Do-Gooders

Have you been duped by unscrupulous people because you were too trusting? 

Sallie was in the mall, and had just shopped for her upcoming travel to the US to visit her granddaughter. With several shopping bags, plus her own bulky purse, she had a hard time carrying them all. An angel-looking, well-dressed young man approached her and said politely, “Let me help you, Ma’am.” 

Oooh, a gentleman, Sallie thought. “Thank you. Yes, please help me carry these to my car over there.” 

And so the young man helped her stow her bags inside the car. Sallie rummaged through her purse for some change to give the young man as tip. When she looked up, he was gone. Now at home, she realized that she only had five bags instead of seven. She had been robbed! 

Remember the “tanim-bala” (planting a bullet in your bag) issue at the airport a few years back? Do-gooders with friendly smiles offered unsuspecting passengers help with their heavy luggage. Before these passengers could blink, the airport authorities found a bullet or two in their suitcases. Although innocent, the victims refused to go through the lengthy investigation that would delay their trip. So they paid the authorities grease money to let them go. 

Well-dressed do-gooders pounce on people anywhere. Beneath their innocent smiles lurks a dark intent. 

So as not to fall prey to these predators, and not be afraid of being conned or robbed unwittingly, let’s seek counsel from God’s Word. “Your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path.” (Psalm 119:105 NLT)

His protective grace ensures our safety.    

“. . . the Lord will deliver me from every evil attack and will bring me safely into his heavenly Kingdom . . .” (2 Timothy 4:18)  

Fewer and Fewer

Meet-ups with friends used to be frequent. We’d find all excuses to get together. But these days, they have become fewer and fewer.  

The pandemic is, I guess, the first culprit. It turned us into hermits for three long years. And so we lost our bearings. From there, age crept in with workplace retirement. 

Get-togethers have ceased to be spontaneous. They are now planned months in advance and then cancelled at the last minute.   

But there was this one time that miraculously pushed through to celebrate three birthdays from weeks before and weeks apart. My ading Ggie (sister from another womb) made it happen with some magic potions and gobbledegook. 

And so we met in a Chinese resto, five of us. The dim world we live in lit up. Then Ggie announced, “I invited someone but he gave me a nebulous answer. So I am not sure if he is coming.”

“Who???” 

He came! Like an apparition from the past, he handed me a funky birthday present, but not before showing us a photo in his phone, reminiscent of a teaser in an ad campaign. 

 

“Who???” No less than the well-loved-and-respected former big boss in the ad agency where we all met, “ABAJA!” 

The past became the present. Old jokes became new. Stale news became current. Seniors became juniors. The entree was laughter and dessert was more laughter. He was a birthday celebrator, too, if you include all other months of the year. The many years in between meet-ups vanished like the smoke on our birthday cake.    

Friendship does not end with time and space. Like grace, its beauty never fades and has no end.  

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11 

Home Sweet Home

Home is where the heart is. But when home is not what it used to be, where will the heart go? 

Our home is 48 years old. It has aged tremendously, not only because of years but more because of new-fangled discoveries that rushed in with unstoppable speed.  

When we moved to this our first (and last) home, son #2 was newly born. There was not even a landline phone. Son #3 was just an inspired thought. 

 

Now at age 48, home has been constantly sieged by the effects of global warming: environmental changes and therefore natural disasters like rains, floods, extreme heat; and the assault of technology—cellphones, cable TV, computers, air conditioners, Internet, and all their menu sides.  

How can the heart take it all?  

If the home needs to survive, it needs immediate surgery: its wires, gutters, eaves, ceiling, roofs, paint, walls, faucets, etc. are obsolete and therefore failing and falling apart. If not saved or replaced soon, zip. 

This has been home since June.

How long before the heart goes back to Home Sweet Home? 

The contractor said, ”Before Christmas.” 

At a time like this, I could almost hear Tony, who had always been cool and down-to-earth (my polar opposite), saying in his monotone without looking up from the book he'd been reading, “Patience is a virtue.” 

The Art of Grandparenting

Many articles have been written about this topic. I read a few when I learned that I was about to become one.  

But as soon as I held my grandson, Adrian, for the first time in my arms, the “art” principles flew out of the window. I was blessed with my own, and I immediately revised that title to “The Grace of Grandparenting.” 

Among all my roles in life, the most unique is being an Amah (lola).   

For one, I am older. And with age comes wisdom of experience. The strict rules imposed in parenthood to children have gone poof! This old saying is true to the letter:  

“Becoming a grandparent is like the dessert at the end of a hearty meal.” 

