Mang Lope

Mang Lope (God bless his soul) was an old carpenter who used to come around the house every so often to do odd jobs for my parents. He made a living this way, and raised all his sons AND their respective families on the earnings he made from the work he did. More of a craftsman than a carpenter, Mang Lope was (and probably still is) the only carpenter who could take a discarded piece of plywood and turn it into a wooden masterpiece. My mother said that Mang Lope was already doing work for my grandmother way back when my mother was still a hot, single Babe of her time.

Nothing was wasted with Mang Lope: for him, everything had a use, and there was a use for everything. I remember watching him work and staring at his home made toolbox that was filled with every sort of carpentry junk I could think of: bent and rusted nails, rolls of yarn or nylon string, screws of all shapes and sizes, pieces of aluminum and other metals, bottlecaps, an old nail file -- everything, but the tools. These he kept in a smaller box - also homemade.

Everytime his old bespectacled eyes saw something on the ground, he would pick it up and study it with the intensity of an old jeweler studying a rough diamond before striking the first blow. He got mad when we threw away anything "useful" -- which, in his case, was almost everything we had to throw.

He was my inspiration for doing well in my Work Education classes -- and many times I would show him what I had done as projects in school (my folding table and chair, my magazine rack, my toothbrush holder -- I wonder where they all are now?). Of course, he ALWAYS saw some areas for improvement.

Many of his materpieces can still be seen in my mothers' home: the rack that holds the little, liquor-filled Dutch houses my parents collected on their various trips to Europe in their earlier years; the remnants of our "palochina" covered kitchen (which, mind you, lasted all of twenty plus years before they started to succumb to pest and decay), the little "boxes" made out of scrap wood but which he turned into nice little stands for my mothers' numerous vases. Most of these "masterpieces" he created out of pieces of old mahogany or narra furniture which had no use anymore.

And if that wasn't enough, he could turn a crumpled piece of metal into a useful tool. I remember a kettle we had - old as myself I believe (which isn't TOO old, really). It had a badly crumpled side and it's bottom was already covered in black soot that no amount of washing could remove.

Enter Mang Lope.

He took the poor crumpled kettle and brought it to the backyard where his tools were. An hour later he came back - carrying the same kettle, only this time it looked almost new!

Mang Lope, to my mind, was not just a carpenter... not just a craftsman -- but a carpenter who seemingly learned from the Master Carpenter Himself.

Jesus sees all of us the same way Mang Lope saw scrap wood and metal: Nothing is useless.

Everyday, Jesus takes us into his hands, turning us this way and that, looking us over with great intent and purpose. He looks through our roughness and our jagged edges - he considers where we have been broken and torn in two or more.

He figures out just were to place the blade of his saw in order to cut us. He spots the point where he drives home the nail in order to bind us.

He saws, cuts, hammers, sands, measures, traces, screws, glues, bores and fills us.

It could hurt sometimes. But in his hands, he isn't holding a piece of plywood or a crumpled piece of rusting metal.

He is holding his next masterpiece. Except it isn't finished yet.

Nothing in us or about us is useless in the hands of the Master.

Our sins? He uses them to roughen us up a little.

Our pains? He uses that to prune us a bit.

Our trials? He uses those to sand us down to size

His death? He used that to drive home the point.

The point is: No matter who you are, or what you've been through -- you could be torn and beaten and roughened and crumpled and rusted and bent -- it doesn't matter. You are still useful in the eyes of the Master Carpenter.

Mang Lope took a crumpled, soot encrusted poor excuse of a pot - and turned it into a kettle that could almost pass as brand new.

Imagine what more Jesus could do with you.

Love Knows No Boundaries

Here is yet another story I have shared countless times before, but which I believe we can still learn from.

In the summer before my third year of high school (year deleted to protect my age), I became friends with a "phone pal" I had. Her name was simply, "KC".

KC and I grew fond of each other. We met each other, and just hit it off. We didn't see each other often, as she lived in Cavite while I lived in Las Pinas. Even phone calls were limited as she either called me long distance or on a public telephone. Calls were so rare that to talk over the phone twice or thrice a week was a treat. Needless to say, meeting up was a rare event too.

Well, as most young people then, our fondness grew more until we came to a point when we had a "mutual understanding" of our feelings for each other. And we were open with our feelings.

