more.

I had so much on my plate with work that I even forgot to tell my mother that the trip had been cancelled.

I had absolutely no idea that this small change of plans would one day become one of the most significant moments of my life.

On September 11, I was in a meeting at my office in Massachusetts.

My phone was blowing up with calls from overseas.

Again and again, it rang.

My heart dropped.

I immediately thought something terrible had happened to someone in my family back in Singapore.

Why else would they be calling me so desperately?

What I did not realize was that they were calling because they had heard about the terrorist attacks.

I didn't know.

I was completely unaware of what was happening.

It wasn't until after my meeting, when I finally called Mum back, that I found out.

I could hear everything in her voice.

The relief that I was alright.

The anger that I had not answered her calls.

And the panic she had felt because she had no idea whether I was in New York and caught in the middle of everything.

As she told me what had happened, I remember saying, "I didn't go."

I immediately checked the internet.

And my heart just dropped.

I could not believe my eyes or what I was seeing.

The Twin Towers.

The smoke.

The devastation.

The people.

The sheer horror of it all.

My first thought was about the people of New York.

I was devastated for them.

Only later did another thought hit me.

I could have been there.

I could have been in New York.

I could have been somewhere around Lower Manhattan.

I could have been on my way to that meeting.

I could have been walking through the city that morning.

I could have been caught in the middle of that unimaginable chaos.

And then came the questions.

What if the meeting had never been cancelled?

What if I had arrived in New York on September 9 as planned?

What if I had been walking around Lower Manhattan that morning?

What if I had been inside one of those buildings?

There are so many "what ifs" that I will never have answers to.

But perhaps we are not meant to live our lives trapped in the questions we cannot answer.

Perhaps we are meant to look at the life we were given and ask ourselves what we are going to do with it.

I believe God had plans for me to remain here.

Not simply to exist.

But to live.

To love.

To serve.

To help wherever I can.

To be there for the people who need me.

To make a difference, even if sometimes that difference is small.

I don't pretend to understand God's plans. I have learned that I don't always need to.

There have been many moments in my life when things did not happen the way I expected. Plans changed. Doors closed. People came and went. Life brought heartbreak, disappointment and challenges I never imagined I would have to face.

But 9/11 reminds me of something very simple.

Life is precious.

We make plans for tomorrow as though tomorrow is guaranteed.

We book holidays months in advance. We arrange meetings. We make promises. We assume there will always be more time.

But none of us knows how much time we have.

That is why I am grateful.

Grateful for every morning I wake up.

Grateful for my family.

Grateful for the people I love.

Grateful for the people God has placed in my life.

Grateful for every opportunity to serve.

Grateful for every chance I have to help someone, encourage someone, love someone or simply make another person's day a little better.

I don't want to waste the gift of being here.

As personal as this story is for me, today is not about me.

My heart is with all those who lost their lives.

It is with the families who were left behind to carry a pain and nightmare no family should ever have to endure.

It is with the husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and friends who never came home.

It is with the firefighters, police officers, paramedics and countless first responders who ran towards danger while others were trying to escape.

It is with the survivors who have carried the memories of that day for 25 years.

And it is with every family that has had to learn how to live with an absence that can never truly be filled.

Twenty five years is a long time.

But for those who lost someone on September 11, I imagine there are moments when it must still feel like yesterday.

A birthday.

An anniversary.

A photograph.

A song.

A familiar place.

A memory that suddenly brings someone back into your heart.

Time does not erase love.

And it certainly does not erase the lives of those who were taken too soon.

I think about the people who left home that morning expecting to come back later that day.

People who had plans.

People who had families waiting for them.

People who had dreams they never got to fulfil.

People who had no idea that an ordinary morning would become their final morning.

That is why I believe we should never take life for granted.

While we are here, let us love more.

Let us forgive more.

Let us be kinder.

Let us help one another.

Let us be present for the people who matter.

And let us remember that sometimes the plans we make are not the plans that ultimately unfold.

Twenty five years ago, a cancelled meeting changed the course of my life.

I will never know exactly why that meeting was cancelled.

But I know what I choose to believe.

I believe God protected me.

And I believe that if He gave me the gift of being here, then I have a responsibility to make this life count.

To continue loving.

To continue serving.

To continue helping wherever I can.

To continue doing whatever good I can with the time I have been given.

Because life is a gift.

And every day we are given is another opportunity to do something meaningful with it.

Today, my heart is with every victim, every survivor, every first responder and every family who continues to carry the weight of September 11.

May God comfort those who still grieve.

May we remember not only how they died, but how they lived.

