"You're My Happiness"

Julia has been staying with "Mamita" (my mother, her grandmother) since Thursday this week. "Mamita" always loves having Julia around -- and Julia loves being around her too. You see, like every grandmother (or grandparent, for that matter) my mother spoils Julia no end.

"It's my job to spoil her... and your job to discipline her..." she always tells my wife and I.

Last night, while having dinner with my wife, my brother sent me a text message saying "Please call, Julia wants to talk to you".

And so I called.

As soon as she got on the phone, she started sniffing: "I want to go home now..." she cried.

"But I thought you wanted to stay with Mamita till Sunday?"

"No, I want to go home now -- because I miss you..."

"We'll be together again on Sunday when we pick you up."

"But I miss you... I want to be with you..."

I then said "Remember you promised Mamita that you will stay with her till Sunday? What do we do when we make promises?"

"We keep them", Julia answered.

"Don't you like being with Mamita?" I asked, pleased that I was making progress into getting her to calm down and stop crying.

"I do! But I want you to be with me" she said, still crying.

"I'm here -- and we'll be together again on Sunday. If you like being with Mamita, what's wrong then?" I asked.

"I want you to be with me because you're my happiness!"

My wife noticed that I had to choke down a tear or two.

Somehow, I finally got her to calm down and agree to stay with Mamita till Sunday.

"Julia, you're our happiness too. But you are also Mamita's happiness. You know she loves you... you know you bring her happiness. I want you to be her happiness too"

"Okay. We'll share our happiness" Julia replied between sniffs.

After that, we put down the phone.

"She told me the same thing earlier" my wife said. "She told me I was her happiness."

All we could do then was smile at each other and choke down a couple of tears of happiness and humility.

So here I am, doing what my daughter told me: "...share our happiness".

Hope I made you happy.

Swan Love

Last night, my wife, daughter and I were watching a new show on a local television channel. It was a show that featured the strong similarities between man and animal, and the very first animal they featured is a long-time favorite of mine: the swan.

It was a short feature about a real-life swan that fell in love with a swan-shaped pedal boat, similar to those pedal boats one finds on the waters of Burnham Park in Baguio.

Day and night, the live swan would stay beside the swan-boat. It swam beside the boat, it slept beside the boat, and it ate beside the boat. It literally lived beside the swan-boat.

At one time, the park authorities decided to take away the swan-boat. The live swan followed noisily as the swan-boat was brought out of the water and loaded onto a pick-up. The video showed the live swan raising a ruckus about the abduction of its’ “oversized inanimate lover”.

And while the swan-boat was away, the live swan supposedly did not seem to want to live the life of a regular swan.

And so the park authorities decided to bring the swan-boat back, and sure enough, as soon as the live swan saw the swan-boat, it followed it from the pick-up back into the water, and the two “paddled off into the sunset”.

The live swan and the human pedaled swan-boat.

Ironically, the swan is also the symbol of true, unconditional love.

Sadly, there are many people in similar situations.

People who choose to “love blindly” – often beyond all acceptable reason.

There is a world of difference between “blind love” and “loving unconditionally”.

At the onset, they may seem the same, but believe me, they are very, very different.

Loving unconditionally means loving a person despite and in spite of his or her past, present and future. Loving blindly is, just simply, loving blindly.

The first kind of love requires a knowledge of the other persons’ past, present and future. The second kind of love requires none of that.

Many people live the lives of the live swan. They waste their time pouring out their love and attention on people and in situations that will obviously not bear fruit.

They choose to love for the wrong reason. Often, their love is without reason at all. Like the live swan, they fail to see the other live swans swimming just around the corner, or across the lake or, in some cases, right beside them. Without their realizing it, they are actually depriving themselves of the love that may actually be waiting for them if only they would wake-up from the dream that they have created with the object of their misguided affection.

I have seen many cases such as this. I have counseled many in such situations. And, unfortunately, I have seen many lives wasted because of such inanimate love.

