Information Please
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person--her name was "Information, Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information, Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear, "Information."
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your
finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information, Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information, Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child, but I was inconsolable. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information, Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information, Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking
what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."
I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she asked.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?
Author Unknown
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person--her name was "Information, Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information, Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear, "Information."
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your
finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information, Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information, Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child, but I was inconsolable. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information, Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information, Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking
what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."
I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she asked.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?
Author Unknown
Oknum B
Menulis, menulis, dan menulis, itulah kerjaanku saban hari. Tapi, sebenarnya ada terlalu banyak variasi di antara huruf, kata, dan kalimat itu. Ada begitu banyak tantangan dan cobaan. Dan, SELALU dan ini HARUS diusahakan: ada keceriaan dan sukacita di antara pekerjaan rutin ini.
Di antara segerobak kegembiraan itu adalah chatting. Lucu juga kalau diingat-ingat. Dulu aku alergi banget yang namanya berkomunikasi tanpa melihat mata. Sebab, tak jarang persahabatan atau rasa dekat itu menguap begitu saja begitu ketemu atau saling mengirimkan foto.
Hal yang sama juga terjadi saat aku sedang senang-senangnya ngebreak. Pembicaraan yang biasa lancar dan mengalir justru mandek setelah copy darat. Sayang sekali. Masak obrolan harus dibatasi suara, usia, tampang, latar belakang keluarga, pendidikan, dan masih banyak lagi, tinggal sebut saja. Padahal, setiap orang punya kelebihan yang harus dibagi dan punya kekurangan yang mesti diperbaiki. Proses membagi dan memperbaiki hanya bisa terjadi jika masing-masing pihak berhubungan tanpa memasang pagar dan rambu yang ribet. Seperti hubungan ibu dan anak saja. Kenapa coba mereka bertahan puluhan tahun dengan begitu banyak perbedaan yang membawa kesenangan dan kejengkelan? Lo kok melebar.
Dengan pemikiran di atas aku mulai merambah dunia chatting. Mula-mula menyebalkan. Pembicaraan lebih banyak berfokus pada asl (age, sex, and location). Belum lagi dengan obrolan yang mengarah ke ck ck ck seks. (Maaf, kalau agak nendang he he he).
Di antara sederet teman chat, aku justru bertahan dengan teman-teman yang sering "marah-marah". Iya benar. Ini serius. SEMUA teman chatku pernah pergi tanpa da dah :). Aku juga soalnya he he he. Ada juga yang buru-buru pamit atau off begitu pembicaraan tidak menyenangkan. Aku juga begitu he he he. Pokoknya jika ada yang tidak mengenakkan atau menuju ke arah itu, termasuk tidak ingin ketemu salah satu teman, tinggal pilih invisible. Toh beberapa menit atau jam lagi bisa bicara dan melupakan semua yang terjadi.
Aku belajar dari setiap teman chatku--sebut saja semua teman chatku oknum B--(ya, oknum B, pinjam istilah ZAQ). Btw, oknum dalam Kamus Besar Bahas Indonesia edisi ketiga adalah kata benda dengan tiga pengertian. 1 Penyebut diri Tuhan dalam agama Katolik; pribadi: kesatuan antara Bapak, Anak, dan Roh Kudus sebagai tiga--keesaan Tuhan; 2. orang seorang; perseorangan; 3 orang atau anasir (dengan arti yang kurang baik)--yang bertindak sewenang-wenang itu sudah ditahan.
Aku belajar tentang Leonardo da Vinci dengan segudang talentanya dari oknum B di Belanda. Aku juga belajar memahami seorang Ateis yang akrab dengan tradisi Kristen--termasuk merasa tak lengkap tanpa pohon terang saat Natal--dan juga membaca Bible. Setiap ketemu kita selalu membahas Bible meski dia ogah diajak berdoa karena merasa nggak merasa mendapat apa-apa dari doa, hiks.
Aku juga tersentuh banget waktu bencana di Aceh, dia berkali-kali kirim pesan offline menanyakan kabarku dan keluarga. Bahkan, dia minta maaf karena sempat mengkhawatirkan hal yang buruk tentang ayahku. Ini memang luar biasa, mengingat dia tidak pernah berbicara dengan kakak kandungnya. Tapi, begitu peduli dengan ayah temannya yang tidak pernah dia lihat.
Sejak pesan bertubi-tubi itu, kita belum mengobrol panjang lagi, sih. Tapi, tetap saja dia adalah salah satu oknum B terdekat yang mula-mula berkali-kali menolak berteman denganku. Dasar keras kepala, semakin ditolak aku semakin penasaran ingin berteman. Dan, memang tidak sia-sia, oknum B-ku yang satu ini bahkan sudah menjadi semacam diari bagiku. Aku bercerita apa saja. Tak ada rahasia. Hal yang paling menyenangkan dari oknum B ini aku bisa merasakan kegembiraan hanya dengan berganti mengirim icon di YM (Yahoo Messanger). Aneh memang. Tapi begitu menyenangkan.
Ada lagi oknum B yang ketemu dua hari saja. Waktu itu Senin dan Selasa sekitar jam 08.00 WIB sampai 10.00 pagi. Selama dua hari berturut-turut kita membahas suatu masalah yang memang sedang membuat aku puyeng berat. Dengan penjelasan yang begitu sederhana, dia mengajak aku untuk melihat suatu persoalan seperti anak-anak. Sampai akhirnya kita tutup pembicaraan dengan pertanyaan pilihan: aku mau dibaptis selagi anak-anak atau setelah dewasa. Dia cuma teman mengobrol selama dua hari tapi dengan pesan yang tak terlupakan. Aku bahkan mengkopi obrolan kita untuk mengingat bahwa aku punya oknum B yang bertukar pikiran hanya empat jam dalam dua hari. Seperti guru kursus sangat-sangat singkat geto lo.
Ada juga oknum B yang guru komputer anak-anak. Dia selalu mengeluh tentang ruwetnya mengurusi anak-anak remaja. Aku pernah mengusulkan dia untuk meminta anak-anaknya memberikan testimoni tentang dirinya tanpa menyebut nama. Tapi, dia menolak dengan alasan dia tidak peduli dengan pendapat anak-anaknya. Bagi dia yang terpenting adalah berusaha memberi yang terbaik bagi anak-anaknya. Tentu saja ada begitu banyak obrolan khas perempuan, tapi tetap saja isu ini yang paling melekat dalam ingatanku tentang oknum B-ku dari Nigeria ini.