May we remember their names, their families, their dreams, their laughter and the lives they left behind.

Twenty five years later, the memories remain.

So do the lives.

So does the love.

So do the stories of those who were taken far too soon.

September 11, 2001.

Twenty five years later, we remember.

May we never forget. 

Movie Recommendation: The Ron Clark Story (2006)

 

This movie reminded me of the goodness that can still exist in people, even when circumstances are difficult.

Released in 2006, The Ron Clark Story tells the inspiring true story of Ron Clark, a passionate teacher who leaves his comfortable teaching position in North Carolina and moves to Harlem, New York, determined to make a difference in the lives of students who have been labelled difficult, troublesome and even hopeless. What he discovers is a group of young people who have been failed in many ways by the system and, perhaps more importantly, have stopped believing in themselves.

I really enjoyed this movie because it is ultimately a story about believing in people when they have stopped believing in themselves.

What made the movie especially meaningful for me was seeing the late Matthew Perry in the lead role. Most of us probably remember Matthew Perry best for his iconic role as Chandler Bing in Friends, where his incredible sense of humour and comedic timing made millions of people laugh. That is why seeing him take on such a serious and emotionally demanding role in The Ron Clark Story was particularly refreshing for me.

He showed a completely different side of himself.

As Ron Clark, Matthew Perry brought warmth, determination, vulnerability and passion to the character. He did not simply portray a teacher who wanted his students to perform better academically. He portrayed someone who genuinely cared about the young people sitting in front of him. He saw potential where others saw problems. He saw children who needed someone to believe in them rather than another person telling them that they were destined to fail.

That really resonated with me.

I think sometimes we underestimate how powerful it can be when someone simply believes in us. There are moments in life when we can become our own worst critics. We can convince ourselves that we are not capable, that we are not good enough, or that our circumstances define who we are. Having someone come along and say, "I believe you can do this," can sometimes be the encouragement we desperately need.

That is what Ron Clark tries to give his students.

Of course, the movie does not pretend that changing lives is easy. Ron faces resistance, frustration and plenty of challenges. His students do not suddenly become model students simply because he walks into their classroom. There are difficult moments, setbacks and times when it would have been much easier for him to walk away.

But he does not.

His perseverance is one of the things I found most inspiring about the story. He continues trying different approaches because he understands that every student is different. He learns what motivates them. He listens to them. He challenges them. Most importantly, he refuses to give up on them.

There is something very powerful about that.

Sometimes people do not need someone to lower the expectations placed upon them. They need someone to help them believe that they can actually reach those expectations.

The movie also reminded me that education is about so much more than textbooks, examinations and grades. A good teacher can influence a person's entire life. A teacher can become the person who notices the child who feels invisible. They can be the person who encourages someone to keep going when everyone else has already given up.

That kind of influence cannot always be measured by examination results.

It is measured years later, when that student remembers the person who believed in them.

Watching Matthew Perry in this role also made the experience more emotional for me because we now know that he is no longer with us. There is something incredibly bittersweet about watching an actor who brought so much joy to people throughout his career and knowing that his life eventually came to an end far too soon.

For me, The Ron Clark Story has become another reminder that Matthew Perry was capable of so much more than comedy. His performance showed warmth and emotional depth, and he carried the story beautifully. Knowing what we know today makes watching his performance feel even more poignant.

I think movies like this are important because they remind us that one person can make a difference.

We may not all be teachers. We may not all work in schools or have classrooms filled with students. But every one of us has opportunities to encourage someone, listen to someone, believe in someone and remind someone that their circumstances do not have to determine their future.

Sometimes a simple act of kindness can change someone's day. Sometimes a few words of encouragement can change someone's direction. Sometimes believing in someone is the very thing that helps them start believing in themselves.

That is the message I took away from The Ron Clark Story.

It is uplifting, emotional, inspiring and, above all, deeply human. It reminds us of the power of perseverance, compassion and belief. It reminds us not to write people off simply because they are struggling today.

And for me, it is also a beautiful reminder of Matthew Perry's talent and the legacy he leaves behind.

If you enjoy movies based on true stories, particularly stories about education, resilience, compassion and the difference one person can make, I would definitely recommend The Ron Clark Story.

Sometimes the most powerful stories are not about people who save the world.

They are about people who simply refuse to give up on another human being.

The Hidden Costs of Recovering From Critical Illness

 

There is a question I think every working adult should ask themselves at least once: If I could not work for an entire year because of a critical illness, how long would my savings and insurance actually last me? Not three months. Not six months. A whole year. Could you still pay your mortgage or rent, utilities, groceries, children's expenses, parents' needs, loans and insurance premiums? And what about the additional expenses that come with being seriously ill? Would you have enough money to breathe? That is the million dollar question, and honestly, it is not one most of us like thinking about.

