Smaller Small World

“Small world!” we say in surprise when we meet someone we know at an unexpected place, or when we discover that we share a friend  or relative with another person. 

“You know him?!” 

Our small world has become even smaller—for me, at least. 

The pandemic, a time for re-boot, shrunk my world further. I realized that the basic essentials are enough to give one joy and contentment.  

The two S’s that used to keep me busy outside the home are accessible through my phone or laptop: socializing and shopping.  

I have reduced my outside activities to only two: church and writing, which are interlinked. After the worship service, I facilitate our women’s Sunday school; and although I write at home, I attend all affairs that have to do with writing, such as this annual corporation meeting (the first onsite meet-up since 2020) of one of my publishers, OMF Literature.  

I paused to pose beside a poster of our just-launched BIG books to savor the outdoor breeze before going up to the boardroom.  

This meeting is a reminder of our book ministry. Most of the attendees are, like me, retired professionals from various businesses, whose wealth of experience enriches the wisdom in running a Christian publishing house, with this core purpose:  

OMF Literature is a movement of Christians who desire to honor God by depending on the Holy Spirit to achieve excellence in proclaiming the Gospel of Jesus Christ, making disciples, equipping Church leaders and promoting spiritual growth primarily among Filipinos in the Philippines and abroad through the effective and righteous management of a publishing and distribution enterprise. 

After four years, I was in the same room again with the CEO (a new one), the old and new officers, the board of trustees, and the members of the corporation. 

In this ministry, the tacit question we ask our readers is, "Do you know Him?" Through literature, we tell of His grace of eternity.  

“Sing to the Lord, all the earth! Tell of his salvation from day to day.” 1 Chronicles 16:23 (ESV) 

A Season Ends

More than a year ago, at the height of the pandemic, I was asked by the editorial staff of our university  paper to write about my experience at SISFU. 

It was a cinch. The short reflection wrote itself. In minutes, I sent this via email: 

What I am Most Grateful for at SISFU

Everything. 

And that is an understatement. I am grateful for all that SISFU has stood for through the years. Its vision dovetails with my values, and the nurturing environment it offers its students has been consistent. 

Then beyond all that, I am deeply grateful for my students from that day years ago when I first I stepped into a SISFU classroom—up until today, even if the classroom has moved to my computer monitor.   

My students have taught me things I would never have learned elsewhere: to dream again and to be fearless again. For them, I learned to have patience and self-restraint; to give back and be tactful. I have never taken “role modeling” as seriously as when I am on campus (a virtual one today).  

Most of our graduates are now leaders in their chosen fields here and abroad, and although I won’t take any credit for their successes, I receive “thank-you notes” that make me feel forever grateful for having been a part of their life at SISFU.  

000

Little did I know that it would be my farewell letter.

The virus brought the classroom to cyberspace, which was unwieldy for someone who is not lettered in technology. But as soon as face-to-face was declared safe by the authorities, classes went back to normal. 

Alas, normal had morphed into something abnormal or, to my mind, paranormal.  

I could not get my bearings (from all of 22 years) back. Policies, procedures, people, and programs have radically changed. Even the students (locked up for 36 months at home) have become aliens. The present tense in the essay above now needed to be changed to past tense. 

It had to end my teaching season.  

Before I left the classroom after my last class last term, my students did something that made me tear up. They surprised me with a cake with a most heartwarming message. 

While having all sorts of groufies, I got hugs of appreciation from all of them.  

Then when I read each of their handwritten notes inside the car, I broke down. The sincere love notes—for the short 36 hours we were together—made up for all my frustrations with the truncated teaching hours. 

“See you next term!” they wrote. 

They won't.  

The second term has begun and I am at home writing reflections on grace. 

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven . . . a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing . . .” (Ecclesiastes 3:1; 5b) 

Never Alone: Judge

For four years since our younger dog, Judge, was born, she was never alone. He had his mother, Attorney, beside him always—literally. They were constantly together—like dual grace.

In fact, he had been so close to Attorney (humans call this ‘mama’s boy’) that even if he is a male, he got all the mannerisms/habits of his mom: peeing, eating, barking, moving, etc. He wouldn't do anything without his mom doing it first. If you didn’t know he was male, you’d think he was female, except when he was in heat (this we solved quickly by having him spayed). 

Recently, however, Judge sunbathed alone.  It used to be a daily ritual for both of them. 