One night, a Friday, we were about to end out conversation when KC said: "TJ, never forget that no matter where you are, or who you're with - for as long as you're with God, I will always be with you" (she was a Born Again). I was so touched that I could only mutter a pathetic "Same here" - or something like that. We agreed to meet Monday afternoon, and we put down the phone.

Monday came, and she didn't show up at our meeting place. I didn't receive a phone call the rest of the week and over the weekend. And then the next week started.

Then Wednesday came. The phone rang and it was KC's elder sister. "TJ", she began, "Mama told me it would be best to tell you now". I was sure that KC, who was still not allowed to have a relationship, was found out and scolded by her mom.

"KC is dead". She was rushed to the hospital on Monday, the day we were supposed to meet. And she died on the Wednesday after that.

I was dumbfounded - to say the least.

When I met KC, I knew she had brain cancer. And I was told that she had a year to live. Her parents didn't want her hurt, hence the strictness against relationships. But her sister told me that the few months that KC and I had known each other were the happiest months KC ever had.

I was crushed. How could God take away someone I loved - just like that? My pain showed in my grades when I began third year, when my grades just went down the drain. No one knew of my failing grades except my teachers and my parents. No one.

My teacher talked to me about my grades, and I told her what was bothering me. She said something that changed my outlook in life -- and about death.

"If you say you love her, do you think she is happy seeing that her death has caused you so much misery that it is ruining your life?" (to a student, your grades ARE your life). "If you love her, show her that you can carry on with the happy memories you had together -- that would make her happy".

And so I did. I re-focused. And by the second quarter, I had revived my grades.

The Saturday right after the end of the second quarter, I found myself home alone. It was 1:00 in the afternoon, and I was busy with house chores. The phone rang. I went to pick it up.

"TJ", came a familiar voice on the other end of the phone. "How are you?"

I was angry. This was not a good joke. It couldn't be real. I went to visit her grave. I saw her grave. But it was her voice.

"TJ... this is KC".

Before I could rant and rave, she started mentioning things that only KC and I could know. And then she recited a poem which she wrote just for me. And then I knew: it WAS KC.

"Where are you?" I whispered.

"I don't know... but I am happy here.

"I called to tell you that I am happy that you have regained your grades - that you have overcome this trial.

"I called to tell you that God is happy too, and that you should never forget that He loves you.

"I can never call again. Take care. Bye..." The line went dead.

And she was gone. She has never called back since.

I already knew that the Lord loved me. I already knew that He would never bring me to a point in my life from which I could not get up again. I knew He watched over me, and that if He brought me to it - He would bring me through it.

But for some time, in my grief and hurt - I forgot all this. And I almost wasted my life (and grades) away. It took someone from the dead to remind me of the life I had in Christ.

The love of God knows no boundaries -- and it is the only thing that will get you -- and I -- over any hurdle life puts in our way.

Never forget that God loves you and sees you and takes care of you.

Or you might just get a call from beyond.

Looks Can Be Deceiving

Q: "Where does the best, natural non-fat cow's milk come from?"

A: "The Philippines. Ever notice how thin cows in the Philippines are? How naturally non-fat can you get?"

Even my daughter, who usually approves everything I say, thinks this joke is corny - to say the least. My wife denies knowing me when I tell this joke.

I don't know why I tell it in the first place.

We live in a world of "first impressions". We act and/or react based on what we initially see.

But I have lived and experienced enough to know that a first impression is - and must remain to be - just that. A first impression. To think a person is one or the other without sitting down with him or her - without "experiencing" him or her - is not wise.

I have met "common, simple people" -- drivers, beggars, garbage collectors, security guards and others -- who were not only kind, but were very Christian in their outlook in life. Almost ten years ago, I rode on the back of a tricycle on my way to the pick-up point of our company shuttle. I had to move in closer to the driver, because I could swear that I heard praises coming from him. And sure enough, he was praising. "Thank you Lord sa magandang araw ngayon..." "Thank you Lord at may pasahero akong nakuha..." He was praising God for almost everything that we would ordinarily have taken for granted. At one point he even praised the Lord that the brakes on his tricycle worked well.

I have met people who initially came across as being rude, uncouth and even downright uneducated - but I am now good friends with them - and they have proven to be the most faithful - and in some ways the wisest - of friends.

But it works the other way too.

Have you ever heard someone say something like: "It doesn't matter what people think -- this is what I am... this is who I am" or "You shouldn't think too much about what other people think of you", or some other similar phrase.

Do you agree? I used to agree with this. I mean, why should I care what people think, for as long as I am doing right... uh, right?

Wrong.