We insure our cars, our homes, our phones and so many of the things we own because we understand that if something goes wrong, there will be a cost attached to it. Yet when it comes to ourselves, particularly our ability to work and earn an income, many of us simply assume we will always be able to do so. We wake up every morning, go to work, run our businesses, attend meetings, meet deadlines and take care of our families. We make plans for next month, next year and sometimes even the next ten years because we assume we will be there, healthy and working. Until something happens that reminds us just how quickly life can change.

Critical illness is one of those things. One day, you can be living your normal life. You might be thinking about what you are going to have for dinner, where you are going on holiday or what needs to be done at work tomorrow. Then suddenly, you are sitting in a doctor's office hearing words you never expected to hear. Cancer. Heart attack. Stroke. Or another serious medical condition. At that moment, your priorities change instantly. Work becomes secondary. Money becomes secondary. Your health becomes everything. Your first thoughts will naturally be about what is wrong, what treatment is available and whether you are going to be okay. Your family will rally around you, and your doctors will focus on helping you get better. But eventually, whether you want to think about it or not, the financial reality starts to creep in.

Because while you are fighting to get better, the bills do not stop. The mortgage does not stop. The electricity bill does not stop. The groceries do not stop. Your children's needs do not stop. Your parents may still need you. Your family still needs to live. And if you are self employed, there may be an additional concern because your business may depend heavily on you being physically present and able to work. This is where I think many people underestimate the true cost of critical illness. We tend to think about the hospital bills, the treatment, the medication and the medical expenses, but what about everything else? What happens when your income stops?

Imagine earning $5,000 a month. That is $60,000 of income over a year. Now imagine waking up tomorrow and being told that you cannot work for twelve months. Your income disappears, but your expenses do not. In fact, your expenses could increase. There may be transportation costs for medical appointments, specialist consultations, medication, rehabilitation, physiotherapy, home assistance or childcare. You may need to make changes to your home or purchase equipment to help you manage your daily life. You may even need to travel for treatment. These are expenses many of us never factor into our financial planning because we simply assume they will never happen to us. Yet when they do, they can add up quickly.

There is another hidden cost that I think people often overlook, and that is time. Recovery takes time, and time can be expensive. We often hear about someone surviving a critical illness and think of survival as the end of the story. But it is not. Survival can actually be the beginning of another chapter. Your body may need months to heal. Your mind may need time to process what happened. Rehabilitation may be necessary before you can return to work. You may have to return gradually, reduce your working hours or take on a different role. Some people may discover that they can no longer do the job they did before and may have to change careers completely. For some, returning to their previous income level may take years. For others, it may never happen. That can have a significant impact on both their finances and their future plans.

This is why I believe the conversation about critical illness should never be just about paying medical bills. It should also be about protecting the life that exists outside the hospital. When you are lying in a hospital bed, the last thing you should have to worry about is whether your family can afford next month's bills. You should be concentrating on getting better. You should be able to focus on your treatment, your recovery and your family without constantly calculating how much money is left in your bank account or wondering how long you can keep paying the bills.

Insurance cannot take away the pain of a diagnosis. It cannot make the illness disappear. It cannot replace the fear, uncertainty or emotional exhaustion that comes with being seriously ill. But appropriate financial protection can give you something incredibly important: time. Time to recover without immediately worrying about returning to work. Time to focus on treatment. Time for your family to adjust. Time to make decisions without feeling that every decision has a dollar sign attached to it. And sometimes, having that breathing space can make a tremendous difference during one of the most difficult periods of your life.

We often ask ourselves, “How much insurance should I have?” Perhaps we should start asking a different question: “How much would my family need if I could not work for a year?” That changes the conversation completely. Because insurance should not only be about what happens when you die. It should also be about what happens if you survive. And thankfully, many people do survive critical illnesses today. Medical treatment continues to improve, and early detection and medical advancements have helped many people live longer after serious illnesses. But surviving is not the same as immediately returning to normal. There can be a long road between receiving a diagnosis and feeling like yourself again, and that road can be physically, emotionally and financially demanding.

I think this is where financial planning becomes less about numbers and more about people. Behind every policy is a person. Behind every premium is a family. Behind every financial plan are someone's hopes, dreams and responsibilities. Maybe it is a mother who wants to make sure her children can continue going to school. Maybe it is a father who wants to make sure the mortgage can still be paid. Maybe it is someone caring for elderly parents. Maybe it is someone who has spent decades building a business and cannot imagine what would happen if they suddenly could not work. We all have different responsibilities, but most of us have one thing in common: we have people who depend on us in one way or another.