It is joy and relative lack of responsibility compared to parenting. When his parents left Adrian with us for a few days, they gave us rules that he should obey. Once they were gone, Tony and I allowed Adrian to do as he pleased. “In Angkong  and Amah’s house, you don’t violate any rules. We have no rules.” 

Indeed, grandparenting is a sweet reward, a chance to enjoy the fun and love of raising children minus the discipline.      

And since I am into book writing and advocating for love of reading, I loved reading a story to Adrian. According to the US National Institute of Education, reading aloud to children is the single most important activity leading to their love of reading. 

My heart tumbles whenever I chance upon social media photos such as these—a lola reading to her grandson.

"Crying children" is the 11th book in the Oh, Mateo! series of 16 books, published by Hiyas of OMF Lit and illustrated by Beth Parrocha)

Through a story in a book, the young ones and the young once build a close and lasting relationship. 

As children begin to look at books, listen to stories, talk and think about them, and ask questions, they’re on the road to becoming readers. Adrian, now 17 years old, is a bookworm like his late Angkong Tony and everyone in our small family. 

 

Lolos and lolas, reading a book to our grandchildren is a great way to relish the grace of  grandparenting.    

What the Fuss (2)

Too little time to take my maintenance pills, take off my shoes, put up my feet, close my blurry eyes, and put new batteries in my hearing aid . . . before we hied to Oriental Palace (a Chinese restaurant) for an authentic Chinese “lauriat” (derived from the Hokkien word "lao diat," meaning "special occasion"). It was one of Tony’s favorite haunts.     

Son #3, who volunteered to foot the bill promised, “Nothing fancy, just family.” 

Family—the Chit-Chat (our Group Chat nickname for our small clan on my mother’s side)—was there ahead of us. In a true Chinese tradition on birthday celebrations, everyone, including my two-year-old grand nephew, Atom, wore red. All told, there were 13 of us (the rest live abroad).

I was ecstatic to receive a surprise gift (left) sent by my grandson Adrian from the US. He knitted “Bahas” (Baboy/Ahas), a character he created when he was 10, and which he painted. The day before, his parents (son #2 and daughter-in-love) sent yummy belly lechon and other go-withs).

My ading Aie had a photo (right) of Tony and me (enlarged and framed) when he was officially welcomed as member of the V-Clan after our wedding. He introduced himself as the King of Siam, and me, his 32nd concubine. From that day forward, all 300+ members of our V-clan called him ading, manong, uncle, tito, or lolo. 

I was likewise deluged with wrapped gifts from everyone. 

Each dish was explained by son #3, but it was Tony’s voice I heard. “This is pricey because . . . this is rare because … this is made of . . . this is cooked with . . . etc.) 

How ironic that the only person in the clan, who was a true-blue Chinese, who spoke Hookien, who grew up on these dishes and therefore knew them like the palm of his hand, could not come and was profoundly missed. 

Through 12 courses, we chatted, joked around, reminisced non-stop about the years gone by. There are no-nos on occasions such as this: you don’t flip over a whole fish dish, you don’t do “sharon,” chats happen before the first dish is served, and you leave before or immediately after dessert. 

The fish was flipped over relentlessly, we had bags and bags of “sharon,” chatted before and long, long after dessert—nearing midnight.  

July 20, 2025 was a day of fussing, of overflowing and overwhelming grace. 

Psalm 90:10 (ESV)”The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.” . . . to our eternal home where age and birthday celebrations are irrelevant.  

What the Fuss (1)

“No fuss!” I ordered my boys, knowing how people grandly celebrate an 80th birthday.   

They fussed anyway. My thought balloon, Don’t kids listen to their moms anymore? 

My other thought balloon replied, They are not kids anymore. Allow them to fuss over you for a change.

Because my birthday fell on a Sunday, I insisted, “I will spend for my own simple thanksgiving day. I will have a dirty-ice-cream cart for the kids. And I will serve lunch, on me, to those who stay for Sunday School.”

They said nothing. 

And so on my birthday, I had the dirty-ice-cream cart, which the kids (and non-kids) enjoyed, going back and forth umpteenth times for extra servings. 

The basic lunch was prepared by a faith sister, Aegan, whose kaldereta JR loves. 

Then the fussing began. Nikki, a niece from a dear friend’s womb, surprised me with an exquisite birthday cake, which invited raucous singing and, “Blow, blow, blow!” 

I requested son #3 to refrain everyone from delivering oral tributes (a tradition in grand parties), and just to give me a few minutes to speak with my heart: how Tony and I had always preferred living simply, nothing grandiose, opting to stay under the radar—pausing in silence to thank the Lord for blessing us with a day such as this. Pastor Marvin, our guest preacher, led the prayer of thanksgiving. 

