Never a Mary Grace

 After leaving the super-stressful-and-strenuous workplace, I thought nothing could get my goat ever again. 

Nary a thing (not even paid trolls, Covid-19, and lying politicians) did, not for over 20 years, till a few months ago. 

The culprit is Mary Grace. 

It’s a lovely name. But it wreaked havoc upon my placid, peaceful place at the departure lounge, waiting for my flight home to forever land.

It all began when my youngest brother Dave started looking into the property papers left by our departed parents without any of their heirs’ names. These properties are not worth a fortune, but they have to be legally documented for any action. 

The first step to documentation is to prove that we are indeed the heirs. And each heir has to prove his birth and true identity.  

Our late dad left me an original copy of my birth certificate with documentary stamps. However, the Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA) now has the mandate to consolidate all government recording systems for the centralized data repository. 

Alas, the PSA has no record of my birth.  

So Dave, with supportive family members, went to the town of my birth to get a copy of my certificate to be forwarded to the PSA. 

Aaaargh!! 

My name on record is Mary Grace?! Upon seeing my original birth certicate, the person in charge said, “That’s too old!” In short, he went by Mary Grace to be sent to PSA. How that happened is beyond human comprehension. 

I’ve been called many names: mommy, manang, nakkong, ate, Ms., na’am, nanay, lola, but NEVER  Mary Grace!  

And now I have to prove that I am not, and never was, a Mary Grace.  

At my age, having lived in two continents for decades (birthed three sons, traveled the world with legitimate visas, studied in schools abroad, opened various bank accounts, purchased some properties and insurance plans, etc.) and used nothing but the name on my authentic birth certificate, would you smile and take it all? 

What are the government requirements to prove I am who I am?   

Police clearance, NBI clearance, tons of affidavits from employers, baptismal certificate, government IDs, letters from people who can vouch for the true personna I have lived all my life. 

 

There. I got it all out of my system. But not without globs, chunks, clumps, and slabs of grace at every turn. 

Whether the ‘gods that be” guarding birth records will believe those documents I slaved over for months on end remains a big question mark. 

End of rant. 

Back to blogging about grace.  

Sunday School Saga

Since I began attending Sunday school (SS) as a little girl in our small church in the province to this day, the Lord has guided my growth beyond numerical age. 

From attending, I transitioned to teaching.  

I was first appointed to teach adult SS in ancient days, when my family moved to this village before son #3 (our youngest) was even born. I was given a book, on which the lessons were based. That lasted a few years, till our new pastor implemented a new program.   

Then I found myself teaching SS again—this time, the women’s group—as assigned by another pastor. All church groups were given the same book to follow. One day, however, one of the younger women in our group volunteered to do it for me. I gladly bequeathed the role to her, knowing she will be as blessed as I was in handling the class. 

Zzzoink. At some point, the virus scrambled our lives. The volunteer teacher continued with online Sunday school, which I attended without fail, sated with God’s Word each time. 

Zzzoink. Our teacher left, and son #3, who is now an elder in church and the chairman of the board, made a snap decision: “The women’s SS can’t stop. Mom, take over. I am sure many others will volunteer to  teach on some Sundays.” 

Nobody did. Technology tricks terrify them. Except for two Sundays when I sort of arm-twisted a goddaughter to do it (our family went out of town), I continue to mine the Bible for God’s lessons and summarize them in slides, good for an hour. Then I document the session with a group collage, patterned after that Sunday's slides:   

This time around, I made two decisions: 1) lessons will be based not on just one book; 2) they will be delivered in Tagalog (a foreign language to an Ilocano). 

They turned out to be the best decisions I have ever made. Thousands of new doors sprang open for me to see more closely the God we serve. “. . . my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways” (Isaiah 55:8-89). The Tagalog words add soul to what I thought I already knew.   

Yet, the Lord cannot be throughly known down here. Only up there, where every day is Sunday, will we experience the wholeness of His grace.   

The number of attendees dwindled when the health protocols eased up and allowed face-to-face gatherings. My audience rushed to get ready for the worship service. I experimented with conducting the class in church, but nobody made it—8 AM is too early. 

I told son #1 that my audience was getting smaller. “It’s time to stop.” 

He was vehement, “No, Mom! Continue even with only one.” 

If this were a novel, this now is the last chapter of my saga as SS teacher.  Nearing the age of Methuselah, I am hanging on to this nugget of wisdom—growth is not about numbers.  

Photo credit: (Top) Adobe Stock 

Covid-19: Take Two

Had I written a blog two days ago, as I itched to do, it would have been a piece of disgrace. My mood was mercurial; a low-grade fever and sore throat kept kicking my sanity away. 

Not even a negative antigen test could dig me out of the dumps. So Tony called our doctor, who said I needed to take another antigen test after two days. Meanwhile, she ordered me to isolate and prescribed no medicine except an anti-fever. 

Son #3 offered his room; he moved to son #2's vacant room, where his doodads are set up for his online meetings. 

