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.