Oh, to be Young Again!

Whenever I watch kids playing without fear of falling down or bumping into things, I say that phrase—not as a wish but as a pause for gratitude. I am happy seeing young people’s energy and risky spirit. 

As now a senior, I remember what my mom used to say (in Ilocano), old age is a blessing not bestowed on everyone. "Bold and daring" are two words I now avoid because the human body can no longer sponsor them.

And yet.

One Sunday, I was taken back to centuries ago when I stood as Ninang (principal sponsor) for little kids in a Dedication Ceremony. Huh? 

One of my nieces (from a dear friend’s womb) came home for a vacation from the US with her husband and child, Gio, aged six. She and her husband opted to have Gio dedicated in our church (where she grew up and her parents’ sanctuary through the years). 

When our pastor called for the principal sponsors, my niece’s mother tapped my shoulder. I didn’t have to think twice—what a privilege! I rushed to the altar and together with the pre-chosen young sponsors (son #3 among them), I witnessed the ceremony. 

After our pastor had prayed for Gio and all those that surrounded him, I felt a soul-stirring blend of awe, wonder, and commitment. It was a "day of firsts” for Gio, marking a hopeful beginning for his spiritual journey.

At that point, I felt as though "bold and daring" came running back--not physically, but spiritually--after leaving the world of the young.  

Acts 4:31, “And when they had prayed, the place in which they were gathered together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and continued to speak the word of God with boldness.” 

40 Years Young: Christian Writers’ Fellowship

For four decades now, the Christian Writers' Fellowship (CWF) has been a community dedicated to developing skills in writing Christian non-fiction, fiction, and content that promotes spiritual growth. It encourages Christian writing as a calling, often focusing on faith and hope.

Founded in 1986 as an off-shoot of a writers’ workshop, CWF is one of the Philippines' longest-running groups for Christian writers, editors, and publishers. Most of CWF’s meetings (workshops and seminars) utilizes OMF Literature’s (a publishing house) facilities and support.  

It was at the OMF Lit’s bookshop where CWF celebrated its 40th anniversary, which coincided with Women’s Month (March). I was invited to be one of three panelists. 

I began my brief spiel with, “I was born with an itch: writing.” In truth, as a child, I always jumped at any chance to write. And of course anyone who loves writing knows that it has a twin: reading.  

"Writing is a ministry. Although I write for all life stages (from pre-schoolers to retirees) in different genres (non-fiction for adults and fiction for children), I focus on the grace I have received personally or through grace stories of others. I weave them into devotionals, storybooks, short stories, essays, poetry, and novelettes."

“Can you tell us about your writiing process?" asked one would-be author. 

My thought balloon: I always begin with thanksgiving to the One who gifted me with the writing itch. But I was not there to preach, but to speak about how I shape stories.    

"Creative writing requires no steps or formula. One can begin with a verse/s, a dialogue, a word, or an image. Or one can begin in the middle or the end. One can begin in the head, in the heart, in a notebook. Although I am a morning person (sleep and wake up early), the birth of ideas could happen at any moment. It can come even during REM sleep. 

I then shared my nine Chongisms, my personal principles which have not changed since I wrote them for a writing workshop in 2006. 

Why nine? Well, they are not the 10 commandments. They may be trashed, treasured or recycled by anyone who wants to consider them. 

The CWF—still young and relevant at 40—allows a writer to speak freely about how and why she writes. That's why I know it will thrive for another 40 years or till the great Author comes again, whichever occurs sooner.  

What Does R&R Mean?

R&R is best known as the abbreviation for rest and recreation, a much-needed downtime after days of grueling schedules. 

That’s what we were blessed with when son #2 and his wife came home from the US for a five-day vacation. Their last visit was 14 months ago—just in time to bade Tony goodbye.

A Baguio R&R it was. Not downtown Baguio, which is no longer as I remember it. Long ago, I could smell the pine trees and walk past through kilometers of sunflowers, run on green grass in open spaces. Along Session Rd., I'd find my friends.  

Does that Baguio in the days of yore still exist? Yes, at Camp John Hay.

Tall, scented pine trees 

The original ampitheater

We rented a house with commodious bedrooms, each with a toilet and bath—plus one more near the living room that's big enough for a football game. 

Camp John Hay (530 acres) is a tourist destination and forest watershed reservation, formerly a military base of the United States Armed Forces in 1900. It was a place of refuge for American military personnel because of the cool weather. 

I shared a bedroom with my sister, whom we invited to join us, as the Chong dynasty is not complete without her. Being always busy, she needed an R&R too.  

Then we had a chance to bond with the two Mateos in my books and my sis-in-love, Liege. 

For the first time in many years, we were together at all hours under one roof, had all meals together, bantering, chatting, laughing, posing for the camera of my daughter-in-love Gianina—a rarity since all three sons had turned into adults and chose their own lives.

Looking at the three together, I had a fleeting image of their father with them. But I turned my back and warded off the uninvited guest that goes by the name of grief. 

My R&R was different from everyone's. It was reflection and recuperation. It was a time for healing grace—embracing what is, instead of wishing for what it could be.  

Philippine Book Festival 2026

My Father’s Favorite Ride (illustrated by Domz Agsaway), is the 4th in My Father’s Favorite series of concept books for young readers. It introduces various kinds of transportation in traveling to many places in the country, an archipelago, by land, air, and sea. 