We also noticed that Attorney’s face was turning whitish (or grayish), proof that she was aging (equivalent to human age of 75). 

One day last week, Attorney wouldn’t eat. Mother Teresa had to force-feed her. She couldn’t stand from where she was either. And she emitted a foul smell. 

Tony called our Vet who said our mother dog had to be confined for observation. Immediately she was given dextrose. At the clinic, Attorney had the most visitors: everyone in our home court dropped in on her alternately, bringing her food. 

Diagnosis: infection of the uterus that needed immediate surgery. In her condition, suffering from pain and extremely weak, Tony decided to end Attorney’s agony by asking the Vet to just put her to sleep and bury her.      

But son #3 was adanant. He wanted Attorney buried in our garden under the flowers like Fiscal (our cat) was. Her body was brought home and interred by Sammy, our driver, and Teresa while Tony watched the ceremony. Son #1 and son #3 were both at work.  I stayed put inside the house, refusing to be a part of the last rites. I want to think of Attorney alert and alive. 

And Judge? Totally lost. He was totally dependent on his mother and now without his anchor, well . . . 

Teresa, who spoiled Attorney to bits, cried buckets. I am sure we all cried behind each other’s back.  

Our collective prayer: that Judge will realize that he is now all alone. 

Still Keen at 17

Leaves of Grace completes 17 years or 6,209 days this November. No matter how I measure it, it is undoubtedly a mighty long time to maintain a writing rhythm that began on week one—two blogs within seven or eight days—and still packing. 

It wasn’t a commitment or a promise etched in stone. It just happened because the joy of writing has stuck to me like super glue: more like grace that can never be shaken.    

For this, I celebrate. The Bible encourages us to make celebration a part of the regular rhythm of our lives. 

“This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.”  Psalm 118:24 (ESV)

    •  Over 1,763 blogs (112 published from last year’s anniversary, plus 46 scheduled) 

    •  About 1.3 million guests

Peachy keen? IMAO

Joy Overload

That’s what September treated me to. So I was not expecting October to do the same.

But October sprung a surprise. I was invited to the Alliance Christian School and Tutorial Services, Inc. (ACTS) to read one of my books during its Book Month Celebration. I alerted one of my newly-launched big books, “Get ready for your maiden performance!”  

The venue was empty when I got there. The janitor said, “Everyone’s in the parade.” 

Then suddenly, the characters in the classic storybooks I had read as a child entered the venue. Each one held the book from where she/he came to life: Snow white, Bo Peep, Cinderella, Peter Pan, Beauty, Hansel and Gretel, etc. etc. Even the teachers came as the Three Little Pigs and a Wolf. 

Creativity galore, I gushed while my heart applauded. Here is a school where children are readers because they are encouraged to read.  

Then one little girl, Klaer, proudly showed me her book—Lumpia Lane! Not a classic, but one of mine. Dressed like the character in the book, she held a plate with a huge lumpia! Instantly, this leaped to the top of my list of author rewards.

I could not indulge her in a conversation because the program had started and I was called to the stage to read Half and Half. Reading from a BIG book made a big difference. The audience didn’t have to strain their necks to look and listen. 

When I asked for a volunteer to answer my questions, I planned on giving away the big book to the brave one  who might join me on stage. Not one, but five brave kids rushed up! A good thing we had enough copies of Quiet Time with Mateo for prizes. 

The following day, I received photos of the event (more joy).  

Then I read the FB post of Klaer’s dad (even more joy) with this photo caption:  “Klaer representing her Chinese roots with her book Lumpia Lane by her favorite author, Grace D. Chong.” 

Do You Have a Phobia?

At some point in our lives, we may have a phobia. Mine was fear of snakes called Ophidiophobia. By grace, it disappeared somewhere along the way.   

There are over 500 named phobias today. 

Going through the list, I was surprised that I may be suffering from one! Guess what it is . . .

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia

All of 37 characters say it is fear of long words. In the beginning, this fear was considered jocular or fictional; however, it was proven to be real. Researching further, I discovered that 15 million Americans have it!  

People suffering from . . . (I am unable to spell it again) experience anxiety when faced with long words. How ironic that the name given to this phobia is such a looong one.

Why so long? The explanation is even longer. 