Christians MUST always be aware of what people think of them - simply because Christians are called Christians because (presumably) they follow the teachings of Christ. So it matters what people think of us - and we SHOULD care - because we live, as I said earlier, in a "world of first impressions".

So, regardless of whether the best non-fat cows milk comes from the thin, fat-less cows of the Philippines or not, we must remember two things. First, that we should be gentle enough on others such that the impression they give of themselves will never be the measure by which we relate to them, and, second, that we should be hard enough on ourselves to always be on our toes to present the best of our individual Christianity and therefore ensure that people "hear, see and feel the life and Spirit of Jesus in us".

Mooooo...

My Mission Partner Lea

“He summoned the twelve and began to send them out two by two…” (Mark 6:7)

On November 25, 1993, I and 16 other young men and women from Pilar Village in Las Pinas were dedicated to the mission and work of Singles for Christ (SFC). A few weeks after that, my elders started assigning me to deliver talks at various CLPs, and soon enough, I was delivering talks not only around Metro Manila, but in various provinces as well – mostly in the Central Luzon area.

I almost always went on “mission” with a small band from the first group of 17, though there were times I went alone. There was a small group of us who were always on the go: Bochok Gonda, John Rustria and Paolo Banzon from among the brothers, and Jerty Sapnu (now Jerty Sapnu-Banzon), Monette Antonio, Bettina Herrera and of course, Lea Garcia from the sisters.

Whatever the case may be, I had a perennial “mission partner” who would go with me to keep me company and to encourage me when I felt down and out.

Her name WAS Eulalia Garcia. She is NOW Eulalia Garcia-Suratos. Lea, for short.

Lea was always there when I was sent out. In many cases, she was my “financier”, as she had the money, since I was just a student. She never hesitated to “fund” my trips whenever she could and she always provided me insights into my strengths and weaknesses.

But more than anything, she was always ready to pray for me.

There is a reason why the Lord sent His Apostles out in pairs. Jesus says that “if two of you agree on earth about anything for which they are to pray, it shall be granted to them by my heavenly Father. For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them”. (Mt. 18:19-20)

On more than one occasion, we arrived at the venue of the talk either early or just a few minutes before the session began. On many of these occasions, Lea would be the one who reminded the Team Leader to pray over me, especially in areas where SFC was just beginning. In the rare situation that we would be a little late, Lea would be the sole person to pray over me. I even remember a time that Lea prayed over me while still on the bus as the traffic made it obvious that we would be late. As soon as we arrived at the venue, I immediately stepped up to the podium, confident that the Lord had heard the prayer of two of his missionaries.

There were times though, that Lea could not join me on mission. Times that no one could, for that matter. Some trips to Tarlac, Baguio, Mindoro – even as far as Daet, Palawan, Cebu and Davao. Though apart physically, Lea always assured me that she was praying for my mission. And this assurance: knowing that I had the prayers of my “mission partner”, always kept me going.

The point is, I never prayed alone.

Jesus made a promise, and I have felt the power of that promise. Those who knew me in high school know that I wasn’t the type who’d speak up in front of others. No, on the contrary, I was quiet. But having the Lord’s mission in my heart, and the prayers of a “mission partner” always gave me the grace, confidence and faith to deliver the Word of the Lord to those to whom I was sent.

Now, many years have gone since those days – and just as many new missionaries have been raised in the service of the Lord.

But the basics have remained the same.

To all missionaries the world over – pray for each other. Pray for all missionaries. If the prayer of two people was enough to spread the Word of the Lord and the mission of SFC in its earlier years, think of how much more the prayers of hundreds – thousands – of missionaries can do!

Who knows? We might still change the world?

Consider the Birds...

I used to work for the largest semiconductor manufacturing and test subcontractor in the world, and for most of my employment with them, I was based in its plants located in the techno park in Sta. Rosa, Laguna.

I usually rode with my boss and mentor to work, and we took the route that brought us to Gate 3 of the techno park. It was a route that cut through what was once a really slow, rural area, with only a two-lane road cutting through endless rice fields on both sides. During the planting season, you would see refreshing green stems swaying in the wind. As the rice matured, they would turn from their refreshing green to a golden-brown hue, signaling to the farmers that harvest was fast approaching. After the harvest, there would be tons of cut rice stalks piled into stacks much like those we used to see in our grade school textbooks.

And then there were the little houses – and the people who lived in them.