I thought that would be it . . . (to be continued) 

Note self: 

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 ESV)

Mary Grace Strikes Again

Ranting and raving are not my thing. They sap every energy from mind, heart, and body.  And yet, I dove into them last year. 

It’s all about Mary Grace, the name that was being rammed down my throat by the municipal officials of the place of my birth. So I did all I could to have it changed, following the baton of my ading Dave who led the documentation of whatever is left of our parents’ properties. 

End of a nightmare. 

But the senior citizens’ league of our Barangay wants to see the PSA of my birth certificate if I am to receive the benefits of seasoned (euphemism for old) retirees. So I went, requested, and paid for PSA of my birth records. 

Lo and behold! It’s still Mary Grace?! 

Ranting and raving came back with a vengeance. So I berate my ading Dave on our group chat. Immediately, my ading Matt reply with laughing emojis. “Read,” he and Dave command. So I read again, and sure enough at the bottom of the document are these words. 

Let me repeat those words for my benefit: the child’s first name is hereby changed from “Mary Grace” to “Grace.” 

I crawled under my computer chair. How can a reading advocate (“Writing has a twin,” I stress in  my book talks: “Reading!) not read?! 

Rubbing salt into the wound, Dave writes, “Retired proofreader.” 

Where Truth Lies

Finally, the paperback version of Mitch Albom’s “The Little Liar,” published in 2023, reached our bookstores. I had waited for it for months. The hardbound was always there, but aside from its prohibitive cost  (think dollars to pesos!), I prefer paperbacks because I could hold them any which way, whether lying down or sitting up, and still be comfortable.  

As soon as I entered my favorite bookstore, the sales clerk’s face lit up and said, “It has arrived ma’am!” Because I am in that shop  too often, he thinks I am their in-house grandmother. 

The book, set during the Holocaust, interweaves truth and lies and more lies. It's another one of Albom's uplifting yet heartbreaking opuses. I couldn’t put it down, but halfway through the pages, work summons my attention and time. I have a seminar to facilitate, online classes  to handle, and Sunday school slides to do.  

And to complicate matters, the book of my dear friend, Yay, arrrives from the US, where it was published. This, too, can’t wait! 

Lookie! Even  our dog, Judge, is excited. 

Then my daily Bible reading can’t be ignored. 

These sum up to what I call overflowing grace. It's a perfect day! 

Am I a Teacher?

This time last year, I was assigned by the Discipleship Ministry Team of our home church to facilitate a seminar for Sunday school teachers. 

“Can you please do an encore?” the head asked. 

“You mean an echo,” I replied. I had to use the same materials, for the word of God does not change after a year—or for eternity. 

“Whatever,” he said. 

The participants this second time around are younger and new in teaching (only a handful are veterans). These youngsters are members of our vibrant youth group recruited to help with Sunday school and Vacation Bible School (VBS). Again, as I did last year, I asked “Am I a Teacher?” all through the reflective seminar.   

But surprise!  It was neither an encore nor an echo. 

The replies to my questions came from different perspectives and therefore, the flow was skewed in a different direction.  The examples and context of God’s Word evolved with cultural contexts and application. However, the core message on excellence remained constant—like the character of God Himself. 

As these young teachers grow in their faith, their understanding of the Word will mature along with them. 

Net-net, my ardent prayer is that they focus on Malachi 3:6, "I the Lord do not change," and Psalm 119:89, "Your word, LORD, is eternal; it stands firm in the heavens." 

And guess what. The following morning, Sunday, I was awarded by the president of our women’s group, Billie, a pot of beautiful orchids. They are a living proof of God’s generous grace for all, including old facilitators and young seminar attendees.  

State of Calamity

Heartbreaking. The town of Mateo (the hero in the Oh, Mateo! series of 16 books) is underwater again. This time, Umingan is suffering from a flood more horrifying than all the others in the past. Typhoon Crising wreaked havoc on the town that is now under state of calamity along with three other areas in the country. 

Nobody was in our ancestral home when this happened. My ading Aie is in the city for important errands. But many friends have been in touch, helping clean the house of filth. mud, and garbage. Hundreds of miles away, we are helpless. 

A Flood of Kindness (published by Hiyas and illustrated by Beth Parrocha), ends the Oh, Mateo series. But the story is told all over again.

 

Yes, again and again—during and after the flood has subsided—I wish that the Umingan townspeople (78,000 in population divided into 58 barangays  as of 2025) would come together to help each other and put back in order what the typhoon has messed up—this time, the worst ever. 

This book was meant to be a caricature of Umingan. But it appears to have foreshadowed what a community, any community, could do to stand up—much stronger—after a fall. Reading it again today, I feel it's a prayer for grace, for the Lord to enable people's hearts to be kind. .  