The word is broken down into several parts: 

    • Hippo is horse in Greek and potam-os is river. Thus, the first part of the word refers to a water horse also known as hippopotamus. The Oxford Dictionary says that this animal’s name comes from the word hippopotamine, referring to “something very large;” 

      

    • the word monstr is the Latin origin of a "monstrous being" or something that is huge or terrifying;

      

    • sesquippedalio is derived from Latin sesquippedali meaning "measuring a foot and a half long;"  

      

    • phobos, of course, stands for morbid fear. 

As a book author and writing coach, and once a college prof in Critical Writing, and now also an English Module trainor in Medical Transcription, I am an advocate for short or small words. 

I believe they are more compelling, as well as clearer, because they are often concrete. They describe and express actual things rather than rhetorical ideas. Short words help readers visualize our information so they grasp it faster and remember it longer. 

George Orwell’s advice is sound: “Never use a long word where a short one will do.”

My own line to explain write clearly, “What you mean and what the reader understands should be exactly the same!”  

I don’t go into a fit or hyperventilate when I see a long word. But I make sure (trying all tricks available, no matter how long it takes) that the writer changes it into a short one. 

Chongs’ Little Red Book

An icon of China and communism (and also of propaganda) was Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book.  About 2 billion copies published, it's one of the most widely produced of all time. During China's "Cultural Revolution," it was mandatory to own one.

The Little Red Book (or Quotations from Chairman Mao Zedong) contains 267 aphorisms on class struggle, correcting mistaken ideas, etc.  Included is his famous remark that "political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.” 

Now comes another Little Red Book with two copies published and read repeatedly by about two people—Tony and me, co-authors of the book.    

This is our first and only collaborative work since those ancient days in Chicago when we published Ang Balita (Filipino-American newspaper), with Tony as the Editor-in-Chief and I, one of his staff writers.

What prompted us to co-author a book?  

A letter from Son #2 JB, his wife Gianina, and son Adrian, who reside in the US. 

Perhaps concerned that the pandemic would get on our nerves or bore us to death, they gifted us with this project from Storyworth, publisher. The concept? Record stories about and for the family for one year. Then it will be published! 

Every Monday, we were emailed questions as prompts. Tony and I would alternate writing one and email back our stories with accompanying photos.

At the end of one year, we received a beautifully-bound-keepsake book—in red (the color we chose to signify the Chongs’ ancestry).  This 230-page book has 53 stories and tons of photos. 

Tony and I decided to dedicate the book to our one and only grandson, Adrian, whose painting is on the cover (circa 2015, when he was eight years old and was with us for a short vist. Bahas is a character he created—half baboy [pig] and half ahas [snake]).

One day, when Tony and I are both gone, Adrian will get to know his Angkong (Chinese honorific for father of my father) and Amah (honorific for mother of my father) a little better, and learn that we lived not by "power growing out of the barrel of a gun," but on nothing but God’s grace. 

Whenever Tony and I read our chef-d'oeuvre, we spot a typo error. Unlike Mao’s Red Book, with a battery of editors, we were each other’s editor. So there.  

Ah, but that whole year, our minds were kept busy, trying to relish again what had long been forgotten, and laughing at funny anecdotes that suddenly tickled our memory. 

"Now that I am old and gray, do not abandon me, O God. Let me proclaim your power to this new generation, your mighty miracles to all who come after me." (Psalm 71:18 NLT)

PINK Museum of Hope

 “Have you been to the Museo ng Pag-Asa?” my friend P messaged me yesterday.  

“Yes.” 

“Then why have you not blogged about it?” she probed. 

“How do you know?” I asked, surprised.  

“I read all your blogs.” 

“You do?! Why?” 

“Why not?” she sneered. 

Friends say the nicest things. 

Seven months ago, in March, our driver Sam, Tony and I made time to visit the PINK Museum of Hope, a long two-hour drive from our home on a good day (moderate traffic flow).  

From the moment we entered the gate to the time we left the place, I was all choked up. I could not describe how I felt. Every word stored in my head escaped to somewhere far away.  

On several monitors, we watched one PINK massive rally after another in different places, and in every single one of them, the energy hit the rafters. People of all ages in PINK were all fired up, holding up creative posters and chanting inspiring words. The enthusiasm was palpable. 

Looking around at all the items (gifts to Leni and Kiko) from shelf to shelf, I had goosebumps. These were no ordinary gifts—they were handmade, personalized, and crafted in love. They came in all art forms: sculpture, painting, literature (poetry, letters, coffee table books), music and dance; performing arts; film; and architecture (the place was cleverly constructed to showcase all the thousands of magnum opuses).  

