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

GOHAS Edited

A foolhardy move, you might say, but I had to change what the last letter in GOHAS (Guest Of Honor And Speaker) stands for. Instead of Speaker, I revised it to Storyteller. 

As a part-time college and MBA teacher, I have difficulty getting my distraction-prone students to listen to lectures. But when I tell stories, they stare with rapt attention.  

Now, how about younger humans? Here are the statistics: the average attention span of a human has decreased from 12 seconds to 8.25 seconds in the last two decades.

    • Goldfish have an average attention span of 9 seconds, one second more than humans.

    • The human attention span is shorter than that of a squirrel.

    • The attention span of Gen Z’s is around 8 seconds, similar to that of a goldfish.  

So here I was, thinking hard of what story to tell the Generation Alpha of my high school alma mater in my hometown (Umingan).  It would have been a cinch if Tony were still  around. He always had  opinions on indecisions. With a topic as nebulous as “Generation of Unity: Partners for the New Philippines,”  I was loathe to spew platitudes that would sound like Chat GPT.  

Then I remembered. As an author of value-driven books, I had a unity story for high school graduates: A Flood of Kindness (the last in the Oh, Mateo series of books).  It was inspired by what actually happened in Umingan! 

I thought that maybe, just maybe, the story—since it is close to home, or home itself—would catch the attention of the  kids and inspire them to emulate how the people helped build the new town, after it was devastated and flooded by the worst typhoon ever. 

Everyone (men, women, and children) did different tasks, but put together, their efforts rebuilt and transformed Umingan into the new town that it is! 

Did the storytelling work? I wish. And unity? I wish and pray for grace.  

GOHAS Redefined

 It took less than five hours—inclusive of an hour for lunch and coffee, plus several pit stops for bladder breaks—for my ading Dave to leisurely drive GOHAS from Quezon City to Pangasinan. Without those stopovers, it would have taken only three short hours! 

The NLEX ang TPLEX made it all possible. 

Tony, the boys, and I hardly visited my hometown anymore since my parents passed away. On those rare occasions that we did, time was too short, so my high school alma mater was not in our repertoire.

That’s why last month, I stepped inside my high school campus for the first time in 65 years! Please do not do the math. The place has morphed into a new world. Memories are all I have now of those ancient years.   

After high school graduation, I left for UP Diliman, then taught in a university in Baguio for a year, before I flew to the US for my master’s degree. Coming home, Tony and I got married and resided in Manila. 

Back to GOHAS. 

It turned out to be a kakabsat (siblings and their families) reunion and a nostalgic glimpse of our now decrepit ancestral home.  

My ading Aie was my roommate, my sis-in-love Glad was my compleat hostess, and I was surprised when my ading Matt and family came all the way from Baguio to join us. He volunteered to drive me back to Manila—from there, niece Dazha took me home to Las Pinas. She was instructed to document the conclusion, at our doorstep just before midnight, of the brief but my forever-treasured GOHAS pampering. 

Had ading Earl (in Australia) been with us, the kakabsat reunion would have been complete.

GOHAS was not so much a role I had to play for my old school, but a refreshing family kunol-kunol after my two months of moaning and groaning. Grace rescues. Grace comforts. Grace restores.  

“. . . give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” 1 Thessalonians 5:19 ESV

Photos: Thanks Dazha and Teo! 

GOHAS?!

In a digital world now peppered with acronyms, it takes vigilance—if one wants to be on the ball—to know the new ones coming in droves. 

BFF, YOLO, FOMO, ATM, FYI, IMO, IDK, etc. I know them all. 

But GOHAS?! 

I first read it on my ading Dave’s message to our family GC. "We will bring GOHAS to Pangasinan on the 22. Lunch along the way. Drive back GOHAS the next day."

The dates he mentioned coincided with my trip to and from my high school alma mater where I was invited to be guest of honor and speaker on its commencement exercises. Huh?! 

I am a bit slow, but I finally caught on. Well, only after searching the Net. 

These photos explain GOHAS (Guest Of Honor And Speaker):  

It was a nostalgic and meaningful school homecoming after 65 years. And I thank my amazing ading Dave for volunteering to take GOHAS there and for my sister-in-love Glad for taking care of this weeping and doddering old widow.   

(To be continued . . .)  

Maundy Thursday Is Family Day

For the longest time, Maundy Thursday has been a Family Day in my home church. While other churches re-enact what happened thousands of years ago, we make time for kindred souls (adults and children alike) to bond, get to know each other, in a place where we share the same food, enjoy the same place, and worship the same God, Jesus.   

We begin with a thanksgiving service which includes songs of praise, exhortation, and testimonies. 

