All You Need Is Love

“What did Uncle Bruno give you on Valentine’s day?” Little Lannie asked. 

“Love,” her Aunt Joan replied. 

“No flowers?” Lannie insisted. 

“Love,” Aunt Joan repeated, laughing. 

“Not even chocolates?” Lannie was incredulous.

“Dearie, why do husbands have to give their wives flowers and chocolates? 

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day. They say it’s the day of love!” 

“Say that last word again, dearie.” 

“. . . Love?” Lannie was confused. 

Special days created by marketing men naturally require consumers to buy goods. And on Valentine’s day, flowers and chocolates should sell. “Say it with flowers” is one such slogan that has created demand for what now seems to be the “symbols” of Valentine’s day. 

The Bible does not say anything about a husband giving his wife flowers or chocolates to show he loves her. We read something more important. 

Ephesians 5:25-33 (NLT) says that husbands must love their wives “. . . just as Christ loved the church. He gave up his life for her.”    

Scripture further tells us (v. 33) that "each man must love his wife as he loves himself . . .” 

After God created Eve from Adam’s ribs (Genesis 2:23-24), He brought her to Adam, who exclaimed, “At Last! This one is bone from my bone, and flesh from my flesh!’” The Lord called her woman because she was taken from man. This explains why a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and the two are united into one. 

Aunt Joan explained, “Between a husband and wife, all we need is love. When you are older, Lannie, you will understand what that means.”  

Reflect and pray: 

Since I am not obliged to give (or receive) flowers on Valentine’s day, how can I make the “day of love” significant between me and my spouse?  

ooo 

Peace Lily

A plant mom I am not, so I don’t qualify as a plantita. This post is only about one plant, which caught my eye while staying home all hours of the day and night, 11 months now, and counting.   

“Wow, what stunning white flowers!” I exclaimed when I saw them blooming, contrasting with their dark green foliage, from about five flower pots.      

“We had one pot that bloomed now and then for the longest time,” Tony retorted. 

We did? I thought. I never noticed it. 

“How come there are so many of them?” I asked. 

Mother Teresa (a true-blue plantita), who was pruning the tree nearby replied, “I planted the new sprouts in several pots and now they are all blooming!” 

“What’s it called?” I asked, feeling like an alien that just landed on earth.  

“Peace Lily,” she said. 

Peace Lily! I’ve always loved and captured on canvas Calla Lilly. I didn’t know there was another lily that is just as interesting! I ran to my laptop and looked it up.  

There are several legends on how the name came about, but here are those that make the most sense to me. Peace comes from the Greek words spath (spoon) and phyl (leaves). 

It is known as a bringer of peace. The white spath represents a white flag which is internationally known as a truce signal. 

Peace Lily reminded me of God’s promise to Israel, when the nation had turned to worshiping idols, “I will be to Israel like a refreshing dew from heaven. It will blossom like the lily . . .” (Hosea 14:5 NIV) 

This is equally promised to us who have been showered with grace in Christ. For He chose us from the pit of sin so we could be saved, redeemed, glorified in Him.

We will blossom like the lily and shall have eternal peace!   

Bruised and Blemished

Piles of news, blogs, articles, and posts have been written about Ravi Zacharias: how he lived a predator's life of lies and duplicity, and how he caused indignation among Christians.  

I wept, gravely wept, when I read the 12-page report—commissioned by the Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM) board after his death—of his sexual misconduct.  

I grieved not for him, because in life he had it all: money and power. He basked in the glory of being  hailed as the smartest apologist, lionized by followers worldwide, esteemed by famed theologians and heads of state, and adored by a staff that thought of him as lily white. In death, he will have his day in God’s court. 

My heart broke over the trail of hundreds of helpless women, whose naked  photos he collected and hid, and whom he abused during massages (with some allegations of rape), leaving their body and soul bruised and blemished. 

He beguiled them with ministry funds (some for housing, schooling, and monthly support) and spiritual conversations that began or ended with prayers. 

Miller & Martin attorneys Lynsey Barron and William Eiselstein investigated, interviewed people, examined phones Ravi used, and reported, “We uncovered sufficient evidence to conclude that Mr. Zacharias engaged in sexual misconduct.” 

Nobody came to the rescue of these abused women, because Ravi concealed his slimy misbehavior from family, friends, colleagues, and donors. On rumors, Ravi machinated the public into thinking he was innocent, while invoking God’s name.   

But nothing and no one can destroy God’s church, not even “the gates of hell [Matthew 16:18]." 

The now downsized RZIM board gives hope to Christians feeling guilty over their loyalty to one man and turning a blind eye to his indiscretions:    

“We are seeking the Lord’s will regarding the future of this ministry … We will be spending focused time praying and fasting as we discern how God is leading us.”

RZIM’s steps forward*:   

Repentance:  

“We are committed to the ongoing process of repentance . . . for what Ravi did and for all of the ways that we have fallen short, we are so sorry. We have no right to forgiveness and that even if forgiveness is possible, it may take time.”

Restitution: 

“ . . .We will help the victims of Ravi’s abuse, and we want to thoroughly understand what has taken place . . . so that we can do everything we can to make sure nothing like this happens again. 

“ . . . victim-advocate Rachael Denhollander will serve as a confidential liaison with survivors and to help guide the process of care, justice, and restitution for those who have been victimized." 

Commitment:

“ . . . Guidepost Solutions, a management/compliance consulting firm will conduct  a thorough evaluation of RZIM, including its structures, culture, policies, processes, finances, and practices. 

“ . . . writing this statement has made us profoundly aware that even what we say now is vastly insufficient and merely a starting point for all that needs to be . . . done.  