This book has been a nostalgic reunion between Domz and me.

After nine years (with a pandemic somewhere in between), we got to work together again after Dump Truck in My Heart. For this new book, Domz created a character that rides all the vehicles with his dog. And in every ride, he leaves a flower, symbolic of his appreciation of each journey.  

My Father's Favorite Ride is one of 15 (yes, 15!) launched by Hiyas of Omf Lit at the Philippine Book Festival (PBF) in March. This huge harvest mirrors the growth of locally published books in the last two years. As of 2023, 150 books saw print.

I hope this trend continues. 

It can help solve an alarming news from the PSA (Philippine Statistics Authority) early this year. “The Philippines is facing a comprehension crisis, according to newly released government data, with more than 1 in 5 Filipinos aged 10 to 64 having difficulty understanding what they read—despite being able to read, write, and compute."

As an author of books on grace, targeted at various life stages, I wish more publishers would consider launching a number of books every book fair. My prayer is that these excellent books will sell. In my two-decade stint in Advertising/Marketing. quality alone does not translate to sales. Marketing comes into full play. 

The launching of My Father’s Favorite Ride gave me an opportunity to be with humanity again—socialize with people in the literary world--after my unwanted guest finally left.   

Listen with Your Ears

Listening with my heart was a blessing. But without functioning ears, unheard spoken words couldn't reach the heart.  

Listening with my ears had been on a standstill for over three years. My pair of hearing aids, a gift from son #2, had a lifespan of five years, and the cheap one I bought after that (three years ago) did more harm than good.

Not hearing well impacts daily life intensely. I could not engage with friends and family, especially in noisy environments. I got lost in conversation threads. Worse, I misunderstood them.  My mantra was, “What was that again?” 

I missed important sounds like phone calls, doorbells, and alarms.  I could not hear the message on Sundays, the questions and testimonies of those in Sunday School, which I facilitated. I gave up classroom teaching. I shunned social events. 

Once and for all, I decided to not let my dead ears dampen the joy of my remaining years. But the cost was a total rip-off.  I was loathe to impose on my sons again.  

Unexpectedly, grace arrived in a manner I would never have thought possible.

To the Hearing Aid Center I went. Two hours of consultation and various tests later,  “Come and pick up your new ears in two days,” the audiologist said. But first I had to pay in full.

January 21.

Coincidentally, it was the date last year when life began without my roommate of 54 years.

As soon as the audiologist fitted my hearing aids, my heart and ears both listened! 

From that day forward, I could hear the subtlest of sounds: birds chirping, trees swaying, leaves murmuring, cats purring, bees buzzing, footsteps hurrying, phone ringing, alarm blaring, doorbell chiming, keyboard clicking, water flowing, rain falling, clock ticking, plus a trillion more sounds that stood silent in my ears for years.

“What was that again?” has left my lexicon.

I am a new me. Every day is a time for thanksgiving. 

The Calming Charm of a Farm

Driving a few miles away from noisy—and often unruly—Metro Manila, then arriving in a quiet farm owned by a couple at whose wedding I was a ninang (principal sponsor), was like waking up the dormant memories of my growing-up years in a small town.  

This trip was planned during our get-together at home with eight X’s. Although many were invited, only the same exact planners had time to meet up again. 

For me, the trip was nostalgic. . . rustic tranquility; quiet life; serene environment; sensory pleasures of nature—fresh air, open fields, wild flowers, fruit-bearing trees, and blue sky with fluffy clouds. 

The charm of a farm lies in its scenic landscape and open spaces, where natural beauty combines with mental recalibration: slowing down and reconnecting with the simplicity of one’s roots. Like a homecoming to the pastoral pulse of my youth. So calming. 

In addition to all that, the farm has all the amenities of urban dwelling. The house is constructed to be see-through. From all angles and sides, one can enjoy unobstructed view of the farm. And there’s a viewing roof deck, where one can watch the fiery and fabulous sunset.  

In all, another beautiful encounter with these long-time friends dear to me—in a place away from traffic snarls—can’t be put in words. Grace can never be fully defined. The fact that this farm is personally shepherded with a watchful eye by one of my favorite couples (once top-tier leaders in the workplace), is like bagging the big one. 

(Allow me to gush: if you want to experience the calming warmth of a farm as we did, you can. Maya's Farmhouse it is!) 

Weepy Worship

Do you sometimes weep during worship?

I do. In the past, it was “sometimes,” or “on occasion.” But in recent Sundays, it has been “always.” From Call to Worship to Benediction.

Is it because of grief? (Losing a spouse is like navigating a totally different world.) No. Weeping through worship has nothing to do with grief, because upon entering our church’s sanctuary, a deep spiritual connection to God’s presence invites me in.   

Was this how Moses felt facing the burning bush? Or Enoch when God took him directly to heaven without dying? Or Jacob at Bethel where he saw a ladder reaching to heaven? Or Elijah in the cave hearing not a thunder, but a small, still voice?

Most likely. Because all of them were overwhelmed by gratitude to God without whom they'd be dust. 

And these I am sure of:

Weeping is about the Holy Spirit healing past wounds; it is about reaching a point of total surrender and letting go of any form of control to God. For these, I need to be armed with wads of tissue.

