A couple of nights ago, I had to stay late at work, so I called home to check on my daughter.
As usual, I could hear Julia's voice even before she picked up the receiver to talk to me, and when she did get on the receiver, she started telling me about what she did in school.
Somewhere between her telling me of her perfect score on her seat work in Math and the next story, she suddenly whined "Dada, you come home now"
I answered that I had to work late, and that her mother would be there shortly.
Then she cried, and in between sobs, she told me how my wife had scolded her earlier.
"Mama got mad at me kanina..." she said. When I asked why, Julia answered "Kasi I did not do what she told me to do... I studied outside in the dining room and my cousins were bothering me..."
"So why did Mama get mad?" I asked.
"Because she told me to study in the room so my cousins will not make gulo me while I studied..."
What she said next struck me: "Dada, I'm so sorry...", and she started to cry again.
When I had gotten her to settle down, I asked her why she was apologizing to me.
She said very simply "Because I was not obedient to Mama..."
I guess most of us have a little bit of a Julia inside us. Let me re-phrase that: I know everyone of us has a little bit of a Julia inside us.
We know what God expects of us. From the time we started to form an active, living concept of God, we were told, taught, trained and raised -- either directly or indirectly -- knowing God's laws, commands and expectations of all those He calls His children.
And yet, we hardheadedly (or ignorantly, at times) do what we want, even if we know that it is being disobedient to God.
The first sin of any of Gods' creations was pride. Ask Satan: he deemed himself to be God's equal.
But the first sin of Man was disobedience. And after that one act of disobedience, everything else followed.
But the good news is that God loves us too much to hold this disobedience in front of us forever. All we need to do is sincerely tell Him that we are sorry, and prove it by trying hard not to be disobedient again. He knows that there is a very high probability that we will disobey Him again in one way or another, but He has made it clear that His love and forgiveness is always there for our taking -- all we need to do is accept that which He has already given: Love and forgiveness.
Julia knows this too. She not only knows that she was disobedient, but she clearly knows how she became disobedient. And she knows that we would readily forgive her, and that when we get mad, we get mad because of what she has done and not because of her.
Knowing your fault is the first step towards forgiveness. Admitting it is the next. Seeking pardon starts the reconciliation, and accepting forgiveness completes the cycle.
I told Julia that it was alright, and that Mama was mad at her disobedience and not at her specifically.
"Okay" is all that she could say between sniffs.
After disconnecting the call, I decided to shut down and go home.
A few minutes later, as I stepped out into the reception area, the reception guard called my attention: "Sir, your daughter is on the phone"
I picked up the receiver and asked "What's up, Baby Girl?"
Laughing and half screaming, Julia said "Dada I love you! You go home now!"
Amazing how love and forgiveness can change ones' mood in minutes.
Even more amazing is how a child is able to quickly forget the hurt, accept the forgiveness -- and then start sharing so much love after that.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
My Two Women
The women in my life.
I have two of them.
And last night, I -- as on all other nights -- shared my bed with both of them.
Remarkable. They looked so alike as they slept side by side. From their breathing to their actual position, they were so much alike. I loved them both -- and they loved me. And they had no qualms about sharing one man between them.
We go on dates. Sometimes it's I and one of them, on other occasions it's I and the other -- but more often than not it's all three of us.
There's no jealousy, no envy and no insecurities from either of them.
And me? Well, let's just say that any man will be proud to have two women by his side any day.
As I watched them sleep last night, I couldn't help but be awed by the gift and blessing that they both bring into my life every single day.
Because of them, I get up early every morning.
Because of them, I work long hours.
Because of them, I brave the weather and the traffic.
Because of them, I work late into the night.
Because of them, I get up early on weekends when all the world is still sleeping to make sure they have breakfast to start their day.
Because of them, I miss out on some gatherings of old friends.
Because of them, my schedule becomes erratic every now and then.
Because of them, I spend less for myself and more for each of them.
Because of them, I set aside the work I bring home to see to their needs, only to have to cram late into the night to finish that same work.
Because of them, life is unpredictable -- and surprises await me at every turn.
Because of them -- all that I do has meaning.
Because of them, I have meaning.
Because of them, my schedules get messed up, my work is delayed, I sleep late at night to catch up on those delays, get up every morning to get my work done and earn an honest day's work to make sure I have breakfast to prepare every weekend morning while all the world stays in bed late.
Life couldn't get better than this. Having two women to live for. Having two women make life worth every minute.
My two women.
My wife and daughter.
If only I knew how to tell them I loved them both oh so much...
I have two of them.
And last night, I -- as on all other nights -- shared my bed with both of them.
Remarkable. They looked so alike as they slept side by side. From their breathing to their actual position, they were so much alike. I loved them both -- and they loved me. And they had no qualms about sharing one man between them.
We go on dates. Sometimes it's I and one of them, on other occasions it's I and the other -- but more often than not it's all three of us.
There's no jealousy, no envy and no insecurities from either of them.
And me? Well, let's just say that any man will be proud to have two women by his side any day.
As I watched them sleep last night, I couldn't help but be awed by the gift and blessing that they both bring into my life every single day.
Because of them, I get up early every morning.
Because of them, I work long hours.
Because of them, I brave the weather and the traffic.
Because of them, I work late into the night.
Because of them, I get up early on weekends when all the world is still sleeping to make sure they have breakfast to start their day.
Because of them, I miss out on some gatherings of old friends.
Because of them, my schedule becomes erratic every now and then.
Because of them, I spend less for myself and more for each of them.
Because of them, I set aside the work I bring home to see to their needs, only to have to cram late into the night to finish that same work.
Because of them, life is unpredictable -- and surprises await me at every turn.
Because of them -- all that I do has meaning.
Because of them, I have meaning.
Because of them, my schedules get messed up, my work is delayed, I sleep late at night to catch up on those delays, get up every morning to get my work done and earn an honest day's work to make sure I have breakfast to prepare every weekend morning while all the world stays in bed late.
