Learning to Lose

27 June 2018

We lost our soccer match on Sunday. Which, unfortunately for us, is a familiar outcome (and hey, me being on team doesn't exactly help the situation). But this was a match we were meant to, had to, could have and nearly did win... except we didn't.

I know, winning isn't everything. Just being out on the field with my soccer buddies each Sunday is enough for me. I would have left long ago if it wasn't. But there's a certain amount of post-match frustration that needs to be processed every now and then.

My fuming was productive. I realised this: Growing up, I never really 'lost' anything*. No, I didn't have a sheltered childhood. A comfortable, competitive one, yes. But all my individual pursuits (blogged about here) didn't really lend themselves to 'losing'. There was definitely winning. In gymnastics they would award medals to third place. In chamber music contests there was a regional winner and the highly commended. At  junior pony club they'd award '6th ='s  until everyone in the class got a ribbon (I saw through that... but my ribbons still hang on my wall). And though at times coming second felt equal to coming last, we didn't really go around saying 'we lost'.

Then I sign up for soccer. And every weekend for the whole season, we're asked 'Did you win?'. (Those who know us better have toned it down to 'How did you go'?). Sports - like life - can be cruel. It doesn't matter if you were down 7-0 at half time or conceded 1-0 in the 89th minute. A loss is a loss.

Being rather experienced, then, I feel I can comment. Not to console myself, but to not let opportunity go to waste. You see, its easy to celebrate a win. But it takes a certain kind of person(s) to lose well. Victory may evade but there is much more to be gained:  humility, a fighting spirit, a tighter team, amongst others.

I don't know. I'm not a pro player (missed that boat) so can't speak for top level competition. But in our league at least, I feel its not so much about the result but

          Winning well
                 and
                    Learning to lose.

*Well, that's untrue. I lost lots of things: my surgeon teddy bear (left him at the fish and chip shop), my mum in the department store (she was too short to be seen above the clothing racks), my pack whilst travelling in Bolivia (read about the robbery here). My colleagues would tell you I some/oftentimes lose my train of thought, my mind or perhaps I've lost my marbles. 

Why? An Esther-essay on Child Sponsorship.

People don't often ask us 'why?' do they? Its usually 'when?' 'where?' or 'how?'. Today, on the topic of child sponsorship, I was asked 'why'. Why did I choose Compassion as an organisation? Why should others consider child sponsorship? I pondered these questions when I got home. And then, to satisfy my scientific-self, came up with this Esther-style-essay:

Child sponsorship through Compassion is personal, holistic and committed support.

Its personal because you are giving to a specific person, family, community. Your contributions don't dissolve into a large fund. Funds don't write back. But children do. Through letters, photos, updates and other wonders of modern technology, a relationship is built. When I think of my sponsor child Belén, I don't think of an automatic payment going out every month. I wonder how shes doing at school, how her mother and grandmother are and if she's picked any flowers in the field recently.

Its holistic because it not only provides financial assistance but supports academic, social and spiritual development. When I visited the centre where the sponsor kids like Belén go to after school, I saw their setup: Space for homework. Space for food (but wash your hands first). Little toothbrushes lined up to clean your teeth after.  Posters of Bible stories and memory verses.  There is church and a pastor connected with every centre.  I have sponsored children through other organisations (which are also amazing), but Compassion is overtly Christian, placing an emphasis on nurturing faith. If we feed the hungry but leave souls starving I just feel we are withholding a large chunk of good.

Child sponsorship is preferable to other forms of giving because it is committed and consistent. In our day and age, commitment and consistency are qualities that even the church often lacks, especially in our financial lives. But sometimes we just need to weigh up, sign up and then rely on God for when things get tight. From the organisation's point of view (don't forget they have feelings too), consistency is key. Planning, budgeting and the efficient use of funds is much easier if there is a steady flow of income, rather than yearly EOFY donations of varying amounts.

Come to think of it, all of the above kinda characterises Jesus' giving. When God gave, he didn't drop pennies into a 'salvation fund'. Jesus came in a skin bag to relate personally. His commitment to the cause could not be wavered by hunger, crowds  nor the devil himself. He sacrificed much more than a couple of coffees a week to save our souls. But he cares about our skin bags too, our families, our facebook friends and weekly paychecks. And aren't we thankful for how he extends grace to us consistently, again and again, when we don't deserve it.

If he is our model and motivation, if he really did welcome the little children to come to him, then I guess its no surprise that child sponsorship reflects the heart and character of Jesus.