I grew up watching my late mother, aunties, and even uncles weep while singing a hymn, listening to the message, and reading the Bible. Huh?! I often wondered. But now I have joined their weeping club, and I see everything with 20/20 vision. They wept because they were happy, not sad. 

Scientists describe happy tears as a "dimorphous expression." The body uses a negative response (crying) to manage an overwhelmingly positive emotion. When gratitude becomes so intense it is unmanageable. Grace of tears!  

My faith brethren, with whom I worship the Lord Sunday after Sunday, and whose tears I have seen, may also view joy and weeping as interconnected rather than opposites. 

I felt deep sorrow at my husband’s funeral but I also experienced bursts of joy through gratitude for his life shared with us by God. 

Charles Spurgeon affirms this:  “. . . the gift of tears is a profound spiritual reality . . . tears are liquid prayers . . . the diamonds of heaven.” He views tears not as a sign of weakness, but as a tender, articulate, and powerful language that God understands intimately.

I sit up and through fogged eyes. I see a young lad behind the pulpit testifying about how he met God, turning his life around. Like me, he is weeping. 

Hit Me, Hit Me More

This boggles and jiggles the mind.  

My blog hits spiked in the last two years. From an average of 8,000 hits a month (which made me cackle like a hen), it doubled. Then it tripled. And today (2026), it has quadrupled! In March alone, it had over 123,000 hits. What?! 

Pleasantly perplexed, I asked AI what could be the reason for the spike. I am cutting and pasting what AI spewed out.

The high traffic on leavesofgrace.blogspot.com is primarily driven by the established literary profile of its author, Grace D. Chong, an award-winning Filipino writer of children's books and inspirational literature. It has garnered a high volume of hits—reaching over two million total page views by February 2026—due to a combination of consistent long-term content creation, a loyal following, and the pivot to online ministry during the COVID-19 pandemic.

The primary reasons for the blog's high traffic:

Prolific Writing and Consistent Content: Since starting in November 2006, the blog has accumulated over 2,000 posts. The author maintains a consistent schedule, discussing faith, Christian perspectives, and daily life, which keeps readers engaged and coming back.

Online "Book Tours" and Webinars: The blog and accompanying online events (such as "Teaching Our Kids to Do Devotions" and online storytelling) became popular, drawing viewers from the US, Canada, Hong Kong, Australia, Middle East, and across the Philippines.

Pandemic Pivot: During quarantine, the blog served as a source of encouragement and a "sanctuary" for readers, increasing engagement as people sought out inspirational content online.

Focus on Relevant Themes: The content focuses on Christian parenting, children's ministry, and navigating modern challenges like digital addiction and bullying, which are topics of high interest to parents and educators.

Established Author Reputation: As a published author (e.g., with OMF Lit/Hiyas, CSM Publishing, Lampara, and Bookmark), Chong already has an audience interested in her work.

Established Professional Profile: As a multi-Palanca Award winner and recipient of the Life Achievement Award of Gawad Pambansang Alagad ni Balagtas from UMPIL  she has a significant existing fanbase that follows her work.

Consistent Content: The blog is updated regularly with personal reflections, ministry updates, and book-related news, maintaining its "brand essence" for a global audience spanning 193 countries.

Relevant Niche: Her content focuses on Christian values, children’s literature, and social commentary (such as bullying or AI in education), which resonates with parents, educators, and religious communities.

What AI missed to mention is: Everything happens by grace. 

Sisa: Brilliantly Dark

One movie. That’s my monumental achievement every year.  I specialize in waiting for a movie I can sit through and feast on for two+ hours.

Before the pandemic, I’d binge at the Cinemalaya every year. Now, because I could no longer pry myself from reading and writing books in my timeworn shorts, I have become a cinematic minimalist. I only lock my orbs on one film per annum.

“Sisa,” written and directed by Jun Robles Lana, was my perfect  (can there be a more superlative term?) choice this year. It is described as historical thriller, but I’d rather call it historical fiction, because it takes liberties with facts in a creatively crafted narrative. 

Brilliantly dark. I am using this oxymoron because the movie combines high-intensity brightness and skill with darkness and mystery at a bleak time in our nation’s history. It is vivid while at the same time gloomy.  

Sisa, the character, originates from Jose Rizal’s 19th-century novel Noli Me Tangere.  She is a tragic heroine, who lost her sanity after being a victim of extreme abuse, poverty, and injustice under the Spanish colonial rule.

Sisa, the film, re-imagines the original Sisa and places her in a different historical context to dramatize resilience and courage.  Set during the final, brutal days of the Philippine-American War (around 1902), the film is dark, literally (cinematography) and figuratively (screenplay).  The plot revolves around a woman who feigns madness for a purpose in a community of women imprisoned in an American concentration camp. 

There had been movies depicting the Sisa in Jose Rizal’s novel, but this is the first time that Sisa is presented out-of-the-box.  

The power cast (Hilda Koronel, Eugene Domingo, Jennica Garcia, Tanya Gomez, Barbara Miguel,  Romnick Sarmenta, etc.) radiates with brilliance, as each actor seems bespoke for his/her role, fitting each character’s nuances with believable precision. 

Constantly dark, the lighting depicts fear, grief, and tension. Sisa's character is dark because she represents the ugly truth of colonial times—innocence crushed by betrayal.