On the other hand, I have also seen the best of love.

I have seen those whose continuous love for another has brought about the miraculous change needed for love to flourish. I myself am a result of how true, unconditional love between people of different faiths resulted in siblings whose love for God is uncompromised.

In my work, I have seen how love has healed sick children, and how love has eased the passage of a person from this life to the next.

I have seen how love for family has provided employees with the strength and commitment to work long hours just to see a project through or to earn that extra hour or two of OT pay.

Jesus loves us unconditionally.

He loves us – despite and in spite of our past, our present… and our future. Just because he loves us despite our sins does not mean that he loves blindly. It means that he has decided to love us even in our sin.

But loving does not mean that we become exempt from the consequences of the choices we make. It is exactly because Jesus loves us that he allows us to choose the path we take. Whether it be his path or not.

But it is our choice.

To love in a manner that will set us free and bring out the best in us.

Or to love in a manner that will just lead our souls towards an inanimate future.

Raindrops

There really isn't much that you can do when you're stuck in traffic on Ayala Avenue and it starts to rain.

Not much but wait for the lights to change, the cars to move, pedestrians cross and time to just pass you by.

And then again, you could watch the rain.

It wasn't a heavy downpour this morning. It was more of a light and continuous shower -- just a little stronger than a drizzle.

As I sat in the back seat of the cab, I took special notice of the beads of rain that fell and clung onto the glass of the window. These little "orbs of water" ranged in size from less than a millimeter to probably two or three millimeters in diameter.

I noticed something that has always been right in front of me everytime it rained.

Every once in a while, a single bead would start to move down the glass surface. Whether caused by gravity, another drop of rain, the wind or the mild surface vibration brought about by the vehicles’ engine wasn’t important. The fact is, a bead or two would start to slide downwards.

Then it would eventually hit another bead – and they would merge into one and slide further downward, slightly faster this time, until it hit and merged with another bead, and then another, and then it would be much bigger than the original bead, and gravity would just do the rest and pull the “now enlarged” bead quickly down the rest of the way.

And then there were the other beads of water.

Some were just so big and heavy on their own that they slid down the glass surface almost as soon as it hit the glass. Others, for one reason or another just “clung” onto the surface and never seemed to be affected by other beads, the wind, the vibration or just about anything else that caused other beads of water to slide down the glass slope.

Amazing how people are much like these beads of water.

We all have our problems – some face bigger problems than others – but they are problems nonetheless. BUT, how we allow these problems to affect us – AND other people around us – is the source of our similarity with raindrops on a glass surface.

Some people are the beads of water that start their downward journey. They have problems that just seem to keep weighing them down. For them, life seems to have no “brighter side”, and every turn is just another slide further downward. When these kind of people start to unburden themselves upon others, they somehow take the other person down with them. In their depression, they seek the help and comfort of friends and family, but because of their own stubbornness, instead of accepting the encouragement of others, they take down with them those whose help they sought out in the first place.

Which leads us to the next group of people and the second kind of bead of water: the beads that somehow find themselves in the downward slope of the problematic? These are people who always seem ready to listen and to extend a helping hand – always with good intent.

But if these people are not deeply rooted in their faith – if they are not strongly convicted in their ways – not only will they not be of help, but sooner or later they will find themselves being pulled down by the very people they tried to help in the first place.

There are also those people who get in the way of the hopelessly problematic. They aren’t really involved, but just because they are in the way of this beads’ downward slide, they become victims who soon find themselves being pulled down by the first bead’s problems – often against their will. These are the victims of circumstance: the bystander who gets shot in crossfire between police and car thieves; the depositor who gets shot by robbers holding-up a bank; or the unborn child killed in the womb of a woman who gave in to desperation at becoming pregnant out of wedlock.

And then there are those who have found their place on the glassy slope – and stayed there.