With the climate change and other problems (missing flood control budget; people’s mindless habit of throwing garbage into streams and rivers; cutting of trees for new buildings, etc.) floods will repeat and repeat till kingdom come. 

May these floods be redefined as an opportunity for kindness. 

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." Galatians 6:2:

An Astonishing Assignment

Moses was summoned from retirement at the age of 80. He had been living as a shepherd for half of those years when God appeared to him in a burning bush and called him to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. 

What an assignment! After he had already escaped from his life in Egypt and had nothing to do with the Israelites anymore (?).  

Of course, he balked at first. He had a series of excuses, including concerns about his lack of eloquence. He even asked God to choose someone else. But you cannot say “no” when called to do work for the Lord. 

The Lord has not given me any new assignment as astonishing as Moses'. But why do I feel like a Moses? Well, as a facilitator of our Women’s Sunday School, which I take to heart, my writing about His grace, and teaching values to my students, I am sort of enjoying my “retirement” too.

But our only similarity lies in our length of stay on mother earth.

Should there be a new, astonishing assignment, I could no longer (much as I want to) echo prophet Isaiah who said, "Here I am, send me." He was in his late 20s or early 30s when he responded to God’s call, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?"

Isaiah's willingness to serve God by going where He was needed is an inspiring example of faith and obedience. 

Today, I look back and look up to these Bible heroes as I honor and thank the Lord who gifted me with life and opportunities to serve Him—not in the magnitude of Moses and Isaiah's, but in simple ways that I am able. These are the assignments I continue to focus on till I leave Mt. Nebo and meet my Maker in the Pomised Land.

"Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men . . .” Colossians  3:23  

Yummy dishes for an army were sent from Stockton by son#2 and family  

Moth Sightings Everywhere

Since this huge butterfly (which is actually a moth) parked itself on our terrace post, it never left. Or it seems that way. The next day it was flying around our house again. Then several days later, it came with look-alikes, members of the same family.  

As of today, one month later, they are still fluttering about. 

There goes the “theory” that moths or butterflies are our loved one’s way of coming back to visit. Suddenly, the internet is abuzz about the same giant moth species found in many urban areas and unlikely indoor spaces in Metro Manila: coffee shops, stores, malls, libraries, classrooms, corridors, etc.

This gigantic moth is called Lyssa zampa, the tropical swallowtail moth or Laos brown butterfly, of the family Uraniidae. “The species was first described by British entomologist Arthur Gardiner Butler in 1869. The species is native to a wide range of tropical South-East Asia: Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, and the Philippines.”

Why are these moths swarming all over Metro Manila and even neighboring provinces? These moths should be in forested and mountainous areas, their natural habitat. Let me summarize an article from RepublicAsia, June 2025: 

“Edriel Lee, a UP Biology graduate, cited a 2023 study by Jain, Ng, and Civasothi about the same occurrence in Singapore. According to the study, a dry spell—due to global warming—can lead to a boom in the population of insects. Their caterpillars therefore consume their host plants.  So the moths are forced to migrate and find another place that has their food source. 

“Unfortunately, their host plants from the genus Endospermum are not found in cities. Ergo,  these moths are not able to reproduce. Result: population decline. The animals that feed on them are in danger, too.' 

While we enjoy their presence everywhere, may we remember that the beauty, order, and provision  found in the natural world are God’s grace. And we, in whatever way, should help preserve and take care of them.  

What is Your Daily Read?

If you love to read, you won't let a day pass by without reading something (several sittings within 24 hours, in fact).

We’re on the same page. My daily reading fare: the newspaper (the printed one, not online), a new book, a book I had not finished reading or want to read again.  

While writing my blog and books, I refer to the Bible (various translations, but my favorite for now is ESV). Then while preparing the lesson for our women’s Sunday school, which I facilitate, I have to pore over the good Book.

I have varied translations before me in my work room, but I go online when time is no longer a luxury. 

Among all these reading noshes, my daily staple is what I receive every Christmas from son #1 since 2009 (16 years!). That year, he gave me a Chronological Bible (NLT), which I fell in love with because it made me understand both theological and historical facts. The chronological Bible came in six  successive years (different translations). 

When my ading Earl saw them, he gasped in awe. Immediately, I passed on one to him. Then ading Aie liked one so much I also gave her one. There is one missing; I must have given it to ading Dave or someone else.  

It is July, halfway through the pages, and I still have not blogged about this reading staple. The months before now have been a most diiffciult time. Even today, I can almost picture Tony reading in the terrace or going to the bank holding a book, like they were BFFs. 

After the chronological series, son #1 shifted to giving me a Bible arranged as we know it, but divided into 365 daily readings. 