“Jesus . . . our only Savior worthy of ultimate trust and worship . . . is fully committed to truth and to justice, and he unqualifiedly stands with the victims." 

Amen. 

I believe in my heart that the healing grace of Jesus is upon those whom Ravi bruised and blemished. 

*https://www.christianitytoday.com/news/2021/february/ravi-zacharias-rzim-investigation-sexual-abuse-sexting-rape.html

Photo credits: black and white photos, borrowed from the Net 

The Colors of Quarantine

In mid March 2020, when the lockdown was imposed due to Covid-19, I felt exactly that—locked down. Quickly, however, I realized that there is no such thing as lockdown. My mind was free, has always been free, to roam wherever I took it. 

Technology has even made the mind-roaming quicker. After learning a few additional digital “skills” from young gurus (in-house and online), I am now a wider wanderer:  

With eyes that have grown bigger. 

I now see, actually see, my surroundings, particularly our garden and our terrace, where Tony and I spend most of our time.  I look down, up, around, and I behold all colors. 

Bees are swarming over flowers . . . the branches of trees are swaying with the breeze and birds . . . the grass is damp in the morning . . . weeds are peeping between pebbles strewn under flower pots . . . the clouds waltz or bop . . . the stars twinkle at night . . . our dogs, Fiscal and Attorney, put their heads on our lap so we could pet them, then they run around like crazy and bark when they hear sounds outside the walls . . . our cat, Fiscal, waits for son #3 to carry her for a tour inside the house a few times during the day . . . the rain, sometimes harsh and sometimes gentle, leave their droplets on the garden set . . . plus many more. 

This palette of grace around our home has always been there. It took a quarantine for me to see all the hues, shades, tinges, tones, and tints.  

"O Lord, how manifold are Your works! In wisdom You have made them all. The earth is full of Your possessions—" (Psalm 104:24 NKJV)    

This Must Be a Wow: 1,111,111

Before I take down this header, let me upload a screenshot of that lovely day this month when my blog site clocked the same number one, seven times! 

Surely (for me, at least), one million one hundred eleven thousand and one hundred eleven page hits in almost 15 years, coming from a page hit of only one (mine), is a wow.  

While I am delighted that I can document same-number page hits, I know that the next one (2,222,222) will no longer happen in my lifetime, unless there will come a sudden surge of traffic, which is unlikely.  That would be asking too much from the Giver of breath, Who has been extremely generous to underserving me. 

What 1,111,111 means is that I never found grace wanting. It comes with every post: the thought that sparked it, the words that put it together, and the strength to click on the keyboard with joy, joy, joy. 

It may be ironic to rejoice as our country is reeling from the worst economic downturn since 1947; still negotiating with pharmaceuticals for anti-Covid-19 vaccine while other countries have gone full-blast; trying to curtail our freedom through an impending anti-terrorism law; and experiencing widespread hunger and unemployment, fomented by abusive people in power.  

But I choose to keep the faith. 

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.” Romans 12:12 (ESV)  

Is Accountability Dead?

During the Christmas season, many people said that Christmas is dead because of the pandemic. 

My past posts reflected on this: Christmas is alive, and long after this crisis is solved, and the world shall come upon another crisis, Christmas is.

What seems to have died—many times over—in this country during the pandemic is accountability. And it was not caused by the virus. It was caused by arrogance, and the evil thought of “I can get away with it.”  

In 1995, then President Fidel V. Ramos issued Executive order No. 226 that institutionalized “command responsibility” in all government offices, particularly at all levels of command in the Philippine National Police (PNP) and other law enforcement agencies.  

Parts of the document read: “WHEREAS, a supervisor/commander is duty-bound and, as such, is expected to closely monitor, supervise, direct, coordinate, and control the overall activities of his subordinates within his area of jurisdiction, and can be held administratively accountable for neglect of duty in taking appropriate action to discipline his men . . . 

“SECTION 1.  Any government official . . . or officer of the Philippine National Police or that of any other law enforcement agency shall be held accountable for “Neglect of Duty” under the doctrine of “command responsibility” if he has knowledge that a crime or offense shall be committed, is being committed, or has been committed by his subordinates, or by others within his area of responsibility and, despite such knowledge, he did not take preventive or corrective action either before, during, or immediately after its commission . . .” 

The uniformed men of the Honorable General Debold Sinas, then Metro Manila PNP chief, blatantly threw him a birthday party (mananita), without masks and without social distancing. They imbibed prohibited alcoholic drinks. Beyond this, there are many cases of unresolved killings hounding him. 

Under the Executive Order above, he should be held accountable, right?  He was promoted instead. He is now the PNP chief.  

Recurring death? 

For years, the Department of Transportation (DOTr) had been trying to modernize toll collection on the expressways, but the system was never perfected. When toll collectors caught the new coronavirus, the DOTr shifted to electronic toll collection mandatory starting Dec. 1, even though the tollway operators did not have fail-proof systems.

Result: horrendous traffic stand-still on the expressways as RFID tags and sensors failed to work. 

The DOTr secretary, the Honorable Arthur Tugade, blamed and berated the toll operators, and washed his hands off the issue. Can accountability be delegated? 

And then there’s Honorable Francisco Duque, Secretary of Health, accused of “dropping the ball” . . . and Honorable Gen. Ricardo C. Morales, Chief of Philheath, accused of pocketing P15 billion . . . Honorable Senator Koko Pimental violating protocol . . . and Honorable Allan Peter Cayetano, accused of unliquidated P2 billion SEA games fund . . . and Honorable Brig. Gen. Jesus P. Durante III using smuggled vaccines for his men . . . and . . .

