Spoken To, Spoken For

Three hours of sleep on the busiest day of my week, and not enough time to properly talk to God. I was late enough as things went, especially since the Center was unusually shorthanded - even some of our regular volunteers couldn't make it - last Saturday, and so I apologetically rushed through my prayers, asking Him instead to speak to me as I went through the day.

And He did. Amidst all the activity, His quiet voice spoke volumes, stilling the chaos the way it once calmed the seas during a treacherous storm.

He spoke through Kuya Joe Dean: after lunch, he began telling Vince the true essence of his mission. People go everywhere trying to encounter Jesus - on retreat, on pilgrimages, to the ends of the earth. But He is always right there in front of us, waiting to be acknowledged, embraced, and loved. The face of the hungry, the naked, the imprisoned, the dying, is the face of the suffering Christ...and He said that whatsoever we do to the least of these most wretched brothers of ours, we do unto Him. It was a truth I discovered for myself from the very beginning of my own call to mission, and the reason why I returned week after week, then day after day. And it was exactly what I needed to hear just then, especially after going through a short period of the "in-betweens" (that dreary place between the mountaintop and the valley).

He spoke so beautifully during the impromptu intercession with the Center's teenagers that brought about the powerful descent of the Holy Spirit, as He anointed His newfound laborers for the harvest through Kuya. Carry My light into the world, He said. Another reminder of something He once said, and reassurance of why I am where I am and why I try to do what I want to do for Him.

And even later He spoke so profoundly in my heart, on the way home from Montalban after a chilly night with the children He sent us to love. His voice - His way of lovingly reminding me where He has taken me on this little journey together, His confirmation that indeed only He could work the transformation that I still find difficult to comprehend - resonated so powerfully that it brought about His favorite gift to me: tears that flowed like a healing river all the way back to the city. Would have been very normal, the way I weep freely in His presence, except that this time "we" had company, through whom He likewise spoke, and who was very kind about the copious amount of involuntary tearduct activity.

Finally, He gave me a little bonus to cap off so very wonderful a day survived on three hours' sleep: "one minute" (that extended to almost three hours) with some of the dearest friends He's given me, who know exactly how I get and what I am willing to do whenever He "talks" to me, and who love me still - or, as I'd like to believe, even all the more - despite?, nay, because of it.

May He grant me the grace to always listen whenever He speaks.

I have made you a light to the nations,
so that my salvation may reach the
remotest parts of the earth. (Acts 13:47, Is 49:6)