Ada juga oknum B yang pernah menyebut dirinya calon doktor ndablek yang sering menggunakan bahasa seperti begitu saat chatting. Untunglah teman-temanku ada yang mengerti bahasa Jawa sehingga bisa menjelaskan kata-kata asing yang dia ucapkan. Lagipula kadang-kadang aku mengajak beberapa teman untuk membaca lelucon yang dia berikan. Atau meneruskan pembahasan suatu masalah dengan teman-temanku, termasuk kamu, ZAQ :). Dengan oknum B yang satu ini aku belajar banyak hal mulai dari bikin soto, terus pemandangan (yang indah-indah) di beberapa negara Eropa yang selalu bikin nglier nyam, nyam, nyam, sampai apa ya, terlalu banyak bahasannya.
Ada juga oknum B yang membuat aku sedikit melek informasi teknologi, aku bahkan tahu tentang cisco. Kita nyaris ketemu lima hari dalam sepekan. Kadang-kadang kita--gue dan oknum B ini, lagi--membahas betapa baik-Nya Tuhan dan betapa tak berartinya kita tanpa kasih Tuhan. Meski kadang kita cuma sekadar mengatakan, "Hai!" Kemudian, "Gue ngantuk nih! Tidur dulu ah."
Ada juga oknum B yang muncul hanya dengan informasi tentang semua hal yang berbau perkawinan. Pokoknya setiap kali chat kita selalu menyinggung topik begituan. Oknum B yang menikah dengan pria AS ini memang ingin sekali punya teman Indonesia yang tinggal sekompleks dengan dia di Negeri Paman Sam sana [Motif banget :)]. Ada juga oknum B yang mengaku agnostik dan minggu ini akan diwisuda. (Mudah-mudahan sukses brother!) Ada juga yang sampai sekarang masih lesu darah karena batal menikah dengan gadis Filipina dan bergumul untuk mendapatkan pekerjaan baru. Dan, masih banyak lagi.
Begitulah. Berbicara dengan oknum-oknum B ini menjadi salah satu kegiatan yang ditunggu-tunggu. Tak terhitung berapa kali aku tersenyum, tertawa sendiri, diam-diam menghapus air mata atau memasang muka cemberut. Tak jarang aku begitu serius sampai-sampai nggak mendengar panggilan atau malah di buzz berulang kali karena lebih asyik membahas sesuatu dengan teman-temanku dan melupakan si pelempar isu di YM.
Masing-masing oknum B punya kekuatan yang sama untuk mewarnai hari-hariku. Makanya, aku agak sedikit senewen ketika salah satu temanku nekat mengirim pesan-pesan offline pada salah satu oknum B-ku. Soalnya, aku tak mau pesan-pesan itu ditanggapi lain sehingga kita jadi tidak berteman gara-gara itu. Meski kalau memang itu harus terjadi, so what geto lo. Aku toh bisa memilih untuk mempertahankan teman seberapa baik dan buruknya dia--sama seperti aku.
Sebaliknya aku juga bisa memilih untuk melepaskan salah satu teman (mudah-mudahan ini tidak akan terjadi). Sebab, aku ingin memperlakukan semua oknum B-ku seperti pesan singkat yang dikirim salah satu temanku:
FRIENDS are like balloons;
once you let them go,
you can't ever bring them back,
that`s why I'll tie you
tight to my HEART!
You are too precious to loose!
(Special to my ZAQ, miss you friend)
Menulis, menulis, dan menulis, itulah kerjaanku saban hari. Tapi, sebenarnya ada terlalu banyak variasi di antara huruf, kata, dan kalimat itu. Ada begitu banyak tantangan dan cobaan. Dan, SELALU dan ini HARUS diusahakan: ada keceriaan dan sukacita di antara pekerjaan rutin ini.
Di antara segerobak kegembiraan itu adalah chatting. Lucu juga kalau diingat-ingat. Dulu aku alergi banget yang namanya berkomunikasi tanpa melihat mata. Sebab, tak jarang persahabatan atau rasa dekat itu menguap begitu saja begitu ketemu atau saling mengirimkan foto.
Hal yang sama juga terjadi saat aku sedang senang-senangnya ngebreak. Pembicaraan yang biasa lancar dan mengalir justru mandek setelah copy darat. Sayang sekali. Masak obrolan harus dibatasi suara, usia, tampang, latar belakang keluarga, pendidikan, dan masih banyak lagi, tinggal sebut saja. Padahal, setiap orang punya kelebihan yang harus dibagi dan punya kekurangan yang mesti diperbaiki. Proses membagi dan memperbaiki hanya bisa terjadi jika masing-masing pihak berhubungan tanpa memasang pagar dan rambu yang ribet. Seperti hubungan ibu dan anak saja. Kenapa coba mereka bertahan puluhan tahun dengan begitu banyak perbedaan yang membawa kesenangan dan kejengkelan? Lo kok melebar.
Dengan pemikiran di atas aku mulai merambah dunia chatting. Mula-mula menyebalkan. Pembicaraan lebih banyak berfokus pada asl (age, sex, and location). Belum lagi dengan obrolan yang mengarah ke ck ck ck seks. (Maaf, kalau agak nendang he he he).
Di antara sederet teman chat, aku justru bertahan dengan teman-teman yang sering "marah-marah". Iya benar. Ini serius. SEMUA teman chatku pernah pergi tanpa da dah :). Aku juga soalnya he he he. Ada juga yang buru-buru pamit atau off begitu pembicaraan tidak menyenangkan. Aku juga begitu he he he. Pokoknya jika ada yang tidak mengenakkan atau menuju ke arah itu, termasuk tidak ingin ketemu salah satu teman, tinggal pilih invisible. Toh beberapa menit atau jam lagi bisa bicara dan melupakan semua yang terjadi.
Aku belajar dari setiap teman chatku--sebut saja semua teman chatku oknum B--(ya, oknum B, pinjam istilah ZAQ). Btw, oknum dalam Kamus Besar Bahas Indonesia edisi ketiga adalah kata benda dengan tiga pengertian. 1 Penyebut diri Tuhan dalam agama Katolik; pribadi: kesatuan antara Bapak, Anak, dan Roh Kudus sebagai tiga--keesaan Tuhan; 2. orang seorang; perseorangan; 3 orang atau anasir (dengan arti yang kurang baik)--yang bertindak sewenang-wenang itu sudah ditahan.
