More about the Coots

 More about the Coots.

                   5/15/2015

          Do you feel you are like a coot, unnoticed, insignificant, unimpressive in this world?

          Your family may not have treated you well.  You did not impress your teachers at school . . .

          So some day this little coot was hungry, running around seeking for food, but found none.  She got desperate, eventually she collapsed on the sand, crying out "caw, caw". 

          The Bible said God heard its cry.

          You say, that is impossible, the world has 6 billion people like me, and may be 1 billion coots.  How can God listen to one little coot?

          Have you known some governments are producing computer gadgets that some day will monitor all people on earth, on their actions, even on their thoughts, by sealing some gadget on their forehead under the skin . . .

          If humans can do such, why can God not hear all our cries?  Hmmm.

          Q.  You mean there is some One out there that has an interest for me, this little flotsam of protoplasm in this universe?

          A. That is what the Bible tells you.

          Q. Would His heart be touched with my desperate cries and my pains?

          A. That is what Psalm 147 says.

          Another story: Father Abraham has a maid Hagar, who got pregnant under permission by her mistress Sarah, bore a son Ishmael, but one day the mistress also got pregnant, and so there is no more room for Hagar and the boy Ishmael.  So they got kicked out of the house, and wandered in the desert, parched and thirsty.  Ishmael fainted, and Hagar went under another bush, and cried her heart out.  God heard her cry.  Pointed her to a little spring of water, and she and Ismael survived. 

          Q.  Good story.  But does it mean this God is real.

          A.  Try Him.  Wait someday you have something hanging on your heart. You can pray, "Father God.  Woolywootle the Old Man told me You are real. If so, please hear my cry . . . and deliver my loved one from his/her plight, and deliver me from all these tears . . . " 

          Q.  You think this will work?

          A.  If you have a sincere heart, you will see Him as a merciful Hand in control of your life.  You should be ready to say, "If He is God, I am ready to change my attitude in life, and seek Him more."

          Q.  I will give it a try.

          A.  Many did.  I'll tell you some stories next time.

The Young Ravens (Ps. 147)

“Praise to the Lord on the harp . . . who covers heavens with clouds, who prepares rain for the earth, and caused grass to sprout on the hills.  He gives the cattle their feed, and the young ravens that for which they cry . . .” Ps. 147: 8,9. 

          There is a “Mile Square Park” close by.  Sometimes we took evening walks there.  There are small lakes, small island, and plenty of birds.  We Chinese loves the green herons, white storks, white pelicans, sea gulls.  We only dislike the jackdaws and crows big and small. 

          Why?  Just because they eat dead animals’ meat.  . .

          Q.  Did you really see them eat such stuff?

          A.  Never in my life.

          Q.  So you are believing in superstition. . .

          A.  It was taught to us from our parents, we Chinese repects parental teachings as decades-tested immutable truths.

          Let me continue.  One of the most neglected birds are the coots.  They are all black, like crows, yet with pointed, short yellow beaks, plus yellow webbed feet, like small ducks.

          Q.  So they are ducks?

          A.  No, wild ducks we Chinese call them “Ngaan”, which are seasonal birds, some flying from Alaska to Peru, and lodging in California just for a few days in between.  They have colorful graceful necks and heads and cute and lovely. 

          These coots ain’t.  They have no necks, chatter not as awful as crows and blackbirds, but still noisy to my ears. They go in flocks, running on the ground, looking for worms (just because there are no dead carcasses . . . ?).  They are not scared of humans unless we get to within 5 feet.  We Chinese don’t like them, because they are not beautiful like the herons and cranes.

          Q.  But God made them that way, why don’t you love them as if they are herons and cranes?

          A.  The Calvinists say God pre-determined and pre-elected us Chinese to naturally love herons and cranes and not the coots.  But I ain’t no Calvinist . . .

          Back to my story.  I found out that God loves the coots, which Psalm 147 says “young ravens”.  We Chinese don’t love ravens, and of course this includes young ravens.  Yet God not only give them food, but also hears their cries. 

          Eventually this compassion and tenderness of God moved me to tears.  God loves you and me more than young ravens. 

         

Unforgetable Mr Man and Classmate

Q.  Peter, You are in mid seventies now, age-wise.  What do you think of your life?

A.  There are two kinds of people:  One looking back at life and find some meaning thereof.  Another looking forward to the future life when we step across the threshold from this life to the future. 

Q.  You are suggesting I am the first kind, and you are the second?

A.  A lot of people are “temporarily” the first kind, but longing for something to justify them switch to the second kind.

Q.  You know I am an uncertain atheist.

A.  I like this term: uncertain atheist.  I understand.  Often I look back at my life, I love the unforgettable moments I had with my father, a cousin whom I visited just 2 months before she passed on.  I am looking forward to the day I can sit at the feet of my father, and tell him stories of what I did.  I also have unforgettable recollections of some of my highschool classmates and teachers too.  There I saw the glimpse of the best model of a good human soul, with unselfish love for others. 

Q.  Like what?

A.  Like the marks of a drop of blood stain, on our exercise book where we had to write our Chinese compositions in half-inch squares, with Chinese brushes.  Why such blood stain?  The teacher, Mr Man JongLit, would persevere to teach us about morals and values of life, from the class called National Literature (Gwok Man), and despite his nascal pharyngical cancer (uncurable in the fifties), he still struggled on, putting cotton balls in his nostrils in day time.   Now, I see that is his way of loving us students, unto his last day in life.  These blood stains to me are worth millions, telling us about his soul. 

Q.  What a story!  Something more?

A.  Then one day he was too weak to stand up to write some notes on the blackboard.

Suddenly a classmate, Tsang Kwok Pui, raised his hand, “Teacher, let me do it”.  Tsang is famous for his award-winning calligraphy.  From that day on, he would be the teacher’s clerk, writing anything he wishes on the board, with a calligraphy matching that of the teacher’s.  This persisted until perhaps 2 weeks before the teacher died.  Recently I looked up Google for this model classmate Tsang.  He went to Taiwan for college, came back to teach in some schools in Hong Kong, and some students wrote something prasing his character and personality.  Now he is our age, retired, but I think I still can pursue on his whereabouts.  Tsang to me is a beautiful specimen of goodness in human character.

Q.  Go on!

A.  Too bad, I reached my page limit.  Next week.