捨與得

林榮峰 | Emily Lee

孩子們還小的時候，全家曾到曼哈頓遊玩。走到紐約大學附近的大廣場時，遠遠看見一幅巨大的蘋果畫擺在攤位上，全家都被吸引住了，駐足許久。實在太喜歡，我鼓起勇氣問對方是否願意割愛，那位太太婉拒說：「這是我先生的最愛，是非賣品。」雖未能擁有，那幅蘋果卻從此留在我心中，從未離開。

萬萬沒想到，2003年某一天，我竟有機會向陳火木老師學習油畫。第一堂課，他問我想畫什麼？我毫不猶豫地說：「我想畫一個蘋果。」老師當場為我畫了一顆小小的蘋果，成了我油畫啟蒙的第一課。

2013年，我在波士頓完成白內障手術，視力調整至20/20。手術成功，我心中無比感恩：上帝賞賜我一雙對色彩特別敏銳的眼睛，我相信，這是祂對我未來人生的一種託付。

回到紐約後，接到昔日在金鷹學院一起學畫的學生來電，邀我去曼哈頓十二街的老人中心畫室參加活動。平日畫室人少清靜，正好是我揮灑創作的好地方。於是，我又畫了一幅蘋果，完成後掛在牆上晾乾。

沒想到，市府幾位官員來中心視察，站在我畫的蘋果前駐足良久。辦公室不久後通知我，他們希望使用這幅作品作為當年市政府的官方文宣卡片封面。我欣然答應。於是，那年紐約市政府的賀卡上，印著我的蘋果畫。

後來，辦公室再次來訊，希望將這幅畫永久陳列於市府。我心中掙扎許久，最終婉拒了。因為對我來說，每一幅畫都是我的孩子，不願讓它們落入陌生人手中。直到今天，這幅畫仍掛在我家牆上。

有一年，教會正在聘牧，一對來自巴西的牧師夫婦帶著三個與我兒年紀相仿的兒子，暫時住在我們家附近。他們送伯寧一匹用皮革做的小白馬當禮物。我對兒子說：「這是從遠方帶來的心意，很珍貴。你要不要也挑一樣你最喜歡的東西送給他們？」

他想了好一會兒，選了一個電動玩具——那是我上次從美國帶回台灣，獎賞他與妹妹在阿公阿嬤家乖乖生活的禮物。他每天都愛不釋手。我問：「你真的願意送給他們嗎？」他點頭說：「妳不是說要送自己最愛的東西嗎？這就是。媽，妳會再買一個給我，對嗎？」我笑著說：「當然啦！」他完全相信媽媽，也相信對方會喜歡這份來自他心中的寶貝，因為巴西可能買不到。

六十歲以後，我搬進法拉盛的一間小公寓，要學著從大房子過渡到小空間的生活，也開始練習「斷、離、捨」。有一天，先生問我：「妳的第一課，打算捨棄什麼？」我毫不猶豫地指著那台多功能縫紉機。那是我嫁妝中的第一樣「財產」——結婚時我沒買婚紗，而是到 Sears 百貨簽了月付14元的分期付款，用它來縫製我自己的結婚禮服。

想到兒子那麼小就能如此慷慨地割愛，我這年紀還有什麼不能放下？於是，先生幫我把縫紉機拿到樓下的回收處，不到兩分鐘就被人拿走了。我雖然心痛，但堅定要與兒子看齊。

2007年女兒生下外孫女後，我偶爾會想起那台縫紉機。不過，還好，我總是細心地用手縫為她做禮物。

2023年，我八十歲時，被選為基督徒長輩會的會長，得設計一些新的活動。於是成立了織毛衣小組，大家完成了紅、白兩件制服，成為會服。我們還組了一個線上群組，分享針織技巧與成品，一起成長進步。

最近，常在臉書看到各種縫紉教學短片，心中竟浮現一個念頭：「如果還有一台縫紉機，該有多好？」

神果然垂聽。
2025年7月25至27日，我參加了四間教會聯合在紐約上州 Eddy Farm 舉辦的三天兩夜退修會。回程途中，我在我們的 Knitting Club 群組裡看到奈美姐發訊息問：「有人要縫紉機嗎？」我簡直不敢相信自己的眼睛，立刻回應：「如果沒人要，可以給我嗎？」她馬上答應——她正好要搬家！

禮拜天回到家，一車的好朋友一起去吃晚餐、再吃剉冰，為這趟旅程畫下圓滿句點。其實我心中早已滿滿的，感謝上帝——祂真實地垂聽我心裡的聲音，甚至是在我尚未開口祈求之前。

幾天來，我仍沉浸在這份恩典與驚喜之中，深信：祂是那位有求必應的神。

中文 | English

Letting Go and Receiving

When our children were young, we once took a family trip to Manhattan. As we strolled near New York University, we spotted a striking painting of a giant apple displayed at a street fair. All of us were immediately drawn to it and stood there admiring it for a long time. We loved it so much that I gathered my courage and asked if the artist would be willing to sell it. The woman gently declined, explaining that it was her husband’s favorite piece—not for sale. Though I couldn’t take the painting home, that apple has stayed in my heart ever since.

