Callings and Courage

"(E)very calling comes with the courage needed to fulfill it. Those who decide to look for their visions and courage and then move to create the things they are asked walk through fear to a life with direction, purpose, and effectiveness. They reach a serenity known only to those who have traveled this road." - Robert J. Furey, Called By Name

One...two...three...sapul. :-) Amen.

C'est Moi

I feel like I've just come out from living under a rock. Or from a nuclear shelter where I'd been hiding out from the rest of the world since goodness knows when. It's a weird kind of reorientation – kind of like being kidnapped by aliens and then beamed back down after what feels like an eternity, to a whole new world. Well, not entirely new, but to lots of things that are strange and, so as not to mislead anyone, truly wonderful.

Miles is aghast at how I’d very quickly slipped "out of the loop": I used to be her walking enyclopedia of pop culture, and the goings-on and the ins-and-outs of the city. And now, whenever she talks about this place or that, this TV show or that, this personality or that, all she gets is a blank stare. It doesn't have anything to do with my renewal in the Faith - in a few days, it'll be four years since my conversion, which has never kept me from being the real "me." Or by my embracing my call as a lay missionary working with He Cares, although I've learned to value my resources and set priorities and (try to) turn away from things and actions and relationships not pleasing to the Lord. But for a good part of the last year, it somehow felt like I was on another planet, living some other person’s life. This is one of the main reasons I hate inauthentic people: it is so much of a PITA - yes I say a$$ even if I don't spell it (hey, everyone has one, and even a hole in one) - for me to be less than authentic myself. I realize tonight that it makes me madder than a bovine disease not to be me.

And hello, this is ME, warts and all. Let’s not pretend to be someone I'm not, or apologize for what I am. And this is me: I like Madonna (her music, if not her lifestyle) and house music and rock and roll and U2 and disco and senti soul and Barry Manilow and Rey Valera. I have rhythm and can dance up a storm and even a mean salsa if you’re up to it, but only if I'm up to it as well. I can sing along to Narda now, much to our new household kid Rommel's delight, because I'm listening to my old stations again, at TOP VOLUME. I adore Project Runway and Queer Eye and do not give a flying funicular about Kapuso or Kapamilya or showbiz gossip shows. I like taking "our kids" out on a well-deserved Sunday treat without feeling like I've deprived them of anything - nay, without feeling like I've deprived myself of anything, poor me. I don't mind getting dirty or messy or muddy but I also love high heels and make-up and dressing up nicely if not expensively – and pulling off looking like a million bucks for a couple of hundred. I like the day-end "buzz" and can still drink like a sailor, as long as I don't drink to get drunk or for the wrong reasons, but you better hold your liquor well, and your disposition, if you want to drink around me. I enjoy a good meal, whether it be in a carinderia or an expensive restaurant, as long as you don’t limit me to either kind of place. I say "darling" a lot. Even if I’m a gurrrrl, I know I can rock-and-roll and go on all those wild adventures with the boys and kick a$$ but I need my pedicure afterwards. I am allergic to wimps, and if my being a strong woman puts you off, then darling, you'd be better off staying away...far away. If you mess with my friends, I'll come over to your house and beat you black and blue (well, not really, but you'll feel like I did exactly that). You know it when I don't particularly like you because I consider you non-existent if you happen to be in the same room. And, if I totally lose all respect for you, I thank God for the love and the good times, but burn bridges. Seriously.

Many people have told me to my face that I'm some kind of saint – or getting there, at least. I really hate to disappoint them, but this is ME; these are my faults. A lot of rough edges that need smoothing out and dirty smudges that still need cleaning by the Heavenly Handyman, but this is essentially me. Yes, an aspirant to "sainthood" with a lower case "s," and always a work in progress. God's not done with me yet, but His grace builds on our nature, and if it's my nature to like to dress up or laugh a little too loudly at your jokes or expect you to live up to whatever gifts and take hold of whatever blessings He's given you, then forgive me for being me. I hope you accept - and at least try to love - me the way He does. And I’ll try to do the same…darling.

Realizations

Sometimes, in the most casual of conversations, you stumble upon little protusions of philosophical truths that have yet to be fully unearthed, but which have been all this time the solid ground upon which you stand.

I recently "tripped" upon one such realization yesterday, over lunch with CC. We were talking about dreams and goals and future personal and professional paths and plans. Thinking aloud, I said that where I see myself in the future matters so much less than what I will be doing. And therein, in my opinion, is the vital difference that will keep us from suffering the frustration of not having arrived at the intended destination after a predetermined period of time, or, worse, actually getting there and finding out it's not quite as fabulous as you expected. Which is inevitably followed by the proverbial "what now" moment that very quickly turns direction into disorientation.