Life couldn't get better than this. Having two women to live for. Having two women make life worth every minute.
My two women.
My wife and daughter.
If only I knew how to tell them I loved them both oh so much...
Monday, February 23, 2009
Backyard Camping
I am a Boy Scout. Always have been, always will be.
I have two other best friends who are Scouts: Ruter Agati and Reyniel Catabian. We were so good at being scouts that we were actually exempted from High School CAT because of the ranks we held in Philippine Scouting. We were therefore spared from marching under the hot sun on Friday afternoons, and taking orders from batch mates who formed part of the Corps of Cadet Officers of the De La Salle-Zobel CAT Program.
But we were not totally free of any activity. While our classmates marched to the cadence called by other batch mates, Reyniel, Ruter and I (La Salle Zobels' Scouting Triumvirate, as we have been called) -- together with another batchmate, Enrique "Rico" Manuel -- handled Cub Scouts from the lower grade levels, one troop each.
One of the two highlights for Cub Scouts (3rd, 4th graders and 5th graders) was the annual backyard camping (another was the annual Father & Son Camp). On the weekend of the camp, our troops would try to outdo each other in scouting skills and abilities.
That year, the camp had an extra challenge: the weather. It had started raining on Friday afternoon, just as school had already ended and as the troops were already starting to pitch their tents. Since they were kids, we couldn't have them camping on the rain soaked grounds (there was no storm, mind you, but enough rains to soak the campgrounds (where the swimming pool is now located)). Despite all this, the kids didn't want to go home.
They wanted to sleep in tents. They wanted to grill their hotdogs on sticks over a camp fire. They wanted to use their brand new sleeping bags, and eat their Spam from the can.
And we wanted them to experience all this too.
So we made sure that they did.
When the rains started, everyone moved into Gym 1, each one hoping the rain would stop. But it didn't stop. It didn't get stronger, but it didn't stop.
So... Reyniel, Ruter, Rico and I divided the gym into four sectors -- one sector for each troop -- and we started pitching our own tents on the concrete floor of the gym. We couldn't use pegs, so we made do with rocks to hold up our tents and poles. Soon enough, the Cub Scouts were doing the same thing. In no time at all, we had transformed the cold floor of Gym 1 into a camp ground worthy of any Jamborette.
As the kids excitedly started to unroll their sleeping bags and put stuff inside their tents, we found a large piece of corrugated metal and brought that into the center of the gym. And then we had Cub Scouts gather wood for the camp fire that night.
In short, the kids slept in their bags inside their tents and they got to experience the traditional lighting of the camp fire complete with the story of the "Four Winds". They also got to cook their hotdogs on sticks, and fry some eggs and Spam in their camp cook kits. We did everything you'd do at a regular camp, except drive the pegs into the ground.
Everyone went home happy on Sunday afternoon.
I realized then that life throws us a curve ball every once in a while. More frequently for some. What we do with that pitch is all up to us.
We can either: 1) watch the pitch go by; 2) take a blind swing at it and miss, or; 3) keep the ball in sight and hit it with all your might.
I've learned that options two and three are always the wisest choices.
You may not be able to drive the pegs into the ground (the favorite part of every Cub Scout who has ever pitched his own tent), but if you take stock of what you have around you and decide to make things work, that'll probably be the only thing you will miss.
And believe me, the fun and fulfillment you get from choosing to make do with what you have will far outweigh peg-driving any day.
I have two other best friends who are Scouts: Ruter Agati and Reyniel Catabian. We were so good at being scouts that we were actually exempted from High School CAT because of the ranks we held in Philippine Scouting. We were therefore spared from marching under the hot sun on Friday afternoons, and taking orders from batch mates who formed part of the Corps of Cadet Officers of the De La Salle-Zobel CAT Program.
But we were not totally free of any activity. While our classmates marched to the cadence called by other batch mates, Reyniel, Ruter and I (La Salle Zobels' Scouting Triumvirate, as we have been called) -- together with another batchmate, Enrique "Rico" Manuel -- handled Cub Scouts from the lower grade levels, one troop each.
One of the two highlights for Cub Scouts (3rd, 4th graders and 5th graders) was the annual backyard camping (another was the annual Father & Son Camp). On the weekend of the camp, our troops would try to outdo each other in scouting skills and abilities.
That year, the camp had an extra challenge: the weather. It had started raining on Friday afternoon, just as school had already ended and as the troops were already starting to pitch their tents. Since they were kids, we couldn't have them camping on the rain soaked grounds (there was no storm, mind you, but enough rains to soak the campgrounds (where the swimming pool is now located)). Despite all this, the kids didn't want to go home.
They wanted to sleep in tents. They wanted to grill their hotdogs on sticks over a camp fire. They wanted to use their brand new sleeping bags, and eat their Spam from the can.
And we wanted them to experience all this too.
So we made sure that they did.
When the rains started, everyone moved into Gym 1, each one hoping the rain would stop. But it didn't stop. It didn't get stronger, but it didn't stop.
So... Reyniel, Ruter, Rico and I divided the gym into four sectors -- one sector for each troop -- and we started pitching our own tents on the concrete floor of the gym. We couldn't use pegs, so we made do with rocks to hold up our tents and poles. Soon enough, the Cub Scouts were doing the same thing. In no time at all, we had transformed the cold floor of Gym 1 into a camp ground worthy of any Jamborette.
As the kids excitedly started to unroll their sleeping bags and put stuff inside their tents, we found a large piece of corrugated metal and brought that into the center of the gym. And then we had Cub Scouts gather wood for the camp fire that night.
In short, the kids slept in their bags inside their tents and they got to experience the traditional lighting of the camp fire complete with the story of the "Four Winds". They also got to cook their hotdogs on sticks, and fry some eggs and Spam in their camp cook kits. We did everything you'd do at a regular camp, except drive the pegs into the ground.