The brilliance lies in how this dark setting could be written in such an unexpected manner that includes current issues about mental health, justice, and women's rights in the Philippines (shown in Philippine theaters in March, Women’s month). 

It is a given that the film won Best Screenplay at the 46th Fantasporto International Film Festival in Portugal in early 2026.

In sum, Lana’s brilliantly dark Sisa is also a paradox of intense light in deep shadow. No wonder it marks a significant international achievement for Philippine cinema.

(My friend G captured me gushing even after everyone had left the theater, where, for two hours, I annihilated my bag of popcorn without blinking.)   

A 55-Year Journey on a Single Bus Ride

Where to go? What to do? A place not too far. A place not too near. 

Before son #2 and daughter-in-love arrived from the US for a brief visit, we had settled on an ideal place for spending time with them: Camp John Hay in Baguio. It is the summer capital of the Philippines with  clean, cool air nurturing nature all around. 

Son #1 and #3 both took a leave from their jobs. My sister, Aie, accepted our invitation to join us. And I packed a warm blanket because my timeworn body can no longer stand weather below 24°C.

The express bus ride would take five hours. 

As ever,  I sang softly my LSS for the day. 

Because He lives,

I can face tomorrow!

Because He lives,

All fear is gone.

Because I know

He holds the future,

And life is worth the living,

Just because He lives!

But the bus ride halted the singing and transported me back to yesterday--all of 55 years--like sporadic stops at depots and a quiet journey through vivid and non-sequential images. (Ooops, this is turning maudlin.) 

Quiet wedding. Meeting for the first time. Unromantic first date. Birth of sons #1, #2, and #3. Family R&R. Food binges in restos and at home. Visit to bookshops. Idle chats. Animated arguments on politics. Reading together. Writing. Graduation ceremonies. Celebrating. Mourning low points with kith and kin. Career. Family business. Growing together. "For as long as we both live." Plus all the funny and sappy stuff a simple/modest family does.

Now, why would tears fall like torrential rain? Did grief gate-crash again? Or was I being shown my life's river of grace?

We reached Baguio in five hours, as scheduled. The 55-year journey reached its edge.

And life is worth the living,

Just because He lives! 

A Son Returns

Like many parents in this age of diaspora, I do not have all my three sons in our native land.  The current era of global migration, accelerated by globalization, technology, and economic disparity, our children—upon age of reason—choose where they live to chase their dreams and plans.

Son #2, a physician, left for the US shortly after his wedding. There, he and his wife birthed a son: the love of my life and my late husband’s. They would come for a vacation every year, or Tony and I would fly out there for a vacation—perfect arrangements for family bonding.

But the pandemic re-arranged, or erased, all schedules.

When we rushed Tony to the hospital, where he was confined for 20 days, son #2 and family also rushed over, and had just enough time to say good-bye.

Recently son #2 and my daughter-in-love (minus my precious grandson who is now enrolled in a university) found a break from their busy schedules and visited us for five short days. The first order of the day was an early morning visit to Tony’s grave. 

It’s a bittersweet moment for a mother to see her son navigate his grief at his father's resting place for the first time. But one cannot escape the brutal blows of earthly living. 

It was not a visit of obligation, or religious commandment, or ancestor worship, but a personal act of remembering and processing of grief. For a few minutes, we allowed ourselves a silent space for prayer and comfort—while focusing on the new eternal life as a gift of generous grace. 

Spiritual Oasis

These horrid times, every day seems like traveling in a desert. The world is at war: major conflicts in the Middle East, Eastern Europe, and Africa. Fuel prices have risen too high, causing the economy to drop too low—a fact being gravely felt in the Philippines. We are in a state of desolation, trekking in a place of great undoing. 

But what comfort that our loving God provides his children with a spiritual Oasis—found in our church family every Wednesday (prayer worship), whichever day for our small groups (WIDER, it is called), and Sunday (worship service and ministry activities) in a shelter that celebrates its 50th year from October last year to October this year.

Of these 50 years, 48 has been the time span my family has made this church our haven. Desert storms notwithstanding, plus, if I were to take the desert metaphor further: dehydration from political heat, unpredictable temperature of country leaders, difficult terrain of the economy, and hazards from wildlife of unbelievers, we have stayed.  

Because through these years, we always find the Oasis for our spiritual renewal. It has running water of God’s Word, where we are cleaned, refreshed, prepared for a higher purpose, and where the lost are found again. 

Many members have come and gone because of diaspora, but we chose to stay. And we thank our Maker for making this 50-year-old church a spring, a watering hole, a retreat for us who have to walk through a desert every day.

Lest I be misunderstood, the Oasis is NOT the physical building, but the presence of Christ through the gathering of His people. It is where we are strengthened before trekking back to the desert.  

To believers like me, Jesus is the “living water” that satisfies the soul eternally to never thirst again.  As one body, our church family focuses on the Gospel and fellowship, pledging allegiance collectively and individually to the King. 

As we navigate a spiritual desert, our church clings to the Refuge from the brokenness of everyday life, because the Word of God, our core, is faithfully preached.

Like travelers, we stop to drink spiritual water and eat spiritual food together, enjoying fellowship while  soaking in Christ, our church's spiritual Oasis,   

Delighting Grace Interviews Grace (Part 2)

(Continued from last post. Delighting Grace is Del G and Grace Chong is GC . . .  