Been there, done that. Lived out and realized my five-year plan, then my ten-year plan, arrived at the summit of my personal Mount Everest and then found myself looking at the only direction left to go. Then again, I've also been at my own Base Camp at the bottom of a different mountain, believing with all my heart that this was the peak I needed to conquer, and then having my hopes dashed before I'd gotten very far from where I started. So I've learned not to peg my aspirations on any one place or situation - to not set my heart entirely on the fulfillment of a definitive dream; otherwise, I'd just be setting myself up for the heartbreaking disappointment of not becoming, say, a contributing editor to National Geographic Traveler or owner of my own restaurant or a missionary in South America. But I do see myself, five, 10, 20 years from now, still doing the things that are an essential part of who I am: writing, editing, traveling, cooking, taking care of God's children, living life. Loving life, the One from whom all life comes, and those who He has given and will give me to love for life; by His grace, doing His will and making His dreams for me come true. And therefore it doesn't matter where I see myself in the future, but what I see myself doing. Makes quite the difference, n'est-ce pas?

Lost and Found

I lost my camera today. My sexy little red Olympus Stylus Verve that fits into the palm of your hand, and into a small-ish evening bag – which is why I’ve always mistrusted bags that can hold no more than a lipstick and loose change. The formality of a friend’s wedding this afternoon constrained me to trade in my usual capacious bag that can hold my wallet, makeup, cell phones, planner/writing notebook, and still have space enough for a small child. And, in the attempt to stuff the basic essentials – car keys, one phone, compact, wedding weeping tissue - into that silly little frou-frou accessory and to get whatever out when needed, I inevitably lost my camera, which had earlier managed to fit in so nicely.

What’s worse, I discovered that I’d lost it a good deal later, at the reception. We’d just gotten there after wading through rush hour Manila traffic, and hardly had I warmed my seat when I decided to take a photo of the beautiful skies above the breakwater, only to find - tadah – no camera. Because of the ruckus after the wedding and the distraction of chismis with friends while answering phone calls and trying to pay the parking lot attendant, not to mention the absentmindedness of old age, I had no clue where I’d put it. I took one photo right before the wedding actually started (goes to show how trigger happy I am, i.e., photo-lazy) and then got too busy trying not to smudge my mascara when Ets walked up the aisle and making the Tagalog scripture reading intelligible, to take any more. And so, when I finally got the inspiration to take a picture, I found I didn’t have anything to take it with.

So I turned my messy car upside down, thinking that I’d taken the camera out and dropped it somewhere. But the only thing I discovered was the urgent necessity to clean my car *surprise.* And thus I rushed back into the crawling chaos of Roxas Boulevard traffic, ruining my newly-repaired heels in the process, and scoured the Malate Church for my sexy Stylus Verve. No dice. And even if I had left it there…well, even in a church nothing is quite safe. There had to be some reason for all those signs warning parishioners not to leave belongings attended, as other people may think “it is the ‘answer’ to their prayers.” I turned my car upside down and rightside up again, interrogated the guards, and finally gave up the search. I’d lost my camera.

All this time I’d been praying to God and asking St. Anthony’s intercession. On the drive back, I even engaged in a little emotional “blackmail,” (a.k.a., lambing) reminding God that my camera was the only documentation device of He Cares, and if it remained lost, we’d no longer have anything to take photos with in the course of the mission. But all this time, I felt strangely calm, as if something in me believed that the camera wasn’t totally lost.

I got back to sympathetic friends, whose reactions ranged from “let’s keep praying to St. Anthony” to “may kapalit yan!” (from Jules, who once lost his – ouch – car). Oh well, I was starting to feel the loss now, rather gently. It was just a material thing, after all. And then a little more painfully, as other people started to take photos with their own cameras when I suddenly didn’t have one of my own. I started thinking about all the places I’d taken my sexy little camera, and how many people it had forever captured. How many other cameras it had put to shame, and how so many people had been so impressed at everything it could do and how cute it looked. And then I began to miss my sexy little red Olympus Stylus Verve, even if I hardly ever used it or maximized its potential or really loved it as much as others did.

Right there, I found out why I’d lost it. Truly, there is a reason for all things that happen in this world, and inasmuch as Romans 8:28 (look it up, won’t hurt to dig into Scripture once in a while) is one of the anchors of my life, there were at least three lessons that I learned from this tragic experience.

First, you’ll never know exactly how valuable something you have is, until you lose it. All of a sudden I appreciated what a great blessing my little digital camera was, despite the fact that I never really took good care of it (which is why I lost it in the first place!). And then you want it back, badly.