Everyone went home happy on Sunday afternoon.
I realized then that life throws us a curve ball every once in a while. More frequently for some. What we do with that pitch is all up to us.
We can either: 1) watch the pitch go by; 2) take a blind swing at it and miss, or; 3) keep the ball in sight and hit it with all your might.
I've learned that options two and three are always the wisest choices.
You may not be able to drive the pegs into the ground (the favorite part of every Cub Scout who has ever pitched his own tent), but if you take stock of what you have around you and decide to make things work, that'll probably be the only thing you will miss.
And believe me, the fun and fulfillment you get from choosing to make do with what you have will far outweigh peg-driving any day.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
"Wear your Cap"
I got into baseball by virtue of the fact that I was literally raised by an American – Robert Ray Hollingsworth from Atlanta, Georgia.
“Uncle Ray” found his way into our family after having hired my late grandfather as his lawyer for a civil case he had here in the Philippines. He lost almost everything he had to his Filipino business partners who cheated him out of the business he started with his late wife.
Uncle Ray got me into baseball at an early age, such that I was on the Little League Team of our school by the time I was in Grade 3. I practiced after school every day, and came on Saturdays for whole day practice.
“Wear your cap!” Uncle Ray would always tell me. I don’t know how or when caps became known as “bull caps” today, but back then they were very simply (and clearly) “ball caps”.
So, I put on my cap whenever Uncle Ray was around. And since I wasn’t a catcher, I was forbidden to wear it the way catchers did: with the visor turned all the way around. Catchers wore their caps that way because they couldn’t wear their face masks if the visor were positioned in the front.
So anyway, there I was on a Saturday afternoon, warming up with an older player (Brian Ang, a batch mate of my older brother Jad). We went through the stretching and the jogging as a team already, and Brian and I were passing the baseball back and forth, taking a step back with every toss.
That afternoon, I DIDN’T wear my cap. Uncle Ray just couldn’t convince me enough (or I was just plain too hardheaded).
The throwing got stronger and stronger as Brian and I moved farther and farther away from each other. It was a relatively small field (it was the vacant field where the Angelo King Center for Performing Arts Building is now located). As we passed the baseball back and forth, I was talking with another player on my side of the field. Between catches and throws, I’d look around to the other players.
And then it hit me.
It literally hit me.
Next thing I knew, I was looking up at the face of Uncle Ray, and Brian Ang was standing behind him. Apparently I had looked away at the wrong time, and Brian had already thrown the ball in my direction. A good throw too, as it hit me in the left eye.
A few minutes and several ice cubes later, I was sitting up again. The whole team was laughing it off, and I, still in a daze, could just manage a dizzy smile.
After making sure I was okay, Uncle Ray said “I told you to wear your cap, but you wouldn’t listen”.
The cap’s visor would have certainly deflected the ball, and had I been wearing it then, I may have gotten just a little bump on the head instead of a whack in the eye.
The Lord also reminds us to put on our caps. In fact, in Ephesians 6, St. Paul tells the Church in Ephesus to “Put on the armor of God so that you may be able to stand firm against the tactics of the devil. For our struggle is not with flesh and blood but with the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavens. Therefore, put on the armor of God, that you may be able to resist on the evil day and, having done everything, to hold your ground. So stand fast with your loins girded in truth, clothed with righteousness as a breastplate, and your feet shod in readiness for the gospel of peace.” (Eph. 6:11-15)
In our everyday lives, we find ourselves distracted by many things: problems, debts, illness, trials, common everyday fears. Even normally good aspects of life may become distractions: work, children, spouses, friends and even triumphs and joys. In many of these cases, we fail to remember that beyond the day-to-day struggle for survival is the never ending struggle for eternal life. It is a struggle already won for us by Jesus’ death on the cross – all we need to do is to accept and live in this victory, and to do so triumphantly means that we should protect ourselves.
Only if we put on this armor will we be truly ready to enjoy playing this game called life.
I learned this the hard way. And for a few days after that, I had the black eye to prove it.
“Uncle Ray” found his way into our family after having hired my late grandfather as his lawyer for a civil case he had here in the Philippines. He lost almost everything he had to his Filipino business partners who cheated him out of the business he started with his late wife.
Uncle Ray got me into baseball at an early age, such that I was on the Little League Team of our school by the time I was in Grade 3. I practiced after school every day, and came on Saturdays for whole day practice.
“Wear your cap!” Uncle Ray would always tell me. I don’t know how or when caps became known as “bull caps” today, but back then they were very simply (and clearly) “ball caps”.
So, I put on my cap whenever Uncle Ray was around. And since I wasn’t a catcher, I was forbidden to wear it the way catchers did: with the visor turned all the way around. Catchers wore their caps that way because they couldn’t wear their face masks if the visor were positioned in the front.
So anyway, there I was on a Saturday afternoon, warming up with an older player (Brian Ang, a batch mate of my older brother Jad). We went through the stretching and the jogging as a team already, and Brian and I were passing the baseball back and forth, taking a step back with every toss.
That afternoon, I DIDN’T wear my cap. Uncle Ray just couldn’t convince me enough (or I was just plain too hardheaded).
The throwing got stronger and stronger as Brian and I moved farther and farther away from each other. It was a relatively small field (it was the vacant field where the Angelo King Center for Performing Arts Building is now located). As we passed the baseball back and forth, I was talking with another player on my side of the field. Between catches and throws, I’d look around to the other players.
And then it hit me.
It literally hit me.
Next thing I knew, I was looking up at the face of Uncle Ray, and Brian Ang was standing behind him. Apparently I had looked away at the wrong time, and Brian had already thrown the ball in my direction. A good throw too, as it hit me in the left eye.
A few minutes and several ice cubes later, I was sitting up again. The whole team was laughing it off, and I, still in a daze, could just manage a dizzy smile.