Aku belajar tentang Leonardo da Vinci dengan segudang talentanya dari oknum B di Belanda. Aku juga belajar memahami seorang Ateis yang akrab dengan tradisi Kristen--termasuk merasa tak lengkap tanpa pohon terang saat Natal--dan juga membaca Bible. Setiap ketemu kita selalu membahas Bible meski dia ogah diajak berdoa karena merasa nggak merasa mendapat apa-apa dari doa, hiks.
Aku juga tersentuh banget waktu bencana di Aceh, dia berkali-kali kirim pesan offline menanyakan kabarku dan keluarga. Bahkan, dia minta maaf karena sempat mengkhawatirkan hal yang buruk tentang ayahku. Ini memang luar biasa, mengingat dia tidak pernah berbicara dengan kakak kandungnya. Tapi, begitu peduli dengan ayah temannya yang tidak pernah dia lihat.
Sejak pesan bertubi-tubi itu, kita belum mengobrol panjang lagi, sih. Tapi, tetap saja dia adalah salah satu oknum B terdekat yang mula-mula berkali-kali menolak berteman denganku. Dasar keras kepala, semakin ditolak aku semakin penasaran ingin berteman. Dan, memang tidak sia-sia, oknum B-ku yang satu ini bahkan sudah menjadi semacam diari bagiku. Aku bercerita apa saja. Tak ada rahasia. Hal yang paling menyenangkan dari oknum B ini aku bisa merasakan kegembiraan hanya dengan berganti mengirim icon di YM (Yahoo Messanger). Aneh memang. Tapi begitu menyenangkan.
Ada lagi oknum B yang ketemu dua hari saja. Waktu itu Senin dan Selasa sekitar jam 08.00 WIB sampai 10.00 pagi. Selama dua hari berturut-turut kita membahas suatu masalah yang memang sedang membuat aku puyeng berat. Dengan penjelasan yang begitu sederhana, dia mengajak aku untuk melihat suatu persoalan seperti anak-anak. Sampai akhirnya kita tutup pembicaraan dengan pertanyaan pilihan: aku mau dibaptis selagi anak-anak atau setelah dewasa. Dia cuma teman mengobrol selama dua hari tapi dengan pesan yang tak terlupakan. Aku bahkan mengkopi obrolan kita untuk mengingat bahwa aku punya oknum B yang bertukar pikiran hanya empat jam dalam dua hari. Seperti guru kursus sangat-sangat singkat geto lo.
Ada juga oknum B yang guru komputer anak-anak. Dia selalu mengeluh tentang ruwetnya mengurusi anak-anak remaja. Aku pernah mengusulkan dia untuk meminta anak-anaknya memberikan testimoni tentang dirinya tanpa menyebut nama. Tapi, dia menolak dengan alasan dia tidak peduli dengan pendapat anak-anaknya. Bagi dia yang terpenting adalah berusaha memberi yang terbaik bagi anak-anaknya. Tentu saja ada begitu banyak obrolan khas perempuan, tapi tetap saja isu ini yang paling melekat dalam ingatanku tentang oknum B-ku dari Nigeria ini.
Ada juga oknum B yang pernah menyebut dirinya calon doktor ndablek yang sering menggunakan bahasa seperti begitu saat chatting. Untunglah teman-temanku ada yang mengerti bahasa Jawa sehingga bisa menjelaskan kata-kata asing yang dia ucapkan. Lagipula kadang-kadang aku mengajak beberapa teman untuk membaca lelucon yang dia berikan. Atau meneruskan pembahasan suatu masalah dengan teman-temanku, termasuk kamu, ZAQ :). Dengan oknum B yang satu ini aku belajar banyak hal mulai dari bikin soto, terus pemandangan (yang indah-indah) di beberapa negara Eropa yang selalu bikin nglier nyam, nyam, nyam, sampai apa ya, terlalu banyak bahasannya.
Ada juga oknum B yang membuat aku sedikit melek informasi teknologi, aku bahkan tahu tentang cisco. Kita nyaris ketemu lima hari dalam sepekan. Kadang-kadang kita--gue dan oknum B ini, lagi--membahas betapa baik-Nya Tuhan dan betapa tak berartinya kita tanpa kasih Tuhan. Meski kadang kita cuma sekadar mengatakan, "Hai!" Kemudian, "Gue ngantuk nih! Tidur dulu ah."
Ada juga oknum B yang muncul hanya dengan informasi tentang semua hal yang berbau perkawinan. Pokoknya setiap kali chat kita selalu menyinggung topik begituan. Oknum B yang menikah dengan pria AS ini memang ingin sekali punya teman Indonesia yang tinggal sekompleks dengan dia di Negeri Paman Sam sana [Motif banget :)]. Ada juga oknum B yang mengaku agnostik dan minggu ini akan diwisuda. (Mudah-mudahan sukses brother!) Ada juga yang sampai sekarang masih lesu darah karena batal menikah dengan gadis Filipina dan bergumul untuk mendapatkan pekerjaan baru. Dan, masih banyak lagi.
Begitulah. Berbicara dengan oknum-oknum B ini menjadi salah satu kegiatan yang ditunggu-tunggu. Tak terhitung berapa kali aku tersenyum, tertawa sendiri, diam-diam menghapus air mata atau memasang muka cemberut. Tak jarang aku begitu serius sampai-sampai nggak mendengar panggilan atau malah di buzz berulang kali karena lebih asyik membahas sesuatu dengan teman-temanku dan melupakan si pelempar isu di YM.
Masing-masing oknum B punya kekuatan yang sama untuk mewarnai hari-hariku. Makanya, aku agak sedikit senewen ketika salah satu temanku nekat mengirim pesan-pesan offline pada salah satu oknum B-ku. Soalnya, aku tak mau pesan-pesan itu ditanggapi lain sehingga kita jadi tidak berteman gara-gara itu. Meski kalau memang itu harus terjadi, so what geto lo. Aku toh bisa memilih untuk mempertahankan teman seberapa baik dan buruknya dia--sama seperti aku.
Sebaliknya aku juga bisa memilih untuk melepaskan salah satu teman (mudah-mudahan ini tidak akan terjadi). Sebab, aku ingin memperlakukan semua oknum B-ku seperti pesan singkat yang dikirim salah satu temanku:
FRIENDS are like balloons;
once you let them go,
you can't ever bring them back,
that`s why I'll tie you
tight to my HEART!