Second, the first lesson applies to life and relationships as well. Enough said.

Third, God and St. Anthony make one heavenly tag team! (Add my Lolo into the equation, I always ask him for his prayers in heaven whenever I lose something). In a last ditch effort, I took the opportunity to announce the tragic loss during the bouquet throw and appeal to whoever was holding my sweet sexy thang to return it, never expecting a response. But what do you know, at the end of the reception, one of the coordinators gave it back – apparently they’d found it before the wedding march, etc., etc. Praise God, thank St. Anthony! A friend of mine is suspicious of the timing, as they could have announced that they’d found a camera at the very start of the festivities and spared me the distress, but I’m thankful nonetheless. Whew.

And OK, one last realization from all these occurences: whenever you lose something of value and get it back, you really learn to appreciate it all the more. Indeed. My sexy little red Olympus Stylus Verve took a few more great photos before being returned to its roomy, spacious carrying case and zipped up, with my other dearest valuables, in my bigger day-to-day bag. No more frou-frou evening bags for it, thank you very much. And no more abuse or neglect. It has served me well, and boy, am I going to appreciate this little possession of mine properly this time around. This lesson applies to life and relationships as well.

Enough said.

A City On A Hill

"You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father." (Matthew 5:14-16)

Esther Dorado had an unforgettable Mother's Day this year: she spent the previous nignt and the early morning hours scouring the shore of the Avilon river for her son. Her neighbors thought that she would jump into the churning waters herself, in her hysteria, but her mother's instinct kept drawing her to a spot overgrown with swamp cabbage and water lilies. True enough, there the lifeless body of 14-year old Norman Dorado was eventually found, at 2:00 in the morning, ten hours after he was carried away by the raging river stirred up by Typhoon Caloy.

Norman was one of "our" kids at He Cares, the sixth to pass away since I first started serving in 2004. It seems that death pays far too many visits to the poor, far more frequently, on account of far more trifling causes than most of us are used to. But it is no means less painful. Losing a child is not inconceivable to the poor - Ate Esther had previously lost two infants out of 11 - yet the anguish, albeit abbreviated, is the same as any other parent's.

But grief is not what I choose to write about tonight, although all of us went through our own experiences of heartbreaking loss since we found out about Norman. These last two nights, I've sat with the Montalban community I've grown to love, and taken up their loss. I most often see them in times of rejoicing, when they experience blessing upon blessing and receive the Good News, but these last few days I've been blessed to be with them in their - our - mourning. And yet, despite the sad circumstances, I have great reason to rejoice, and to praise God for how He has reigned triumphantly, even in this poverty-stricken place.

My constant prayer for our Montalban folk, ever since they were relocated from the city, was that they be beacons of light in the midst of their new surroundings, and that others be attracted to the loving warmth of their God-given glow. And indeed, though they have their little differences and petty squabbles and struggle constantly to follow Christ, these beloved children of God have proven that it is truly in the darkest of nights that the stars shine their brightest. No wonder that Ate Esther has borne this crippling loss so beautifully, even managing to smile through her trials.

She told us how her neighbors, her brothers and sisters from He Cares and even perceived "enemies," all came to the rescue in the middle of the night, and until the wee hours, to search for Norman. They all took care - are taking care - of her and her grieving family, sharing what little they have, cooking, entertaining visitors, seeing to the kids, just being there for Esther and Felipe. Shining the light of Christ so brightly, in this dark night of loss, that other people in the huge resettlement area have started to talk - somewhat enviously - about how the Block 17 community members care for each other. Inspiring by example. Being Jesus to each other. And this beautiful display of God's love, despite the devastating tragedy, brings great comfort indeed.

And thus Norman's passing, what seems to be a premature return to his Maker, can be seen, even as early as now, as a purposeful occurrence in God's most perfect plan. Another amazing "side effect" of this spontaneous outpouring of love is the effect it has had on the normally reticent Dorado family (only Ate Esther, Oliver, and Arbie had, and again only after years with He Cares, truly opened up). Every single one of them has started to actually receive the love directed their way, from the littlest ones to the eldest, to their father, Felipe. Dexter and Warren, who have always disinterestedly stayed on the sidelines these last couple of years, even during major outreaches when all the Montalban kids were competing for attention, are suddenly hug-addicts. Warren, who looks like he's three but is actually six years old, even hoarsely demanded to know "Bakit ngayon lang kayo?" when Judith (who'd spent the previous day babysitting the Dorados) and I arrived this evening. And Marvin, the brother closest to age to Norman, who seemed the most affected by his kuya's passing and who had never really said anything to me all these years I've known him and his family, asked, just as we were leaving and I told him we'd be back, "Kailan ka balik, Ate?" Little changes that seem inconsequential, but in fact major developments in our relationship with these beloved children - in God's relationship with them. His city on a hill, one of the hills of Montalban, is, indeed, ablaze tonight.