The names of honorables thinking, I can get away with it is endless. Let me end the list here, or my veins would burst while grieving over accountability.          

Management books tell us that leadership defines culture, and if a leader wants to create a culture of accountability, then it starts with him by modeling behaviors that he wants in an organization, because he is accountable for its failures and successes.  

Will accountability resurrect at another time? This has been my prayer before God's throne of Grace. 

“How long, O LORD, must I call for help?” (Habakkuk 1:2 NLT) 

Virtual Book Launch (Part 2): Memories of Grace

Review of Memories of Grace by Nor Gonzales on 27 November 2020.

There are three things that I like about the book. 

(continued from last post) 

Second, the emotions, the empathy, the excitement that each of the 180 devotional pieces evokes.  Grace has a gift of feelings.  On some pages, I felt vulnerable - I felt lonely, depressed, anxious, confused, angry, exhausted.  But there are more pages where I felt energized, entertained, hopeful, happy, thrilled, thankful, jubilant and joyful.  Sometimes the verses and the stories cited are cries for help -- a lament, while some verses are prayers of praise and thanksgiving. Reading through these made me feel that God sees through my heart and that all feelings are known to our God who has known us even while we were in our mother’s womb.  And I don’t have to mask these with anything. 

Third, the relevance to the times.  Covid 19 tops that list and she said it from the first page of her book. Perhaps, years from now, Memories of Grace could pass off as a “history book” that accurately portrays and documents the feelings that accompanied the invasion of Covid 19.  For through the stories and the reflections, one could feel the effects of Covid 19 on our psyche and emotions.  The book is also one that touches on political and social realities.  May sundot sa injustices, sa abuses, sa corruption, sa inefficiencies, how the poor and the marginalized may have felt throughout this pandemic.  She even tried to reflect on development issues, like poverty, functional illiteracy, and economic growth. How did she do it? Go and figure out for yourselves. Buy the book.

In doing so, I believe that Grace, as a Christian trying to live and love like Christ, has also exercised her prophetic role by using these daily reflections to denounce what is evil—all in the light of a world needing bountiful grace.  For to be a Christian does not mean waiting for the world to end because we are assured of a place in heaven. As a Christian, we are to bring heaven to where we are. That was a challenge to me, as a reader -- how to bring Shalom? Surely, that needs a lot of grace. 

And so I would like to end this review by quoting a part of the Prologue: 

“God’s mighty works through our once colorful life are memories of grace. Only by remembering can we move forward and realize: There need not be despair, because His grace has never left nor failed us- not then, not now.”  

Congratulations to Grace Chong, Jon de Vera, book cover designer and Marianne Ventura, page designer. 

Pahabol (P.S. in English): There is just one thing that I thought was missing. The book, with all 180 daily devotions seems to be bitin. It is good for only half a year, so perhaps, this should pave the way for a Part 2 of the devotional. 

* * * 

It is humbling to hear such praise from someone so accomplished in communications; thank you, Nor, for your kind words. I am grateful to OMF Lit for making this virtual book launch possible against all odds. 

I wrote a total of 365 devotions, but because of costs and circumstances caused by the pandemic, the Editorial Board reduced it to 180. The remaining unpublished devos will be uploaded here from time to time. 

For the success of this online event, I give back all the glory to God and God alone.  

“Not to us, Lord, not to us but to your name be the glory, because of your love and faithfulness.” (Psalm 115:1 NIV)

Virtual Book Launch (Part 1): Memories of Grace

My book launches were either held in a private venue or at the open-to-the public Manila International Book Fair. In both places, I had been privileged to chat with readers, hug them or shake their hands, sign their books, and pose in hundreds of photos with their mobile phones.   

Those images would later populate many walls on Facebook.

The pandemic stole those treasures away. My one and only book launch in 2020 was done virtually.  One other book launching was canceled due to unforeseen kinks.  

And so Memories of Grace (Devotions for your golden years), was virtually launched on 27 November. What replaced all of the precious moments above was a book review, which to me was a tribute, not so much to the author, but to the Source of all wisdom. 

That was unexpected grace.  

God sent this grace through someone steeped in communications: Nor Gonzales. OMF Lit's Yna Reyes  described Nor as both a reader and a writer, a communications professional on development issues and programs. She was a senior communications officer at the World Bank, and now teaches a graduate course in communications at the UP. 

Let me share with you her uplifting and heartwarming review, which affirms my resolve to keep writing till the sun sets on me.  

It is my great honor to give a review of the latest book of Grace Chong, one who has been truly using her retirement years to productive use.  With 60 published books, 6 Palanca awards, Gawad Balagtas Award, Samsung Kids Time Award, National Book awards, and Catholic Mass Media Awards, she has truly redefined the word “retirement”.  Based on her achievements, it seems that retirement now means more influence, more territories to cover, more work but of course, more fun! 

I am not sure what has made me earn the honor, except perhaps, that I belong to the target age group of her latest book.  

While I fit the profile of a potential reader of this devotional book, let me say outright that this devotional book is not for senior citizens only.  If you are a son, a daughter, a grandchild, a nephew or niece, an in-law, a student, or just a friend, you will find that many of the stories embedded in the devotionals are also about you as you relate to your parents, grandparents, uncles, aunties, teacher, neighbor, or friend of your parents or grandparents.  Well, if you have not been relating to anyone of them, then I think, YOU of all people, should read this book. 

There are three things that I like about the book.  