They may listen and sympathize with the problematic – but they know how to keep enough distance so as not to join the downward slide of the hopelessly depressed.

They are those who can withstand the problems and trial brought about by the wind, the vibration brought about by the vehicles’ running engine or, for some reason, do not get hit by other raindrops.

These are the people who have rooted themselves well in their faith, and who have chosen to learn from their own trials and have chosen to “be firm and steadfast”, thus possessing the land on which they stand.

People are the raindrops. The glass surface is life. The wind, rain and engine vibration represent the trials, tests, problems and challenges we face as a result of our own or another persons’ or peoples’ mistakes.

Which raindrop would you be?

Temple or Marketplace?

Today is the third Sunday of Lent.

The Gospel focused on one of the few incidents recorded in the Bible when Jesus displayed an emotion we call "righteous anger".

Upon entering the synagogue grounds, Jesus is awed and stressed at seeing how the temple grounds, once considered absolutely sacred, had been demonetized to a state no more noble than your local provincial wet market or palengke.

Where worshippers once walked piously to and from the temples' many doorways leading to the worship halls, animal traders, tax collectors and other hawkers of various goods and "prayer necessities" set up tables and stalls in front of cages of animals ranging from cows to goats to pigeons. What once was a quiet plaza where worshippers began to contemplate their prayer hour at the temple was transformed into a noisy den of thieves and cheats, all using religion as the basis for their businesses.

Well, this kind of irked the Lord, and what follows is well narrated in your trusty Bibles.

Unfortunately, not much has changed.

Literally.

Notwithstanding the "physical church": the structure and building where we go to worship the Lord -- our "personal temples": our very own hearts and souls -- have changed little in becoming the temple of the Holy Spirit that it was and still is meant to be.

If the Lord were to walk into the grounds of our temple, what would he find there?

A true Spirit of worship?

Or a den of thieves bent merely on providing oneself with the semblance of worship, when there is really nothing more than the desire to fulfill one's needs.

When we come to church just to fulfill an obligation, we are no better than the tax collectors who are there to remind worshippers of their obligations.

When we come to church just because it has been a practice we have become accustomed to, we are no better than the hawkers who go not to worship, but because it has become a routine for them to be there to sell their goods.

When we come to church with anger, hatred, hurt, unforgiveness, bitterness or any other ill-feelings or intent towards others for whatever reason, then we are no better than the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Zealots and Scribes who hide behind holy garments that do little to hide their true and often hypocritical natures.

More than a clean structure and a beautiful facade, Jesus seeks the purity of our inner temples.

What would Jesus find in your heart?

A Temple?

Or a Marketplace?

While you contemplate this, I'll be sweeping up my grounds.

My Morrie

Morrie.

Mitch Albom had "his" Morrie.

Everyone should have his own "Morrie" -- someone who you could sit with for hours on end, not necessarily talking, but just enjoying each other's presence.

I had my own "Morrie". His name was Emerardo Ladrera.

Rev. Fr. Emerardo Ladrera.

"Father", as everyone called him of course, was a short (less than 5 feet tall), old, charming priest whose thoughts and philosophy were way beyond his already advanced years. He used to be the Chaplain of the Faustino Legaspi Uy Colleges (also known as the Las Pinas Colleges), and he lived in a little room right beside the colleges' big chapel.

He was already technically retired as a priest, but since he knew of no other better way to live his life, he had gotten permission to continue celebrating Sunday Masses at the college chapel. My family and a few other families gathered together to support him by hearing the Masses he celebrated. I always served as his "sacristan", and sometimes doubled as a lector/commentator.

Father was a man with a very strong and charismatic personality -- somehow, one would always find oneself drawn to Father. I know I was. So much so that I found myself visiting him at least three times a week. It came to be a routine for us that everytime I got to his place, he was already sitting on the porch, waiting for me.

And there was always an empty chair right beside him.