GC: Every single one of my books is close to my heart. My favorite is usually what I am currently writing, till the next one comes along. 

Del G:  You have other books that are not for children. But you are known for your children’s books. How do you want to be remembered as an author?

GC: I hope I am not typecast as a writer for only one genre. The readers of my books for adults are often surprised that I write children’s books. Likewise, the readers of my children’s books react the same way about my books for adults. 

My writing is not about me–it’s about giving honor to the Author of life, the Source of my ideas and words.  

Each book is written for a particular audience, not for being remembered as an author. I write about Christian values and God’s grace or I don’t write at all. And I pray that readers (adults or children) remember God’s message and appreciate the grace they received through the book. 

Del G: Does it give you a lot of pressure in writing when you receive an award for your work?

GC: Not pressure, no, but resolve to keep writing. 

Del G: How do we cultivate our love for children specially for us who want them to know the gospel?

GC: Matthew 19:14 (NASB) always enthralls me, “But Jesus said, ‘Let the children alone, and do not hinder them from coming to Me; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'” 

Our Lord and Savior loves children and to them His kingdom belongs! How can we ignore them, how can we not love them just as much? We need to let every child know this truth. 

Del G: Any advice to budding writers who want to try writing children’s book?

GC: Please read as many children’s books by other authors as you can. Immerse yourself in the world of children–study how they act, react, talk, walk, laugh, think, cry, play, or even throw temper tantrums.  In short, know your young reader inside out. And keep the child in you alive. 

Del G: Thank you for your time, Ms. Grace. 

GC: The privilege is all mine. 

A Grave, a Cradle, a Family

Like grace, joy can never be described accurately. One just knows he has it--not only in feeling but also in knowledge and in a deeply rooted faith in the Source of it all.

Baptism is when joy reigns! It is also a time when many believers shed copious tears all throughout the rite due to an overwhelming sense of joy in experiencing God's love and forgiveness. Rather than sadness, the tears mark a transformative moment of grace. 

Our church experienced this moving ceremony once again during our traditional family day: Maundy Thursday. Assisted by our elders and deacons, our pastor officiated this sacred passage in water, which represents both a grave—where shame, regret, and sin are permanently buried—and a cradle, where one  emerges as a new creation, no longer touched by the past.  

As the 20+ candidates for baptism were gently immersed in water and brought back up, our Pastor in a loud. clear voice intoned for all to hear,  “I now baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

Back-to-back gifts: joy and tears.   

When new life emerges, unburdened and washed clean, it is a time for celebration and thanksgiving. It’s a journey from grave to the cradle that will be nurtured by a church family who likewise left behind its brokenness, guilt, fear, bitterness to embrace a new identity anchored in unconditional love.

Our church’s annual family day joins together kindred souls—from varied status in life—to experience joy in singing, worshiping, playing games, eating, bantering, swimming, and praying as ONE in one place. 

Where Everything Begins

“Were do I begin?” This question is always asked in writing workshops attended by would-be authors.

As an author, I believe everything begins with thanksgiving: being grateful for the passion He has given us to write (or whatever you wish to be or do), surrendering this endeavor to God, aligning written words with Biblical principles, and seeking His guidance rather than relying solely on self-effort. 

This is where OMF, the publisher of most of my books, is coming from. This year, its first event (January 10)  was a Thanksgiving Fellowship with all those involved in Christian literature at OMF: Authors, artists, editors, translators, and office staff. 

It was an affair I couldn’t miss for the world, even if, at that time, I had an overstaying guest that I could not drive away. (This post is three months adrift.)

Long-time and new friends made the event memorable. The CEO reiterated OMF's commitment to spread the Gospel here in the Philippines (and in the world) through its publishing ministry. In my heart, I personally renewed this commitment, with the guidance of the Reason why I write. 

And lest I forget, note to self: Before typing the first word on the keyboard, thank the Author of Life for His enabling grace.  

”But grace was given to each one of us according to the measure of Christ's gift.” Ephesians 4:7 ESV

Holy Week: Humility Unmatched

How do we define humility?

No words or action by man can define it accurately. But Jesus vividly demonstrated it for us during what we now call Holy Week. This we need to replay in our hearts over and over again to make us remember the promise of eternity to those who believe.   

“These series of events were intentional, never random,” our pastor said in his sermon on Palm Sunday. 

They were all deliberate fulfillment of divine prophecy and God’s plan for human redemption. Jesus entered Jerusalem knowing his imminent death on the cross: a supreme sacrifice for sin.

Let’s briefly look back on the chronology of the week.  

Palm Sunday: Jesus entered Jerusalem not on a warhorse as a conquering king, but on a donkey, fulfilling prophecy as a gentle, humble King. 

Holy Monday: Jesus cleansed the temple by driving money changers and merchants away,

Holy Tuesday: Jesus taught in the temple, and faced the ire of and challenges of religious leaders. He gave the Olivet discourse, prediction of the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple.

Spy Wednesday: Judas Iscariot conspired with the chief priests to betray Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.

Maundy Thursday: Jesus shared the Passover meal with his disciples. He emphasized the breaking of bread and sharing the cup as a "remembrance" of his sacrifice. Maundy (meaning mandate, from the Latin word mandatum) was Jesus' new commandment (John 13:34). “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” Jesus, as Lord, performed the role of a servant by washing the feet of his disciples, including Judas who would betray him. What an amazing visual image of servant leadership! 