I’ve always considered Charles Stanley of In Touch Ministries as one of my mentors on God’s Word. I will never have the opportunity to meet him in this life, but through his books and now with my Bible for 2025, I am rewarded with the richness of grace through his “life Lessons” daily. 

”For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Hebrews 4:12 ESV 

Apron

Wearing an apron is below my conscious mind. My close friends and family know this: I don’t (or can’t) cook. 

Once I dabbled in painting that required an apron. I didn’t wear one because I had none.

One day long ago, I was asked to have promotional photos for my book Secret Ingredient, which is about cooking. I had to borrow the apron from a friend.  

Many years later, just last week, I was awarded one in pink! 

If the organizers weren’t sincere and serious, I’d consider this a prank. They gifted me with an apron as my prize for being the oldest attendee at an event that gathered women from various churches in our area. The thing is, while this gesture is much appreciated, I no longer have the energy to develop interest in cooking. 

But I wore it just the same for a photo to record how a non-cook looks like with an apron on. If Tony were still around, I knew he’d immediately say, “Give it to Teresa.” 

  

And so I handed it over to Mother Teresa who jumped with joy when she touched it. She reminded me of myself when I am given a new book assignment by my publisher. 

Both instances demonstrate the fullness of grace.  

A Different July 4 at 55

While the US is grandly celebrating its Independence Day, I am quietly remembering, honoring, and thanking God for the life I shared with Tony on what would have been our 55th anniversary. 

We had always celebrated this day simply, without fanfare. Sometimes it was celebrated quietly, too quietly, because he or I forgot all about it.  

Our our 50th, which the world dubs as golden, passed by without drum rolls. 

Today's July 4 is the quietest of all. 

And this blog on any of our anniversaries is the shortest, but with the most hyperlinks. I had not realized I was actually writing about this date, reflecting on the grace God never scrimped on, but lavishly poured on us for all of our 54 years. 

For how could a partnership, blasted sporadically with storms and sunshine, last that long? 

“For as long as we both live,” we vowed before God on the 4th of July 55 years ago. By grace, this vow (more popularly used as "Till death do us part") had been like a steel, strong and unbreakable, till the Lord called Tony home on the 20th of January this year. 

”What therefore God has joined together, let not man separate.” Mark 10:9 ESV 

Letters to Myself

Have you ever written a letter to yourself? 

I have—too often in fact. As frequent as every four days, or less. That's the cadence that matches the time I need to forewarn or encourage myself in my faith walk. I write to me through my blogs posted on my cybersite.  

 

Unlike many bloggers who write for an audience, I write primarily for me. I talk to myself, no-holds-barred, and in so doing, I infringe upon the thoughts of others who are confronted with similar issues. They write back in private messages and they become comrades—faith brethren, who likewise forewarn or encourage themselves and me through snapshots of their experiences.   

This was precisely how it felt when I was writing the devotions for Grace@Work—all 365 of them—each in no more than 200 words that roughly translate to one-and a-half-minutes of reading time. Although most of these are faith stories of people who have stayed or drifted in and out of my life, these are also my stories, especially because I overstayed in the workplace—that battleground of stress, perks, egos, moral turpitude, and temptations that could slaughter or slay us if we are insufficiently armed with God's Word. 

I am sure all of us who believe in grace have been enormously blessed (we forget when hard times roll) with experiences we could share to arm others; and that we have been placed where we are for this purpose.  

ooo

The above is an excerpt from the Author’s Note in my book Grace@Work launched in 2014. 

I happened to read it again because I was sending a copy of the book to a new friend, Ptra. Caren Grace. I had to quickly scan the pages to remember what they're about. Yes, I don’t remember exactly the details of what I had written in any of my books, because when I am writing a new one, my whole attention is on the current work.  

I have recently completed a new book (printing stage), so I have time to look back and blog the short breather away. Meaning, write more letters to myself.

Devoseries

You can’t find the word “devoseries” in the dictionary—not yet anyway. It was created by CSM (Church Strengthening Ministry), the publisher of Twin Blessings, a devotional for children. 

The book has 180 devos, each one complete in itself. But as you read the next pages till the last entry, you’ll see the progression of a complete story—with a beginning, middle, and ending.

I initially wrote the book as a novelette for young readers, complete with characters, plot, setting, and theme. But when the editorial board of CSM read the manuscript, they asked me if I could divide it into bite-size pieces for our readers to truly and easily understand the values. 

Was it possible? Not on my own. Grace came to point and guide the way. 

Result: chewable, short entries, each with a prayer and a verse on which the value, through a slice-of life, was based. 

What’s it about? Broken relationships made whole again: acknowledging faults, seeking forgiveness, praying for each other, demonstrating love and compassion—all mirroring God's forgiveness and reconciliation. 