After making sure I was okay, Uncle Ray said “I told you to wear your cap, but you wouldn’t listen”.
The cap’s visor would have certainly deflected the ball, and had I been wearing it then, I may have gotten just a little bump on the head instead of a whack in the eye.
The Lord also reminds us to put on our caps. In fact, in Ephesians 6, St. Paul tells the Church in Ephesus to “Put on the armor of God so that you may be able to stand firm against the tactics of the devil. For our struggle is not with flesh and blood but with the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavens. Therefore, put on the armor of God, that you may be able to resist on the evil day and, having done everything, to hold your ground. So stand fast with your loins girded in truth, clothed with righteousness as a breastplate, and your feet shod in readiness for the gospel of peace.” (Eph. 6:11-15)
In our everyday lives, we find ourselves distracted by many things: problems, debts, illness, trials, common everyday fears. Even normally good aspects of life may become distractions: work, children, spouses, friends and even triumphs and joys. In many of these cases, we fail to remember that beyond the day-to-day struggle for survival is the never ending struggle for eternal life. It is a struggle already won for us by Jesus’ death on the cross – all we need to do is to accept and live in this victory, and to do so triumphantly means that we should protect ourselves.
Only if we put on this armor will we be truly ready to enjoy playing this game called life.
I learned this the hard way. And for a few days after that, I had the black eye to prove it.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Selamat Pagi!
I never did march at my college graduation.
On the day of the ceremony, I was on an airplane to Indonesia. Immediately after my last academic day at the UP, I was invited to work as a full time missionary worker (a "fulltimer", as we were lovingly called) for Singles for Christ and Youth for Christ -- a dream come true for me, as it still is for many young SFC and YFC members.
It would be my first trip outside of Philippine territory. On the plane, I dreamed of truly heroic missionary things to do: preach the Gospel, convert non-believers, defend the Catholic Church and the Christian Faith, stand-up to those who lambasted Christianity, die a martyrs death...
Okay, so the last one was a fleeting thought more than a prolonged daydream.
At any rate, I spent the hours on the plane writing letters to my parents and siblings, praying the rosary and reading the Bible. For some reason, I came across the story of the Tower of Babel.
And then it hit me.
I did not speak a word of Bahasa Indonesia!
Suddenly, my dream of preaching to hundreds showed me speaking gibberish on a street corner in downtown Jakarta, and non-believers were suddenly offering sacrifices to their gods to drive away the evil that had me speaking gibberish in the first place.
So much for defending the Catholic Church and preaching the Gospel of Christ.
"Selamat Pagi..." said the voice over the planes' intercom. That's all I remember, everything was, well, gibberish to me. Apparently we had started our decent towards Soekarno Hata Airport -- this was confirmed by the English translation of the first announcement.
If I were to preach anything, it would have to be through a translator. I wondered how that would be like. I have been giving talks for years before this very mission, and I have never had to speak through a translator.
"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways..." the Lord said in Isaiah 55:8
It is impossible to even begin to understand the complexity and greatness of God's Being. It is impossible, that is, by every human way.
But not by God's way.
God, in His love for us, sent us his messengers: preachers, priests, ministers, elders and other such learned people. By His Spirit these people have become enlightened such that they now serve to translate God's Word into our everyday lives. By listening to God's Word spoken through them, we become enlightened, and we become translators for those to whom the Gospel is yet to be preached and taught.
The way of the Lord is to send His Spirit upon those who seek Him, such that we become enlightened to and by the Word.
No dream -- no matter how noble -- of martyrdom or sainthood becomes a reality without the leading and guidance of the Spirit.
We must want to know God "with all our heart, with all our soul and with all our mind". Only then will we begin to become enlightened by the Spirit such that we become worthy to preach the Gospel in our everyday lives.
As my fellow missionaries met me at the arrival lounge, I greeted them all a warm and sincere "Selamat Pagi!"
I spoke through translators for most of my talks then -- and believe me, aside from delayed laughter after cracking a joke, God's Word got through.
His way. Not mine.
On the day of the ceremony, I was on an airplane to Indonesia. Immediately after my last academic day at the UP, I was invited to work as a full time missionary worker (a "fulltimer", as we were lovingly called) for Singles for Christ and Youth for Christ -- a dream come true for me, as it still is for many young SFC and YFC members.
It would be my first trip outside of Philippine territory. On the plane, I dreamed of truly heroic missionary things to do: preach the Gospel, convert non-believers, defend the Catholic Church and the Christian Faith, stand-up to those who lambasted Christianity, die a martyrs death...
Okay, so the last one was a fleeting thought more than a prolonged daydream.
At any rate, I spent the hours on the plane writing letters to my parents and siblings, praying the rosary and reading the Bible. For some reason, I came across the story of the Tower of Babel.
And then it hit me.
I did not speak a word of Bahasa Indonesia!
Suddenly, my dream of preaching to hundreds showed me speaking gibberish on a street corner in downtown Jakarta, and non-believers were suddenly offering sacrifices to their gods to drive away the evil that had me speaking gibberish in the first place.
So much for defending the Catholic Church and preaching the Gospel of Christ.
"Selamat Pagi..." said the voice over the planes' intercom. That's all I remember, everything was, well, gibberish to me. Apparently we had started our decent towards Soekarno Hata Airport -- this was confirmed by the English translation of the first announcement.
If I were to preach anything, it would have to be through a translator. I wondered how that would be like. I have been giving talks for years before this very mission, and I have never had to speak through a translator.
"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways..." the Lord said in Isaiah 55:8
It is impossible to even begin to understand the complexity and greatness of God's Being. It is impossible, that is, by every human way.
But not by God's way.
God, in His love for us, sent us his messengers: preachers, priests, ministers, elders and other such learned people. By His Spirit these people have become enlightened such that they now serve to translate God's Word into our everyday lives. By listening to God's Word spoken through them, we become enlightened, and we become translators for those to whom the Gospel is yet to be preached and taught.
