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.   

We All blink, God Doesn't

A blink happens too quickly: 0.1-0.4 seconds. Thus, the idiom, “in the blink of an eye.” 

Despite its speed, a blink can cause living things to miss important things and wonder why suddenly things have changed.   

What a blessing that . . .

“God Never Blinks.” That’s what author Regina Brett, a journalist, titled her book about 50 Lessons for Life’s Little Detours. 

Most reviewers of the book say the lessons are life changing. As a believer in God’s watchful grace,  I say, “Amen.”  God is indeed in the details of our life.

These life lessons, when previously published in Brett’s newspaper column, went viral.   

Every chapter touched my core, but two of them resonated most with me: 

Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

If you don’t ask, you don’t get it. (I first learned this from my American aunt when I was a teenager in the US. She used to prod me in her Bronx drawl, “You ain’t ask no question, you ain’t get no answer.”)

My dauughter-in-love discovered this book on a tiny shelf in the house where our family (a rare time that we were complete) spent a staycation last summer.

 

The title intriquued me, so I tried to speed-read it as our stay in the house was too short. I could only go as far as the middle of the first chapter,  

I am glad I found it in a bookstore months later. It is one of those books that I read very slowly. Every episode, which is based on Brett’s life, including surviving cancer, made me pause and reflect on my own life.  

Brett suggests just focusing on the next right step.  If you want to be writer, write every day a line or two (I heard myself speaking those words to would-be authors). Breaking things down into small steps, instead of taking big leaps, simplifies life. 

My net take away—as now a widow and still a writer on grace and a Sunday School facilitator—is: God sees every move we make and every thought we have. He rescues us in the blink of an eye, before we could scream, “Help!”  

He sees every teardrop of grief. 

Unlike mortals who blink up to 19,000 times a day while awake, God never does. 

I passed on the book to my Ading Aie, hoping she would pass it on to someone after reading the last page.  

Grief: Antonymy

What is grief? 

That’s a question I tried to answer in many blog posts. But now it seems that those answers are not what it really is since I lost the father of my sons. I can't define it at all because it is a series of antonymy, a word I just learned while solving a crossword puzzle. 

Suddenly, this new word (by coincidence, Tony's name is smack in the middle) in my vocabulary explained my complex moods and feelings after my roommate of 54 years left for home. 

Antonymy is defined as the semantic relationship between words that have opposite meanings; the "oppositeness" or contradictory nature of words. 

Grief is an antonymy that runs from one end to the other at varying speed. Sometimes it is slow, sometimes it is instant, sometimes it stops midway. 

    • Push Pull 

    • Make Break

    • Cry Laugh 

    • Give Take 

    • Start Stop

    • Begin End

    • Destroy Build 

    • Close Open 

    • Enter Exit

    • Ask Answer

    • Come Go

    • Lose Win 

    • Join Leave

    • Keep Release

    • Hide Show

    • Eat Fast

    • Sit Stand 

      

The preposition “from” precedes the word where we are.  “To” precedes the contrasting word where we should be.  

Thankfully, between “from” and “to,” grace comes to speed up the process. 

To my dear friends and family out there who might have recently lost a loved one and are likewise in grief, let us be comforted by the Lord’s promise:    

“The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalms 34:18 (ESV) 

Shared Sister

My ading (locano honorific for younger sister) Aie was Tony’s too. Like an older brother, he had been, in words and in deeds, supportive and protective of her.   

Tony and I got married amidst a turbulent time in our country.

 

Tony and Aie (lower left photo);Tony with my family (lower right) before the wedding ceremony (above).  

The early 70s was a period of civil unrest: relentless demonstrations, protests, and marches against the administration of then President Ferdinand Marcos were mounted by students, supported by workers and the urban poor. 

Aie’s dorm on the UP campus was teargassed. This was later followed by the bombing of the opposition party’s rally at Plaza Miranda, causing deaths and injuries. Marcos suspended the writ of habeas corpus, the precursor to Martial Law in 1972. 

I knew Aie to be fiercely independent, a warrior, but times were harsh. Tony would always remind me, “Find out how Aie is doing.” “Send her some spending money.” “Convince her to live with us.” 

Through the years, Aie’s job took her to many places in the world. Still, Tony would treat her like a helpless little girl and orders me, “Don’t forget to send Aie pocket money.” 

Even in our senior years, Tony would ask how Aie was spending her birthday. His ading could do no wrong, except when she forgot to turn off the light, lock the door, or leave things lying around, and other odds and ends. Then she would hear from him. 

He never allowed Aie to pay for her share in family reunions. He’d nag me to pay for Aie’s, too. When she joined our Chong dynasty celebrations, he wouldn’t take a cent from her for expenses. 

The turnaround (a part of Aie’s eulogy during Tony’s wake) . . . 

  

“For our take-out dishes last Christmas, I told Manong Tony, ‘This one’s on me.” 

“’No way!’ he replied.” 

“‘Manong, I can now afford it!’ I stood my ground.”  

“When our orders arrived, Manong Tony gave me the receipt, allowing me to pay for it. He came back to hand me my exact change.” 

Tony's rare solo photo (left) is the same one we used for chapel and memorial services requirements. Aie's (right), one seat away, was taken a few minutes later--before the Chong boys sat down for our Christmas noche buena.  

I can’t recall Aie’s exact words, but she felt that Tony's silent acquiescence meant that he was finally confident she can go it alone. It was a foreshadowing of his departure from her life. It was Tony’s last Christmas.   

Tony and I got engaged in the US with plans to marry in the Philippines. He came home months ahead of me 

This is the part of Aie’s narrative that I never knew till then (a feast of grace surprised me, eulogy after eulogy, through the four-day wake):  

He went to her UP dorm to introduce himself. He drove a high-end car and treated Aie to a plushy restaurant, “hoping to impress me.” 

“I was not impressed,” Aie said. "But it was a thumbs up that he took time to meet me." 

Another turnaround for Tony:  He realized that my family and I were exactly like him in values: no glitz, no frills, no fanfare; simple and down-to-earth. 

The next time he visited Aie, he drove his own rickety old car. 

"Manong Tony was family before my sister Grace came home to marry him."  

Accidental Missions Tour

Sometime in 2017, Tony and I visited son #2 and his family in the US of A. All we wanted was to be with them for a month since we hardly saw each other. 

But they had plans to treat us to adventures we never experienced before. One of these was a six-day road trip around California with son #2 driving his dad and mom. He took time off from his punishing schedule as ICU/Pulmonary physician for this trip. 

It was a leisurely drive, stopping for food when the tummies growled. And a bonus to this bonus trip was passing through missions, which was right up Tony’s alley as a history buff. He had read all about the 21 missions the Spanish Franciscans established in Alta California from 1769–1833. These missions are a 6000-mile stretch from San Diego to San Francisco (eventually known as the California Mission Trail).  These facts were supplied by Tony.  

One of those missions was San Juan Bautista (founded in 1797) in San Benito County. Naturally, we had to walk through the halls of this very old structure. I took photos and so did son #2. 

Eight years later, grace takes me by surprise. Son #2 sends me this photo from his camera. Tony would have loved to see it. 

I researched on this mission immediately and remembered what Tony said, which I conveniently  archived (or sent to my trash bin). Mission San Juan Bautista was the 15th of the Spanish missions established in present-day California. 

So am I now a student of history? Not in the same league as Tony was. Okay, no.   

But his knowledge of and love for history (inherited by all three sons and my only grandson) never failed to awe me.