I thought it was a one-off project. But I was surprised when CSM messaged me last year that they needed another devoseries to be launched this year. A year! The writing time was reasonable. 

But towards the end of my deadline, I suffered a terrible setback. Tony was hospitalized and on his 20th day, he was called home by our Savior. It was in his hospital room where I continued working with his encouragement—and yes, I met my  deadline. 

Five months after Tony’s last day with us, today, the manuscript has been edited and reinforced, and as I wrote finis to the book, I am in awe of how the Lord makes things possible. 

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11 ESV

In September, at the Manila International Book Fair (MIBF 2025), devoseries 2 will be launched. What’s it about? I don’t want to pre-empt the launching so let me leave the answer and the cover blank. 

Fan, Just Fan

Contrary to popular belief, air conditioning is not the solution to the punishing heat we are suffering from in the Philippines today. In fact, it has more disadvantages than benefits. The high cost of electricity tops the list. 

Then, according to doctors, air conditioning has potential side effects on our health: dry eyes, lethargy, dehydration, dry or itchy skin, headaches, respiratory issues, allergies, asthma, and infectious diseases. 

Is there a better alternative? 

There is—a hand fan. 

It maintains a more natural humidity levels in the environment. With hand movement (at varying speed), it creates a breeze, as needed.  Zero energy cost and zero health hazard. 

It’s a bonus if you have a lovely pink hand fan such as mine—the Mayon volcano in all its splendor and my name specially printed on it. 

It is the pasalubong (coming-home present) of Sammy, JR’s driver, from his vacation in his place of birth, Bicol. Sammy has been driving for us for years and years and this is the first time he decided to take a leave so he could vote! Yes, vote! Only now in his whole voting life (he will soon turn 50), had he been able to cast a ballot at last.  

He came into our lives as a driver in Tony’s firm, then transitioned to being our family driver when the office closed. I call him JR’s driver today because no one shares in paying him anymore. With Tony gone and jobless me, JR is shouldering both car/driver maintenance.  

The Bicol fan is a time-sensitive and warm gesture during this warm time. It’s my airconditiong at the terrace, where Tony and I used to spend most of our time, and where I still read, solve puzzles, enjoy the grace of creation (birds, butterflies, trees, and flowers), and reflect on anything and everything. 

 

Brief

Brief is a polymorphic word. It can function as multiple parts of speech.   

Verb: I’ll brief her about the meeting. 

Noun: He wrote the brief for the trial.  

Adjective: This is a brief blog.

Please humor me; I may be splitting hairs here. 

But after visiting Tony’s grave one morning, the word brief (adjective) kept nagging at me. 

First, it was a brief visit because the heat of the summer sun was already scorching even at that early hour, making me woozy.  

Second, his tombstone shows the dates of his birth and death, a stark proof of how brief earthly life is. 

Third, in the face of my pesky off-and-on grief, I sought comfort from the Lord and reminded myself of this verse,“Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow.” (Psalm 144:4 ESV) 

In all, I looked forward to the promised grace of eternal life after I breathe my last and when the shadow shall have passed.  

Tuesdays

On Tuesdays, I am reminded of the now-classic Tuesdays with Morrie (a memoir by Mitch Albom), which I enjoyed reading sometime in the late 1990s. 

I am in good company. This particular book continues to be popular among the reading crowd. It was in the New York Times bestsellers list for over 200 weeks. Now it is the best-selling memoir of all time. It has sold over 20 million copies in more than 59 territories worldwide. Despite all that, there were many initial negative reviews: “same old; sappy; like a  Hallmark greeting card; oversimplified; pseudo intellectual).  

Tuesdays with Morrie began as a modest labor of love to help with the hospital bills of Morrie Schwartz, Albom's past Sociology professor, who was dying of ALS. The unprecedented success of the book shocked book lovers. 

From here, Albom moved to writing real-life fiction (about 20 to date and one more to be launched this year).  

I have savored only half of that number. I look forward to reading the others as they make it to the Philippine bookstores. My latest purchase, which I could not put down:  

Albom, as many of you already know, is an American author, journalist (sports), and musician. What makes him so popular as an author? 

Well, the underlying themes of his books are love, relationships, authenticity, transience, choices, acceptance, and grace—values that should endure but are now in  “Lost and Found” or in the trash bin. 

For me, his books make for a riveting read because of the surprises that spring at me along the way. He interweaves his characters with values and conflicts, then solves them almost seamlessly in the end. 

You don’t have to believe me. Each reader has his own reading preferences. For one, Tony read spy thrillers and history books (one book a week)  and didn't give my book choices a glance,     

Tuesdays remind me of the kind of books I read and the timeless values I always write about so they may not be lost or tossed into the trash bin. 

