Deep, deep profound post

I skipped church today. I also skipped choir practice. I skipped church last week too because I was in Kota Kinabalu and though I saw like more than a dozen Gereja Katolik St. (insert any name) along the way to Kundasang (foothill of Mount Kinabalu), I just couldn’t find the Catholic church in KK town itself.

Let’s talk about the churches I saw. There is one tiny little chapel every 1 km on this 200 KM trip from KK to Mount Kinabalu. They have a standard signboard and I was totally WOW with the St. (any name you can think is a church) names. The taxi driver whom we treated more like a friend drove us to Kundasang in his Toyota Innova. It is a very comfortable car and it is nice to have a local bringing us around. We had our meals together and stuffs. He charged us RM400 for the whole trip. If we had rented the same Toyota, it will costs us RM360 (minus the petrol and insurance). Thank God we had Albert because we were trapped in a 2KM not-moving jam due to landslide.

Say hi to Albert Wantin, a Sino-Kadazan. 😛

Anyway, the only reason I think they have a church so close together is because the locals do not have transport and hence, they have a church nearby. But I wonder how many priests they have there? I am an ignorant Catholic so just ignore me.

Normally, when I pass by a Catholic church, I will do the cross. You know….put out right hand and touch the forehead, heart and left and right shoulder. But in Penang, we only have three Catholic churches around the town area so that is no big deal, right? But it was very funny when my sons and I decided to try doing the cross for every churches we passed along Kundasang highway. In the end, we gave up because it turned out more humorous than anything else. In case you wonder, doing the cross is more like a respect. I used to put my hands together when I passed by Kuan Yin temple when I was NOT a Christian.

GOD IS NOT THE TESTER

This morning, when I read the papers, the death of the brother of our handsome angkawasan sent me into deep thinking. Often, people like to console us or we console ourselves with “it is a test from God” when tragedy strucked struck (strike past tense is struck, not strucked, bodoh!) us. But you know what? I do not want God to be the tester. I see it as part of things that will happen. It has to happen. And it will happen. God did not test us. God knows we are built tougher and hence, probably when He was doing His things (i.e. creating us), He had assigned some of us   to heavy stuffs like these. I see us as the chosen ones. The chosen ones whom had harder times than others because we are built tougher.  (just like the Ford advertisement)

I don’t like the phrase, “a test from God” because those people who are not close to God nor know Him will see God as the bad guy who take a person away to test another person. No, God is not like that. God is the smart planner who knows that we will manage somehow and hence, places some of the tougher burdens on our shoulder.

When my son died, I heard loads of such lame reasons like ‘it is a test from God’. Many of them came from people who knows nothing about the pain of losing a loved ones and that’s why I like to stay away from the crowd. Keep the cliche sentences to yourself, like when you are constipated and you cannot poo. Just get out of my face and don’t ramble something that doesn’t make sense.

PREACHERS AT MY DOOR

I had a group of Mandarin speaking Christians trying to spread religion, banging at my door this afternoon. I refused to even put my head out and told my son to tell them ‘boh eng’ (not free) and let them stand there. Thank God my faith doesn’t demand me to do such thing. I will be damned if my religion expects me to go from door to door to spread the Good News. I will die of embarrassment and de-motivation of being rejected. And the worst is sometimes, their good news is not you are going to strike the lottery if you accept Jesus Christ but rather, they will tell you the world is ending and if you don’t accept Jesus, you will be banished to hell where the fires never stop barbecuing you. Plus your deceased father and mother (and son) are in the river of hell eternally. (Catholics believe in purgatory, the half-way home. Meaning, we have a flicker of hope.)

We also have this group of young Mormons (Church of Latter Rains?) who cycle all over the town, with their Book of Mormons. They are immaculately dressed, Caucasians aka Mat Salleh who speak perfect Mandarin. They also knocked on my door before and talked to me in Mandarin (which I can’t speak). I told him, “I am a Catholic” and disappeared. Short of banging the door on their face.

Don’t mistaken. I have nothing against Christians evangelizing. I have problems with people banging on my door and trying to sell me things when I didn’t ask to buy. I hate being disturbed when I am in the middle of something.

What was my point again? Oh, I skipped church. Because I woke up with a sore-throat and headache.

And no, this is not a religious post so if anyone wants to debate, I will delete your comment. My blog, my words are truth. Cannot argue with me wan, understand?