You are too precious to loose!
(Special to my ZAQ, miss you friend)
Tommy's Story
John Powell, A Professor at Loyola University in Chicago writes about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy:
Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith. That was the first day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his shoulders. It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it isn't what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed Tommy under "S" for strange . . . very strange.
Tommy turned out to be the "atheist in residence" in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father-God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew. When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a slightly cynical tone: "Do you think I'll ever find God?"
I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. "No!" I said very emphatically.
"Oh," he responded, "I thought that was the product you were pushing."
I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called out: "Tommy! I don't think you'll ever find him, but I am absolutely certain that he will find you!"
He shrugged a little and left my class and my life. I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my clever line: "He will find you!" At least I thought it was clever.
Later I heard that Tommy had graduated and I was duly grateful. Then a sad report, I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer. Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted, and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe.
"Tommy, I've thought about you so often. I hear you are sick!" I blurted out.
"Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of weeks."
"Can you talk about it, Tom?"
"Sure, what would you like to know?"
"What's it like to be only twenty-four and dying?"
"Well, it could be worse."
"Like what?"
"Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals, like being fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are the real 'biggies' in life."
I began to look through my mental file cabinet under "S" where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification God sends back into my life to educate me.) But what I really came to see you about," Tom said, " is something you said to me on the last day of class." (He remembered!) He continued, "I asked you if you thought I would ever find God and you said, 'No!' which surprised me. Then you said, 'But he will find you.' I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense at that time. (My "clever" line. He thought about that a lot!) But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that it was malignant, then I got serious about locating God. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But God did not come out. In fact, nothing happened. Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit. Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I didn't really care...about God, about an afterlife, or anything like that.
"I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you and your class and I remembered something else you had said: 'The essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.'
"So I began with the hardest one: my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him." 'Dad'". .
"Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the newspaper.
"Dad, I would like to talk with you."
"Well, talk."
"I mean... . It's really important."
The newspaper came down three slow inches. "What is it?"
"Dad, I love you. I just wanted you to know that."
Tom smiled at me and said with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and secret joy flowing inside of him: "The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me. And we talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me.
"It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years. I was only sorry about one thing: that I had waited so long. Here I was just beginning to open up to all the people I had actually been close to.
"Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn't come to me when I pleaded with him. I guess I was like an animal trainer holding out a hoop, 'C'mon, jump through.' 'C'mon, I'll give you three days ...three weeks.' Apparently God does things in his own way and at his own hour.
"But the important thing is that he was there. He found me. You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for him."
"Tommy," I practically gasped, "I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize. To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is not to make him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know, the Apostle John said that. He said God is love, and anyone who lives in love is living with God and God is living in him.' Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn't be half as effective as if you were to tell them. "
Ooh . . . I was ready for you, but I don't know if I'm ready for your class."
" Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call."
In a few days Tommy called, said he was ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date. However, he never made it. He had another appointment, far more important than the one with me and my class.
Of course, his life was not really ended by his death, only changed. He made the great step from faith into vision. He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever imagined.
Before he died, we talked one last time. "I'm not going to make it to your class," he said.
"I know, Tom."
"Will you tell them for me? Will you . . . tell the whole world for me?"
"I will, Tom. I'll tell them. I'll do my best."
So, to all of you who have been kind enough to hear this simple statement about love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven: "I told them, Tommy ... as best I could."
by John Powell
John Powell, A Professor at Loyola University in Chicago writes about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy:
Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith. That was the first day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his shoulders. It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it isn't what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed Tommy under "S" for strange . . . very strange.
Tommy turned out to be the "atheist in residence" in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father-God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew. When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a slightly cynical tone: "Do you think I'll ever find God?"
I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. "No!" I said very emphatically.
"Oh," he responded, "I thought that was the product you were pushing."
I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called out: "Tommy! I don't think you'll ever find him, but I am absolutely certain that he will find you!"
He shrugged a little and left my class and my life. I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my clever line: "He will find you!" At least I thought it was clever.
Later I heard that Tommy had graduated and I was duly grateful. Then a sad report, I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer. Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted, and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe.
"Tommy, I've thought about you so often. I hear you are sick!" I blurted out.
"Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of weeks."
"Can you talk about it, Tom?"
"Sure, what would you like to know?"
"What's it like to be only twenty-four and dying?"
"Well, it could be worse."
"Like what?"
"Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals, like being fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are the real 'biggies' in life."
I began to look through my mental file cabinet under "S" where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification God sends back into my life to educate me.) But what I really came to see you about," Tom said, " is something you said to me on the last day of class." (He remembered!) He continued, "I asked you if you thought I would ever find God and you said, 'No!' which surprised me. Then you said, 'But he will find you.' I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense at that time. (My "clever" line. He thought about that a lot!) But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that it was malignant, then I got serious about locating God. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But God did not come out. In fact, nothing happened. Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit. Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I didn't really care...about God, about an afterlife, or anything like that.
"I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you and your class and I remembered something else you had said: 'The essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.'
"So I began with the hardest one: my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him." 'Dad'". .
"Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the newspaper.
"Dad, I would like to talk with you."
"Well, talk."
"I mean... . It's really important."
The newspaper came down three slow inches. "What is it?"
"Dad, I love you. I just wanted you to know that."
Tom smiled at me and said with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and secret joy flowing inside of him: "The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me. And we talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me.
"It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years. I was only sorry about one thing: that I had waited so long. Here I was just beginning to open up to all the people I had actually been close to.
"Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn't come to me when I pleaded with him. I guess I was like an animal trainer holding out a hoop, 'C'mon, jump through.' 'C'mon, I'll give you three days ...three weeks.' Apparently God does things in his own way and at his own hour.
"But the important thing is that he was there. He found me. You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for him."
"Tommy," I practically gasped, "I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize. To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is not to make him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know, the Apostle John said that. He said God is love, and anyone who lives in love is living with God and God is living in him.' Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn't be half as effective as if you were to tell them. "
Ooh . . . I was ready for you, but I don't know if I'm ready for your class."
" Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call."
In a few days Tommy called, said he was ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date. However, he never made it. He had another appointment, far more important than the one with me and my class.