Gotcha!

“Grace is not something we find,” I wrote in the Author’s Note of my book, Grace Found Me. “Rather, it finds us—but only if we allow ourselves to welcome and be embraced by it. Grace is free, but we cannot find it in ourselves. It is something we can find only in God. And the good news is, we need not buy or earn it, because we could never, ever, afford or merit it on our own.” 

In short, gotcha! 

This photo, which I found posted online, demonstrates it best. 

Once Grace finds us, we are set free. Jesus fulfilled the law for us: "Sin is no longer your master, for you no longer live under the requirements of the law. Instead, you live under the freedom of God’s grace.” Romans 6:14

Once grace finds us, we receive salvation: “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9 

I was afraid I won't be able to go it alone when Tony bade us goodbye. But grace sought me out. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18 

Gotcha! Grace tracks God's children down and finds us right where we are.    

Photo credit

Beautiful, Big, Brown Butterfly

Butterflies flit from flower to flower in our garden every day. They are my early-morning delight! At mid-morning, the heat hits hard and some take refuge somewhere. 

Their sizes vary, but the biggest I have ever seen is about nine inches in length with colorful wings. 

But on the 20th of May, exactly four months after Tony left us, Mother Teresa called me in her shrillest voice. “Come, look at this big butterfly!” It posted itself on one of our posts. I took a shot from a few feet away so as not to scare it off.  

Amazed, I moved closer and it didn’t budge. I clicked away and still it stayed. I wasn’t sure if it was a moth or a butterfly, because I haven’t seen anything as big (about 12 inches long or more) and as uniquely designed before. 

So I sent the photo to my ading Aie, who loves butterflies. “It IS a butterfly!” she replied. 

The butterfly stayed on that post for hours. Then it moved to another post. 

“Manong Tony came a-visiting!” ading Aie joked. 

Coincidentally, Son #3 saw the same species of butterfly inside his office that same day.

Many cultures associate butterflies with transformation and rebirth because of their metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly. That's why this symbolism leads some people to interpret their presence as a sign of a deceased loved one's visit.   

As a believer in Sola Scriptura, I eschew this idea. But definitely, butterflies, beautiful as they all are (and big as the brown one that delighted us one day), demonstrate one of God’s manifold delighting grace. 

Writing-for-Children Workshop

This happened many moons ago, but after I had blogged about writing for children, memories came flooding back. I am glad I kept photos of the event.  

One publisher was mulling over the possibility of expanding its genres to include children’s books and invited Luis (Tito Dok, a Palanca Hall of Fame Awardee) and me to conduct a workshop among writers.   

By then I had written about a dozen books, and Luis, double or triple my number. Both of us never went through formal training in writing, neither had we attended any workshop such as this. 

But the publisher said, “Just talk about how you do it. Inspire the writers!” 

It was a two-day workshop for writers whose manuscripts went through the critical eye of the editorial board. To register, they had to first send a manuscript, and from there, the attendees were chosen. 

At that time I was not at liberty to divulge the event. But I think that after many  years, without naming names and everyone of us transforming into unrecognizable miens and sizes, it is as safe as safe can be. These once-upon-a-time photos tell the story: 

Day 1: 

Day 2:    

Since then, I have conducted many workshops (I call them my grace days), but this one, long ago, remains to be one of the most memorable. The participants were not only engaged, they were incisive and sharply focused. In fact, all of them have published works to date. 

I am grateful that my mind is still lucid to remember and my hands still steady to write about it.    

How to Write for Children

It’s been 23 years since I wrote my first storybook for children, and I am still often asked the steps/advise/formula/how-tos on how to write for children.  

As I recover from flu, with no energy to do anything but sit before my computer screen, I tried googling it. Wow, there are tons of articles available on the Net! 

But I am still at a loss on what to say. I have blogged about writing and writing habits, but not specifically about writing for children. 

So I look back to how I wrote my first story, which won first prize in the Palanca Awards: 

  

Published by Bookmark and Illustrated by May M. Tobias  

How did I write it? What was my thought process? Where did I get the idea? 

Writing for children has no hard-and-fast rules. But I believe a writer has to be one or all of these things:    

    • Intuitive – knowing in his mind that it is right because he has consistently experienced and read about it. 

    • introspective – examining his heart, his feelings, to reach what psychologists call "a state of self discovery." 

    • Imaginative – seeing things with new eyes; perceiving old things in a fresh way. 

    • Important – sharing a value that he thinks is vital for the readers as well.  

    • Identifiable – understanding what will resonate with his reader.   