Then the kids, and kids at heart, splash down the swimming pool while the adults play games, sing songs, or chat, committing to help and pray for one another.   

But what exactly is Maundy Thursday? 

This was explained (to remind us anew) by son #3 in his exhortation. “Maundy”  is a shortened form of the Latin Mandatum, meaning “mandate” or “command.”  

It was on the Thursday of Christ's final week before His crucifixion that He mandated a commandment to His disciples after breaking bread (the Last Supper) with them. 

Jesus’ command was a poignant statement while he did the unthinkable: wash his disciples’ feet. It was about radical humility and servanthood. 

“So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. (John 13:34 NLT).

He raised love to the highest level: love even the unlovable and forgive them of their wrongdoing. The tallest order ever for man! 

So our family day is a way for us to get to know our brethren more intimately so we can guide each other in our spiritual walk. It is a day to demonstrate to the children that family means: God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit, and all believers who are adopted children of God.

”I am in them and you are in me. May they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you sent me and that you love them as much as you love me.” (John 17:23) 

All photos boirrowed from Pilar Village Gospel Church brethren.   

Persevering with Joy

Every time I am invited to speak in a school event (such as Moving-up or Graduation) I take the opportunity to talk about Christian values. 

When the occasion involves children, I do not deliver a speech; I tell a story on the gathering's theme. Time and again, I have proven that even in a classroom full of inattentive college students, stories draw better attention than a lecture. 

“Persevering with Joy by the Grace of God” was our church’s grade school Moving-up/Graduation theme. 

Immediately, the book that came to my mind was “Coming Home,” the first book in the Happy Home series (published by Hiyas and illustrated by Leo Kempis Ang).  The story is about Ped, the main character, who perseveres to achieve his goal. 

Ped graduated with honors from sixth grade and was excited to move up to the higher level. But his parents were adamant. They were dirt poor and a job, not education, was their priority. 

He ran away from home, hoping to earn for his educational expenses. He toiled on the city streets but earned a paltry sum only for his daily food. Undeterred, he found another way—look for a relative who can give him a job. He found one and his life turned around. 

He learned more than what a school could teach him. He found a new home, and learned about the right way to live life—and that is to persevere joyfully, not through his own efforts, but by the grace of God. 

My unexpected rewards came in the form of words from parents/guardians in the audience: 

 

“That story made me tear up. It seems to be my own story.” 

“Nothing is impossible if only we persevere.” 

“God makes a way for us to achieve our  goals—to honor Him.”  Etc. 

My prayer is that the children were just as moved by the life lesson as their elders were.

Huddles Are Cuddles

Reunions are great. But huddles are even greater. 

It evokes images of a close-packed group curled up and cuddling around a campfire. That’s what this poster from Hiyas of OMF Lit made me feel when I received it. How can one not wish to be a part of it? 

But before I went up to the huddle on the 4th floor, I had my photo taken beside my latest book, to remind me why I was invited to the campfire. 

The huddle involved all authors of Hiyas-OMF Lit through the years, including those who are abroad via Zoom. 

Conversations revolved around . . . one guess: keep the writing flame burning to honor and spread the word about huddling close to the Source of grace. ­

"The Lord is close to all who call on him, yes, to all who call on him in truth." Psalm 145:18 

Now You See Me, Now You don’t

This phrase is familiar to those who have gone to a circus at least once in his life. It’s what the magician says when he performs a vanishing act. One minute we see a dove, the next minute, he makes the dove disappear. He can actually make anything (including himself) go “Pooof!” 

“How did that happen!?” we cry. Only the trickster knows the answer.   

“Now you see me, now you don’t” emphasizes the element of surprise and the fleeting nature of an object's presence. 

Magic? Not in real life. 

Our existence on earth is precisely that. One day we are healthy; the next day, the vehicle we are on  figures in a fatal accident. Today, an athlete wows the audience; the next day, he suffers a heart attack. 

Moses prayed in Psalm 90:10–12 (NLT):

Seventy years are given to us!  Some even live to eighty. But even the best years are filled with pain and trouble; soon they disappear, and we fly away . . . Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.“

Many of my close friends and family recently went to their glory so suddenly that we are left in a state of shock and lingering grief.  

Two of my dearest cousins, whom Tony and I visited in New York sometime ago, had flown away from this mortal coil. Tony, who took this candid shot, had vanished from our life as well. 

A vanishing act should not come as a surprise, but we are surprised every single time. The good book, as penned by David, is explicit. 

“Psalm 39:4-5, “Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is. You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand. My entire lifetime is just a moment to you; at best, each of us is but a breath.” 

What to do? 

(Note to self) Realize the brevity of life; thank Him for life's transcience, which is more than enough span of grace for anyone to dwell in His presence.