First, each page is short and sweet. The Bible verses are light, easy to read and easily connected to the story of the day.  Thanks to Grace’s flair for writing, everything is 300 words or less per page.  That must not be easy. Striving to be a writer myself, I know how it is to agonize to trim down your thoughts from a long draft to a few words. But Grace is like an excellent cook, she can put all the ingredients in one pot, in the right proportion, and make sure that nothing spills, even when the mix boils.  So off to the pot is the relevant story, the Word – sometimes embedded in the story or sometimes in a distinct paragraph, and then the reflection and prayer. 

(to be continued next post)   

Final Act, Scene IV

My latest chronological Bible (CSB’s Day-by-Day), the Christmas 2020 gift from son #1, is now my favorite among all my chronological Bibles. 

Scripture is divided into Acts and Scenes, like a powerful stage play with a beginning and an ending.  

It takes a lifetime or two to completely inter-relate and internalize all the details in the Bible, so this version makes it easier—and more exciting—for me. 

The theater is close to my heart. It was a large part of my life in the US, while studying (and being involved in professional stage plays at Goodman theater) at the Art Institute of Chicago for a degree in performing arts. 

The three Acts in CSB’s Day-by-Day: 

Act 1- God’s plan for all people

Act 2: God’s covenant People 

Act 3: God’s New Covenant People (New Testament) 

George Guthrie wrote in the Introduction, “What many people don’t realize is that the Bible’s sixty-six books weave together an amazing, cohesive  story, a Grand Story that God has written on the world, and, believe it or not, you and I are a part of that story.” 

As is my habit (so shoot me!) in reading any book, I pore over the beginning then skim through the ending. 

Whoa! We are now in Scene IV, just before the final Scene when our Savior comes again! This made me rejoice—determined to devour this Book in 2021.   

* * *

Backstory: On one Christmas day over 10 years ago, son #1 gifted me with my first chronological Bible. He must have noticed how much I loved it, he gave me another translation the next year . . . and the next . . . It has become a beautiful tradition, which I look forward to. 

He usually writes a note on the first page. This one’s on my CSB’s Day-by-Day.  

 Yes, as Scene IV plays out, “Let us be found laboring.” 

Luck Is a Four-letter Word

My header, while this post is current, features the four-leaf clover, which my playmates and I would look for in our schoolyard at the beginning of each year. 

It was not an easy search, which made the activity more fun. We were told that if you found one, you would have good luck all through the year.   

That I believed, until my grandmother heard us giggling about our find.  "There is no such thing as luck!" she stressed in Ilocano. 

I do not remember her exact words, but to me this was clear, “All good things come from God.” She cited a verse, which I finally found and understood when I was older,  remembering her words. 

“. . . from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace." (John 1:16) 

In truth, only God determines how this life is played out; there is no luck. And yet, many people cling on to luck via inanimate objects. Perhaps you are familiar with these images (right).   

As my faith grew, I chose to be a mouthpiece of my grandma to children as young as I was then. Believer in Christ ought not to believe in lady luck, promote lucky ideas, have lucky rabbits feet, look for four-leaf clovers, buy round fruits on New Year, have a horseshoe hanging around his neck, re-arrange his furniture to avert bad luck—none of those.  

According to Paul, living by faith is the way to go after meeting the risen Christ on the Damascus Road. Instead of relying on rites and laws to gain God’s approval, he turned around and depended on faith. 

Luck relates to chance, and the Bible teaches us that things do not happen by chance. I believe that everything entering my life comes from God directly or is filtered through His permissive will. 

It does not matter if I understand why or how. Because that is precisely what faith is, “. . . the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1).” 

During this faith-stretching pandemic, a trial He allowed, good has been erupting. And luck has nothing to do with it. 

By faith I understand that the universe was formed at God's command; our troubles are not bad luck. Let me echo what someone wrote in one of my readings, “I don’t believe in good luck. I believe in a good God.” 

This period of quarantine has given me more time to write about this goodness.  Looking back to the years since my grandmother woke me up to the truth, I tear up, because I see God’s miracles, not streaks of good luck.  

Let me take the header down here, for the record. 

Book Review: Hope Bearer

With so much free time while in quarantine, I savored Hope Bearer (Lessons of Hope and Courage in times of Crisis and Change) in two straight days. I was drawn to it like a moth to light. 

Church Strengthening Ministry, Inc. (CSMI), publisher, designed the book for adults who are (children’s Sunday School teachers) and can be (parents or any adult in a household with kids ages 4-12) involved in children’s ministry. 

I am both, although not to kids in this age range anymore. But the book illumined my mind, and taught me how to answer the questions children are asking either silently or aloud today: “Why is everything so different?” “Why am I afraid and sad?” “Why can’t I go out?” “When will everything go back to how it was?” 

CSMI’s Hope Bearer, divided into 10 units with a total of 30 lessons, provides answers that can be delivered to young readers in easy steps. It is a rich resource and a sharp tool for teaching-and-bonding moments.   

It was in Sunday school where I met Jesus, Who sacrificed His life to save me. There, the light was turned on for me to seek His radiance through prayers wherever I was. That’s why I believe Sunday school is vital in every kid’s life.   

In the middle of March last year, however, an unseen but dangerous virus took Sunday school away. The world turned pitch-black. Suddenly, kids are isolated in their homes, away from their teachers, friends, school, and church. 

Adults have coping mechanisms borne out of experience, but do kids? 

Hope bearer was created to bring back the ray of light that glows for kids caught between shadows of uncertainty and insecurity. 

The lessons come with questions, exercises, and activities that lead kids where to look and what to discover, eventually storing these things in their heart. The book enables us to behold our great God, and with Him, no space is unlit.  

What charms me most about Hope Bearer is its usage flexibility: online, home-based, face-to-face or a blending of all. 