I have never seen anything like it!  

And I am not speaking of just the museum but the spirit that drove it. There is no adjective in the dictionary good enough to describe that PINK treasure-of-a-place and my feelings, especially because the result of the election was the polar opposite of what this place evoked.  

And so I could not blog about it. 

This much delayed upload, prompted by P, does not even begin to capture the essence of what we experienced—through the campaign that culminated in a place not Malacanang, but one called Museo ng Pag-Asa. 

The message drilled into my soul after that visit was HOPE: someday, grace will enable us to vote into office candidates with an honest, honorable heart that beats for service. God, in His infinite 

mercy, will not leave us under the reins of politicians with a dishonest, dishonorable heart that beats for greed.     

“Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; For I shall yet praise Him, The help of my countenance and my God.” Psalms 42:11 (NKJV)

My BFF Minna Comes Home

My cousin Minna and I grew up together. We were classmates in grade school and on our graduation, our parents gifted us with the same brand of watch, which we both wore on stage—she, as valedictorian, and I, as salutatorian. 

We were inseparable, according to our parents. So even if we parted ways in high school, we still met during vacation and did everything together. In college, we became  inseparable again in UP, until we parted ways when her family immigrated to the US. 

Despite the distance and separation—and many events happening in our individual lives—we kept in touch. Together, we would still giggle like we did in grade school and never ran out of topics to talk about. 

Whenever she came for vacation from the US, I would take a leave from work so we could be together.  We would travel to Umingan to visit our parents and at night, we would talk till the wee hours of the morning—about anything and nothing. 

She put me in charge of her bank accounts. I was shocked, “What?! You trust me with your money?” 

She said, “I trust you with my life.” 

I think she meant that because whenever I would send her a financial report, she would not even read it. 

Although she lived in the US permanently, her heart was always in Umingan—with her parents when they were still alive. She made sure she was here for them. Aside from her parents, she made herself available for her youngest brother, Sam. She told me she would take care of him for as long as she was able. She loved Sam and his children so much she always provided whatever they needed. 

And today, even in death, her wish was to come home to Umingan—the place where her heart was, the place where we grew up, and the place she loved most in the world. Her ashes will be inurned beside her parents' grave after a Memorial Service in our home church. 

This time, she came home not just for a vacation but to stay for good. Welcome home, my dearest cousin. I cannot be there to welcome you back this time, but for me, you really never left. You were, and will always be in my heart forever. 

Pangasinan 2015: Pigging out during one of her visits.

NY 2019. The last time we giggled together--before, during, and after watching "Beautiful" (her nickname, BTW, was Ms. Beautiful) on Broadway. 'Twas a grace-packed day.

The Rashness of Youth

Mariel, a dear friend, was still single when she and I worked in the same office. She was well liked by everyone because of her cheery disposition. Without our knowledge, she was seeing a married man. Soon, she got pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful daughter. She kept this part of her life private.   

Years later, Mariel and her boyfriend (after being legally separated from his wife) got married. In my unbiased opinion, they are each other’s yin and yang.        

During a recent chat with Mariel, she opened up about her pregnancy. “My mom came to Manila because I did not go home for Christmas that year.”  

Entering Mariel’s apartment, her mom fawned over the cute, three-month-old baby in the arms of a yaya. Clueless about Mariel’s status, she assumed that the baby was the neighbor’s.   

“Mom, she’s mine,” Mariel said, taking the baby from the yaya as she prepared for the worst. “But Mom said nothing, perhaps sorely processing all that had happened behind her back.”  

Then her mom cried—and so did I, just listening to Mariel’s story and feeling her mom’s pain. 

But because mothers have a wellspring of love for their children, she cradled the baby in her arms, while Mariel called her boyfriend waiting outside.  

“Up to this day, I don’t know what words were said between him and Mom.”  

Now that Mariel’s secret was out, I bravely probed, “What made you -”   

“I was young, careless, and rash!”  

“Does your daughter know?”  

“No. I don’t want her thinking she was an accident.” 

“But history might repeat -”   

“I am praying for grace that it won’t,” Mariel stressed. “But when she was my age when I had her, I fully understood the impact of my rashness on my mother.”     

