The Sound of Music - When the Hills are Alive Again

The Sound of Music - 

When the Hills are Alive Again

Some memories do not fade; 

they simply wait for the right moment to sing again.

The first time I watched The Sound of Music, I was seven years old — the same age as little Gretl in the movie. It was a birthday gift from my mother, a promise that filled my heart with excitement long before the day arrived. I counted the weeks, wished time would move faster, and sang the songs endlessly at home.

The hills are alive… and so is memory.
The hills are alive… and so is gratitude.

https://youtu.be/U4lJUzrgSJA?si=WQu5KX0CvdqTyQsp

My mother would sing with me — weekend after weekend — filling our home with melodies that felt larger than life. The Sound of Music, Edelweiss, Maria… songs that somehow understood the laughter and restlessness of childhood.

 

“She is gentle, she is wild… she’s a headache, she’s an angel…”

When I heard those words, I secretly smiled. Wasn’t that exactly what every little girl was — a bundle of mischief and wonder, a puzzle wrapped in love?

“Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him.” — Psalm 127:3

Years passed, and yet the music quietly followed me. At university, two Hong Kong classmates, Vera and Joni, suddenly invited me into a singing competition with no preparation at all. We chose Edelweiss. Perhaps because the song had lived in my heart for so long, it felt natural to sing. We won third prize, but the true reward was the joy of sharing something beautiful together — one more memory tucked gently into life’s pocket.

Even more beautifully, life seemed to circle back in quiet ways. In my translation course, Professor Ting (丁贞婉教授) — the very translator of The Sound of Music into Chinese — stood before us as the professor of the course.  

I write her name here with gratitude, hoping more students who once learned under her guidance may also remember and smile.

I remember telling my mother proudly, “I have read Professor Ting’s translation three times.” My mother responded with surprise, “OH, You DID?” — a moment that still makes me smile.

Professor Ting played an important role in shaping how I understood translation — not simply as changing words from one language to another, but as carrying meaning, culture, and emotion from one heart to another. Her lecturing was steady, wise, and quietly inspiring; many years later, I still find myself grateful for what I learned from sitting in her classroom. Even now, as I think of her — alert, graceful, and still full of clarity in her nineties — my heart feels deep respect and affection for a lecturer who helped her students listen carefully to language and to life itself.

Moments like this remind me that God often weaves our paths together long before we recognize the pattern.

“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1

Now, after many decades, I watch the movie The Sound of Music again. The songs are familiar, yet they feel deeper — touching places that only time and experience can reach. I realize that music does not only belong to youth; it travels with us, growing richer as our hearts grow wider.

The hills are alive… and so is memory.
The hills are alive… and so is gratitude.

As Maria sings, I hear my own soul responding — a heart still willing to sing once more, even after many seasons of life. Music reminds me that joy is not lost with age; it simply matures into something quieter, gentler, and perhaps more sacred.

“I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever; with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known through all generations.” — Psalm 89:1

Today, as the film plays again, I feel the same childlike wonder rising inside me. Not because time has stood still, but because grace has carried me faithfully through the years. Childhood songs, a mother’s voice, youthful laughter, beloved teachers, and present gratitude — all become one song of praise.

And I realize this:
The sound of music was never only in the hills.
It was growing quietly within my heart all along.

 As I listen once more, I give thanks — for my mother’s singing voice, for friends who shared songs, for teachers who shaped my understanding, and for the quiet faithfulness of God through every season of life. The hills may echo with music, but the truest melody lives in a grateful heart that still remembers how to sing.

To Die Is Gain - What if it means more than Leaving this world?

 

To Die Is Gain — A Reflection

on Letting Go and Growing Up in Christ

“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

— Philippians 1:21

This verse from the Apostle Paul is often read in the context of physical death and the hope of being united with Christ in eternity. But there’s also a profound lesson here for our everyday lives. What if “to die” means more than leaving this world? What if it also means laying down the parts of ourselves that no longer serve God’s purpose—our harmful habits, our sharp tongues, our stubborn pride?

In the quiet of reflection, I think about the times I’ve had to “die” to old ways of thinking and behaving. One example comes to mind—Georgia, a friend whose quiet bitterness was eating away at her peace. She held on tightly to every little offense, replaying past wrongs and avoiding those who hurt her. It felt justified… until it didn’t.

One morning, in the gentle conviction of prayer, she realized that holding on was only hurting herself. With courage and grace, she decided to let go. She “died” to bitterness by choosing forgiveness, by releasing the offense into God’s hands. That choice, repeated daily, slowly transformed her.