Reason enough for me to keep funds flowing.


To find out more about Compassion, go to https://www.compassion.com.au/sponsor-a-child
To see my previous post after spending a day with Belén, see http://avetintheoyster.blogspot.com/2014/11/enabling-heroes.html

Scrub tops and Sandcastles

19.2.18

Sick of swimming in oversized clinic scrub tops, I finally coughed up and ordered my own. It arrived - and it was beautiful. Three useful pockets, my name 'Dr Esther Fan' embroidered above and a perfect fit. Now I wouldn't be mistaken for the international student or the janitor*!
I proudly sported it on my Sat morning shift at a new locum clinic.

Wandering around in between consults, I was shocked, and a little embarrassed, to find my life bio on display at reception (fig 1). 'We like to introduce our locum vets to our clients,' the receptionist told me. 'Oh dear,' I replied, 'I'm feeling a bit of pressure!'

[aside: I thought later on: isn't there much more of my personal info displayed  (on purpose, by me!)non Facebook for hundreds of 'friends' to see - many of whom I have spent less time with in person than my clients?]

Fig 1: Excerpt from CV on display 

The shift went well, nothing died, I got a cup of tea (or two) and everyone left work happy.

On the way home I stopped at one of those Asian stores that sells everything cheap and tacky but oh-so-useful. It was one of the rare times I've worn a scrub top in public. Not because it was new, FYI (+/- TMI), but because it was hot and I had nothing (decent) underneath. A customer approached me as I sifted through the knick knacks and asked me if we stocked a particular item. I looked confused and then we both clicked. She was embarrassed... I was, well, a bit deflated. Come on woman! Can't you see my title embroidered on my uniform? (Or at least recognise the doggy odour coming from it?!)  

But then I thought: Silly Esther, does it actually matter? What difference does it make if one is a brain surgeon or a shop assistant? Yes my career and lack of computer navigation skills are part of who I am, but surely my identity is rooted in something deeper?

I guess at the end of the day, our achievements are like sandcastles of varying beauty, which don't stand the tides of time (or, to be morbid,  waves of death). That is not to say we shouldn't bother,  but know we are builders, not our sandcastles themselves, and our inherent worth is found in our Maker.

So I still wear my new (or now slightly fluffy/smelly) scrub top with a smile - a humble smile - knowing that I stand not on my own achievements but on the gifts and worth the Lord bestows.

*jokes - never happened before, but keep reading... 

A cross in my backpack

I have a cross in my backpack - I put it there long ago

Some days its glorious and gold; I feel I should wear it close to my chest and indeed I would need nothing more as I travel the world.

Some days its dark and heavy; a burden I wish to leave behind thinking without it I would travel unhindered, truly 'free'.

But I have journeyed long enough to know that
        I don't really carry a cross
        It's the cross that carries me

It steadies my feet, comforts my soul,
Has bought me a home and will lead me there
At the end of this road

Water

We tramped* 20 km along the Young River today. Everyone raves about water in NZ and, having spent 2 years now in Australia, I echo their praise. One foreign tramper once told me he never tramped with a bottle in NZ, only a cup, so ample and potable the water is. Yes, today was one of those days where I remember his words and ask myself why I am walking along a river, carrying
water in my bottle upstream.

The water is strong, cold and clear. The noise and sight induces continual thirst (and urges to relieve oneself, my sister added), so I indulged myself (in both) frequently.

Is this a picture of God and his abundance? I thought, after a swim. Surely his grace and blessings are not unlike this powerful body of water we follow. There is enough - much more than enough - to go around, but we can only consume one cup at a time. Throw even a cubic metre at us and we would be consumed. So in His wisdom he sustains us

    step by step
         sip by sip

and oh how refreshing it is.

'Whosoever drinks of this water [from this well] shall thirst again. But whosoever drinks of the water that I give him.. in him shall be a well of water springing up into everlasting life'   
                                                                              ~Jesus to the Samaritan woman, John 4v13

Young River, Mt Aspiring National Park, New Zealand 

*'tramping' is the kiwi word for 'hiking'

Plebiscite colours

As a FOB,* ineligible to vote and preoccupied with world poverty and the parliamentary elections in her own country, I have been slightly removed from the uproar. Might I add that New Zealand legalised same-sex marriage in 2013 with some controversy, yes, but no 'voluntary postal vote'. It went through parliament like all other bills and we moved on to more referendum-worthy matters such as...er....changing our national flag. So now Australia has come to the party and with everything I've heard and seen, I couldn't help thinking that: 

If I helped euthanase my elderly mother, if I enticed a married man to leave his wife and kids, if I stole my sister's girlfriend, smoked and drank whilst pregnant, aborted my unborn child, dabbled in drugs,  denied the holocaust, evaded tax, committed suicide or wore socks and sandals to work.... I am sure I would come under less fire and judgement than if I voted 'No' in this plebiscite on 'marriage equality'.