How can parents counsel the youth to avoid making rash decisions?  It's a rhetorical question. I have three sons so I never went through that kind of problem. 

The Lord has an answer in Scripture: Proverbs 22:6 (NLT) reads, "Direct your children onto the right path, and when they are older, they will not leave it." 

Book Fair (MIBF) 2023

For three years, while hogtied at home by the global brute called Covid-19, I had ached for the return of the annual Manila International Book Fair (MIBF). I kept busy by reading, blogging, and tweaking on-end the books that would have been launched in that event three years in a row. But as you and I know, no activity of such magnitude was allowed. 

Then came 2023 and after the health hogtie was cut loose, the MIBF materialized from hibernation. And irony of ironies, I was caught unprepared for its sudden reappearance. I forgot to invite people and to take photos. All the shots on this page were sent by friends.  

Yes, the Book Fair had the huge crowd of book lovers times one thousand!  There was hardly any space to squeeze one’s body from booth to booth. Many who tried to join the fray complained, “The place was a war zone. We kept battling for a parking space, but losing.”

With my usual entourage—my sister Aie, and sons #1 and #3—I hied to MOA (the venue for years) early so I could catch the launching of my book “Second Chances” at the CSM booth.  As in the previous years before the three-year pandemic, the booth was heavily infested with human bookworms.  

From there, I raced to a lunch meeting with one of my publisher’s CEO and a writer friend.  

After that, we rushed to the launch of OMF’s big books, two of which are my titles (All Aboard with Five Lolas and Half and Half of the "Oh, Mateo!" series). Although my few photos of the event seem tame, the whole day was, believe me, pandemoniacal: chats with readers, photo-ops (with their cameras), meet-up with friends, book signing, and hurried interviews. 

Yes, the MIBF is back! Brought by grace multiplied a thousandfold. 

"This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24 (NKJV) 

Lost September: Found!

In 2020, the first year of the life-threatening corona-virus pandemic, I lamented the loss of my September, when all events I prepared for were cancelled. My plaintive cry: Where are you? Will you ever come again? 

Well, it did! 

Three years later, today, I found September again and all through 30 days, 24/7, it swallowed me up, leaving me no time to come up for air. 

I am not complaining; I am celebrating. 

First, the university where I had been teaching for years before the pandemic offered me a face-to-face flash/crash course in Critical Writing (three sections). That occupied three days of my week plus two days of paper work and consultation. 

Second, the Palanca Awards asked me to chair the board of judges for one category, which had about 75 entries.  

Third, MIBF, where I launched three books, came alive with a vengeance! 

Fourth, our family business—OTSI, a Medical  Transcription School—that son #1 transitioned to fully-online training during the pandemic, has been blessed with unprecedented enrollees (I handle the English module) from various places in the country and the world. 

 

Fifth, but first in priority, the Sunday school for women that I facilitate needs thorough study and marathon Bible reading of various translations. What makes the preparation much longer than normal is—to be inclusive—I decided to conduct the class in Filipino.    

What? An Ilocano teaching in Filipino?!  That must be your thought balloon. 

September grace made all of these possible. 

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13 

October is another month . . .

Second Chances: Now a Book

On this same day last year, I received an email with a message that pulled my heart in opposite directions.   

It was from Daff, the Editorial Manager of Church Strengthening Ministry (CSM), one of my publishers. CSM is always on the look-out for what readers need to help bring them closer to Jesus.  

“Here's a topic we feel might be good for our next book project with you:

Second chances/moving forward after disappointment, rejection/heartbreak, failure/wrong decisions, or loss.

"This would appeal to both boomers and millennials. Most people have experienced having doors closing on opportunities, relationships, hopes and dreams, or on a former way of life, especially during this pandemic. But such painful occasions can lead to new ventures.

"We remember how you became an award-winning author after your career in advertising unexpectedly ended! 

"Let us know if this is a topic that would interest you as a writer.” 

I looked back on all the second chances given me and I could not even begin to count them. But I had roadblocks: the health protocols have not been lifted and face-to-face meet-ups might not be possible; worse, would others share their second-chances stories with me? 

More than enough did!  

Through marathon talks over coffee or lunch, and online back-and-forth chats and messages, I was moved by the many stories of second chances. How God turned their struggles around was an affirmation of His love for all who come to Him. 

