There are many times while I am training that I wish I could somehow capture, retain, bottle up the moment and/or the view that is laid before me.

The jokes and the laughs are wonderful, but their quality and familiarity fades as time goes on, and there is little allowance to hold on to them.

I have forgotten a great deal of things, and I pray that when I have a quiet moment, God will remind me of the things that matter.

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When I lean back and try to ignore the sandflies, I look out for the crescent moon.

During field camp, I looked to the moon-"the lesser light" according to Scripture-as my lamp; because in the expansive darkness, which can be severely unsettling even for myself, my lighter and the flickering blue line of my torch is useless.

For me the moon brings comfort, and is a firm reminder of God being close, real, and with me.

Under the moon, I prayed together with Ryan and Solomon, and I am grateful for God's arrangement in having them with me, in giving me Christian support.

I also learnt that prayer is suitable for all times and we must not stall in consulting God.

I prayed that my week would be one which God would be actively involved in, and He answered out of His loving mercy, providing me with numerous blessings that would seem ordinary if I were not paying attention.

I need to appreciate the things God has arranged in my favour, that I do not know of.

Our need for our mothers is so strong. On a long trip, she will be the one we miss first; and hers is the voice that will still us when we are unsettled, her food will be the most satisfying, and her care will be most complete.

When I viewed Spielberg's "Saving Private Ryan", it doesn't surprise me that the mortally wounded soldiers are baying for their mothers, because it is the comforting love from their mothers that they received right from they were nursed and up to even beyond adulthood that they desperately need.

I believe we'll never be weaned off this reliance on our mothers.

The handphone is a luxury item, that I found myself craving for even though I supposed I was fine without it. In increasing our comfort, we subscribe to peculiar habits.

I keep my sketchbook, which is my prayer journal, gym log and thoughts-book all in one close-by, and scribble on it whenever something comes to me.

I know my friend wears his shirt from home to sleep, and I think it's a way he can mimic the comfort from there.

I am very hasty this weekend and must slow down, but I cannot seem to.