There is this one house in particular, made mostly of wood, AND the old man that lived in it – that I remember very clearly. I saw him everyday, both on my way to work and then in the afternoon on my way home.

He would be sitting on a wooden bench, just beside the open window in the front of his house, with one foot on the bench and the other foot on the ground. He was usually alone, but sometimes he’d be with a neighbor who’d either be standing beside him or sitting beside him on the same bench.

Alone or not, he was there every morning and every afternoon – he and his ever present cup of coffee (I can only assume it was coffee).

What made him stand out? The toothless smile that he always seemed to be ready to give to passers by who noticed him.

Amazing. Who would have thought that this laid-back, relaxed, peaceful, rural and contented lifestyle was just on the other side of the fence from a high-tech, fast-paced, demanding, bone-breaking and heart-wrenching corporate jungle? Every morning, I’d be rushing to work. And that old man with the toothless smile would be there, seemingly not a care in the world, content at his easy going life.

And, at the end of every day, he was there still.

He obviously worked hard – his hands and the color of his skin showed years of work in the hot sun planting and harvesting rice. But he also knew how to live.

It was as if God had placed him there deliberately to remind my mentor and I of why we worked – and of how we worked.

In a world where most of us have began to work to live – or, as workaholics like me would say, “live to work” – this old man with the toothless smile both worked AND lived. And he was content with the kind of life his work had afforded him.

“Consider the birds” says the Lord “they neither plant nor reap, yet my Father provides for their needs”.

Time for a cup of coffee, don’t you think?

"That's How Kids Are!"

It was almost 10:30. The school bus usually picked Julia up at 10:30 on Fridays, but on this particular Friday, Julia was just a wee bit slower than usual in the bath.

I called out to her to remind her that the bus would be coming soon. “Make it fast Julia…” “I can’t!” came back the reply.

I walked into the bathroom and found Julia wet from head to toe, holding the open bottle of body wash and sporting a mischievous smile on her face.

“Your school bus will be here in minutes – do you want to go to school naked?” “No” she replied, still smiling.

“Then make it fast”, I said.

“But I can’t”, she replied again.

“Have you soaped yourself yet?” I asked.

“No”. And then she smiled, yet again.

Frustrated (I was working from home, so I WAS working, you know) I stepped in and took the bottle from her hand and started to lather her up.

“What do you mean you can’t? Why are you so slow?”

“But, Dada, that’s how kids are! We’re supposed to be slow!”

Ever notice how things change as we get older? Have you noticed how fast life becomes as we climb that corporate ladder? As we struggle in this so-called “dog-eat-dog” world, trying so hard to survive, let alone live. Somewhere between that day we graduated from college and had our first thoughts of a peaceful, enjoyable retirement, we got lost in the conundrum of the so called “real-life” – and things – everything – seemed to get so much faster.

And life, for all it’s worth just passes us by – barely allowing us the opportunity to savor it to it’s fullest.

Julia isn’t really a slow kid – she just enjoys doing things with my wife and I. And why not? We have fun when we’re together – and she feels that she is loved. Many times Jeng and I have commented to each other that “Julia knows she is loved”, and her actions and demeanor show it.

She doesn’t like the word hate. She doesn’t like dark or gloomy colors. She doesn’t like it when we raise our voices – in fact she doesn’t like loud noise at all, save for the loud noise created by laughter.

So she wasn’t being slow. Her smile said it all: “Come and give me a bath, Dada”

Life has enough challenges for us. It doesn’t need our help to make it as harassing as it already is. What WE need to do is slow down, and spend some time with those we love. After all, isn’t it for their sake that we go on with this rat-race? What’s the use of winning the race, if we will only realize that we left our loved ones behind?

Julia got on the school bus on time. She did forget to brush her teeth, but all she said was “Oh well, I’m pretty anyway”.

Now THAT’S taking it slow and easy.

Amaris

Amaris.

I've shared this story so many times already that I've lost count of how many times I've shared it. What I do know is that it's proven to be an inspiration for many - and a reminder for me.

Maria Julia Amaris was born on May 30, 2002. We had prayed for a name, and Maria Julia Ysabel was what we got. Thinking it was too long, we eventually decided on simply "Maria Julia".

She weighed in at 2.2kgs., and was really small and fragile. My wife and I went down to the nursery together so that Julia could have her first taste of mothers' milk. After a few minutes of trying, my wife had to stop to rest. So Julia went back to her crib in the nursery while my wife and I went up to the room. It was barely 3:00PM.