The book’s easy-to-follow curriculum includes: doable crafts, singable tunes, practical applications, relevant online links, and uplifting principles of Scripture, which point to the Source of hope and Hope Himself: our loving God. 

I pray for Hope Bearer to reach every household and church during this global crisis. It equips us (parents, siblings, grandparents, and teachers) to continue conducting children’s Sunday school—to keep the ray of light shining upon and wrapping kids in a world gone dim. 

Holding On—Together

Since the year 1988, when If We Hold on Together* was first performed by Diana Ross for a movie, our subclan has been repeatedly singing the tune as our group presentation for our yearly big clan reunion.   

Somehow, we never got it right—not the lyrics, anyway. Each one always had the words on a piece of paper (or phone) surreptitiously glanced at during the performance. 

By fair means or foul, it became our signature song on every occasion we were together.  We even sang it at my son #2’s wedding, never mind the miscues and unreached notes.  

In a couple of reunions, we had the audacity to play the melody on angklung.  

For three decades, despite the imperfections, we have been rewarded with a lusty applause after the last note, like getting an “A” for effort. Or perhaps the poignant lyrics deliver the message of togetherness, a rarity among families in our world today.  

“If we hold on together        
I know our dreams will never die
Dreams see us through to forever
Where clouds roll by
For you and I”

Then came our 76th clan reunion amidst the coronavirus pandemic, on 1 January (Philippines) and December 31 (other parts of the globe). Virtual it had to be, but the Execom still required each subclan to have a group presentation. 

Guess what we did.   

From four different countries and 11 households, our subclan recorded the same song we’ve performed for three decades to a soundtrack sent by our young techies.  

Ah, the miracle of technology. With clever editing, the video got more than a lusty applause from the chat box. 

For the first time, I shed tears while paying close attention to the lyrics.  

Not because of the grammatical lapse (which I noticed for the first time, too, but will be discussed in a separate post), but because . . .  

At no time has holding on together been more meaningful for me than now that we are all physically apart. Togetherness has nothing to do with time and distance. And this special feeling, spoken by tears, is grace received that can only be expressed in silence. 

*Written by James Horner and Will Jennings as theme song for the film The Land Before Time 

Photo credit: top (Pinterests.ph)

A Year of Minimalism

In our home, the year 2020 was a year of minimalism—not in terms of worry and fear—but in terms of trappings of the consumer culture that has engulfed the world. 

I had been sparing. Instead of splurging on things that I thought gave my family joy, I distanced myself from them with careful restraint. Minimalism was the rhythm of my year.

Our Christmas trimmings were unearthed from an old box in our storeroom by Mother Teresa as I was not inclined to do anything I had done in past years: themed décor all over our house, indoor and outdoor (c/o Tony).   

Minimalism in this sense freed me from the stress that society imposes upon the season—shopping, gift wrapping, decorating, not to mention battling the dreadful holiday traffic to get to where you should be. 

There’s nothing inherently wrong with all of the above. What’s wrong is that I gave too much meaning to them, neglecting what’s essentially important with the time I have left on earth: and that is to focus on the birth of Hope.   

These verses from my MSG Bible explained it for me:  

“. . . time is of the essence. There is no time to waste, so don’t complicate your lives unnecessarily. Keep it simple—in marriage, grief, joy, whatever. Even in ordinary things—your daily routines of shopping, and so on. Deal as sparingly as possible with the things the world thrusts on you. This world as you see it is on its way out.” (1 Corinthians 7:30-31) 

This was fleshed out during the yearly party that I never miss to attend —the Christian Writer’s Fellowship Christmas get-together. This year, I didn’t have to dress up, suffer traffic woes, nor worry whether I’d be there on time to hear the message (A Thrill of Hope by Josil Gonzales, founding chairman) and fellowship with kindred spirits who serve the Lord through words. 

It was attended by friends from around the world!      

               

A tradition that had to be modified because of safety protocols was the exchange of books. Each was encouraged to write on FB about the book he was ready to share with someone. The grace of this arrangement is, not just one, but all, will receive the book! 

A year of minimalism 2020 was, but more meaningful than what the world normally allows. 

Let the Chaos Begin

Those words, said in jest by Teo, anchorman of our 76th Clan reunion on ZOOM on 1 January 2021 have never felt more right and more beautiful!  

He meant we could unmute, open mic, and talk (or shout in excitement) to whomever we chose on screen. 

"Chaos” translates to kunol-kunol (Ilocano term for bonding or idle chat), the part of our annual reunion that I love best, since I no longer have the proper joints and bones to participate in sports and games.    

One page out of eight

A grace event, nothing less, is what I call this 76th reunion, considering the dark hole we had been sucked into for most of 2020. I thought we’d stop at 75 (our golden jubilee) as soon as the crisis erupted last year. 

I was wrong.

The Execom, composed of younger members, and therefore tech savvy, of each sub-clan made it happen—complete with all the elements that had made all 75 reunions a riot and something to look forward to year after year. 

It opened with a thanksgiving and memorial service that looked back to all our blessings, including the love shared with those who have gone home to Jesus.    

 A pastor in our clan delivered a powerful message about the God who binds us together, and the virtual choir sang our favorite hymns. We listened to a soundtrack of our voices singing the Lutkin Benediction in one past reunion.

Offertory for Project Nehemiah of the Umingan church

Virtual choir

The chat box got busy: 

“Goosebumps!”

“Awesome!” 

“Thank you, Lord!” 

This 76th is different not only because it was virtual, but many members from all parts of the world—including those who have not come home in ages—attended without spending time for preps and travel. It shattered all attendance records.  

All sub-clan presentations were recorded. The eloquent live liturgist and emcees worked hard at continuity, still, the three-hour event came with pixels, lagging, dead air, and all technical glitches you can think of. 