Good Friday: Jesus was tried before Pontius Pilate. The same crowd who cried "Hosanna, Hosanna!" on Palm Sunday cried “Crucify him, crucify him!” Jesus remained silent before his accusers, endured mockery, demonstrating absolute obedience. Then He prayed in  Gethsemane where He was arrested. He accepted the humiliating and painful death of crucifixion to save humanity. Jesus was mocked, stripped, given a crown of thorns, and whipped before carrying his cross to Golgotha, where he was crucified like a common criminal. Darkness covered the land for three hours (noon to 3 PM).

On the cross, Jesus said what we call “The seven Last Words.” Upon his death, the curtain in the Temple tore from top to bottom, an earthquake occurred, and rocks split.

Joseph of Arimathea, a follower of Jesus, requested for the body, wrapped it in linen, and placed it in a new tomb, which was sealed with a large stone and guarded by Roman soldiers. 

Holy Saturday. Jesus’ body rested in the tomb while his followers mourned.

Resurrection Sunday: Jesus rose from the dead, defeating death! Hallelujah! 

Why would the king of Kings go through all these for insignificant me? Because His grace is boundless.  

“Jesus endured profound anguish and torment beyond human endurance before his death. But our reaction should not be pity, but admiration,” our pastor stressed.

Let me add awe, amazement, and astonishment for His unmatched humility. All documented in the Book of books.  

Delighting Grace Interviews Grace (Part 1)

On July 15, 2014, I had a chat with Nitoy Gonzalez, owner/blogger of Delighting Grace (Del G). It’s been 11 years, but this post is as relevant today as it was then. So I am sharing with you an abridged version (I took the liberty of shortening it). 

Del G: I first saw Grace Chong (GC) in person in last year’s Manila International Book Fair and recently read her children’s books. They hit not just the heart of a child but those who are kids at heart. No wonder she received awards and recognition for her craft. But most importantly, she delivers God’s grace in her books.  In celebration of National Children’s Book Day, Del G brings you Ms. Grace as she talks about her books, crafting a good story, and many more:

Del G: Ms. Grace, what makes a good story kids will love? You do have a knack for kids.

GC: Any story that is within the realm of the kids’ experience and imagination, if presented in a unique, fresh, and fun way in their language, can be appreciated by the readers. 

Del G: How did you start writing books for children?

GC: My mother wrote in my Baby Book that I started writing stories when I was five.  Maybe as early as then I already had the passion to write stories. But I took my first-ever win in the Palanca Awards 1999 (The Boy Who Had five Lolas, first prize) as an affirmation of the new direction I wanted to take after leaving the workplace–to pursue my love for writing. 

Del G: Your children’s books are entertaining. How do you get inspirations for your stories? I’m impressed that some are really enjoyable and full of action.

GC: I can get inspired by everything, everyone, and anything that I see around me.  That may seem like a cop-out, but that is how it is. I am touched by every little act of kindness, or unkindness, and I see gems in mundane things. These I translate into stories that readers can identify with.     

Del G: One book or books worth mentioning is your Oh Mateo! series. Who is Mateo in your life? You gave him a series and I thought, hey, this boy must have a special place in Ms. Grace’s life?

GC: Mateo is the name of my dad, my brother (Mateo Jr.), and my nephew (Mateo III). When I created the character, I was looking for a Filipino name and I didn’t need to look far. In my family, I learned great life lessons from my dad, rib-tickling humor from my brother, and thrilling adventures from my nephew.  Each had been a rich resource of ideas for the series.  

Del G: Which among your books is nearest to your heart?

(To be continued: Part 2)  

Overstaying Guest

January 2026: I met a brute, a scumbag. I wouldn’t have survived but for the Word and the God Shot. 

On New Year's day, this guest came uninvited. It barged through the door without knocking. And it overstayed till the 20th. 

These are cryptic words from someone who blogs about grace in the simplest of terms.   

So let me name this unscheduled guest: grief. It is mysterious yet ubiquitous when it visits. It comes  unannounced, allowing for no preparation. It leaves you no time to lock the door. 

Perhaps because it was on New Year’s Day 2025 (last year) when we rushed the head of our home to the hospital due to breathing difficulty. We got stuck there till he bade us goodbye on the 20th day. 

In great detail, this rude guest replayed—sometimes in slomo—all that had happened from hour to hour, day to day. With a jarring alarm, it roused my five senses, making them more acute than they were at peak levels: the suffocating smell of alcohol and meds; the sterile sight of unsmiling people in white coats; the hurried sound of footsteps checking IV, blood pressure, pulse, breathing at all odd hours; the icy feel of the patient’s clammy hands and loose grip; and the bland taste of canteen food. Amidst the chaos, I'd hear the patient's calming voice, "Get some sleep; I am okay." 

In a way he was okay. His mind was as astute as ever, too astute to show courage, hide pain or any form of suffering from me and his sons--the only people he allowed to see him at his weakest. 

He was okay to shush nurses up so they won't disturb me while I was beating a deadline for my latest book. 

He was okay--to leave for his eternal home. 

Through 20 days this year, I was loathed to attend happy events, much more to write about them. 

Unlike grief, however, gracc is a constant. It resides in a believer’s heart. It flows; it floods; it flourishes; it fills; and it’s free. It only needs to be acknowledged and received. And the Word affirms it, making the unwanted guest unimportant and at some point, it slinks away.  

