Beautiful, comforting, and sweet

Here's an excerpt of the speech I gave during the graduation ceremony of Marbel Evangelical Fellowship Christian Academy (MEFCA) last Friday. I spoke to the toughest crowd to engage — elementary pupils — but they're also the most honest and charming. In the middle of my talk, I saw a little boy's head bow in drowsiness, and spotted two girls giggling about (I suspect) an entirely different subject. I also met Ma'am Celina Lemana, my high school biology teacher and second-year high school adviser (II-Venus in KNCHS Special Class); her nephew studies in MEFCA. Nanay and Auntie Cecil are members of the school board and listened to my speech, as well. When I approached her after speaking, my mother said nothing, which means the talk must have gone well.

The topic was, "Filipino graduates: Prepared to lead with competence and godly character," with 2 Timothy 3:16 and Philippians 4:13 as key verses.

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God is so good to us he gave us a book we can read and study. But unlike other books, the Bible is a living thing. God speaks to us when we read it. Our hearts and minds are transformed when we listen to God’s Word. It’s a beautiful, mysterious, marvelous thing–the way God lovingly reveals Himself to ordinary people like us. Whether we are young or old, boy or girl, smart or not so smart, strong or weak, God’s word is for us. The words of the Bible are the words of God Himself. These words teach, discipline, correct, and train us to live worthy of God. These words are complete. We cannot add to them. They are enough to equip us for every good work. The good work can mean our ministry in church, school, jobs, and our families and personal relationships. The good work can mean the chores our parents tell us to finish, or the needy people that God brings on our way. 

But in order for words to make sense, you must read them. So take time to read your Bible. Make your quiet time the highlight of your day. I know it’s very hard for your generation. Smartphones and the internet are distracting you, shortening your attention spans, and making you less smart. It’s also creating many problems for you, like mental health issues. May I recommend something? Turn off your phones, leave them in the other room, or somewhere else you have no access to. And start and end your day by reading your Bible. Read the words slowly. Memorize the verses. Turn them into song. Think and pray while you do so. Take down notes. Ask God to open your heart to understand His message. Ask God to help you obey Him. His words are beautiful, comforting, and sweet.


I believe we all can learn something important by listening to Paul’s words to Timothy (2 Timothy 3:14-17):

But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work.

When you start reading, meditating, and applying God’s Word to your life, you will, like Timothy, be prepared to face whatever life has in store for you.

Photo: lighthouse at Barrenjoey, Sydney, New South Wales.

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Reflective journaling

I'm speaking on reflective journaling — diary-keeping, really — at the midyear convention of the Society of Gynecologic Oncologists of the Philippines that will happen sometime this week in Gensan. I simply couldn’t say no to Dr. Myra Maduramente, one of the chief organizers of the event.

To get invited, one should at least possess the credentials, the formal training, and the certifications; but I have none of those. What I have is some history: I have been keeping a journal — both offline and online — since college, not as constantly as I would have wanted but consistent enough to make journaling a part of the way I live. When I write I’m able make sense of things. Putting words onto paper, or in a screen, helps me metabolize my experiences, realize my lessons, and organize my prayers.

I have 30 minutes to squeeze in a brief talk and a workshop of sorts. I might start with data on why keeping a journal works: how it focuses an otherwise chaotic day into a less chaotic narrative. Stories are powerful: we tell ourselves stories all the time. Then I might launch into guided reflective journaling — trigger, meaning-making, and forward integration. I might also discuss some barriers against this exercise — lack of time or work overload — and conclude with a guided workshop. I might even add practical ways of doing it — finding the right notebook or pens, or even the background music. The outline is brewing in my head. 

The time isn’t sufficient, of course, but hardly anybody complains of brief talks. Let’s see how things play out on Thursday afternoon.  

Writing about my preparations for my talk on reflective journaling is my preparation. How meta is that! 

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Theo and Monseigneur Welcome

I’m reading Theo of Golden, a novel by Allen Levi. I’m relishing each chapter, short but punchy, leaving me with a sense of lightness and hope. I first learned about Allen Levi through Russel Moore’s podcast. Dr. Moore calls that interview his favorite. I remember driving from Marbel to Gensan, engrossed by their conversation being broadcast through Apple Carplay. I resolved to get a copy of the novel right away – that is, I ordered an ebook through Kindle. Since then I’ve treated myself to one or two chapters at a time.  

Theo, born and raised in Portugal, visits a quiet town called Golden. I’m almost halfway through the book, and I don’t want to give spoilers here. But let me just say that Theo is a old, rich man whose presence transforms the neighborhood and reminds readers of what kindness looks like.  

Interestingly, I’m also reading Les Misérables a by Victor Hugo, a masterpiece that I’m half ashamed to admit that I have only started reading this month. That gem of a novel is in my Kindle. (FYI, the Kindle is a great device to help with insomnia – not that I have issues with sleeping – according to the New York Times Wirecutter review.) 

A remarkable character who has moved me is called Monseigneur Welcome (Bienvenu), the bishop who allows Jean Valjean, the thief and pardoned prisoner, to enter his house and sleep. I know from the musical that Jean Valjean proceeds to steal from his house; the bishop forgives him anyway. How is he able to do that? 

I suppose part of the answer comes from an earlier chapter, where Victor Hugo writes about the bishop:

“A moment later he was in his garden, walking, meditating, contemplating, his heart and soul wholly absorbed in those grand and mysterious things which God shows up at night to the eyes which remain open.”

I love stories that give me, or remind me of, hope.