I'd say those were inconsequential. When you’re with the people the Lord gave you to grow up with, and who influenced your total being, everything but the hugging is perfect. 

In fact, those digital flaws were moments when Teo announced, “Continue with the chaos.”

We held hands in our heart for our family circle; sang Blest be the tie that binds; did a countdown, 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 (based on a clock in some part of the globe), and shouted Happy New Year!” 

Again came the chaos.   

And the Turkey Trots Back

After ending our tradition of a home-cooked turkey for Christmas dinner four years ago, we thought it was gone for good. 

The turkey we ordered from a restaurant on 25 December 2016 was a big disappointment, so we decided on a staycation the following year, and partook of the hotel’s turkey on Christmas eve, three years in a row. Then what do you know? 

The pandemic resurrected the turkey tradition; the bird came trotting back! 

We couldn’t risk going to a hotel, and since we have Mother Teresa (all of nine months now since the quarantine began), JR decided he could do it again with her help. 

I didn’t think I’d blog about a home-cooked turkey ever again, but, well . . .  

Early in the evening, we attended our church’; we polished off the bird; chatted with son #2 in the US; enjoyed some gift giving (only son #1 had gifts for everyone); then off to dreamland, but not before giving thanks for the Savior Who  became flesh on that first Christmas, changing this wretched world forever. 

It was another merry and grace-filled Christmas. 

"I will give thanks to you, LORD, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds. I will be glad and rejoice in you; I will sing the praises of your name, O Most High." (Palm 9:1-2 NIV)  

Anti-vaxxers: Fomenting Fear

As soon as the coronavirus started battering humanity, a number of doctors in the country got infected and died. That pained (okay, distressed and alarmed) me, because son #2 is a doctor in the US. I prayed that a vaccine would be available soon to protect him from this invisible but lethal enemy.  

In America, the number of deaths hit the roof! It shattered all global records.  

However, testing of vaccines for safety and effectiveness by pharmaceutical companies in various countries showed promise. But skeptics—scoffing at the danger of the virus and violating safety precautions—have been rude and rowdy, mocking the idea of a vaccine. 

Refusing vaccines began back in the 1800s when the smallpox vaccine was used in large numbers. Since then, vaccines have met a wave of opposition because (as I have culled from health magazines): they are linked to neurological disorders, allergic reactions, autism, and mistrust of science and pharmaceutical companies.  

Many scientists and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) assured us that these fears are medically unfounded. 

Despite that pronouncement, anti-vaxxers continue to rise on social media. Campaigners are working full-time to foment fear in vaccines, directing the doubters to online stores which sell products purporting to have health benefits. These undermine the roll-out of any future vaccine against COVID-19. 

On the verge of panic, my mommy heart danced when I read on my son’s FB page that he had been injected with a vaccine, with a photo to boot! 

Still, I worried because he has been allergy-prone since birth. I shouldn’t have; God’s grace intervened. He posted this message a few hours later:   

“Tonight as I go to sleep, I feel a dull ache in my arm where I received my COVID vaccine. 

“I also feel something I honestly haven't felt in quite a while: Hope.”

Double grace:  

“24-hour update. Soreness in the arm continues, but really no worse than what I'd get a few days after a vigorous workout. I'm tired, but I was even before the shot. No fever or new body aches.

“I think I am developing x-ray vision.” 

Triple grace:   

“48+ hour update. Arm feels a lot better, no other symptoms to speak of. I feel able to leap tall buildings with a single bound.”

Quadruple grace: 

“72+ hour update: arm soreness barely noticeable, everything else working as expected.

“I accidentally nicked myself with a scalpel blade this morning. Or at least I think I did. The blade broke off and my skin was unbroken. Curious.” 

Grace galore: 

“96-hour update: arm is back to normal” 

Pro-vaccine groups (which include my family) need to throw light on those who malign the vaccine.  

At the risk of courting the ire of my son, I am blogging about his vax experience, his sense of humor versus my sense of horror, in the hope that anti-vaxxers would see this light. 

* * *

How did the second shot go?  See for yourself:  

What’s Up, 2021?

The year just ended was tough, and that’s putting it mildly. From January, when the Taal Volcano erupted, we started staying indoors and wearing face masks to protect us from the ash fall.

Then, less than two months later, the ides of March forced us to stay home and to wear our mask whenever we strayed out for errands. The Covid-19 pandemic changed our daily routine, if not our lives. 

For one whole year, we suffered the sting and consequences of a virus gone wild and unchecked, plus killer earthquakes (including two on Christmas day) and typhoons that caused massive flooding. Businesses have closed, resulting in widespread unemployment. Thousands are still stranded in many places in and out of the country. 

We went online—teaching, learning, worshiping, bonding, fellow-shipping, etc. Face-to-face interaction has gone extinct. 

There are news about a vaccine this new year (captured in art by my friend Ggie) that might end the pandemic, but with indecisive government officials, that isn’t forthcoming—not in the next few months—not even till the end of the year, according to many doomsayers who are furiously shaking their heads. 

 As I look back through the past 12 months, I find my thoughts and feelings inscribed in over 100 blogs. The activities that kept me busy, aside from writing and reading, continued on the digital road. 

One of my books, all ready for printing, could not be published because the price of imported paper and ink have spiked. 

At least one, Memories of Grace came through simply because OMF Lit, my publisher, decided on a more manageable POD (publish on demand) printing, in-house. Just one hundred copies for the online Manila International Book Fair. 

What happens to book publishing? What happens to teaching? What happens to . . . oh, so many other things. 

There are no specific answers, no specific timelines. Just prayers for a less turbulent 2021. 

