Promises

This week, I've been thinking a lot about promises. Not just God's promises to me, but about my promises to Him...and how He has always managed to hold me to them.

A couple of weeks ago, I was having a profound conversation about God, spirituality, and mission with Father Edgar of Kabayan (did I ever mention that this time last year I did not know even one priest on a personal level, not considering my Tito Father Dante who is family and thus does not count? The first time I was to actually "meet" and become friends with a priest was the same occasion I met and befriended a bishop! Anyway, more about that next time). We were talking about my conversion, and, when I mentioned a long-standing half-hearted "labas-sa-ilong" pact I'd made with God in 1994, the good Father said, "Ah, no wonder...you made a promise to God? He'll make sure you keep it."

How was I to know that the "promise" I made to God during that Mission Mass so long ago - a promise I knew I'd never keep as soon as I made it - would turn out to be the deepest desire of my heart ten years later? If we were to believe that He is a "bargaining" God, He sure kept His end of the deal: not only did I pass the Bar, sanity intact, but He made sure I did with flying colors and a not-too-shabby ranking that my best friends still like to brag about to this date. He gave me ten years of cutting-edge, cut-throat, intellectually and financially fulfilling legal practice, with some fantastic media work thrown in on the side. But when all my dreams came true (because, according to Sir Francis Drake, my dreams were small and few), it was time to live His dreams for me.

Come to think of it, He's managed to hold me to many of the promises I've made to Him, big or small, no matter if I've initially fumbled and broken them time and again. But it is only through His grace that I manage to squeak through.

On November 9, 2002, after 16 years of chain-smoking a maximum of three packs a day, I promised to quit if my best friend showed up at his Life in the Spirit Seminar. He did, and, only through God's sustenance and despite many urges and temptations, I haven't had a cigarette since.

During the Easter Vigil of 2003, I "died" to my favorite sin and resolved to give up the ugliest part of myself that was killing my soul...and, only through God's abundant grace and sustenance, haven't fallen for that again since.

While in line to have my Bible signed by the great Catholic convert and apologist Steven Ray, I signed up for a weekly Holy Hour against abortion and promised to devote my Thursdays, from 8-9 p.m., to praying the Holy Rosary. I'd been unwittingly derelict in that particular promise until this last Thursday, when, after coming from a meeting in Magallanes and en route to picking up a friend at The Fort, I felt a compelling desire to adore God as He is present in the Blessed Sacrament. I didn't have to go as far as my intended destination, San Miguel in Bonifacio, because I found myself in an intense hour of prayer at the Adoration Chapel of Sanctuario de San Antonio. And that hour was precisely timed, because, although I'd wanted to stay a longer, I was suddenly drawn to a notice reminding visitors to vacate the chapel at 9 p.m. because of the nightly cleaning. Which was just as well, considering that my friend, who was supposed to be working 'til 10 p.m., texted that he was free an hour earlier. It was only then that I was reminded of the weekly hour of prayer I'd signed up for!

Finally, only today in the wee hours of the morning, en route to Abra and in a not-entirely-pleasant mood, I woke up to a pit stop, and found myself alone in the SUV while the tires were being checked for air. I looked up and saw a figure in rags crouched in the corner amidst the garbage under an electrical post. I - or anyone else for that matter - would have missed him, if not for the keen eyesight the Lord had gifted me with at that particular moment. I was definitely not in the mood to see this pathetic creature covered with grease and dirt, much less to reach out to him; I was on a weekend "vacation," for crying out loud! But at the same time, my heart sent out a silent prayer to God, for guidance as to what to do (in a more conscious, wakeful state I would know exactly what to do, but I was sleepy, cranky, and tired!). It didn't take Him more than 30 seconds to remind me that whatsoever I did to the least of my brethren, I did to Him, and of the promise I'd made to always respond when He beckoned. Before I knew it, I was out of the car, lunchbox of daing na bangus, ginataang puso ng saging, and rice in tow (I'd carried my home-packed dinner just in case we didn't find any Lenten-Friday-friendly eateries on the way...God's beautiful plan indeed kept that meal especially reserved for this man!), approaching the dirty figure with mottled hair who was pawing in the refuse for his very late evening meal. For a split second I thought that if he looked up as I neared him, he would snarl like an animal and pounce on me...but God gave me the courage to draw near and tell the man of the good meal that was before him. The poor child of God looked up, with clear eyes, not quite understanding, but nevertheless without intimidation, and as I could not quite bear to stay on longer, I walked away. Promise fulfilled, maybe not as much as I would have wanted, but nevertheless, He held me to it.

I know now that God holds us to the promises we make to Him, oftentimes by His grace alone. :-)