The Name on the Parcel

I received the oversized parcel with wide-eyed curiosity. I couldn’t recount a recent online purchase, and certainly not an item of this size. Was this a gift? Examining the handwriting on the mailer, I immediately recognised my mother’s signature, penned with jet black ink.

As a child, I loved watching my mother sign her name, and spent many hours mimicking her unique and cursive style. I have witnessed this signature hundreds of times, but seeing it today, was different. As tears began to surface, I clutched the parcel tightly to my chest, and breathed a sigh of relief.

For months, I have watched my loved ones from afar, joining in on milestones behind windows and screens. I have reopened borders in the safety of my imagination—with sizzling woks and crashing mahjong tiles, TVBJ* news reports and Por Por’s** infectious laughter. When the camera is on, we force a brave smile, and tell one another not to panic or worry. In a time, such as this, such words feel flat and futile.

I laid the parcel tenderly on the kitchen bench and began tracing Mum’s name with my finger. Her signature was a tangible stamp of her wellbeing. For a quiet moment, I inhaled the peace of Mum’s presence, but with an exhale, I surrendered to its transience.

Borders are still closed.

No one is immune.

When will I see them again?

2020 has forced me to accept the boundaries of humanity. I struggle, but not without hope. While people come and go, and ink dissolves and fades, I am learning to rest in the Name above all names, and the Word which endures forever. Retracing God’s presence from Genesis to Revelation, I have spent many mornings, relearning the great promises of Immanuel. God is with us and for us—always.

In a fragile and ever-changing year, I am learning to rest in the power and permanence of Christ.

“All people are like grass,
and all their glory is like the flowers of the field;
the grass withers and the flowers fall,
but the word of the Lord endures forever.”

1 Peter 1:24–25