We who believe in the redeeming grace of Christ, turn to His Word again and again, confident that He is taking care of us as we see more and more signs of His second coming: 

“Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.” Psalm 27:14 (NLT)

He Gives, and Gives, and Gives

His love has no limit, His grace has no measure

His pow'r has no boundary known unto men

For out of His infinite riches in Jesus

He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again  

That’s the chorus of He Giveth More Grace, one of my favorite hymns. Even before I was old enough to understand the lyrics, I already loved it; perhaps because my mom used to sing it aloud a lot. (Mom’s legendary generosity in life might have been inspired by this tune.) 

It’s about boundless, bottomless grace. Like a glory, a series of circles with no end, if you've ever seen one. 

Anyone with a relatively comfortable life could relate to the hymn. 

But the person who penned it lived the opposite of anything but comfortable. Annie J. Flint (1866–1932) knew unlimited pain. She lost both her parents when she was a child. Fortunately, she was adopted by a family that taught her the Scriptures, to read, write, and create music. 

And that planted in her heart a dream—to be a concert pianist. Alas, she developed severe rheumatoid arthritis in her early-twenties. By her 30th birthday, Anne could barely walk. Her biography reads, “Her hands were disfigured, her body was twisted, and she was rarely able to sleep because of the extreme discomfort she experienced throughout her joints.” 

It was through her agony and anguish that she became closer to God. Despite the intense pain in her deformed fingers, Annie wrote poetry, which were reflections of God’s Word and His sustained presence in her life. 

Because of her ailments, she was cooped up in a tiny room in a sanitarium, yet she rarely complained about her condition. Her friends and family described her to be always encouraging and funny. As though roles had been reversed, she penned encouraging verses and gift-books, which contained her collection of poetry, for them.  

Soon, Anne’s writings were published and widely read. People marveled that such amazing lyrics could be composed by hands burdened by unabated chronic pain. And, unlike poems of melancholia, the dominant theme of Annie’s writing was God’s goodness amidst trials and tribulations. 

One of her awe-inspiring works, born from suffering, is He Giveth More Grace. 

How can one not believe such words, coming from someone who led a life of torment and torture? 

A Savior Is Born

One dark night over 2,000 years ago, the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ, was born in a manger. 

No fanfare, no celebrations, no fancy rites, no notable guests—just poor shepherds watching their flock. 

From that night, our dark world was lit with Hope. Anyone who accepts this Savior (who would grow up to freely give grace to you and me, and sacrifice His own life on the cross) in his heart will be saved and have eternal life.   

That is the simple but profound message of Christmas. 

We are not told of the date and details of the venue, whether it was in an open field, a barn, a cave, or a home. For what does it matter? 

But artists through the centuries have come up with this image, which we call the nativity tableau or creche, as a graphic interpretation of that lowly birth.    

 And so on Christmas, every year, we celebrate the birth of Hope, with pomp and circumstance: glitters galore, fancy festivities, and rousing revelry. 

We might be too busy to look back to and reflect on that dark night, but the essence of Christmas remains the same. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS! 

Art: What Is It?

One of the many things that fascinate me about staying home during the pandemic is the slew of creativity that I am privileged to enjoy on social media. 

My artist and writer friends post their works, and if they were all collected into a printed anthology, we’d have tons of tomes that could fill up a gym!  

A former colleague and a friend, Lorenz, posts about his art to a close circle almost daily: what he does, how he does it, why he does it, and finally the finished product. This one's titled "When You Love Someone."  

"I love it, Lorenz! May I borrow it for my blog?” I wrote on his FB wall. 

He replied, “Can you message me why this resonated with you?” 

My message: 

I see Christmas—love. 

I feel it encompasses everything that love is. There is a burst of many colors, all colors, converging and diverging. They go in all directions, yet they make a unified whole. 

Love likewise transcends every beautiful emotion, no rhyme or reason, but feels right. I can’t define it really, but as I have always believed, God is the reason we even know what love is. In laying down His life for us, He taught us everything we need to know about true love—generous, unending, and a burst of all colors. 

On Christmas, I am reminded of God's love for the world—undeserved and un-reciprocated.

His reply (artist’s POV): 

I wanted to draw that love goes beyond physical & external. What's inside the heart is more important.

Art is mysterious that way. 

He, the artist, painted his heart. I, the beholder, saw it with my own.  

Art is as diverse as an individual’s perspectives. Although it originates from an artist’s imagination, ideas, and technical skill, it is appreciated for its emotional power. 

“For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16 (NLT) 

The world, as God created it, has every color, shape, size, sound, and movement that we can never fathom in our lifetime. But what we see, feel, touch, taste, and hear inspire us to replicate its splendor in art. 

Isn’t that what His holy birth is all about? 

NAIMBAG A PASKUA!   

Can the Coronavirus Cancel Christmas?

Many columns, articles, and news items in today's newspapers (yes, Tony and I still buy three printed dailies every single day!) speak about Christmas being cancelled by the coronavirus. Some went as far as saying, “Death of Christmas.”  

In ancient times, the barbaric king of Judea, Herod, tried not only to cancel but to totally eliminate Christmas. He ordered the killing of all children two years old and below so that Jesus, whose exact whereabouts he did not know, would not be spared. 

Scripture tells us that savage as he was, with all the power at his command, Herod could not kill the Savior of the World. 

Alas, the various write-ups in newspapers have a different definition or representation of Christmas. 

To a believer of the birthed Christ, Christmas has nothing to do with the merry-making, feel-good and dazzling froufrous the world has invented over the years: family gatherings, homecoming, parties, blinking lights, decorated trees, bonuses, or Santa Claus.  