Just a little before 4:00PM, our doctor came in and gave us the news. The milk Julia drank all went into her lungs. We then listened in quiet disbelief as she explained five possibilities - each worse than the other - of why this happened. She ended by saying that the worse case could have been a malformation in her throat and windpipe that would require pedia-surgery.

We could do nothing but cry. And we cried some more when we saw our daughter with tubes and needles stuck in her nose, mouth, hands and feet.

We said a short prayer, I tucked my wife in bed, and went over to SM Southmall to pay a couple of bills. Walking past an internet shop, a thought came to mind. I went in and searched for babies names, where I came across the name "Amaris' - Hebrew for "Promised by God". I called the hospital and had the name added to my daughter's name, making it "Maria Julia Amaris". "I had to remind God of His promise to give us a healthy child" I told my wife later. "He'll have to keep His promise now". My wife agreed.

Before noon the next day, our doctor came in with the news: Tests have cleared our daughter of any other problems. The only possibility remaining was the malformation - which would need pedia-surgery. She left. We prayed a short prayer of thanks.

Before 4:00pm (barely 24 hours since we got the initial fearful news), our doctor walked in again and gave us the final verdict. "Your daughter is perfectly normal - and perfectly healthy!" The incident that caused the fear was just a result of, uh, "wrong feeding". Suffice it to say that we were happy.

Later, I researched the original "third" name of Julia: Ysabel.

It was Spanish for "Promised by God".

We asked for a name. God gave it to us. We took away the promise in our daughter's name. God found a way to get us to put it back in.

Let's live on God's promises. My daughter surely did.

Power of the Word

Sometime in 1998, I was part of the HR Team that was doing "road-trips" - recruitment blitzes - to the different provincial municipal halls south of Manila. This particular trip brought me to Malvar in the province of Batangas. As soon as we reached the venue (a local public school) and met with the local PESO (Public Employment Service Office) Officer, the team and I found our own corners and started interviewing the hundreds (okay, "several dozens" would be more like it) of applicant who came for the opportunity to be employed as machine operators in one of the world's largest semiconductor manufacturing and test companies.

Sometime towards the afternoon I was face to face with a young, single mother. She was quite soft-spoken and pleasantly mannered. In the course of the interview I found out that she had been standing in line all day, not leaving her place even during the lunch hour (it was already 2:00) just so that she wouldn't have to line up again and miss her chance. She wanted to get interviewed so badly, but she also wanted to get home immediately, as she had left her then 1-year old child - who had a fever that morning - with a neighbor (she lived alone). Hungry, tired and obviously worried, she answered all my questions quite satisfactorily. For all intents and purpose, she had passed and would be hired, but I still probed with questions, which she answered very well.

And then she balked at one question: "Why should I hire you?"

She fell silent. I was anticipating the usual "I'll-work-for-the-company-with-all-my-heart-with-all-my-mind-and-with-all-my-strength" answer. But I got something different (at least for that particular day).

In Tagalog, she replied: "You should hire me because I am working for a purpose - for my child. I have much to give her, but I need the opportunity to give her what she deserves. Because of this purpose, I will make sure that the company will not regret hiring me". And she fell silent again, obviously worried about her daughter (she didn't have money to buy paracetamol for her fever).

I knew that hiring her would make her happy - but what she needed right now was faith.

I told her then: "You are a good mother. Go home. Your daughter will be healed". Then I directed her to the table for her to submit her requirements.

Two weeks later, back at the plant, she approached me just as I entered the room to give orientation to the new hires. I did not recognize her, as she looked a lot brighter that day. She refreshed my memory by telling me of the interview.

"Sir," she said, "God must love you so much..." I asked why she said that.

"Because when I got home that day, my daughter was playing and laughing... and she had no fever at all.

"Only the word of someone God loves so much can be that powerful".

I am now godfather to that child.

And still a humble servant of God.

Where are you going?

Lamao.

That's what the sign on the jeepney read. That's also what was painted on it's side.

In 1994, I was on a one-day mission to Lamao, a sea-side community located in Limay in the province of Bataan. I was to conduct a Singles Weekend Retreat (1) for the SFC Community there. Accompanying me were very good friends of mine: Lea Garcia (now Lea Garcia-Suratos), Edward "Bochoc" Gonda, Paolo Banzon and Jerty Sapnu (now Paolo's wife). It had already been a long travel by bus from Manila, and the jeepney ride to Lamao was almost just as long. We had already been travelling at almost top-speed (and everyone knows how fast "top speed" could actually be for a jeepney driver traversing a provincial high way with almost nary a vehicle in sight) for over half an hour, and all the other passengers have gotten off kilometers ago.