The way of the Lord is to send His Spirit upon those who seek Him, such that we become enlightened to and by the Word.
No dream -- no matter how noble -- of martyrdom or sainthood becomes a reality without the leading and guidance of the Spirit.
We must want to know God "with all our heart, with all our soul and with all our mind". Only then will we begin to become enlightened by the Spirit such that we become worthy to preach the Gospel in our everyday lives.
As my fellow missionaries met me at the arrival lounge, I greeted them all a warm and sincere "Selamat Pagi!"
I spoke through translators for most of my talks then -- and believe me, aside from delayed laughter after cracking a joke, God's Word got through.
His way. Not mine.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Love and Death
This story took place in the year 2000, when I was still an Employee Relations Supervisor with a known semiconductor manufacturing and test facility in Sta. Rosa, Laguna.
We had a machine operator in her early 20's. Coming from a poor family, her father worked himself day and night driving a tricycle just to make sure she was able to complete her vocational studies. While working, the "Girl" continued to pursue her dreams of becoming a technician - something that would augment her salary quite substantially, thus allowing her to help out in the financial needs of the family.
To make a long story short: the Girl took the exams for would be technicians - and passed! But the victory was short-lived.
The Girl was soon diagnosed with terminal cancer, and she spent the rest of her days in and out hospitals. Our HMO coverage allowed her to avail of good services, but still there was no denying the fact that she was soon leaving this earth.
On her last day, I went to the hospital for DW: death watch - one of the duties I performed as needed. I arrived at her room at around 9:00AM, and sat with the Girls' parents. I talked with one relative to another, comforting them and ensuring them that things were alright. I spoke to the doctors and nurses when there were concerns.
At around noon, the doctors came in looking for the Girls' parents. They stood up, and I stood up with them. We went into an adjacent room. There the doctor told them that there was nothing more they could do. And that they needed a decision.
I took the folder the doctor had and sat down with the Girls' parents. I explained to them that they needed to decide what to do in case the Girl stopped breathing. In Tagalog, I explained "This is the DNR Form - Do Not Resucitate. If you sign this, it means that if she stops breathing, you are saying that you will let her go peacefully. If not, the doctors will try to revive her. But if they do, they cannot ensure that she will live longer".
"What do I do?" the Girls' mother asked me in Tagalog, "What should I do?"
I took a deep breath - and told her this: "Sign it. Your daughter deserves to rest. She has provided for you while she was alive, and she will look over you when she is in heaven." I knew that I was virtually asking her to sign her daughters' death certificate.
She smiled faintly, and then signed the DNR.
The Girl looked far different from the young lady from the manufacturing line. She was deathly thin, save for her stomach that bulged as if she were five months pregnant. She was on a respirator, and her eyes were half shut, half open, but unmoving and non-responsive. You could hardly make out her breathing.
At around 1:00PM, a young man entered the room and approached the family. The Girls' mother hugged him and they both cried. Siblings greeted him and aunts told him to approach the Girl, which he did very slowly. He was the Girl's boyfriend, and he seemed genuinely in love with her AND with her family - and the family loved him back.
I was seated less than five feet from the bedside, and I could see everything that went on with the Girl.
The young man reached for the Girls' hand. And then he bent over to kiss the Girl on her forehead. And then he whispered in the Girls' ear.
Suddenly, for the first time since 9:00AM, there was movement. The Girls' hand clasped the young mans' hand. And the Girls' eyes -- those eyes that were half-shut and half-open but unmoving and non-responsive -- they suddenly shut fully closed. And her breathing, faint as it already was, came to a stop.
I watched her heart rate drop until it flat lined. All you could hear was the beep of the machine and the soft crying of the family.
Everyone left the room one by one. I had our driver bring the family home, and I assured them that I would take care of everything. An aunt and a sister stayed with me to watch the preparation of the body.
What I had witnessed was a triumph of Love over Death.
There was no reason for her to last that long that day. But she did. I believe that it was only when she heard the voice of the one she loved did she feel that everything was complete - and that she could pass on peacefully.
Her parents were there.
Her siblings were there.
Her friends and office mates.
And the one she loved the most was there too.
She was complete.
Love kept her alive up till the last moment when love spoke in her ear, giving her the assurance that all was well, and that -- up to her dying moments -- she was loved well.
We had a machine operator in her early 20's. Coming from a poor family, her father worked himself day and night driving a tricycle just to make sure she was able to complete her vocational studies. While working, the "Girl" continued to pursue her dreams of becoming a technician - something that would augment her salary quite substantially, thus allowing her to help out in the financial needs of the family.
To make a long story short: the Girl took the exams for would be technicians - and passed! But the victory was short-lived.
The Girl was soon diagnosed with terminal cancer, and she spent the rest of her days in and out hospitals. Our HMO coverage allowed her to avail of good services, but still there was no denying the fact that she was soon leaving this earth.
On her last day, I went to the hospital for DW: death watch - one of the duties I performed as needed. I arrived at her room at around 9:00AM, and sat with the Girls' parents. I talked with one relative to another, comforting them and ensuring them that things were alright. I spoke to the doctors and nurses when there were concerns.
At around noon, the doctors came in looking for the Girls' parents. They stood up, and I stood up with them. We went into an adjacent room. There the doctor told them that there was nothing more they could do. And that they needed a decision.
I took the folder the doctor had and sat down with the Girls' parents. I explained to them that they needed to decide what to do in case the Girl stopped breathing. In Tagalog, I explained "This is the DNR Form - Do Not Resucitate. If you sign this, it means that if she stops breathing, you are saying that you will let her go peacefully. If not, the doctors will try to revive her. But if they do, they cannot ensure that she will live longer".
"What do I do?" the Girls' mother asked me in Tagalog, "What should I do?"