But really, the basic foundation of writing is what I always say to would-be children's book authors, “You can’t be a writer unless you read, read, read. Read as many children's books as you can! Reading and Writing are Siamese twins. They are conjoined.”  

The following year, haviing in mind the same 5 “I’s” above, I was inspired to send another entry to Palanca.  I was blessed with the grace of a second chance. The manuscript of this won first prize, too.    

Published by Hiyas of OMF Literature; illuustrated by Beth Parrocha-Doctolero

So when is the right time to write for children? Right now. 

End of Mother’s Day Banter

Every Mother’s Day, this banter could be heard within the enclave of the Chong dynasty (a facetious and fictitious name we gave ourseles).  

Wife: “It’s Mother’s Day, what is your surprise for me?”  

For 54 years, this question came in various permutations:  

“Is your gift coming soon?”  

“What time should I expect your gift?” 

“Are you giving me flowers, a card, or food?” 

“Look at my expectant face. Does it show my excitement over your almost-here gift?”   

The cryptic reply had always been: 

Husband: “You are not my mother.” 

Last month, that grace of fun was no more. It was muted by Tony’s departure for his permanent home. 

Yet I couldn't help but hark back to those silly banters and recycled wit. My three sons (a daughter-in-love and a grandson) made up for it. This cake, together with a hearty lunch spread, was sent by son #2 and family. 

Flowers still from daughter-in-love. But edible this time.

Son #1 posted on social media a faded photograph of him and me in days of old. It got a hundred likes. 

Early in the morning, son #3 gave me a buss on the cheek with a cheery,”Happy Mother’s Day.” 

A true-blue Marketing man, Tony never fussed over any occasion hyped by marketers. To him, Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day was a day like any other.    

But because the world reminded me of Mother’s Day (posts and greetings overflowed on social media) this year, I remembered how he and I celebrated it with a banter. 

This is not to diminish the importance of mothers. Scripture tells us that a mother’s love comes closest to God’s love. 

”As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you . . “  Isaiah 66:13 (NIV)   

Bravo! A Satirical Comment

Before a term ends, the university where I teach part-time conducts a student evaluation of their teachers. 

I’ve always wondered about this system in private schools today. In UP (University of the Philippines) long  ago, this was unheard of. It didn’t matter whether we hated our professor. Chances are, like a bad joke, we’d meet him again and again. 

These evaluations may have something to do with: 1) promotion and 2) pay increase. But since I retired from the corporate world, both promotion and pay increase are no longer my currency. 

So I don’t look at the numbers. Instead, I go down to the feedback and comments section. I need to know whether I succeeded in teaching my students to think critically and sensibly. 

 

“I love the way she explains the lessons clearly." “She treats all students fairly." "She knows the subject matter well.”  "She is very  encouraging." 

The above comments don’t count. They are the minimum requirements for a teacher. 

But last term, I applauded when I read this satirical comment, “I plead (pretty please?) that she lowers her standards a little.” 

I was sure it came from one of my exemplary students (the upper 3% of the class, the A-Team) and he wrote it facetiously. Those in this A-Team would knit their brows when the other 97% ramble in answering my questions.  

The A-Team comes to class prepared, having researched and studied the lessons. All of them interact with me and each other, and they ask incisive questions.  

When I started teaching decades ago, the percentage was in reverse:  97% was the A-Team. The 3% was inconsequential.  

What happened? 

It’s heartbreaking to read the latest PSA report: “Around 18.9 million Filipino junior and senior high school graduates are functionally illiterate; meaning, they cannot read and understand a simple story.”  

Do we then “lower our standards a little?” 

On the contrary, we should raise it! 

The Bible emphasizes the pursuit of excellence and high standards. One verse reads:  

“. . . whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Philippians 4:8 ESV 

Time Has Turbo Speed

This handsome young man is not a movie star, although he could pass for one. He is my one and only grandson. 

I guess a grandma is licensed to flex all she wants. In recent past, he was just a baby, then a toddler, and now—where did the years go? He just celebrated his 18th birthday and will soon attend college at the University of California, Irvine campus. 

Even Tony’s feeble heart would have jumped with joy had he known about this news. 

This young man had been Tony’s e-pal for years. They would write each other emails about this and that. Whenever Tony received a message from him, he wouldn't lose time announcing it as though it were the greatest news in the world. 

The photo below was taken 10 years ago when we visited this treasure of treasures in California. Tony loved it so much it was his phone's wallpaer. 

It is ironic that their “Timeless” t-shirts are time bound. Both could  no longer wear them the way they did. 

Time has turbo speed; we cannot hold it back. It is brief. We can only cherish each day to make it meaningful. 

My prayer for grace:  

“Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is.” Psalm 39:4 (NLT) 

Photo credits: Gianina