We were all giggling - half-worried actually - about whether or not we were on the right jeep, going in the right direction or still in the right province. We didn't want to ask the driver any of these questions (why? I don't actually remember now). So we just enjoyed the fast, sometimes hair-raising (and bumpy) ride kidding each other about ending up in some remote part of the Philippines. At one time we even kidded that maybe the driver was heading home already and had forgotten that there were still five passengers on board his jeep. When we saw the shoreline, we really started to worry if we were still on the right road.

Then I glanced at the signboard on the jeepney - and stuck my head out to have a look at the jeepney's side to confirm.

The signboard - and the jeepney's side - said the same thing: Lamao.

I asked my mission partners: "If a jeepney's sign reads 'Baclaran', where does it stop?" "Baclaran" they replied in unison.

"Well, the signboard on this jeepney says 'Lamao' - so I'm sure the last stop will be Lamao"

A few more minutes later, the jeepney took a turn and headed for what appeared to be the shoreline, and stopped right in front of a chapel - the exact chapel where the weekend retreat was just about to start.

We had arrived in Lamao. And the driver brought us there as his signboard said he would.

God has given us His signboard. In John 14:6, Jesus says that He is "...the way, the truth and the life..." and that "no one comes to the Father except through Me". All we have to do is get on His teaching, trust His driving, and leave it all up to him. He'll get us there.

I conducted the retreat.

And my partners?

They enjoyed the ride.

The Cemetery

For two days in a row, I came to work nursing a terrible migraine.

I knew from experience that staring at distant scenery - especially those with hues of subdued green - would help ease the throbbing in my temples. So like yesterday, I opened the shades of my corner office (yes, I was blessed to have a little corner nook) and looked north to the hills of what I believe would be Antipolo and Rizal. Moving my sights leftwards, I could see familiar buildings in the distant in what could only be Quezon City.

And then I looked down, to a place located just a ten minute walk from my building. The tree coverage gave it enough greenery for my eyes, but what caught my attention was the grounds itself. Splattered with white rectangles and some various other colors here and there, I was looking at the grounds of the Makati Cemetery, a.k.a. the South Cemetery.

Back in College, I frequented cemeteries to study and reflect - they were quiet places. I never did see cemeteries as places of the dead - which they literally were. I saw them as places of peace. I've always wondered what happened to these people after they've been placed into the ground: How did they die? Did they die smiling? Or did they die in pain? Was it quick? Was it slow? What did people think of them? Did people think of them at all? Where are their souls now? Were their souls happy? Sad? Bothered? At peace?

Did they live their lives to the fullest?

As I watch the cemetery from 37 floors up, I see the glaring contrast between the peace within the walls and the traffic right on the other side, and then I wonder again: Does that driver even think that someday, he too could be lying inside those very same walls that he must have become accustomed to driving by every day? Does he think of his death?

Do you?

Jesus came into this world knowing that he was born for one reason: to die for us all. How many of us embrace the thought of death, hoping that we, like Jesus, could die for a purpose? We will all die anyway. It is the only sure thing in life. But do we actually live knowing that we will die? Jesus did - and thus His life was extraordinary.

My migraine has subsided a bit. Time to work towards making my life as extraordinary as possible.

The Trilogy of the Airconditioned Jeepney: Part III

The Airconditioned Jeepney (Part 3)

Here I am again. Thank God it’s Friday. And, as soon as I got off the bus, I spied not one, but two (count ‘em, TWO!) airconditioned jeepneys parked right across the street. They were on the other lane, yes, but they were THERE!

And I kept watch as an eagle watches its’ prey… very intent. They were obviously parked, waiting to be dispatched in my direction to provide the teeming masses with the much needed comfortable yet cost-efficient means of public transport that would offer them a relaxing ride amidst the concrete jungle and roadways known as the Makati Central Business District. If they moved as much as an inch, I would know.

Buses passed and blocked my view for a fleeting instance, but as soon as the obstruction passed, I would lock onto my target again. I could hear the voices in my head: “I’ve got a visual…” (Beep) “I’m locked on…” (Beep) “Missiles armed and ready to engage…” (Beep).

All I needed was the “GO” signal – the slightest movement – and I’d be trailing the airconditioned jeepney’s path till it stopped right in front of me. I was getting on the airconditioned jeepney TODAY.