What did she gain?
A freer heart. A lighter spirit. A deeper joy in her relationships.
A new reflection of Christ within her.

When we cast off the old and painful layers of our character, we don’t lose ourselves—we gain something far better.
We gain peace. We gain clarity.
We gain Christ in us, the hope of glory (Colossians 1:27).

So today, what needs to die in you? Pride? Envy? Resentment?
And what could you gain if you let it go?

Let us remember:

To live is Christ—and to die, even to our old selves, is gain.

The Morning I Almond Missed - And What it Taught Me

 The Morning I Almost Missed —

And What It Taught Me

It was just another ordinary morning. The sun rose quietly behind soft clouds, the air cool and still. I had my usual list — tasks to tick off, errands to run, and a mind already racing ahead. But that morning, as I hurried past my window, something made me pause.

There it was — a single bird perched on the branch. It wasn’t singing, just sitting there, chest rising and falling, eyes blinking softly into the morning light. For a long moment, we simply stayed like that — me standing still, the bird quietly present. 

I almost missed it.

And in that stillness, a quiet thought caught my heart: How many moments have I rushed past because I thought I had more important things to do?

That simple encounter reminded me of a gentle truth — life isn’t always about chasing the next thing. Sometimes, it’s about stopping long enough to catch the quiet beauty right in front of us. The world will always ask for our attention. But the soul whispers for us to pause.

That morning became my “beautiful catch” — a reminder to slow down, to look up, and to appreciate the grace hidden in ordinary moments. It reminded me of Psalm 46:10, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Sometimes, stillness is the very place where God speaks — not in thunder or noise, but in quiet presence.

Since then, I’ve tried, even in busy days, to leave space for those simple pauses — to watch the sunrise, listen to the wind, or just sit quietly with a cup of tea. And you know what? Those moments haven’t slowed me down. They’ve filled me up.

Maybe today, you’ll catch a quiet moment too. Don’t rush past it. It may hold more for your heart than you realize.

Love Finds Its Way

 Love Finds Its Way

She was eighty-five — a gentle, dignified lady who drove her old car faithfully to church every Sunday. Rain or shine, she made the 20-mile trip alone, her heart anchored in faith and fellowship. But when the time came that she could no longer drive, she quietly booked a taxi each week, determined not to miss a single service.

The taxi driver was a man about seventy-eight, a quiet soul with kind eyes. At first, it was just another ride. But as the Sundays passed, he began to notice the grace in her spirit, the joy in her simple words, and the quiet strength in her laughter. She, too, noticed his gentle heart — a man who treated her with care, never as a mere passenger, but as someone who mattered.

Could I join you for a cup of tea?

One Sunday, after service, he asked if he could join her for tea. She smiled and said yes. One tea turned into many. Conversations grew deeper. Somewhere along those miles and moments, love quietly found its way between them.

Against all odds — against age, against expectations — they married. And theirs was not a story of youthful passion, but of steady companionship, mutual respect, and tender care. They built a life of simple joys: shared breakfasts, evening walks, holding hands in quiet prayers. They became living proof that love isn’t bound by age, and that God’s timing writes the most beautiful stories.

A lifetime of love: Senior couples renew vows in Virginia Beach

Their story reminds me of Proverbs 19:21 — “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”

Indeed, love sometimes arrives when we least expect it… in a taxi ride, on an ordinary Sunday, in the quiet heart of two souls ready for a new chapter.

Life Is Like a Marathon

Life is a Marathon

Life is like a marathon—a long and unique journey that everyone must undertake. For some, it begins with extraordinary beauty, adorned with ribbons and rainbows. For others, the start may be far from beautiful, filled with challenges or ordinary moments.

 We are placed on life's track and often begin on a smooth, even path, prepared by loving hands. Our parents give us their best, dressing us in the finest “shoes and clothes” for this journey. In our younger years, life tends to be free of sharp turns or rough patches.

 During our tender days, our parents are there to catch us before we fall. Some are fortunate enough never to experience hurt—physically or emotionally. Their path is smooth and secure. Yet, for others, childhood may bring unexpected turns and challenges that must be navigated before maturity.

 As we grow older, we must walk our path alone, encountering twists and turns along the way. These paths, whether spiritual or physical, shape us profoundly. In these moments, we realize the importance of having someone to journey with us, especially through life’s hardest turns.

 Now, more than ever, we need Him to meet us at every bend in the road.

 Praise the Lord, for He catches me at every turn in my life!