I took a deep breath - and told her this: "Sign it. Your daughter deserves to rest. She has provided for you while she was alive, and she will look over you when she is in heaven." I knew that I was virtually asking her to sign her daughters' death certificate.
She smiled faintly, and then signed the DNR.
The Girl looked far different from the young lady from the manufacturing line. She was deathly thin, save for her stomach that bulged as if she were five months pregnant. She was on a respirator, and her eyes were half shut, half open, but unmoving and non-responsive. You could hardly make out her breathing.
At around 1:00PM, a young man entered the room and approached the family. The Girls' mother hugged him and they both cried. Siblings greeted him and aunts told him to approach the Girl, which he did very slowly. He was the Girl's boyfriend, and he seemed genuinely in love with her AND with her family - and the family loved him back.
I was seated less than five feet from the bedside, and I could see everything that went on with the Girl.
The young man reached for the Girls' hand. And then he bent over to kiss the Girl on her forehead. And then he whispered in the Girls' ear.
Suddenly, for the first time since 9:00AM, there was movement. The Girls' hand clasped the young mans' hand. And the Girls' eyes -- those eyes that were half-shut and half-open but unmoving and non-responsive -- they suddenly shut fully closed. And her breathing, faint as it already was, came to a stop.
I watched her heart rate drop until it flat lined. All you could hear was the beep of the machine and the soft crying of the family.
Everyone left the room one by one. I had our driver bring the family home, and I assured them that I would take care of everything. An aunt and a sister stayed with me to watch the preparation of the body.
What I had witnessed was a triumph of Love over Death.
There was no reason for her to last that long that day. But she did. I believe that it was only when she heard the voice of the one she loved did she feel that everything was complete - and that she could pass on peacefully.
Her parents were there.
Her siblings were there.
Her friends and office mates.
And the one she loved the most was there too.
She was complete.
Love kept her alive up till the last moment when love spoke in her ear, giving her the assurance that all was well, and that -- up to her dying moments -- she was loved well.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Valentine's Day
It's that time of year once again, when love is in the air more evidently than almost any other day within the year.
It's a day when the prices of roses go up absurdly, and when restaurants, hotels (and motels) are usually fully booked or entertaining long cues of waiting patrons.
It's a day that my wife and I have - since we were just boyfriend and girlfriend -decided to shun and keep away from. Back then, we called it "baduy" to wear red or go out on a date on the 14th of February. Today, we call it "jologs".
Yesterday (Sunday) our daughter proposed that we be "the Red Team" again - meaning that we should all wear red when we went to hear Mass. So red it was. As we stepped into the church, my wife whispered to me "we better not be the red team next week", pertaining to Valentine's Day, "Jologs yun ha". I laughed and agreed with her.
This morning on our favorite morning show, they featured gifts one should not give on Valentine's Day because they would supposedly spell doom for the lovers who went against the advise of the Valentine Sages:
Give what you believe your significant other deserves.
I wonder how giving shoes would make the giver a slave to the whims of the other? Only a person who is not growing in a relationship, or who does not have enough self-respect will ever come under the control of another person. In a real relationship of love, there are times when you take control, and times when you let the other take control. It is a mutual understanding of letting each other grow. Control has no place in a relationship unless it is willingly relinquished for the good of the relationship.
Necklaces and belts? I gave my wife a necklace as a graduation gift. It was a beautiful gold necklace of three tones: white, yellow and red gold. My fingers were shaking when I put it around her neck, and to this day, my wife laughs when she remembers how I looked putting the necklace on her with her mother (now my mother-in-law) watching. Ask my wife: she will tell you that I have never led her on any kind of leash - literal or virtual.
And for the roses? Well, practically speaking, if you give a person a rose with the thorns not cut off - someone is bound to get hurt. So I guess this is more a practical advise than advise based on the "powers that be".
But people do get hurt in relationships. It's all a part of the growing. Whether the pain breaks you up or brings you closer together is really all up to the both of you. It's never a one-way road - if it is, then there is no relationship to speak of.
Even in our relationship with God, there is pain.
You lose your job. You lose a loved one. You get terminally ill. You are down on your knees. You're beaten almost to a pulp. You're pressed, persecuted and struck down.
You could enumerate far more examples of pain or hurt that you have experienced or may be experiencing today - how they affect you is ultimately dependent on who you view God to be in your life.
Don't forget that Jesus suffered much pain. His Love for the Father caused Him to become obedient unto death - even to death on a cross. It was God's ultimate love for us that made Him decide to make the ultimate sacrifice of giving the life of His Son for our sake. And it was Jesus' ultimate Love for God the Father that made him say "not MY will, but YOURS be done..."
Yes, there is pain and hurt in relationships. But you decide if this pain will make or break you.
God the Father decided that it was a hurt that would be worth it - for it meant that we would have the chance to spend eternity with Him in heaven. It is the same in any relationship. Learning from the pains and growing from them means that we have a chance to experience a taste of heaven with the one we love and have professed our love for.
So what is the best gift for Valentine's Day? Give him or her shoes to wear as you decide to journey through life together. Give him or her a belt to keep the pants on securely as you go through rough times. Give him or her a necklace to show the world just how precious your love for each other is.
And give him or her flowers - not necessarily roses - but the flowers that can only come from a garden grown and cultivated in the hearts of those whose love is true.
It's a day when the prices of roses go up absurdly, and when restaurants, hotels (and motels) are usually fully booked or entertaining long cues of waiting patrons.
It's a day that my wife and I have - since we were just boyfriend and girlfriend -decided to shun and keep away from. Back then, we called it "baduy" to wear red or go out on a date on the 14th of February. Today, we call it "jologs".
Yesterday (Sunday) our daughter proposed that we be "the Red Team" again - meaning that we should all wear red when we went to hear Mass. So red it was. As we stepped into the church, my wife whispered to me "we better not be the red team next week", pertaining to Valentine's Day, "Jologs yun ha". I laughed and agreed with her.