Suddenly, I spotted the familiar figure of a domed roof pull away from the curb – on my side of the road. It was parked behind an ordinary jeepney that was parked less than 10 meters from where I stood. It was waiting for passengers. While I watched the two other jeepneys, this airconditioned jeepney was waiting for passengers not 10 meters from me – on my side of the road. Things suddenly went into slow motion (again, three times in three days – this was getting to be a habit), as I watched helplessly while the white, airconditioned jeepney moved into the farthermost portion of the northbound lane – well beyond my reach as I couldn’t just rush into traffic to stop it. It was in front of me now… and in a few moments, it was well on it’s way past FB Harrison running a nice, smooth course for the CBD of Makati.

My heart skipped a beat – again. I gasped for air – again. I missed the airconditioned jeepney. Again. Pathetically, for a third time.

It happens. We spot our target. We see what we think we want. We set our hearts on it.

And then we miss that which is meant to be.

That which God has meant for us.

“Okay Lord, I get it. I’m usually a stubborn person – that much I’m sure of.”

“Oh, and, by the way, thanks for this comfortable bus I’m riding in now.”

The Trilogy of the Airconditioned Jeepney: Part II

The Airconditioned Jeepney (Part 2)

So there I was once again. And this time, I had learned from yesterday’s experience. I stood my ground steadfastly and faithfully, and I positioned myself on a spot on the sidewalk on the northbound lane of Buendia from where I had a clear view in both directions. I could see far down the southbound lane and far down the northbound lane. Today, I wasn’t going to miss that airconditioned jeepney.

I scanned the southbound lane as far as my sights could reach – no airconditioned jeepney. I turned my head, and scanned the northbound lane for that same airconditioned jeepney. Still nothing in sight.

It went on this way for the next few minutes: look far down the southbound lane, then turn my head and look far down the northbound lane. I wasn’t going to miss the airconditioned jeepney whether it came from the north or the south.

On my next reconnaissance, I had just used my x-ray vision to look as far down the southbound lane as possible, eyeing each of the vehicles coming from the Makati side of town and I was now turning my head to look far down the northbound lane up to way past the intersection of Buendia and Roxas Boulevard, when the familiar outline of an airconditioned jeepney passed me by – and sped away into the direction I was going. Things suddenly slowed down… I could hardly breathe… my heart skipped a beat… every sound was dulled out… everything moved in slow motion… everything, but the airconditioned jeep that I had missed. Again.

This time, I looked in both directions. I watched every single vehicle way down the northbound and southbound lanes. How could I have missed this one jeep?

I guess I was looking too far.

Sounds familiar? God doesn’t want his people to have problems – we have enough of our own. So he usually places the answer in front of us. We just have to look – not always “farther away”, but with “far greater faith”. We need not look far into the future – nor must we look far into the past. God deals with the here and now. The answers are usually right in front of us – we just often don’t look properly enough. It’s one thing to be vigilant and watchful, it’s a far different thing to be vigilant and watchful with faith in your heart. That way the answer that is usually right in front of us – but not always in the form or manner we want it to be – becomes obviously clear. When we learn to look with faith, then we don’t have to worry about trying to catch the answer as it passes us by.

I took the bus. Again.

The Trilogy of the Airconditioned Jeepney

The Airconditioned Jeepney (Part 1)

I was intent on getting that airconditioned jeepney to work this morning. Everyday, I’d take my second ride to the office along Buendia Avenue a few meters from the corner of Roxas Boulevard. I had four choices: an airconditioned bus, an airconditioned jeepney, a taxi or a regular jeepney. Not wanting to get to work “harassed and perspiring”, the regular jeepney was never really an option. A taxi was fast, but costly, while the airconditioned bus would drop me off either way before, or way after my actual stop. The airconditioned jeepney, however, would drop me off a few meters from my building, and would have fewer stops, and would be comfortable – at a very cost efficient, uh, cost.

So I looked far down the road at the oncoming traffic from the Makati side of town. I was hoping to spot that airconditioned jeepney way before it made its u-turn so that I would be at the exact spot that it stopped every day to make sure I got a good seat – right behind the driver. I strained my eyes and neck searching for the telltale domed-roof of the airconditioned jeepneys, blue or yellow – it didn’t really matter which colored jeepney I took, as long as I saw it and didn’t miss it. There were only two or three of them, so I had to make sure I spotted it so that I wouldn’t miss it.