Of course, his life was not really ended by his death, only changed. He made the great step from faith into vision. He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever imagined.
Before he died, we talked one last time. "I'm not going to make it to your class," he said.
"I know, Tom."
"Will you tell them for me? Will you . . . tell the whole world for me?"
"I will, Tom. I'll tell them. I'll do my best."
So, to all of you who have been kind enough to hear this simple statement about love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven: "I told them, Tommy ... as best I could."
by John Powell
Nona Sempurna
Dua minggu sebelum mudik, sebagian pikiranku sudah ada di rumah. Orang-orang terdekat juga tidak protes mendapati aku sering tidak klik dengan mereka. Sebab, ini memang gejala rutin yang muncul menjelang masa cuti.
Aku selalu merasa ada yang kurang. Padahal, aku selalu membawa catatan kecil untuk memastikan semuanya beres menjelang dan seminggu setelah cuti. Tapi, tetap saja, aku seperti dikejar waktu. Persiapan Natal keluarga dan PAA terlihat kurang di sana sini. Padahal, rencananya sudah dipikirkan beberapa bulan sebelumnya.
Ini terjadi dari waktu ke waktu. Di puncak-puncak kekhawatiran acara tidak berjalan sesuai rencana, aku justru diingatkan untuk melupakan kesempurnaan. Selamat tinggal Nona Sempurna.
Kenapa?
Karena pulang kampung adalah kesempatan untuk menjadi anak kembali. Aku tidak perlu menjadi apapun. Aku hanya ingin menjadi anak dari ayah dan ibuku. Berbakti pada ayah dan ibuku dengan segala ketidaksempurnaanku.
Dua minggu memang terasa singkat untuk berbakti pada ayah dan ibuku. Karena itu aku merancang betul waktu buat teman-temanku. Cuma bertemu dua teman dalam waktu enam jam. Aku bahkan tidak mengunjungi apalagi menelepon sahabatku. Padahal, aku tahu betul dia ingin menunjukkan anak pertamanya. Selamat tinggal Nona Sempurna.
Tinggal jauh dari ayah dan ibu membuka mataku dari banyak hal. Termasuk benar-benar memanfaatkan waktu untuk mereka. Seminggu sebelum balik, kata-kata "Mah, mau minum teh?" terus berdengung di telingaku. Ya, itulah keinginanku. Aku ingin sekali membuat teh buat ayah dan ibuku setiap pagi, sore, atau kapanpun.
"Kok aku nggak pernah dibikinin teh," kakakku mengolok-olok. Aku tidak peduli. Sebab, dia pasti memprotes. Entah tehnya kurang gula atau kurang kental. Aku memang membuat teh buat ayah dan ibuku dengan sedikit gula dan teh kemasan yang dicelup sekejap. Ayah dan ibuku tidak akan protes. Sebaliknya, senang karena ada yang memperhatikan.
Bahkan, Ibuku selalu memuji sambal buatanku. Padahal, aku tahu persis bahwa itu untuk menyenangkan aku saja. Aku juga tahu diri, memang tidak pandai masak. Bukan karena aku nggak bisa (masak sih nggak bisa?). Tapi, di antara semua saudaraku aku yang memang tidak senang memasak dengan bumbu yang aneh-aneh itu. Kalau bisa semuanya rebus dan tanpa penyedap. Jadi, begitu aku masuk dapur, semua langsung berteriak. "Jangan. Jangan masak!"
Aku bahkan membiarkan Ibuku menyisir rambutku. Saudaraku tentu saja protes jika disisiri. Tapi, aku malah senang. Bahkan, Ibu juga yang memasak sendiri madu dengan lilin untuk mukaku. Sebaliknya, Ibuku juga membiarkan matanya aku "lukis" ketika akan ke pesta.
Ada satu lagi keinginanku yang belum kesampaian. Membersihkan gereja dengan teman-teman lingkungan atau menyempil dengan lingkungan yang lain. Mustinya aku bisa membersihkan gereja dengan lingkungan sepupuku, tapi nggak jadi. Tak masalah, good bye Nona Sempurna!
Rumah adalah sekolah paling baik bagi aku yang ingin semua serba teratur, rapi, sempurna. Apa sih kesempurnaan itu? Tak terukur. Aku tak bisa memaksakan definsi kesempurnaanku pada orang lain dan sebaliknya. Sebab, aku justru sering merasa sempurna karena ketidaksempurnaan orang lain dan sebaliknya orang lain merasa sempurna dengan memandang ketidaksempurnaanku. Jadi kenapa juga harus menjadi Nona Sempurna, jika itu justru membuat aku egois dan melakukan segala sesuatu dengan standar khas orang dewasa. Capek.
Aku tidak perlu malu karena tidak sempurna. Banyak kelemahan. Sebab hanya Allah yang sempurna. "...Cukuplah kasih karunia-Ku bagimu, sebab justru dalam kelemahanlah kuasa-Ku menjadi sempurna." Sebab itu terlebih suka aku bermegah atas kelemahanku, supaya kuasa Kristus turun menaungi aku (2 Korintus 12:9). Aku hanya ingin menjadi anak yang terus belajar menjadi sempurna dan terbuka untuk disempurnakan. Itu saja.
Dua minggu sebelum mudik, sebagian pikiranku sudah ada di rumah. Orang-orang terdekat juga tidak protes mendapati aku sering tidak klik dengan mereka. Sebab, ini memang gejala rutin yang muncul menjelang masa cuti.
Aku selalu merasa ada yang kurang. Padahal, aku selalu membawa catatan kecil untuk memastikan semuanya beres menjelang dan seminggu setelah cuti. Tapi, tetap saja, aku seperti dikejar waktu. Persiapan Natal keluarga dan PAA terlihat kurang di sana sini. Padahal, rencananya sudah dipikirkan beberapa bulan sebelumnya.
Ini terjadi dari waktu ke waktu. Di puncak-puncak kekhawatiran acara tidak berjalan sesuai rencana, aku justru diingatkan untuk melupakan kesempurnaan. Selamat tinggal Nona Sempurna.
Kenapa?
Karena pulang kampung adalah kesempatan untuk menjadi anak kembali. Aku tidak perlu menjadi apapun. Aku hanya ingin menjadi anak dari ayah dan ibuku. Berbakti pada ayah dan ibuku dengan segala ketidaksempurnaanku.
