A Kiddie Pact

At right, in this photo taken a month ago, is my Manang Nieves.

She's three years my senior and she's been my friend since forever.  After my graduation from grade school, however, we hardly ever saw each other—she stayed put as a housewife in the town where we grew up, and I wandered to various places.  

But when I go home to Umingan, we see each other in church.  She has remained an active member of that place of worship, where we both used to sing in the choir. She still sings soprano (or tenor, in an all-female chorus) and is a driving force of the women's group.

Nieves was a huge part of my childhood. 

Her mother, Manang Ibay, helped my mom in caring for my little brothers and with the household chores for almost 40 years—till her last breath on earth. Since Manang Ibay was in our home 24/7 on weekdays, Nieves would be there at daytime, too (after school), before she went back to their house in the farm for the night.
We would play, chat, argue, and do the things little girls in our time did. In many of our  “pretend” games, I would be a princess and she, my handmaiden. It was in one of those worlds of make-believe that we made a gibberish pact:  should one of us had a successful career in the future, she would help the less successful one. It was a kiddie play soon forgotten. 

In recent months, I learned that her husband  (an elder in the same church) was very sick.  He badly needed regular dialysis.  But because of the high cost of the procedure in another town, he decided to forgo it.  Tony and I sent some monetary help with a note about how much we wanted him to get well.

Then in my last trip to the province, when Nieves and I saw each other (photo above), I handed her additional help (a pittance, considering the cost of critical care). She bawled and wouldn't take it.  She said we have done enough for her family over the years.  

I suddenly remembered the “pact” we made all those years ago, and reminded her of it. She hugged me tightly, gripped my gift in her palm, and bawled even louder. 

People in our lives come and go, but there are those whom God assigns permanently to bless us with joy. For nothing is more heartwarming than being able to show these forever friends—in our own limited, miniscule way—the limitless, mammoth grace that covered us 2,000 years ago.