And there it was! And there it went! The airconditioned jeepney that I was so intent on waiting for actually went pass me. And the seat behind the driver was empty! My seat was empty! I was so shocked by the quickness of events that I swear I felt my heart skip a beat, and I had shortness of breath. How could this have happened? I was watching every single vehicle that came from Makati I was certain I wouldn’t miss the airconditioned jeepney before it even made the u-turn to get on my side of the road. How could this have happened?

This happens a lot to Christians. We sometimes find ourselves so engrossed on one thing or another, that we actually miss it when it passes us by. Sometimes tend to become so intent on one goal, that we miss the actual prize when it comes our way. God wants us to be vigilant, but not blinded by the feeling of vigilance. He wants us to watch, for we know not the time nor the place, but he wants us to wait on Him at all times… and from all directions. Sometimes we think that we are being properly watchful and vigilant, when in reality, we have actually closed ourselves to other revelations that God may be waiving right in front of us – all because we are afraid of missing that which we seek. I was looking in just one direction, comfortable at the thought that I wouldn’t miss the goal, that I failed to notice that the prize was coming from another direction.

Tomorrow, I’ll look both ways. Today? I took the bus – and the ten minute walk to the office building gave me time to reflect on this day’s experience.

Tiny Thoughts: A Preface

This should have been done a long time ago. Back in high school, I had always earned high grades in themed writing. Some teachers even kept my work saying that they were keeping them as “samples” for future classes. It always made me feel proud.

Then another teacher came along and introduced the concept of a “Reflection Notebook” – a simple notebook made special because of all the writing that went into it. I took that to heart. I wrote poetry, various one-liners and just about anything that came to mind. And what made this exercise good was the fact that no matter what I wrote, my notebook would always come back with a scribbled note from my teacher telling me how “natural I was” and how “real I expressed myself”. From then on, I wrote what I felt.

Then in college I suddenly came out of my shell (yeah sure, dramatic, I know – but that’s the only way I can describe it.) I became active in church organizations and I realized that I could express myself more through other people. I was head of the Parish Youth Council and head of a Catholic Youth Fraternity, and I “used” my gift of self-expression to win people over and to get work done. I soon realized the power of words – words used wisely and expressed properly. I then started to speak in public by giving talks in Life in the Spirit Seminars and in meetings with either Youth or Elder Leaders of the Parish.

And then, in 1993, I discovered Singles for Christ – and then Singles for Christ (SFC) discovered me – and I was speaking at Christian Life Programs (CLP) around the country. Everytime I delivered a talk, I always learned something new – a lot of them from the talks I delivered – even more from the people I talked to “after” the talks (both members of the community and those attending the CLPs) – but mostly from the time I spent travelling from one place to another.

Yes, most of these thoughts – “Tiny Thoughts” – came to me while I was on the road: standing in a bus full of people in Bataan; rolling down (literally) the golf course of Camp John Hay; riding on top of a jeepney while on the mountain trails in Davao; riding on the back of a motorcycle in areas not accessible by four-wheeled vehicles; on one of the many flights to or from one province or country to another; on ships, motorized “bancas”, scooters, tricycles, carabaos, horses – or just plain on foot.

And they came at all times of the day and night: early morning before the sun rises to the wee hours of the next day; while commuting or driving; in meetings (YES! In meetings!), over coffee with a friend or two, while bowling, while listening to my wife read her wedding vows at the altar, when I first picked up my daughter… the list goes on!

I wrote my first book in 1993. My love for the Eucharist moved me to write about the Holy Mass – and write about it I did: my reflections on different parts of the Mass, the words spoken at Mass, the gestures and all. For me the Mass is one great gathering of dancers and singers and artists of all races and cultures – moving in one, harmonious, melodic manner. It was a magnificent dance that called the spectator to become part of the dance – and I just had to write how I felt about it. Bishop Teodoro Bacani – an elementary school classmate of my mother – gave up some of his time to edit the manuscript. “This should have been written by your Parish Priest”, he said. I never did get it published.

But my thoughts – my “Tiny Thoughts”. The Lord saw it fit to give me these thoughts at the most opportune times, and I have used these thoughts in counseling many and in many a counseling.

“My thoughts are not your thoughts…” says the Lord, and “what you receive for free you must give for free”.

And so I share them with you now.

Take one thought at a time. Read through it. Ponder it. And then live it the way you believe the Lord wants you to live it.

It worked for me.