Dua minggu memang terasa singkat untuk berbakti pada ayah dan ibuku. Karena itu aku merancang betul waktu buat teman-temanku. Cuma bertemu dua teman dalam waktu enam jam. Aku bahkan tidak mengunjungi apalagi menelepon sahabatku. Padahal, aku tahu betul dia ingin menunjukkan anak pertamanya. Selamat tinggal Nona Sempurna.
Tinggal jauh dari ayah dan ibu membuka mataku dari banyak hal. Termasuk benar-benar memanfaatkan waktu untuk mereka. Seminggu sebelum balik, kata-kata "Mah, mau minum teh?" terus berdengung di telingaku. Ya, itulah keinginanku. Aku ingin sekali membuat teh buat ayah dan ibuku setiap pagi, sore, atau kapanpun.
"Kok aku nggak pernah dibikinin teh," kakakku mengolok-olok. Aku tidak peduli. Sebab, dia pasti memprotes. Entah tehnya kurang gula atau kurang kental. Aku memang membuat teh buat ayah dan ibuku dengan sedikit gula dan teh kemasan yang dicelup sekejap. Ayah dan ibuku tidak akan protes. Sebaliknya, senang karena ada yang memperhatikan.
Bahkan, Ibuku selalu memuji sambal buatanku. Padahal, aku tahu persis bahwa itu untuk menyenangkan aku saja. Aku juga tahu diri, memang tidak pandai masak. Bukan karena aku nggak bisa (masak sih nggak bisa?). Tapi, di antara semua saudaraku aku yang memang tidak senang memasak dengan bumbu yang aneh-aneh itu. Kalau bisa semuanya rebus dan tanpa penyedap. Jadi, begitu aku masuk dapur, semua langsung berteriak. "Jangan. Jangan masak!"
Aku bahkan membiarkan Ibuku menyisir rambutku. Saudaraku tentu saja protes jika disisiri. Tapi, aku malah senang. Bahkan, Ibu juga yang memasak sendiri madu dengan lilin untuk mukaku. Sebaliknya, Ibuku juga membiarkan matanya aku "lukis" ketika akan ke pesta.
Ada satu lagi keinginanku yang belum kesampaian. Membersihkan gereja dengan teman-teman lingkungan atau menyempil dengan lingkungan yang lain. Mustinya aku bisa membersihkan gereja dengan lingkungan sepupuku, tapi nggak jadi. Tak masalah, good bye Nona Sempurna!
Rumah adalah sekolah paling baik bagi aku yang ingin semua serba teratur, rapi, sempurna. Apa sih kesempurnaan itu? Tak terukur. Aku tak bisa memaksakan definsi kesempurnaanku pada orang lain dan sebaliknya. Sebab, aku justru sering merasa sempurna karena ketidaksempurnaan orang lain dan sebaliknya orang lain merasa sempurna dengan memandang ketidaksempurnaanku. Jadi kenapa juga harus menjadi Nona Sempurna, jika itu justru membuat aku egois dan melakukan segala sesuatu dengan standar khas orang dewasa. Capek.
Aku tidak perlu malu karena tidak sempurna. Banyak kelemahan. Sebab hanya Allah yang sempurna. "...Cukuplah kasih karunia-Ku bagimu, sebab justru dalam kelemahanlah kuasa-Ku menjadi sempurna." Sebab itu terlebih suka aku bermegah atas kelemahanku, supaya kuasa Kristus turun menaungi aku (2 Korintus 12:9). Aku hanya ingin menjadi anak yang terus belajar menjadi sempurna dan terbuka untuk disempurnakan. Itu saja.
True Compassion Is More
Martin Luther King, Jr.
We are called to play the good Samaritan on life's roadside. But one day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it is not haphazard and superficial. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.
Martin Luther King, Jr.
We are called to play the good Samaritan on life's roadside. But one day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it is not haphazard and superficial. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.
Malaikat
Malaikat dalam benakku adalah anak kecil. Berjubah warna putih atau broken white. Matanya bulat dan bening. Tanpa dosa. Bersayap. Itu dulu.
Malaikat dalam pendengaranku adalah paduan suara anak-anak. Merdu. Harmonis. Polos. Bernyanyi, bersukacita memuliakan Tuhan. "Kudus-kuduslah Tuhan, Alah segala kuasa. Surga dan bumi penuh kemuliaan-MU. Terpujilah Engkau di surga. Terpujilah yang datang dalam nama Tuhan. Terpujilah Engkau di surga."
Malaikat dalam pandanganku adalah kepercayaan anak-anak. Bergerak tanpa takut. Melangkah tanpa peduli risiko. Disuruh masuk got oleh orang dewasa pun mau. Sebab, dia melihat semua orang itu baik.
Malaikat dalam ingatanku adalah seruan anak-anak. "Ne, baca Firman, sekarang." "Kok datangnya telat!" "Kita main dong!" "Kok nggak pernah quiz Kitab Suci lagi." "Kita berdoa buat anak-anak yuuuk! "Kuenya apa hari ini!
Malaikat dalam perasaanku adalah pelukan anak-anak. Hangat. Tanpa napsu. Sarat dukungan. Lembut, menggeser lamunan, kecemasan, ketakutan, dan mimpi buruk. Tidak dalam lingkaran selebar lengan pria Irlandia (o o), tapi dengan kenyamanan yang setara, bahkan lebih.
Malaikat dalam memoriku adalah tatapan anak-anak. Teduh. Jauh dari curiga. Kadang-kadang ada kemarahan, tapi begitu cepat bersalin tawa dalam sekejap. Sorot sedih, kecewa, yang instan. Cahaya sukacita. Ceria tanpa mengenal waktu.
Malaikat dalam kesadaranku adalah cubitan, teriakan keras, kaki yang terinjak, tubuh yang bau, nenek sepuh, tukang sate Padang, Om koran, kenek, sopir, teman perjalanan, siapa saja yang memberi aku tempat duduk di angkutan umum, tukang ojek, wangi bunga mawar hutan saat berdoa... hmmm terlalu banyak. Semuanya menjadi inspirasi tentang kehadiran Tuhan.
Malaikat bagiku adalah seluruh hari dalam kalender. Puncaknya adalah Sabtu. Bisa separuh hari di akhir pekan itu atau beberapa jam yang bisa terasa lama atau cepat. Belajar, mengajar, bernyanyi, berdansa, berteriak, menggambar, ada yang jahil, menangis, menegur, bercanda, dicubit, dijambak, ditepuk keras dari sana-sini. Berisik.