This morning on our favorite morning show, they featured gifts one should not give on Valentine's Day because they would supposedly spell doom for the lovers who went against the advise of the Valentine Sages:
- Don't give shoes. The giver would be under the control of the other in the relationship. It also supposedly means that the recipient will eventually walk away from the relationship.
- Don't give belts or necklaces. It supposedly symbolizes how the giver will hold the other on a "leash' of sorts. If you must give a necklace, let the recipient put it on herself or himself.
- Don't give roses with the thorns still in place. It means that one will definitely get hurt in the relationship.
Give what you believe your significant other deserves.
I wonder how giving shoes would make the giver a slave to the whims of the other? Only a person who is not growing in a relationship, or who does not have enough self-respect will ever come under the control of another person. In a real relationship of love, there are times when you take control, and times when you let the other take control. It is a mutual understanding of letting each other grow. Control has no place in a relationship unless it is willingly relinquished for the good of the relationship.
Necklaces and belts? I gave my wife a necklace as a graduation gift. It was a beautiful gold necklace of three tones: white, yellow and red gold. My fingers were shaking when I put it around her neck, and to this day, my wife laughs when she remembers how I looked putting the necklace on her with her mother (now my mother-in-law) watching. Ask my wife: she will tell you that I have never led her on any kind of leash - literal or virtual.
And for the roses? Well, practically speaking, if you give a person a rose with the thorns not cut off - someone is bound to get hurt. So I guess this is more a practical advise than advise based on the "powers that be".
But people do get hurt in relationships. It's all a part of the growing. Whether the pain breaks you up or brings you closer together is really all up to the both of you. It's never a one-way road - if it is, then there is no relationship to speak of.
Even in our relationship with God, there is pain.
You lose your job. You lose a loved one. You get terminally ill. You are down on your knees. You're beaten almost to a pulp. You're pressed, persecuted and struck down.
You could enumerate far more examples of pain or hurt that you have experienced or may be experiencing today - how they affect you is ultimately dependent on who you view God to be in your life.
Don't forget that Jesus suffered much pain. His Love for the Father caused Him to become obedient unto death - even to death on a cross. It was God's ultimate love for us that made Him decide to make the ultimate sacrifice of giving the life of His Son for our sake. And it was Jesus' ultimate Love for God the Father that made him say "not MY will, but YOURS be done..."
Yes, there is pain and hurt in relationships. But you decide if this pain will make or break you.
God the Father decided that it was a hurt that would be worth it - for it meant that we would have the chance to spend eternity with Him in heaven. It is the same in any relationship. Learning from the pains and growing from them means that we have a chance to experience a taste of heaven with the one we love and have professed our love for.
So what is the best gift for Valentine's Day? Give him or her shoes to wear as you decide to journey through life together. Give him or her a belt to keep the pants on securely as you go through rough times. Give him or her a necklace to show the world just how precious your love for each other is.
And give him or her flowers - not necessarily roses - but the flowers that can only come from a garden grown and cultivated in the hearts of those whose love is true.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Soulmates
This isn't your common everyday Christian doctrinal belief. The concept of the "soulmate" comes from the Eastern teaching that for each "soul" there is one specific "partner soul" -- hence the term "mate".
The more common and traditional teaching involves the journey of two souls across various lifetimes culminating in the life when these two souls -- predestined to be with one another -- meet and become one either by marriage or by death.
But in todays Christian world, we have come to realize that soulmates do exist -- and that not only is this belief not un-Christian -- but it actually finds its perfect definition in the relationship of an Omnipotent God with His Church and every individual soul that belongs to it.
Take it from Genesis. God created all things before He created Man. One way of looking at this is that He was so pleased with His work that He wanted to share it with someone, and THAT someone was Man. Another way of looking at it though is that God created all things so that Man, His Soulmate, would come into a world prepared just for Man.
Soulmates seek what is best for the other. In preparing the world for Mankind, God clearly set the stage for the concept of soulmates.
Soulmates are willing to look beyond each others faults. In continually forgiving Man for his sin, God clearly stated that He was always open to receiving Man with all his faults.
Soulmates always understand. God became man - as human as you and I - He felt every emotion, every pain, every joy - everything that man feels. He understands.
Soulmates exist because God exists.
He knows our needs - he knows our wants. He knows our strengths and our weaknesses. Our joys and sufferings, our triumphs and pains.
He knows. And He knows who we need beside us for each and every eventuality.
Thus you - and I - we are always a soulmate to someone at any time. God placed us on this earth to be a soulmate - a blessing - to those to whom we are sent.
And who are we sent to?
To our families: our spouses, our children, our siblings and parents - all of whom needed us, need us, and will need us in their lives.
To our friends and neighbors: people in the street, people at school, at work, at play. The guy in the next car, or on the escalator ahead of you. You never know when he or she will need somebodys' help. You could be there - the right person at the right time - for them.
To those we minister to: Community members, parishioners, cell group members, household members, action group members. Our ministering could be what they need when they feel dry in their spiritual lives, or when they feel God is far away.
Yes, Soulmates exist - because God exists. And He exists in us.
When the soul next to you is in need of a soulmate for whatever reason - will you be ready to be a soulmate to that person?
God made His choice. He knew we needed Him if we were ever to have the hope of entering the Kingdom of Heaven. Thus he chose to be a Soulmate to us all.
The more common and traditional teaching involves the journey of two souls across various lifetimes culminating in the life when these two souls -- predestined to be with one another -- meet and become one either by marriage or by death.
But in todays Christian world, we have come to realize that soulmates do exist -- and that not only is this belief not un-Christian -- but it actually finds its perfect definition in the relationship of an Omnipotent God with His Church and every individual soul that belongs to it.