My second antigen test—positive?!  Why would this pest assault me twice?! Had I not followed all health protocols to the letter?!

Naturally, everyone has to be quarantined. 

Here I mope, with everyone at home 24/7 for the first time in years, yet couldn’t sociliaze with anyone except through my phone and laptop. 

What to do? Even with my Bible on my lap, JR’s books for the taking from his walls, crossword puzzles sent by Tony (these I devour on better days), my eyes and mind refuse to focus. 

“Remember your old love: piano hymns,” my fevered mind rasped. I search for videos on the Internet, and put on my ear phone.

  

Magic? Bliss? Grace. Healing grace. I now alternate piano hymns with tabernacle choirs. The lyrics have become my own, and God’s, reaching my core.  

From the lowest level of soil, my spirit lifts up, defying boundaries, and reaching  the clouds. I don’t know how to draw grace being everywhere, so I play around with images borrowed from the Net, hoping to describe the depths of feelings I could not put into words. 

I am not an artist (just a poor copy of one), but this “art” illustrates, for me, where the piano hymns of my youth have been taking me while I am by my lonesome.   

Title? “Breakthrough” (from the cage of ungrace, even before the next antigen test)    

How Many Lolas Do You Have?

To celebrate The International Day of Older Persons on October 1, I wiped the dust off an old column I wrote for The Freeman newspaper (Cebu). Here’s an excerpt of that article:    

“In my book talks, I ask ‘How many Lolas do you have?' before I read my book on role reversal: All Aboard with Five Lolas (illustrated by Beth Parrocha and published by Hiyas of OMF Literature).

“It’s about Teo, the eight-year-old hero in the Oh, Mateo! series of 16 books, who was treated to a cruise by his five lolas. Why five and not two?

“In truth, a person only has two lolas—one is the mother of his/her mother, and two, the mother of his/her father. But in the Philippines, most children call all the sisters of their lolas and all the wives of their lolos—on both sides—lola.

My mother had four sisters with whom she was very close. They were pals, and I called all of them auntie. But when they became grandmothers, I referred to them as the five lolas, the way our children did, especially when they got together and chatted till the wee hours of the morning.

“This book was written in their honor.   

“In one event, I asked my young audience, ‘How many of you have two lolas?’

“All of them naturally raised their hands. Then my publisher offered to give away free books to the kid or kids who had the most number of lolas. About a dozen kids came forward.

"’I have five!’ ‘I have six!’ ‘I have seven!’ ‘I have eight!’

“Then one of them cried at the top of his voice, ‘I have 38!’

“‘Huh?’ Everyone in the audience shrieked in unison, ‘38?!’

“I asked the kid, Ziggy, who was about eight, ‘You really have 38 lolas?!’

"Opo," Ziggy replied, smiling widely.

“His mother explained Ziggy’s answer, ‘We have a huge clan that meets every year for a grand reunion. I have 37 aunties in that clan (including in-laws), plus my mother—a total of 38. He calls them all lola.’

"’Ahhh!’ the audience looked at each other and applauded. 

“Ziggy got free books as his prize for having so many lolas. 

“In the Philippines and other Asian countries, the family is very important. A family includes parents, their children and extended family members ranging from grandparents to uncles, aunts, and cousins—sometimes even relatives from other places who happen to have the same surname. In many cases, a family even includes godparents.

“So what happens in the cruise ship to Mateo and his five lolas? Plenty, and all them exciting.” 

Being a grandmother (a category to which I now belong) is grace so grand that  every time someone takes my hand for mano (all the kids in Sunday School!), I can’t even begin to count my blessings. 

Heritage Tour

Next to Mathematics, History was my least favorite subject. I loathed memorizing dates and people’s names. 

On the other side of the spectrum, my husband, three sons, and only grandson, Adrian, love History. That’s why whenever Adrian comes home to the Philippines for a visit, we take him on a heritage tour. His dad thinks it is important for Adrian to know his roots. 

During his last visit, we took him to the Apolinario Mabini Shrine, the bamboo organ museum, and the place where the Philippine Independence was proclaimed in Kawit, Cavite. In every place, he would read all the literature and posters with rapt attention. 

These tours have made me realize the value of knowing our past. History provides us with a record of both successes and failures of those who lived before us. It widens our perspective, broadens our knowledge, and helps us make wise choices to avoid mistakes.   

Paul also saw the value of history. By recounting the story of the Israelites and their wanderings in the wilderness, he showed the folly of disobedience and wrong choices, which led to ruin. By refusing to trust God, it took the Israelites 40 years to enter the Promised Land (Numbers 14). 

In 1 Corinthians 10:11, Paul warned the believers, “These things happened to them as examples for us. They were written down to warn us who live at the end of the age.” 

The Book of grace, the holy Bible, contains both examples and warnings to guard us against our rash tendencies and to lead us into wiser living. We need to learn from the lessons of history so we don’t commit the same mistakes. 

Musings: By examining the lives of people in the Old Testament, what valuable lessons have helped me make wise decisions? 