Kemudian tenang. Kadang-kadang keheningan dipecahkan celetukan, "Ne, Yesus ada di sini." Mata yang belum mau terbuka meski sudah mengucapkan amin. Air mata yang menetes dari mata kecil salah satu anak. Atau diam yang terasa lama setelah menyanyikan lagu "Mari masuk, mari masuk, masuk hatiku, ya, Yesus. Datang sekarang, datang tinggal, dalam hatiku, ya Yesus!"
Malaikat bagiku adalah Moses, Nera, Wulan, Felix, Dedy, Tante Joice, Yoseph_RF... [tak cukup ditulis di sini, termasuk kamu, kamu, ya, kamu :)] siapa saja yang membuat aku melihat kasih dan kemuliaan Allah. Semua anak-anak. Semua mereka yang berhati, bersikap, dan memandang Allah seperti anak kecil. Sebab mereka begitu berharga. "Ingatlah, jangan menganggap rendah seorang dari anak-anak kecil ini. Karena Aku berkata kepadamu: Ada malaikat mereka di sorga yang selalu memandang wajah Bapa-Ku yang di sorga." (Matius 18:10).
Malaikat dalam benakku adalah anak kecil. Berjubah warna putih atau broken white. Matanya bulat dan bening. Tanpa dosa. Bersayap. Itu dulu.
Malaikat dalam pendengaranku adalah paduan suara anak-anak. Merdu. Harmonis. Polos. Bernyanyi, bersukacita memuliakan Tuhan. "Kudus-kuduslah Tuhan, Alah segala kuasa. Surga dan bumi penuh kemuliaan-MU. Terpujilah Engkau di surga. Terpujilah yang datang dalam nama Tuhan. Terpujilah Engkau di surga."
Malaikat dalam pandanganku adalah kepercayaan anak-anak. Bergerak tanpa takut. Melangkah tanpa peduli risiko. Disuruh masuk got oleh orang dewasa pun mau. Sebab, dia melihat semua orang itu baik.
Malaikat dalam ingatanku adalah seruan anak-anak. "Ne, baca Firman, sekarang." "Kok datangnya telat!" "Kita main dong!" "Kok nggak pernah quiz Kitab Suci lagi." "Kita berdoa buat anak-anak yuuuk! "Kuenya apa hari ini!
Malaikat dalam perasaanku adalah pelukan anak-anak. Hangat. Tanpa napsu. Sarat dukungan. Lembut, menggeser lamunan, kecemasan, ketakutan, dan mimpi buruk. Tidak dalam lingkaran selebar lengan pria Irlandia (o o), tapi dengan kenyamanan yang setara, bahkan lebih.
Malaikat dalam memoriku adalah tatapan anak-anak. Teduh. Jauh dari curiga. Kadang-kadang ada kemarahan, tapi begitu cepat bersalin tawa dalam sekejap. Sorot sedih, kecewa, yang instan. Cahaya sukacita. Ceria tanpa mengenal waktu.
Malaikat dalam kesadaranku adalah cubitan, teriakan keras, kaki yang terinjak, tubuh yang bau, nenek sepuh, tukang sate Padang, Om koran, kenek, sopir, teman perjalanan, siapa saja yang memberi aku tempat duduk di angkutan umum, tukang ojek, wangi bunga mawar hutan saat berdoa... hmmm terlalu banyak. Semuanya menjadi inspirasi tentang kehadiran Tuhan.
Malaikat bagiku adalah seluruh hari dalam kalender. Puncaknya adalah Sabtu. Bisa separuh hari di akhir pekan itu atau beberapa jam yang bisa terasa lama atau cepat. Belajar, mengajar, bernyanyi, berdansa, berteriak, menggambar, ada yang jahil, menangis, menegur, bercanda, dicubit, dijambak, ditepuk keras dari sana-sini. Berisik.
Kemudian tenang. Kadang-kadang keheningan dipecahkan celetukan, "Ne, Yesus ada di sini." Mata yang belum mau terbuka meski sudah mengucapkan amin. Air mata yang menetes dari mata kecil salah satu anak. Atau diam yang terasa lama setelah menyanyikan lagu "Mari masuk, mari masuk, masuk hatiku, ya, Yesus. Datang sekarang, datang tinggal, dalam hatiku, ya Yesus!"
Malaikat bagiku adalah Moses, Nera, Wulan, Felix, Dedy, Tante Joice, Yoseph_RF... [tak cukup ditulis di sini, termasuk kamu, kamu, ya, kamu :)] siapa saja yang membuat aku melihat kasih dan kemuliaan Allah. Semua anak-anak. Semua mereka yang berhati, bersikap, dan memandang Allah seperti anak kecil. Sebab mereka begitu berharga. "Ingatlah, jangan menganggap rendah seorang dari anak-anak kecil ini. Karena Aku berkata kepadamu: Ada malaikat mereka di sorga yang selalu memandang wajah Bapa-Ku yang di sorga." (Matius 18:10).
Angels
Wulan, Moses, dan Nera
Angela dan Lino
Angela dan Lalong
Wulan, Moses, dan Nera
Angela dan Lino
Angela dan Lalong
Duh!
Seorang saudara jauh bertandang ke rumah Abangku. Dia datang dengan jaket jin lusuh. Mukanya pucat. Dia sakit.
Aku tahu Abangku dalam kondisi tanggal tua. Sementara aku sendiri rada gondok melihat saudaraku ini. Menurut aku, dia aneh. Hanya datang pada saat-saat kepepet. Mustinya dia tahu di rumah Abangku ada anak-anak yang rentan penyakit. Jengkel membuat aku juga tidak memberi apa-apa padanya. (Jahat, ya!)
Setelah dua hari menginap akhirnya dia pergi. Kata Abangku, dia datang dalam keadaan benar-benar tidak punya apa-apa. Abangku yang merawat dia dan mengongkosi dia ke rumah neneknya. Dia memang tidak berani ke rumah neneknya karena pernah diusir. Rumah neneknya berantakan diserang sekelompok pemuda gara-gara ulah dia.
Besoknya aku menceritakan kekesalanku pada seorang teman saat makan siang di kantin. Dia juga sepakat denganku. Menjengkelkan memang berhadapan dengan orang yang datang pada saat susah-susah saja. Giliran senang, da dah, good bye. Dengan cerita ini, kita berdua juga belajar agar berusaha ada di antara siapapun, terutama yang kita kenal, di saat dia sedih dan senang.