The people who love us would probably say, “Don't worry about the money. Just get better.” And of course, that is exactly what we want to hear. But the reality is that money does become part of the equation when someone becomes seriously ill. Someone may need to take time off work to provide care. Household responsibilities may have to change. Plans may need to be postponed. Savings may need to be redirected. Suddenly, an illness that happened to one person affects the entire family. That is why financial protection is not simply about protecting an individual. It can also be about protecting the people around them from the financial consequences of something they never expected to happen.

I have always believed that financial planning is not about expecting something bad to happen. It is about being prepared if something bad does happen. There is a difference. We do not buy insurance because we want to use it. We buy it because we hope we never have to. It is a little like carrying an umbrella. You do not carry an umbrella because you want it to rain. You carry it because if the rain comes, you would rather be prepared than standing in the middle of a storm wishing you had one. The same principle applies to financial protection. We cannot predict when illness will happen, and we cannot always prevent it, but we can think about what would happen financially if it did.

This is where I think we need to be more honest with ourselves. Take a look at your savings. How many months could they realistically cover your current lifestyle? Not your ideal lifestyle. Your actual lifestyle. Now take a look at your insurance. If you were unable to work for a year, what would your existing coverage actually provide? Would it help replace some of your lost income? Would it help with the additional expenses that come with recovery? Would it give you enough breathing room to concentrate on getting well? Or would you find yourself dipping into your retirement funds, selling investments, borrowing money or relying heavily on family members?

There is absolutely no shame in discovering that your current protection may not be enough. In fact, I think that discovery is valuable. Finding a financial gap today gives you the opportunity to look at your situation, understand your options and decide what you want to do about it. Finding that same gap after a diagnosis is a completely different story. Once you are seriously ill, you may no longer have the same choices available to you. That is why I believe these conversations need to happen before we need them, not when we are sitting in a hospital room, not when our savings account is already shrinking and not when our family is already under pressure, but while we are healthy enough to make choices.

Sometimes we become so focused on saving money that we forget what our savings are actually supposed to do. Savings are important. Absolutely. Building an emergency fund is something everyone should consider as part of responsible financial planning. But savings have a limit. If you have $30,000 in the bank and your monthly expenses are $5,000, it might initially feel like you have a comfortable amount of money. But remove your income for twelve months and add medical and recovery related expenses, and suddenly that $30,000 may not look quite so comfortable anymore. This is why I believe savings and insurance can work together. Your savings can help you manage life's everyday surprises, while insurance can provide additional financial support when something much bigger happens. Neither necessarily replaces the other. They can complement each other.

And perhaps the most important thing of all is this: you do not want to discover your financial gap when you are already critically ill. You want to discover it while you are healthy. When you are healthy, you still have choices. You can review your finances. You can look at your existing protection. You can understand where the gaps may be. You can decide what matters most to you and your family. Once a serious diagnosis has happened, those choices may no longer be available in the same way.

That is why I believe we should have these conversations before we need them. Not because we should live our lives expecting something terrible to happen. We should not. We should enjoy life. We should travel, eat good food, laugh loudly, make memories and make plans for the future. But we should also be realistic enough to understand that life does not always follow the plan we have written for ourselves. Financial planning is not about expecting the worst. It is about being prepared for the unexpected.

So I will leave you with the question I started with.

If you could not work for one entire year because of a critical illness, how long would your savings and insurance actually last?

Six months? Twelve months? Longer?

And if you do not know the answer, perhaps it is time to find out.

Not because I want you to be afraid. Not because I want you to expect something bad to happen. But because I believe there is something incredibly powerful about being prepared. Knowing where you stand. Knowing what you have. Knowing what you may need. And knowing that if life suddenly takes an unexpected turn, you have given yourself and the people you love some financial breathing room.

Because when critical illness enters your life, your energy should be focused on one thing: getting better.

You should not have to spend your precious energy wondering whether you can afford to recover. You should be able to focus on your health, your family, your healing and getting your life back.

None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. We can eat well. We can exercise. We can go for health screenings. We can take care of ourselves and do everything possible to stay healthy. And we absolutely should. But being healthy today does not guarantee that life will always go according to plan. That is simply the reality of being human.

So perhaps the real question is not, “How much insurance do I have?”

Perhaps it is this:

“If everything changed tomorrow, would I have enough financial protection to give myself time to recover?”

That is the million dollar question.

And it is one I believe is worth answering while you are still healthy enough to do something about it.