Prep, Prep, Prep

Like any professor, I impress upon my students that for any class work, preparation is non-negotiable. 

“There are three ways by which you can improve your oral presentations,” I advised my Marketing Communications  class. My students are post-millennials who have embraced quick fixes sourced online. Their visuals are impressive, but they lack depth and critical thinking. “Take these down.” 

They grabbed their gadgets. Only one out of 18 had a notebook and a pen.  

“One, prep. Two, prep. Three, prep.” 

They laughed. First, because I used their word “prep” instead of the word “prepare” that belongs to my generation. And two, because they did not believe that a long preparation for one project is important.  

Oh, but it is. And preparation or being ready is no laughing matter either. 

In 2 Timothy 2:21, we read, “If you keep yourself pure, you will be a special utensil for honorable use. Your life will be clean, and you will be ready for the Master to use you for every good work.” 

1 Peter 3:15 says,“. . . you must worship Christ as Lord of your life. And if someone asks about your hope as a believer, always be ready to explain it.”  

In 2 Corinthians 9:5, Paul reminds us, “. . . I should send these brothers ahead of me to make sure the gift you promised is ready. But I want it to be a willing gift, not one given grudgingly.” 

There is wisdom in being prepared in everything we do. May the Lord give us ample grace to guide us as we prep, prep, prep to tell others about Him.

It has been said that the best preparation for tomorrow is the right use of today. Hmmm, how am I using my today?    

Seven Thank-Yous

“Have you written a book on gratefulness?” an old friend from Childlink Learning Center and Childlink High School, Inc. in Cebu messaged me.   

“Yes, I have." Angel with One Foot immediately came to mind.

“May we invite you again to read virtually the story to our students, their parents and teachers as part of our Leadership Development Program?” The school has intensified this program for positive character development. 

(Last year I read Lumpia Lane.) 

“What a privilege!” I replied. 

As I prepared my slides for D-Day, I ached for those times I was in Cebu visiting different schools, talking to my readers about reading and writing. But, Hey, being online is as much grace as flying there, the sane part of me reminded me.   

One sunny Friday morning, I turned on my screen and there they were! Grade school and high school children of various ages, plus their teachers and parents. 

No matter how often I have re-read or re-told the story, I hear a catch in my voice. The book, loosely based on a real incident shared with me by my husband, speaks of the value of gratitude that must be a huge part of us.   

Let me paraphrase a nugget of wisdom from a book: "What’s great about gratefulness is that the more you choose it, the easier it gets. The more you are thankful, the more you notice things to be grateful for.” 

Yes, it is a most beautiful mindset. 

Before reading the story, I asked, "Have you ever seen angel?" 

Angel with One foot is about a lady on crutches because she had only one foot. She helped a poor little girl in need by buying all her seven unsold newspapers with cash far more than their cost. 

Unfortunately, the little girl failed to thank her because she had left too quickly. Since then it has been the prayer of the little girl, as she grew up, to meet the lady with one foot again so she could thank her.

Many years later, with the help Mateo, she met the angel and finally was able to say seven thank-yous, one for each of the newspapers the angel with one foot bought from her. 

The book defines an angel as anyone who does someone a good turn. So, “Have you ever seen an angel?” 

We all have. And the more we are grateful, the more we see more of them.    

Critical Thinking: Present!

Critical thinkers are curious and reflective. They ask questions—a battery of questions.   

I am oversimplifying it. But if those are the qualities of a critical thinker, then my online students—on a scale of one to five, five being the highest—would rate zero. After passionately explaining a theory about their interests, I’d ask, “Any question?” 

Silence. 

Am I glad that lasted only a few weeks, or I’d have turned comatose from frustration. So I accepted a short-term teaching load for a face-to-face class with 15 students.  It’s easier to engage Gen Z’s when you are mask-to-mask. 

Since this is the “me, me, me” generation, I thought they should learn to be aware of their environment, so they can think and write critically. 

“This book, ‘Present’ is about students being absent even if they are present,” I announced.

“Huh??” That got them.

“This book is all about you. It will be the basis for your exam next week. I wanted to give them to you as a present, but my grandmother used to say that people never treasure anything they receive for free. So I am selling them for P100 per copy.” 

“Aaaah?” 

“But I am giving you a 99% discount. Pay me only one peso.” 

“Oooooh.” Immediately they each gave me their one peso coin. 

“Now I have P15. I will add P200 to the kitty, then ask for volunteers to give this money as a present to the first janitor you see on the hallway.” 

Spontaneously, most of them drew bills from their wallets and pockets, saying in almost unison, “I’d like to add to the kitty!”  

To say I was floored is an understatement. The kitty suddenly ballooned to P600! 

“Okay,” I decided, “we can afford to give two janitors. Volunteers, make sure you observe his/her reaction and share it with the class.” 

The janitors were in tears, and so were the volunteers (and frankly, so was I). The rest of their observations might be too sappy for you, so I will end it here. 

But that was the day my 15 students gave me a present: they learned to be present. In addition, they became curious and reflective.  

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