"Coba bayangkan deh, bagaimana perasaan Tuhan, kalau kita datang di saat-saat perlu saja," kata temanku tiba-tiba. Duh!
Seorang saudara jauh bertandang ke rumah Abangku. Dia datang dengan jaket jin lusuh. Mukanya pucat. Dia sakit.
Aku tahu Abangku dalam kondisi tanggal tua. Sementara aku sendiri rada gondok melihat saudaraku ini. Menurut aku, dia aneh. Hanya datang pada saat-saat kepepet. Mustinya dia tahu di rumah Abangku ada anak-anak yang rentan penyakit. Jengkel membuat aku juga tidak memberi apa-apa padanya. (Jahat, ya!)
Setelah dua hari menginap akhirnya dia pergi. Kata Abangku, dia datang dalam keadaan benar-benar tidak punya apa-apa. Abangku yang merawat dia dan mengongkosi dia ke rumah neneknya. Dia memang tidak berani ke rumah neneknya karena pernah diusir. Rumah neneknya berantakan diserang sekelompok pemuda gara-gara ulah dia.
Besoknya aku menceritakan kekesalanku pada seorang teman saat makan siang di kantin. Dia juga sepakat denganku. Menjengkelkan memang berhadapan dengan orang yang datang pada saat susah-susah saja. Giliran senang, da dah, good bye. Dengan cerita ini, kita berdua juga belajar agar berusaha ada di antara siapapun, terutama yang kita kenal, di saat dia sedih dan senang.
"Coba bayangkan deh, bagaimana perasaan Tuhan, kalau kita datang di saat-saat perlu saja," kata temanku tiba-tiba. Duh!
What If
by Billy Wiser
What if we grasped the moment that is now
(don't ask me when; don't ask me how)
and every person on the street
became the most important one to meet?
What if the Hindu fishermen
(the ones their Muslim neighbors sheltered in a mosque)
called on all Indians of whatever faith
to end sectarian strife?
What if the Tamil Tigers
(who lost so many children in the waves)
decided not to send any more
child soldiers to fight their Sri Lankan war?
What if in the USA
(tell me, why can't it happen today?)
the Christians put their weapons away
and disarmed their enemies with love?
What if the Laskar mujahedeen
(who killed Christians on the Malukus)
called on their brothers and sisters worldwide
to embrace nonviolence and peace?
Why can't it happen now
(while hands are helping and hearts are hurting)
that we remove all obstacles
to make this and much, much more possible?
Or will our hands and hearts and minds
(united now in a common humanity)
trade shovels, grief, and generosity
for guns and greed and animosity?
What if we grasped the moment that is now
(now we know when; now we know how)
and not put off what we can do today
for tomorrow, when all could be washed away?
by Billy Wiser
What if we grasped the moment that is now
(don't ask me when; don't ask me how)
and every person on the street
became the most important one to meet?
What if the Hindu fishermen
(the ones their Muslim neighbors sheltered in a mosque)
called on all Indians of whatever faith
to end sectarian strife?
What if the Tamil Tigers
(who lost so many children in the waves)
decided not to send any more
child soldiers to fight their Sri Lankan war?
What if in the USA
(tell me, why can't it happen today?)
the Christians put their weapons away
and disarmed their enemies with love?
What if the Laskar mujahedeen
(who killed Christians on the Malukus)
called on their brothers and sisters worldwide
to embrace nonviolence and peace?
Why can't it happen now
(while hands are helping and hearts are hurting)
that we remove all obstacles
to make this and much, much more possible?
Or will our hands and hearts and minds
(united now in a common humanity)
trade shovels, grief, and generosity
for guns and greed and animosity?
What if we grasped the moment that is now
(now we know when; now we know how)
and not put off what we can do today
for tomorrow, when all could be washed away?
The Secret
One day, one friend asked another, "How is it that you are always so happy? You have so much energy, and you never seem to get down." With her eyes smiling, she said, "I know the Secret!"
"What secret is that?" To which she replied, "I'll tell you all about it, but you have to promise to share the Secret with others."
"The Secret is this: I have learned there is little I can do in my life that will make me truly happy. I must depend on God to make me happy and to meet my needs. When a need arises in my life, I have to trus t God to supply according to HIS riches. I have learned most of the time I don't need half of what I think I do. He has never let me down. Since I learned that 'Secret', I am happy."
The questioner's first thought was, "That's too simple!"
But upon reflecting over her own life she recalled how she thought a bigger house would make her happy, but it didn't! She thought a better paying job would make her happy, but it hadn't. When did she realize her greatest happiness? Sitting on the floor with her grandchildren, playing games, eating pizza or reading a story, a simple gift from God.
Now you know it too! We can't depend on people to make us happy. Only GOD in His infinite wisdom can do that. Trust HIM! And now I pass the Secret on to you! So once you get it, what will you do? YOU have to tell someone the Secret, too! That GOD in His wisdom will take care of YOU! But it's not really a secret... We just have to believe it and do it... Really trust God!
One day, one friend asked another, "How is it that you are always so happy? You have so much energy, and you never seem to get down." With her eyes smiling, she said, "I know the Secret!"
"What secret is that?" To which she replied, "I'll tell you all about it, but you have to promise to share the Secret with others."
"The Secret is this: I have learned there is little I can do in my life that will make me truly happy. I must depend on God to make me happy and to meet my needs. When a need arises in my life, I have to trus t God to supply according to HIS riches. I have learned most of the time I don't need half of what I think I do. He has never let me down. Since I learned that 'Secret', I am happy."
The questioner's first thought was, "That's too simple!"
But upon reflecting over her own life she recalled how she thought a bigger house would make her happy, but it didn't! She thought a better paying job would make her happy, but it hadn't. When did she realize her greatest happiness? Sitting on the floor with her grandchildren, playing games, eating pizza or reading a story, a simple gift from God.
Now you know it too! We can't depend on people to make us happy. Only GOD in His infinite wisdom can do that. Trust HIM! And now I pass the Secret on to you! So once you get it, what will you do? YOU have to tell someone the Secret, too! That GOD in His wisdom will take care of YOU! But it's not really a secret... We just have to believe it and do it... Really trust God!