Australian public, I (and even yourselves perhaps) thought you were a pretty chilled bunch: kind to the homeless, protective of possums, welcoming of  kiwis (churs bro!) and refugees (many of whom might very well vote No if they could, you realise?) v

Yet I have seen this turn from an issue of 'rights', 'freedom' and 'love' into one of oppression, intolerance and restriction of speech. 'Hate' is such a strong word, but sadly not inappropriate
to describe the atmosphere here.

Australia, be careful. Are these really your true colours?

*'Fresh Off the Boat'  - ie recent immigrant 

Election excitement

Its election time again in NZ and Esther, being a nerd, is excited.

Now, I know many don't share my sentiment (nerds are used to flying solo), but perhaps by the end of this you might, just a bit.

In our comfortable 21st C lives, we take democracy for granted. But somewhere along the line, someone bought our right to vote. Some paid for it with their lives. In other countries this right still doesn't exist, so fighting does. They are dying to vote and we find it hard to drag our butts down to a polling booth on election day (even harder if its raining)1.  We're so reluctant to vote, yet so willing to criticise and complain about the government.

I also feel we too easily, and unfairly, label politicians as idiots and liars and [insert other descriptive term here]. Now, I'm not saying they are all angels (but then, I don't claim to be one either). But no matter how much I disagree with their policies, ideologies and behaviour even, hey, at least they have a vision for the country (do you?), and they obviously care enough to do something about it (do you?). Your barista has a huge responsibility to get your daily coffee just right...to say nothing of those responsible for running the country (hence the salary difference).  And it must be hard trying to be popular with as many people as possible... I find it hard enough impressing my peers, patients and clients.

I guess guess at the end of the day, if we want to live on planet earth and our respective countries within it, then we have a responsibility to be good citizens. You know, like: work hard, be honest and flush after going. The Good Book2 says if you owe taxes, pay them. If you owe revenue, pay it. If respect and honour - likewise3. There is no order without law. Politicians are called to serve, we are called to show respect. We're privileged to have decent politicians and a system that works so lets not treat it lightly.

Come on Kiwis, lets vote.

1. 1 in 4 eligible voters didn't vote in the 2014 election
2. Tevye's ref to The Bible in Fiddler on the Roof
3. Romans 13:7

Machines

Booked myself in for a late night reality check last night and went to Machines, a Melbourne International Film Festival documentary, directed by Rahul Jain.

Basically it was slow, largely wordless filming of factory life in India. There was some dialogue, a welcome relief to the constant whirring of machines, but there could have been more.  Always like to hear what people are thinking, what people are feeling (if they feel at all). Makes them more....human. Bridges the gap between 'us' and 'them'.

I was tired, it had been a full on day off. Like the young boy filmed falling asleep at his post, I found myself closing my eyes, just a little. Some of the clips were quite long. And monotonous. Ok, we get it. They stand there all day sorting cloth. Lets move on - show me something different.

Then I woke up. That's exactly it. The clips are a little longer than we're comfortable with, exceed our child-like attention spans. After 30 secs I'm bored in my cushioned cinema seat watching labourers watching cloth. These guys stand for 12 hour shifts, and some do double shifts, day in, day out to feed the family. I'm working on my popcorn.

Poverty and popcorn. 'Us' and 'them'. Its not just distance that separates - its like we have different existences. Except that the fabric they make are the clothes I wear.  I keep them going. For better or for worse. A reality check indeed. 

3 Things I wish the public knew

1. Vets aren't expensive.
Digital X-rays, blood analysers, anaesthetic machines, a purpose-built clinic, qualified nurses and great receptionists don't come for free (and alas no government subsidies) so we just can't treat at mates rates.

2. Medicine is fraught with uncertainty.
Animals don't read textbooks; 'Normal' is defined by a bell curve; Cancer will do as it pleases. Treatments fail. Animals die. Vets cry (oh believe me we cry).

3. I can't hear you when I have my stethoscope in my ears 
 

Pressure bandage

Sometimes I find it hard
To know precisely what the problem is
And then to fix it -
As fast as possible
As cheap as possible
And maintain a genuine smile.