Each narrative is unique, but unified by willingness to cling on to the Lord, then enter a new season with a stronger desire to follow Him through the rest of the journey. Should they (and we) fall again, we are assured that the God of second chances will generously bestow his grace twice, thrice, multiplied countless times—till earthy life ends.  

In all 11 stories, God stretches his patience far longer than we think possible. In His own perfect time, His grace dashes in, and makes us begin new seasons of unimaginable high from a lowest low.  "Unli" second chances no less—until we get it right with Him. 

Second Chances, the book, is about: lessons learned, hope regained, and life redirected. 

It was launched at the Manila International Book Fair last month (September). 

Making it BIG

“Librarians require big books to be used for storytelling!” Ferdie, the Marketing guru of OMF Lit, messaged me. He ended every sentence with an exclamation point, as though we were talking face-to-face. 

Ferdie is always, as I am, excited over book projects. Grace empowers us to see the bright side, forgetting the sales slump during the pandemic. 

He mentioned two “Oh, Mateo! series” books: All Aboard with Five Lolas and Half and Half. He also specified the new BIG size, but numbers never resonate with me. I asked him instead what I needed to do. “The editor will get in touch with you,” he replied. 

Joshene, the editor, did and said the text should be reduced to half, without losing the flavor of the original. 

BIG job!  

It took weeks before I could finish the abridged versions. I read them to a kid to make sure I got them right. The kid laughed, drooled, and squealed excitedly that I thought I was a genius—for a second or two. 

But other fears quashed that arrogance. Will the images still be as clear and as sharp as Beth Parrocha, the artist, originally created them? Joshene never lost her cool. Back and forth, forth and back, we did revisions, exhanged ideas, as best as we could.  

Two months later, I messaged Ferdie. “When can I see the two BIG books?”  

“At the Manila International Book Fair, in September!”

I rushed to the OMF Lit booth that one day in September to finally caress my BIG books. I was beyond stunned.  

I knew they were going to be big, but not THAT BIG! Everything suddenly grew BIG in and around me after that first shock. Exactly like grace, I thought. It is always bigger than what I ask for.  

I sent copies to my BFF Lucy’s grandchildren—one of whom is Zach, born with Down Syndrome, but who “is now learning to read,” said Lucy. 

Their photo is another BIG moment of grace.  

“When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers—the moon and the stars you set in place—what are mere mortals that you should think about them, human beings that you should care for them?”  (Psalm 8:3-4 NLT)   

Why I Write for Children (Part 2)

Sometime in 2015 (eight long years ago!), I wrote a blog with the same title.  It was an in-depth discourse why indeed do I “bother” (a distressing term from a writer friend) to write children’s books when I can write “real” books, like he does.  

Eight Children’s Book Day have come and gone and people still ask me, “Why do you write books for children?”

I stand my ground; my reasons cannot be moved.   

Then I read this heartbreaking news about our children, “. . . less than 15% of Filipino children are found to be capable of reading a simple text at age 10—placing the country's learning poverty somewhere around 85%.

Learning poverty. Learning. Poverty. 

About the same time, a dear friend, who has a PhD in Education and is a dedicated teacher in a public school, sent me this photo on Children’s Book Day this year. It suddenly hit me.  

There are over 20 million children in the country within this age range today (2023). If 85% (roughly 17 million) of them can’t read, sob, should the question—Why do you write for children?—even be asked?  

I posted this photo on my FB wall and captioned it: “I have many, many reasons for writing for children. These are four of them. The post got over 100 positive responses, which I call affirming grace, in a few hours.  

“Children are a heritage from the LORD, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their opponents in court.” (Psalms 127:3-5 NIV)  

Credits (top photo collage): Rappler and Philippines Orphanage Foundation 

Different Face

Grumpy old man. Cranky old lady. 

Why does the world have titles for people who are growing old?  

There are various reasons, but the most common one offered by doctors is that after the age of 50, people begin to feel aches and pains, which become worse as we age. These limit our movements, causing frustration that is mirrored on our faces. 

In a way, our faces are a visible reflection of our invisible soul. A furrowed brow or upturned lips may reveal an unhappy soul. On the other hand, a smiling lips or glowing eyes become marks of inner radiance.  

How do we reconcile this with what God said in Genesis 1:26 (NLT)?  “. . . Let us make human beings in our image, to be like us. They will reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock . . . ”   

Over the years, we lose our energy and our grip over these creation. The state of our body pains are etched on our faces—wrinkles, blemishes, etc. But what Paul said in 2 Corinthians 3:18 consoles us, “So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.” 