Praise God.

(Last known photo of Norman - on the left - and his younger brother Oliver. Funny thing, that's me and my phone in the background.)

On Writing

It's been a while since I've written anything - on my blogs, anyway. Perhaps it's because I'm back to writing professionally, on a regular basis. No longer do I need to polish my craft daily by exercising my written skills, but it's still fun to play with words, especially if I'm doing it for my own entertainment.

I suppose this "career path" was inevitable - I probably should have known early on, when as a grade-schooler I'd write academic essays for compliance's sake and inadvertently end up winning grade-level (and, later in high school, school-wide) competitions. I never knew I had the knack, because I didn't take my inclination very seriously (I wrote notebooks full of juvenile stories, again exclusively for my own diversion). I didn't even think of joining the school paper, or the yearbook committee, because I didn't have the slightest interest of writing for public consumption. All I knew then was that, for as long as I could remember, I loved to read - I would devour any printed matter put in front of me, fiction, non-fiction, comic books, cook books, encyclopedias (I went through a few sets, almost cover to cover except for the boring parts), Perry Mason, Nancy Drew, Chaucer, Orwell (I read 1984 in 1984), S.E. Hinton, Tolkien (again, in 1984, long before the films), Edith Hamilton's Ancient Mythology...all that good stuff (and a lot of the bad stuff - I wasn't spared from the Sweet Dreams syndrome). And I think that built quite a foundation in terms of learning vocabulary, style, and tone - which is why I always tell aspiring writers who come to me for advice to read everything they can get their hands on. Someone who claims to be a writer but refuses to read (for either laziness or lack of interest) anything other than what he's written invariably suffers from literary autism, an exhausting (for the reader) condition that manifests itself in misuse and abuse of literary devices, sloppy diction (as in choice of words, not pronunciation. Pet peeve: although diction is defined secondarily as a degree of clarity in pronunciation, it actually means, in primary usage, choice of words. If someone pronounces her words well, I would rather hear "your pronunciation is impeccable!" It's a dictionary after all darling, not a pronunciary. Grrr.

All right, so why is this entry in my spiritual blog? Mainly because I realized too late that I do not have too many spiritual reflections to share right now, but also because my gift for the written word (and some have told me the same as to the spoken word as well, although I still think far less consistent in my speaking skills), although long unacknowledged until I finally put it to good use, is something that comes only from my Creator, just as whatever is good in me comes only from Him. And I hope to continue to give it back to Him, for His greater glory, and if it means waging war against the illiteracy promoted by text mesage spelling, then so be it. Another pet peeve; thus my battle cry: I would rather spend an extra peso or two to fully convey my message in proper and spelled out English or Tagalog than massacre words by grotesquely mutilating/abbreviating/intermarrying ("san na u? d2 na me.") them. Ugh. Nakapanghihilabot. Try texting me that. Some people even e-mail using "text spelling." For crying out loud, you don't pay extra no matter how long your e-mail message stretches! Writers who used to submit unsolicited contributions, prefaced with "cover" e-mails saying "Hope u find dis ok" immediately got dumped in the trash bin of my computer (or their work did, that is, although I could think of more drastic disposal methods for the errant mutilators of Ernie and Bert's mother tongue...)

Bottom line is, use your God-given gifts wisely, and correctly! Sloppiness and laziness never give glory where it's due.

Prayers For The Almost Saints

Lord, help me to relax about insignificant details beginning tomorrow at ll:41.23 a.m. e.s.t.

God, help me to consider people's feelings, even if most of them are hypersensitive.

God, help me to take responsibility for my own actions, even though they're usually NOT my fault.

God, help me to not try to RUN everything. But, if You need some help, just ask.

Lord, help me to be more laid back and help me to do it exactly right.

Lord, help me to stand up for my rights (if You don't mind my asking).

God, help me to take things more seriously, especially parties and dancing.

God, give me patience, and I mean right NOW.

Lord, help me not be a perfectionist (did I spell that correctly?)

God, help me to finish everything I sta

God, help me to keep my mind on one th- Look a bird - ing at a time.

God, help me to do only what I can and trust You for the rest. Do You mind putting that in writing?

Lord, keep me open to others' ideas, WRONG though they may be.

Lord, help me be less independent, but let me do it my way.

Lord, help me follow established procedures today. On second thought, I'll settle for a few minutes.

Lord, help me to slow downandnotrushthroughwhatIdoAMEN.