Play parks and Puddles

Having had to lug a pile of bags across the field, over the river, around the bend and back again. Our shoulders ached as our backs broke. Sweating profusely even though it was evening and the sun had already disappeared over the hillside, leaving a pretty golden glow and pink pastels. We were tired. As we plonked down on the nearby bench. Halfway to there and nowhere to near. cutmypic

It was a playpark. We nonchalantly acknowledged, without much interest.We were moaning about how much we had to do, and work and work, and how we were so glad it was a holiday but still. We had lots to do and not enough time. A wedding here, and bills to pay there. We were grateful that another day had come to its end as we  murmured about what we still had to do. Packing for a long trip, cooking dinner for two, work planning.

We were in a playpark.

Not just any playpark, but the one we had grown up in. We started walking around, awakening memories that had long since faded. Remember when? We asked each other. Remember when there was a roundabout here and we pretended to sail a thousand seas. We did it all. We went on the see-saws, accompanied by the old familiar creaking. We squeezed down the tiny slides, cracking up about how we could once zip down them with ease.

Then we raced for the swings. Ice-cold chains gripped in our fists, we started to fly. higher and higher, the wintery air biting our cheeks and numbing the smiles on our faces. We got dizzier faster and so we slowed. Our belly aching guffaws echoing loud through the twilight air. We were little kids again, for the moment. In the moment. Fullness of Joy.

It’s easy to get trapped.

cutmypic (1).png Bound by life’s problems. We can whine about how much we have to do. We can be low, depressed and dejected, alone. Held down by invisible chains that keep us back. Voices in our head telling us lies. You can’t do it. You’ll never make it. You’re not worth it. Struggling to move forward because the blasts from our pasts haunt us. Reminding us of all the reasons why we will never be, all we aspire to become. I’ve been there. So many dreams, but frustrated to achieve because of these chains. What’s a girl to do?


In the words of Amanda Cook, Jesus has taught me to dance upon disappointments. Even in the midst of a storm you can still dance on the waves. After all…even the waves obey Him.

“Then I will go to the altar of God, to God, my joy and my delight. I will praise you with the lyre, O God, my God.” -Psalm 43:4

Stand upon His Promises.

“To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.”-Isaiah 61:3

cutmypic (2).png


He’s got you! The same chains that hold you back are no different from the chains on the swings, that take you higher, setting you free. Metaphorically speaking. Just as you had a crown of ashes, you get to have a beautiful crown instead. See it’s all about perspective…We saw the park bench as a momentary stop before we continued to trudge along our weary journey. But it turned out to be so much more! We laid down our burdens… and we got rest.

“Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”- Matthew 11:28.

As we remembered the good old days, remember your God. Remember the good times He’s brought you through, and His Faithfulness. Even if you have never known , you can always know now.



“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” -Psalm 16:11

Tranquility, peace, serenity.

Have a lovely weekend.

xo, Wong.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s