 

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Here's Paul occupying my reading nook. There's my Underwood typewriter and Romalyn Ante's poetry collection, Agimat, given to me by another poet, Prof. Marj Evasco. The tennis racket? That's a mosquito killer.

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Internal calm

I read Psalm 25 for my meditation this Monday morning, the start of another week marred by rising oil prices and, on a personal note, illnesses that hit close to home: two of my distant aunties have been diagnosed with terminal cancers. A friend's father has died because of a progressively worsening malignancy. 

Verse 4 reads, "Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths." David prayed that God would move in his heart so that he would yearn to know God's ways, His paths. The poem's imagery alludes to a journey: there's a beginning and end to it. The beginning is the call to follow the way and leave all worldly cares behind; the end is God Himself. I suppose the words "ways" and "paths" must mean something else, as well: a pattern of living based on God's precepts and commands that God's chosen children are called to live by.  The Christian journey is a pilgrimage towards hills and valleys, with pain, sorrow, and joy intermingled. But the Christian does not walk alone; God empowers him. On his own, he will inevitably fail. 

I love the honesty and vulnerability of this Psalm. There is no arrogance in it, a fact that must have been surprising to the people of surrounding cultures who had first heard this song: the king publicly asks for forgiveness for his transgressions, and proclaims his desperate need for God. Instead of boasting, David shows humility. Verse 4 reads, "Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long."

Dane C. Ortlund--one of my favorite Christian modern writers of our era, the same man who wrote my favorite book, Gentle and Lowly--helps me make sense of the Psalm. His book, In the Lord I Take Refuge, settles my heart and mind towards the long week ahead, a tool and a guide and, yes, a friend to my heart. Meditating on this Psalm, he writes, "When life overwhelms us, when the bottom is falling out, this is where Scripture takes us to God. We do not achieve internal calm by securing external calm. We find internal calm by looking to God." 

I took the photo on my way to Lugano, Switzerland, where I told the driver, who lived in the German-speaking part of the country, that I was from the tropics and I wished to escape the sun--a fact that puzzled him.

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When the dog escapes

There’s this entry in Thoreau’s journals where he writes about him chasing his father’s pig. The pig escapes and runs around the neighborhood. He spends the day trapping the animal, which is eventually caught with neighbor’s help. The pig, which he wrote about when he was 38 (my age today), is reminiscent of our Paul. Our dog, who is unleashed 99% of the time, except when he needs to be washed, flees the house as soon as he finds an opening—usually when the gates are opened for the car to enter/exit, or when Nanay goes out. Instinctively, Paul knows my mother moves slowly, and he proceeds to insert himself in the little window of opportunity. Chasing after him only emboldens him: he thinks you are playing with him. He does not go far (although sometimes he does), but looks back after running a few meters away. When you run in the same direction, he runs a few meters more, then looks back, as if saying, “Come on!”

Paul does find his way back after a foray into the neighbors’ gardens, panting hard, and looking for his tub of water, which he drinks hungrily. But his outdoor adventures can last for as long as an hour. The danger of leaving him outdoors is that he sometimes gets distracted by the smells. Our neighbors reported to us that they saw Paul cross the highway. They added that he seemed to know how to do that safely.  

I have discovered that the best way to bring him home is to dangle food and shout, “Hmmm, sarap-sarap.”

When I do that, Paul looks at my direction. Seeing that I am enjoying a gastronomical feast, he runs back home, expecting his share. I proceed to lock the door and trap him. 

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Monday date with my mother

Nanay asked me if she could go to GenSan with me. She needed to do her yearly pilgrimage to a government agency to show proof of life so she could continue to collect her pension. Her appearance could be done online, with a neat app that's been downloaded in her iPhone, but her log in details and her birthday did not match--a fact that took me at least 30 minutes to confirm. "Are you sure this is the number, Mom?" A question I must have blurted out at least four times, each meriting an fiercer response than the previous. 

 "Of course, I'm sure! I wrote the number carefully." 

I told her there was nothing else we could do but show up in the actual physical office. Today, we did that. I located the building through Google Maps, which led us to a narrow street where a funeral parade slowed the traffic significantly. It turned out that the building we were looking for was a few blocks away from my GenSan clinic. On a good, cloudy day, one can simply walk in the direction of Starbucks then take a quick left.

The office was accommodating, the parking spacious, and the staff courteous. We finished in less than an hour, a rarity in government offices. We logged on her app. I helped her take a selfie. The confirmation message read, "See you next year po." 

Driving my mother around is really how I show my love for her. She doesn't like what I cook, in general. But driving: that's what I do best, but only if I'm in the mood.  

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Why does Paul keep showing up in our dreams?

The scene is clear in my head: a crow—a large bird, which could have been an eagle—swoops down on Paul and kills him. Paul looks at me helplessly in the kitchen, where it happens. I shoo the bird away, but I'm too late. Paul's blood coats the floor. I awoke in cold sweat until I realized it was all a dream.

A similar incident happened in Manong's dreams. Paul is captured and taken to the dog pound. Manong rushes to save him from execution. 

Manong, now in Scandinavia, but who was Paul's primary dog walker, also told me a happy dream about Paul playing in the snow. 

Why does Paul keep showing up in our dreams? 

When I made coffee this morning, Paul was lying on the living room carpet, perfectly safe from birds that might try to kill him. 

A few months ago, Paul charmed Mich, who visited from Manila/Japan, into giving him a belly rub. 

He befriends birds and frogs that visit our home and only really despises Victor, the dog who lives two streets away. Otherwise, friends and family seem to like him. The neighborhood kids rush to him to stroke his head. I overheard a girl telling another scared girl, "He doesn't bite! Just call his name." 

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