Years later, in 2003, I had the unexpected opportunity to learn oil painting from famous portrait artist, Huo-Mu Chen. On the first day of class, he asked what I wanted to paint. Without hesitation, I said, “I want to paint an apple.” He smiled and painted a small apple for me on the spot. That little apple became my very first lesson in oil painting.

In 2013, I underwent cataract surgery in Boston. By God’s grace, the surgery was a success, and my vision was restored to 20/20. I was filled with gratitude. I felt that God had given me a special gift—a pair of eyes especially sensitive to color—and that this must be part of His plan for the next chapter of my life.

After returning to New York, I received a call from a fellow art student I’d met at Golden Eagle Institute. She invited me to join an art program at a senior center on 12th Street in Manhattan. The studio was usually quiet and empty—an ideal place for me to create. I picked up my brush again and painted an apple. I left it hanging on the wall to dry, intending to bring it home later.

Unexpectedly, a group of city officials came to visit the center. They stopped in front of my apple painting and stood there quietly for a long time. Soon after, the office contacted me, requesting to use the apple image for that year’s official New York City holiday card. I gladly agreed. That year, my apple appeared on the cover of the city’s greeting cards.

Not long afterward, they contacted me again—this time, asking if they could keep the painting for permanent display at City Hall. I struggled with the decision but ultimately declined. To me, each painting is like one of my children—I couldn’t bear to part with it to strangers. I sincerely said no. To this day, the apple still hangs on my wall at home.

I remember one year when our church was searching for a new pastor. A couple from Brazil came to New York with their three sons, who were around the same age as our own. As a welcome gift, they gave my son Bernie a small white horse made of leather. I said to him, “This is a very special gift from afar. Would you like to give them something in return—something that you really treasure?”

He thought long and hard before selecting an electronic game, a gift I had brought from the U.S. to reward him and his sister for being so well-behaved while staying with their grandparents in Taiwan. He played with it every day. I asked him gently, “Are you really willing to give this away?” He nodded and said, “Didn’t you say to give them what I love the most? This is it. You’ll get me another one, right?” I smiled and said, “Of course!” He trusted me completely—and trusted that his treasured game-toy would bring joy to the boys from Brazil, where such a gift might not be easy to find.

After turning sixty, I moved into a small apartment in Flushing and began learning how to transition from a spacious house to a compact space. That was when I started practicing “letting go.” One day, my husband asked, “So, what will be your first act of letting go?” Without hesitation, I pointed to my wedding dowry—a multi-function sewing machine. It was my very first “possession.” (I hadn’t bought a wedding dress when I got married. Instead, I went to Sears, signed up for a $14 monthly payment plan, and used that sewing machine to make my own gown.)

I remembered how my son had been so generous at such a young age—surely I could do the same. My husband took the machine downstairs to the recycling area. Within minutes, it was gone. My heart ached, but I was determined to follow my son’s example.

In 2007, after my daughter gave birth to our granddaughter, I sometimes missed that sewing machine. But instead, I made gifts for her—carefully sewn by hand.

In 2023, at the age of 80, I was elected president of the Christian Seniors Association and needed to create new programs. So, I started a knitting group. Together, we made two sweaters in red and white as our group uniform. Later, I also formed an online group to share knitting skills and progress together.

Recently, I’ve often seen sewing tutorials on Facebook. A thought quietly surfaced: Wouldn’t it be nice to have a sewing machine again?

And God listened.
From July 25 to 27, 2025, I joined a joint church retreat held at Eddy Farm in upstate New York. On the way back, I saw a message in our Knitting Club line group chat. Cynthia wrote: “Does anyone want a sewing machine?” I could hardly believe my eyes. I quickly replied, “If no one else wants it, may I have it?” She answered right away, “Of course”—she was about to move.

That Sunday, after we returned home, five of us went out for dinner and shaved ice, a sweet way to end a beautiful trip. But my heart was already overflowing—with thanks to God. He truly listens to the whispers of our hearts, even before we speak them aloud.

For days now, I’ve been soaking in the grace and surprise of that moment, deeply convinced: Our God is a God who answers.