“It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31:8

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1 ESV

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” Psalm 23:4: 

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28 

For 20 days, an uninvited guest came to stay; it made me seek grace, which pushed it astray. “He is where the joy is.” 

A Date with Eight X’s

The number 8 popped into my head when 8 of my dearest friends, peers from my past workplace (X of corporate name) made time to visit me at home.   

Eight is widely considered special, lucky, and powerful across various cultures, science, and music. Why? It’s a combination of its shape, cultural significance, unique properties in nature and logic. 

In Chinese culture, 8 is considered the luckiest number because it sounds similar to "fa" , which means to "make a fortune" or "prosper". It is highly favored for business, phone numbers, and addresses.

When turned on its side,  8 becomes the infinity symbol representing infinity. In music, an octave consists of 3ight notes. In marine life, an octopus has 8 legs and is known for its high intelligence.

Plus more. 

These are interesting stock knowledge, but 8 became extremely significant for me with the presence of my 8 X's just before Valentine’s Day and Chinese New Year. What a marvelous date!  

The invitation was actually extended to all (around 30) who attended our last X get-together. They endlessly teased me about having a party in my home, which was then undergoing renovation. For various reasons, only eight made it. Amazing eight. 

Laughter. Banter, Memories. Food. A prayer. Joy. Updates—maintenance pills, included. And a highlight: book signing by the illustrator and me, echoing magical moments of some years ago. 

These were documented in photos for when I grow feeble and forgetful.  

 

This verse always rings of grace: "A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need." Proverbs 17:17 NLT 

BFFs: From Daily to Rarely

Time is an arrow. 

Once you shoot it into the air, its trajectory is irreversible. It moves in one direction and never comes back. It momentarily stops at its peak, and then accelerates back toward Earth, because of the pull of gravity. 

Doesn’t time feel the same way? We can’t go back to the past. We need to keep going,  

I was reflecting on this when three of my dear friends and I got together again after a long time. All four of us met in the workplace eons ago, and although we worked in different units, we bumped into each other every single day: hallway, elevator, stairs, canteen, entrance, exit, parking lot, conference room, everywhere!  

Then came retirement—not at the same time; I took mine ahead. But today, after two decades,  retirement has evened out. 

That long-ago time when we were shot into the air, we had maximum speed and energy—young and driven. 

The arrow hit its highest and paused briefly; it descended toward the ground—at a slower speed this time. After leaving the workplace, things became slow—and in our case, rare.  

One rare day, however, we made it happen. 

And what a meet-up it was! The conversation was still as spirited and non-stop as 20+ years ago, but the topics have transitioned from shopping to napping, from high heels to maintenance pills, and . . .you know the drift. 

This has nothing to do with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s famous lines, “I shot an arrow into the air; it fell to earth I know not where.” Because we know exactly where our arrow fell.    

And when our fallen arrow will decay, I know that for all believers in grace, a spiritual arrow will shoot into the air again--this time, the trajectory is forever, never to waste away.   

“For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be  transformed into immortal bodies." 1 Corinthians 15:53 NLT

A Review: My Beautiful Doll

Nothing delights me more than seeing a little girl blossom into a young lady, and who pursues her love of writing. What proof can be better than her first published book! It is my privilege to write a review in the hope that after this, the next book and the next will be forthcoming.

000 

Many years ago, a seven-year-old girl in line with other kids for a book signing event, was hanging on to my every word about writing books. As early as then, I knew it was just a matter of time before she became an author herself. She devoured books and loved the printed word.

Today, I am thrilled to have a signed copy of her first book!  

“My Beautiful Doll” by Ysabel Vitangcol  (illustrated by Richard Soledad) was launched at the Philippine Book Festival.  It is a courageous story about waning health that eventually leads to death. It is handled with deep empathy, demonstrated by the use of the colorful images of facial make-up, an allegory for beauty.  

The focus therefore is beauty: of close relationships, acceptance of life’s end on earth, and the reward of eternal life through faith in Jesus. Without being preachy and with great sensitivity, Ysabel writes about the beauty of the terrestrial body and eventually the heavenly body--all by grace. 

“My Beautiful Doll,” although about suffering and death, is light, refreshing, and uplifting.

000

Way to go, Ysabel! 

A Blog in the Shadows

Before the Ides of March, which unsettles me, I need to write about it now. That special event has to leave the shadows and step into the light.    

Although the Ides of March is no longer an ominous, dark day but a historical one, I still flinch when I remember how we dissected Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar in my MA class.  He was stabbed to death by 50-60 conspirators (Roman senators) in the Theatre of Pompey.  Twenty three stab wounds to stop Caesar’s growing power is petrifying even today. 

And so, before that fateful date comes . . ,   

During our Chit cub-clan reunion in December, my brothers broached the idea of commemorating Tony’s first death anniversary, Babang Luksa.  Yes, I thought, it would be another chance to bond!   

Son #3 looked up Babang Luksa: literally, it means lowering of mourning. It is a Filipino tradition practiced on the first death anniversary of a loved one, marking the end of the 12-month mourning period. It serves as a cultural milestone for families to achieve closure, honor the deceased, and transition back to normal life. 