Like a pressure bandage I just can't chew off
Removed only at retirement

Is this struggle of stress and satisfaction
I chose for myself
Guess there's no one to blame
 
Between me and you, dog
I think you're better off. 

Soccer for the soul

13 Nov 2016

Like any good Chinese kid, I had a childhood full of individual pursuits. Violin, piano, swimming, gymnastics, badminton, maths competitions, horse-riding* even.

Now don't get me wrong, I had a great upbringing. And all of these activities have 'helped shape me into the (stubborn, driven, over-committed) person I am today'.

But you know, the one problem with individual pursuits is that, when things go wrong there's kinda no-one to blame. I mean, I've tried to blame my accompanist, my horse, my sister in the audience (she smiled at me, that was distracting) - but it doesn't really work. Deep down you know it was your fault and nothing - and no one - can offer consolation. So you step up the training, schedule more rehearsals and beat your self esteem until an opportunity for redemption.

Then this year, I joined a soccer team. 

I noticed something strange: my teammates actually stuff up too. But when they do - and this is more surprising - I'm quick to forgive ("Unlucky!" "Play on"). 
And then I noticed something else: that in being quick to forgive others, I slowly learnt to forgive myself. 
How... liberating.

A season of soccer taught me what a childhood of music lessons never did. It was:

   Piano to perfection
         Soccer for the soul

*(yes pretty un-asian nevertheless individualistic)

Hating the Homeless

I hate the homeless, I really do.
Now, I don't hate them as people. I don't hate (though I certainly dont condone) how they live, I dont even hate how they make the city look. 

Its just that I dont know what to do with them  and it leaves me deeply unsettled.

Do I turn a blind eye? Do I pause to read their signs1? Which is worse - keep walking like they're not there? or stop, gawk and keep walking like I don't understand English? Do I chuck them some spare change (Does that really change the(ir) world?)? Do I buy them Mackers, sign up at a soup kitchen or lobby for social justice?

Its easier to turn a blind eye.
Harder to turn off thoughts.  

Yesterday I was in a park bench doing my devotions (like any good Christian should) when a lady approached. I assumed she wanted to share my lovely long bench so I graciously moved over but instead she wanted some change to buy some food (she even gave me the option of buying her some food). I poliltely declined however did rummage through my bag of recently acquired asian groceries and told her all I had was dried vermicelli and preserved vegetables. She politely declined (as any good beggar might2 ) and left. I watched her walk away and began to hate.  I hated her for putting me in such a predicatment (nevermind hers); for making me feel bad (nevermind how she feels). I mean, I was reading my Bible for goodness'3 sake. Would have been (or at least seemed) so much better if I'd been playing on my phone like everyone else around me.

As I pen this down 24hrs later (hey, if you cant get rid of a thought, you may as well analyse it) I wonder WWJD 4? Taken her by the hand and told her he loved her? Bought her a burger? Given her an endless supply of oil5? Not offered preserved vegetables, in any case.

It just seems

 Shes the one thats homeless and
          I have all the resources in the world
                 yet somehow
                      I feel just as helpless
                            as her

Do I really hate the homeless?
Or do I hate the hypocrite in me?

 

1Have you noticed they invariably end with 'God bless'? A clever (though unoriginal) guilt trip? How many Christian beggars actually are out there?
2 Oi! Beggars cant be choosers right?
3 yes, debateable
4The ever popular slogan from my Sunday School days What Would Jesus Do?  
5. Ref 2 Kings  7

Stars

Camping at Wilson's Prom, 1am.

Didn't think I'd be stargazing atop Dave's car at this hour, but its so mild outside and I can't sleep. Haven't seen stars like this for... too long. Does it make me feel closer to God? Yup.

No wonder the ancients had less problems believing in Him - or at least being in touch with a 'spiritual side'. No light pollution from cities, no Twitter/Tinder/newsfeeds for 24/7 distraction. Back when they shepherded sheep under stars, sailed ships with stars, planted seed by stars. Don't get me wrong - I don't really wish that things were how they were 100, perhaps 1000 years ago (wouldnt survive without my feather sleeping bag, hot water bottle and thermal layers). I just wonder if nowadays, in our narcissistic existences, we paused a bit more and stared at the stars we might just realise how very very small we are...

'The heavens declare the glory of God,
the skies proclaim the works of his hands...
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?"
                                                                     Psalms 19v1, 8v4