We'd sit for hours. He'd teach me all about the church: Her history; Her best and darkest hours; Her mistakes and triumphs. He taught me about the Faith itself. I learned more about Christianity from him than from anybody else.

But it was not always about the church.

We'd talk politics. History. Relationships. Parents. Siblings. School and the educational system. Life. And Love.

We also talked a lot about ME: who I was, and who I could be.

Our talks always ended just as the first star started to shine in the sky. At this point, he would lean towards me and say "Now, make your confession..." And I would.

Father Ladrera always sent me home with a sense of peace and hope. Amazingly, I always had something to confess and seek forgiveness for.

And Father Ladrera knew this. And he was always ready to listen, to accept... and to forgive.

We all need a Morrie in our lives. Someone who you could sit down with and talk to and open up to.

Someone who would never judge you -- who would teach you without actually trying.

Someone who would give you a sense of peace and hope for things to come.

Father has long passed away, but sometimes, I swear that I could feel him lean over to me and whisper "Now, make your confession..."

And soon after that, I swear that I am overcome by an amazing sense of peace and hope.

I have a new Morrie now. My wife, Jennifer.

How about you? Who is your Morrie?

"Blast from the Past"

Last night, my wife and I chose to watch a movie that has been a long-time favorite of ours: Brendan Fraser's Blast from the Past. We had seen that movie countless times, and we still find it amusing and funny - and with a good lesson too.

Last night, one particular scene got my attention: it was the scene when Brendan's character Adam Webber steps out into the world for the first time and sees the sky. He stares at the sky and a broad, satisfied and awed smile breaks across his face.

A passer-by approaches him from behind and asks "What are you looking at?"

"The sky", he answers, a bit bewildered that the stranger even asked him that question.

"Where?", the stranger asks.

"Up there" Adam answers.


"I don't see anything", says the stranger as he seemingly struggles to see what Adam sees.

"Just look at it", Adam says.


He then moves on and other passers-by look up to get a glance at what has obviously awed and entranced Adam. A mother and daughter walk by, and as the mother strains to see "the sky", her little daughter smiles and says "I see it!"


When we were young, everything looked so much bigger: the classrooms we sit in, the gym we play in, the roads we ride our bikes on -- why, even the comfort rooms at my grade school and high school Alma Mater used to look so much bigger back then.

Even the "little-over two month vacation period" between March and June seemed to last longer than it really was.

People were friendlier, candy was cheaper and roads were safer. Village streets had kids playing patintero, taguan, habulan, tumbang-preso, touch-ball (actually dodge ball) and every street corner had it's own basketball half-court with a ring and backboard installed on your friendly neighborhood MERALCO street post.

But then we grew older - and friends gave way to corporate enemies and competition, candy was replaced by expensive and little-filling health food, and road-rage became a drivers' best defense against other drivers.

Blast from the Past suddenly meant more than just plain nostalgia to me: it suddenly represented the death of innocence, as many of us have lost the "awe" that Adam Webber had at the sight of something as simple as the sky.

We need more of these.

More "Awwww..." moments; more "Oooohhh" and "Aahhhh" and "Wow" and "Aha!" moments.

I'm not telling you to revert to ignorant innocence (though sometimes ignorance of the worlds' troubles does have its advantages) -- but I AM telling you not to lose the innocence that has inspired us to wake up every morning just to see the sun come up over the horizon; to step out early enough each night to catch a glimpse of and wish upon the first star, and to sit on a corner and watch the clouds change shape from a fluffy rabbit to a running horse (I never did see that horse no matter how hard I looked).

The world is in a bad shape -- some say it's in the worst shape it has ever been.

But all is not lost.

There are still so many glimmers of hope: so many awe-inspiring people and personalities; countless images of beauty amidst the concrete jungle, and still so much unfathomable depths of love and understanding in the hearts of those who have chosen to be inspired and to become inspirations.

"Just look...", and you will see what I am writing about.