Take it from Genesis. God created all things before He created Man. One way of looking at this is that He was so pleased with His work that He wanted to share it with someone, and THAT someone was Man. Another way of looking at it though is that God created all things so that Man, His Soulmate, would come into a world prepared just for Man.
Soulmates seek what is best for the other. In preparing the world for Mankind, God clearly set the stage for the concept of soulmates.
Soulmates are willing to look beyond each others faults. In continually forgiving Man for his sin, God clearly stated that He was always open to receiving Man with all his faults.
Soulmates always understand. God became man - as human as you and I - He felt every emotion, every pain, every joy - everything that man feels. He understands.
Soulmates exist because God exists.
He knows our needs - he knows our wants. He knows our strengths and our weaknesses. Our joys and sufferings, our triumphs and pains.
He knows. And He knows who we need beside us for each and every eventuality.
Thus you - and I - we are always a soulmate to someone at any time. God placed us on this earth to be a soulmate - a blessing - to those to whom we are sent.
And who are we sent to?
To our families: our spouses, our children, our siblings and parents - all of whom needed us, need us, and will need us in their lives.
To our friends and neighbors: people in the street, people at school, at work, at play. The guy in the next car, or on the escalator ahead of you. You never know when he or she will need somebodys' help. You could be there - the right person at the right time - for them.
To those we minister to: Community members, parishioners, cell group members, household members, action group members. Our ministering could be what they need when they feel dry in their spiritual lives, or when they feel God is far away.
Yes, Soulmates exist - because God exists. And He exists in us.
When the soul next to you is in need of a soulmate for whatever reason - will you be ready to be a soulmate to that person?
God made His choice. He knew we needed Him if we were ever to have the hope of entering the Kingdom of Heaven. Thus he chose to be a Soulmate to us all.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Because I Love You
Julia is still a child.
When she was four, she said: "You should carry me because I'm still a baby. When I'm five, you don't have to carry me anymore..."
She's turning seven in a few months - and she still gets me to carry her every now and then. When I ask her why she still needs me to carry her, she always answers: "Because I love you..."
When she gets in bed with Jeng and I, she has this habit of draping her legs over either one of us. She'd drape her legs over my tummy and rest her head on her mother's tummy. Lying in this "H" position, I'd ask her why she lies down like that, she always answers: "Because I love you..."
When I'm working from home on my laptop (like now) - she gets on my lap to have a look at what I'm doing. When I ask her why she has to see what I'm doing, she always answers (you got it): "Because I love you..."
In the mornings when I walk to the front door, she has this habit of "walking me to the door". When I tell her she doesn't need to do it, she says she wants to. I ask why, of course. And of course, the answer is always: "Because I love you..."
And at night, after her prayers when we get those few minutes before she falls asleep, she lies down beside me, looks me in the eyes and tells me of everything she did that day. After she has told me everything, I ask her if she was happy that day. She always says yes. I ask why she was happy. And she'd always answer: "Because I love you..."
Yes, Julia is STILL a child.
Yet she embodies the Love of God more than she could ever understand.
Jesus asks us to carry him in our hearts - because He loves us.
He asks that he be allowed to drape his arms and legs around us - because He loves us.
He asks that he be part of our work - because He loves us.
He wakes us up every morning, guides us through the day, and watches us as we sleep. All because He loves us.
Someday, Julia will grow up, and I won't be able to carry her anymore. She won't climb in bed with her mom and I like she does now. She'll have her own work to attend to.
She'll walk her husband to the door and have her husband watch her sleep.
But one thing that no one or nothing will ever take away is the love that my wife and I share with her today.
It is a love that will remain with us forever. A love that will always remind us of the love that can only come from God.
"We love you, Julia. And when you get to read this many years from now, you will understand that we raised you the way we are raising you because we love you".
When she was four, she said: "You should carry me because I'm still a baby. When I'm five, you don't have to carry me anymore..."
She's turning seven in a few months - and she still gets me to carry her every now and then. When I ask her why she still needs me to carry her, she always answers: "Because I love you..."
When she gets in bed with Jeng and I, she has this habit of draping her legs over either one of us. She'd drape her legs over my tummy and rest her head on her mother's tummy. Lying in this "H" position, I'd ask her why she lies down like that, she always answers: "Because I love you..."
When I'm working from home on my laptop (like now) - she gets on my lap to have a look at what I'm doing. When I ask her why she has to see what I'm doing, she always answers (you got it): "Because I love you..."
In the mornings when I walk to the front door, she has this habit of "walking me to the door". When I tell her she doesn't need to do it, she says she wants to. I ask why, of course. And of course, the answer is always: "Because I love you..."
And at night, after her prayers when we get those few minutes before she falls asleep, she lies down beside me, looks me in the eyes and tells me of everything she did that day. After she has told me everything, I ask her if she was happy that day. She always says yes. I ask why she was happy. And she'd always answer: "Because I love you..."
Yes, Julia is STILL a child.
Yet she embodies the Love of God more than she could ever understand.
Jesus asks us to carry him in our hearts - because He loves us.
He asks that he be allowed to drape his arms and legs around us - because He loves us.
He asks that he be part of our work - because He loves us.
He wakes us up every morning, guides us through the day, and watches us as we sleep. All because He loves us.
Someday, Julia will grow up, and I won't be able to carry her anymore. She won't climb in bed with her mom and I like she does now. She'll have her own work to attend to.
She'll walk her husband to the door and have her husband watch her sleep.
But one thing that no one or nothing will ever take away is the love that my wife and I share with her today.
It is a love that will remain with us forever. A love that will always remind us of the love that can only come from God.
"We love you, Julia. And when you get to read this many years from now, you will understand that we raised you the way we are raising you because we love you".
Thursday, January 29, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, January 26, 2009
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...
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...
Saturday, January 24, 2009
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?
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?
Friday, January 23, 2009
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?
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.
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.
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