Nothing can cancel, steal, or kill Christmas. Nobody could stop Grace from coming. 

Misunderstanding the true meaning of the Divine Birth misleads us to think that the Covid-19 quarantine, which prevents people from having all these ostentatious trimmings, can take Christmas away.   

Herod tried, but failed. Since then, there have been wars, massacres, epidemics, disasters, and other catastrophes severely battering mankind. 

But Christmas remains the way it was planned—Light for a dark, dark world. 

“The one who is the true light, who gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He came into the very world he created, but the world didn’t recognize him.” John 1:9-10 (NLT)  

MERRY CHRISTMAS! 

When Youth is Gone

It’s that time of the year when organizations or groups plan and organize Christmas parties. 

One of these groups emailed me, asking for my baby picture to be used in a game during the gathering.

Baby picture?! That was sooo long ago I couldn’t remember where they might be! Or do I even have one?  

I ransacked an old chest where I store things I do not need every day. And there they were! Three old albums that my mother bequeathed to me when I got married, “You may show this to your future grandchildren.” 

Many years later, I have only one grandchild, Adrian, and he is in the US, so there is no chance for me to show him my old photos—or would he even be interested? 

After wiping the thick dust off the albums, I leafed through their yellowing and fragile pages, careful not to damage them further. All photos have faded! I chose two which are still recognizable and asked an artist friend to please make them clearer. 

This was taken when I was a few months old. I remember my mom telling me that the studio photographer waited a long time for that half smile.

Another one (again shot in a studio) was taken when I was three years old. I had to look twice, thrice, to make sure it was me. I looked in the mirror and . . . well, no resemblance whatsoever.    

                                          

I excitedly showed Tony my rare finds.

“Who are those cute babies?” he asked, beaming.  

“Me!” I proudly cried. 

He went back to the book he was reading, and asked, “What happened?” 

Aaaargh! He’s lucky the divorce law will never pass in the Philippines. 

But because it’s almost Christmas, I tried to regain my composure and muster kindness to reply in a brave voice, “Youth is gone.” Then I added silently, It left while I was not looking, and it will never come back. 

“Youth? What youth?” he asked absentmindedly. 

I looked in the mirror again, and I saw . . . wisdom. 

“Wisdom is with the aged, and understanding in length of days.” Job 12:12 (ESV)

Gloria in excelsis deo! 

14th Year Slips Away

My 14th blog anniversary has come and gone. Ooops, it slipped away unnoticed. 

I just realized I missed the date: November 24, which I commemorate annually with a post. 

The coronavirus lockdown, now on its 9th month, has made the passing of days a blur for me. 

“What day is today?” 

That’s usually the question I ask Tony or my sons. Except for Sunday, which stands out because I look forward to attending our virtual worship service and listening to God’s message, every day seems the same. Unvaried, unhurried.  

Back to my blog anniversary . . . if you had given birth to a kid on November 24 fourteen years ago, he would perhaps be in junior high today. 

That’s how long I have been blogging. Hah! And some friends thought I could not sustain the rhythm.

I have; I blog every four days or less, without miss. That calls for a celebration, doesn’t it? 

My numbers speak for themselves: 

• 1,447 blog posts (from 1345 last year)
• 1,077,00 blog hits (from 882,000 last year) 

My blog birthday cake candles have been lit and I am about to blow them with a wish.  

May I always be grateful for the grace that lights my way all through the week, whether it’s a Monday, a Tuesday, a Wednesday, a Thursday, a Friday, a Saturday, and yes, a Sunday!

Zoom in and to Indonesia

This was my post on my FB wall a few days back:  

“I will be in Indonesia tomorrow to talk to school children about the importance of reading during one school's book week. The pandemic makes travelling so easy. One click of a button, or two, and there you are!”  

This message was accompanied by this photo: 

Next came a slew of replies, more than 300 congratulatory notes and emojis, but many were apprehensive:

“Stay safe.” “Wear your mask and shield.” “Take a side trip to Bali if it’s safe.” “Is anyone assisting  you?” “You must be a VIP being allowed to travel during the pandemic.”  “I wish I could join the Indonesian children to hear you talk.” 

Plus more.   

And I thought my post and the event poster were explicit about being virtual on Zoom. I had to reply to each one saying it’s all online. 

Tony has this theory, “People read social media messages perfunctorily. Try reading some posts selling goods properly priced. The replies?  ‘How much?’” 

"Oh, yeah." 

He added, "When people post about death anniversaries of loved ones long gone, replies are usually 'Sorry for your loss.' 'Hugs.' 'Condolences.'" 

He's right. As of today—six days after I posted the message—'heart' and 'like' reactions continue to come."  

Well, as scheduled, I zoomed in and to Indonesia! 

"Read and you will find." 

"If you want to be writer, read." 

My trip was a bit bumpy. I could not get there on time due to technical glitches. My slides, sent a week earlier, could not be found immediately. There were times I couldn’t hear my hosts and they could not hear me. 

My technophobia, which came about when the pandemic began, attacked me big time. 

But grace always comes in time to save the day. My task to read to the kids the story of “Gone?” to encourage love of reading sailed through. I had wished to interact more with my young audience but then, again, technology and time restrained us. 

I thank the Lord for introducing me to new friends—amiable teachers who made the online meet-up possible and fun. I pray that the school kids have learned something from those two short talks about reading and writing. 

To my friends who worried about my taking the trip to Indonesia, thank you for your concern—I am back, although a bit shaken, intact and fit to continue my marathon writing.  

***

Addendum: I visited Indonesia once in my past life (with a special trip to Bali) and it was an experience of a lifetime!