Traditionally, immediate family members wear black for a full year after a death. Babang luksa marks the day they discard this mourning attire and can wear colorful clothes again, signaling that the grief period has passed.

Meeting in January on Tony’s death anniversary had nothing to do with all those.  

There is no specific period for mourning. It is unscheduled. That's why this blog is two months in arrears. 

    

Colorful clothes have no season.  

Grief has teeth; it demands to be acknowledged. 

And closure never comes. As soon as I uttered, "I'll move on." my sister Aie snapped in a strident voice. "There is no such thing as move on! Move on means you abandon something behind.” 

Commemorating Tony’s death anniversary was a thanksgiving for God’s gift of life. Ten people (23 more in spirit) worshipped together in a liturgical service. 

John 11: 25-26 (TEV) “Jesus said: ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me will live, even though they die; and those who live and believe in me will never die.’” 

1Thessalonians 4:14 “Lord, we believe. Help our unbelief. We believe that Jesus died and rose again; so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have died believing in him.”

2 Corinthians 5:1 “For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

Romans 8:11, 35, 37, 39  “. . . If God is for us, who can be against us? Who, then, can separate us from the love of Christ? Can trouble do it, or hardships, or persecution, or hunger, or poverty, or danger, or death? No, in all these things we have complete victory through him who loved us! There is nothing in all creation that will ever be able to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.”

For AMEN, we tried hard, and failed harder, to sing the Lutkin’s Benediction with finesse.  

Food (Tony’s love language), prayers, photos and words of remembrance filled the rest of the day.

Listen with Your Heart (Part 3)

Months of combined magnified external sounds (courtesy of my cheap hearing aids) and the internal sounds of tinnitus was no longer fit for healthy living. 

It progressed from punishment to torture. So I decided to take action. Listening with my heart was no longer enough.  

I needed a good listening ear.  

  

Tinnitus has made my ear its permanent address. I’ve tried all means to evict it, but nada. 

People who are hearing impaired are missing out on the words of the world. Help can only come from a pair of hearing aids that costs a king’s ransom—enough to feed a hundred hungry children in one week. 

But missing one of the senses, like a diminished sense of hearing, can significantly affect the brain. My friend, Dr. Cely (Ph.D. in geriatric nursing) warned, “When aural input is reduced, the brain undergoes structural and functional changes, as it is designed to interpret sound, not just receive it. 

So I ran to my EENT who likewise warned me. “Get yourself a good pair of hearing aids soon or else . . .”  He wrote an order on his RX pad. 

Oh-oh. 

I rushed to the Hearing Aid Center that gave me another heating test. Same problem. “Say aloud the third word you hear.” 

You are nervous. “serious?” 

It is Thursday. “Tuesday?” 

I am leaving. “Beaming?” 

     

When shown the prices, I looked the other way, and said bravely, “When do I pay?” (I know all I had to do was ask my sons, but I was loathed to bother them. They have been giving me more than I deserve.) Instead, I dipped into my savings, emptied my walled, and premised myself, “No expenses unless it’s a matter of life and death.”   

“Ten percent deposit and full payment when you pick it up next week.” 

Next week . . .

When the audiologist put them in my ears, the same exact miracle happened again—that first time was when I received my first hearing aids from son #2 in 2016. 

The world came to life. I could hear words—words that I had mistakenly heard.  Dr. Cely was right. I began receiving the correct sounds and my brain started to interpret them anew.  

My brain yelled, “Hey, what happened? Here I was sleeping and now I am suddenly awake?!”  

GRACE. All caps.    

Listen with Your Heart (Part 2)

Several famous books have had sequels written many years, sometimes decades, after the original publication. One of them is “To Kill a Mockingbird” (1960) by Harper Lee. Its sequel, “Go Set a Watchman” was published in 2015, 55 years later. 

I’m in good company. Here’s Part 2 of a blog I wrote 10 years ago. 

Tinnitus (ringing inside the ear) has made my ear its permanent address. I’ve tried all means to evict it, but nada. 

People who are hearing impaired are missing out on the words of the world. But there is help—from a pair of hearing aids that costs a king’s ransom—enough to feed a hundred hungry children in one week. 

My resolve then, since this condition is non-life-threatening, was to shrug it off, especially after reading my late cousin Minna’s gracious comment on my blog, “It is amazing how, even with that tini-tinni 24/7 annoyance, you have managed to listen with your heart, cuz. Always.” 

I did manage for a while, but son #2, a doctor in the US, wouldn’t hear (punning not intended) of it. He knows well how tinnitus can saddle not only the ear but all other body sensations as well. So, as a Christmas gift, he made me pick a pair of hearing aids of my choice, ignoring the price tag.     

  

Suddenly, the old me resurrected. I got back to classroom teaching, facilitated workshops, accepted speaking engagements, could sit at the back row in faculty meetings, and heard every word of our pastor’s message.  

But, ugh, that was years ago. Anything on earth has a lifespan. My ear gizmos conked out during the pandemic. Fortunately, the earth then was quiet. I went back to listening with my heart. 

When the pandemic ended, sounds came back. Listening with one’s heart did not equate with quality of life.  

Are you still with me? This seems to be a saga. 

I bought a pair of cheap (90% less than the cost of my Christmas gift), advertised heavily on social media. It was guaranteed to magnify sound. But it was more of a punishment than a reward. Not good. So what to do?

(Next post, Part 3)