Glorious image. That’s what we have been promised.  

We can’t change the faces we were born with, but we can do something about the kind of person we’re growing into. By His grace, and in His time, you and I will grow toward an inner resemblance to our Lord. 

We can begin today, if we haven't yet.       

Whodunit?

A whodunit is a mystery story that keeps the criminal's identity a secret until the end. But this is a blogsite on grace—let's do away with criminals and focus on their opposite.  

Each time Laura left her apartment, she would take pains bolting her door knob, which was broken, with ropes, tapes, and rubber bands. She could not afford to have it replaced because her monthly pension was barely enough for her daily upkeep. 

While she was in church one Sunday, she received a text message from an unidentified number. “The key to your door is under the third flower pot to your left.”  

As soon as she got home, she was surprised to find her door knob replaced with a new one. She quickly looked for the key and true enough, it was where the message said it would be.

Afraid that someone might have ransacked her apartment, Laura inspected every space, but nothing was missing.  

She went down on her knees to thank God for her anonymous benefactor, who did exactly as Jesus Christ said in Matthew 6:1-4 (NLT) about giving to the needy:

“’Watch out! Don’t do your good deeds publicly, to be admired by others, for you will lose the reward from your Father in heaven.” 

He teaches us not to brag about our generosity and acts of charity! “. . . when you give to someone in need, don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. Give your gifts in private, and your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.’” 

Whodunit? 

In Laura’s case, it was not a criminal but a kind, anonymous person who gave quietly and secretly—not expecting anything in return. Not even a “thank you.” 

Can you imagine a world of anonymous benefactors like Laura’s? Let me turn that into a statement:  Let’s make a world of anonymous benefactors like Laura’s. 

Rules of the Game

In every game (sports, video, card, board, etc.) there are rules. They are to ensure that the game is played fairly for everyone. These rules, written or unwritten, define the very nature of the game which the players must agree to.  

Rules should not be changed in the middle of the game. Why not? Because there would be confusion. Who will change what? Will everyone agree? 

In this age of diversity and inclusion, rules laid down in ancient times are being changed. 

Because of diversity (differences in race, ethnicity, gender identity, sexual orientation, age, etc.), many people think that everyone’s worth and dignity must be included in the fold. An inclusive organization, for instance, promotes and respects all these differences. 

To recognize diversity, rules are being bended beyond belief. What were once wrong are right today. Abortion is now legal in many parts of the world, so is same-sex marriage. 

 

But going back to when the rules were set, this was what the Lord said, “Do not add to or subtract from these commands I am giving you. Just obey the commands of the Lord your God that I am giving you.”  (Deuteronomy 4:2 NLT) 

The ten commandments are the rules of the game called life on earth—then and now. 

 

   

Jesus confirms this in Matthew 5:17-18, “. . . I did not come to abolish the law of Moses or the writings of the prophets. No, I came to accomplish their purpose. . . until heaven and earth disappear, not even the smallest detail of God’s law will disappear until its purpose is achieved.” 

I believe that no rule in the Bible should ever be changed at any point in our lives. We need to remain steadfast as the world alters God’s rules to suit people’s purposes.  

Team Building

Team building events in many businesses are so important that the organization spends a lot of money just to mount one, usually in a luxurious resort/place away from the office.  What do these companies expect to gain from these activities? 

According to Denver, a CEO, team building activities have helped his company grow. He gave three reasons why:  

1) They increase productivity, because they are organized to accomplish a goal through collaborative work. 

   

2) They improve communication. Within a controlled environment, minus workplace demands, the participants are more open to each other and become closer. 

3) They develop problem-solving skills, because the exercises simulate problems that must be solved. These can eventually be practiced in the workplace.  

 

"After every team building event," Denver added, "I could actually feel pulses beating faster, enthusiasm doubling or tripling, efficiency reaching its peak, and relationships flourishing. That's why team building is a priority in our company's expense budget. The ROI is worth it.”      

Team building in the family of Christ is a must. 

Our goal as believers is to come together so that we could encourage and help each other. "Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of his return is drawing near." (Hebrews 10:24-25 NLT)

"So encourage each other and build each other up, just as you are already doing." (1 Thessalonians 5:11)

One of our elders in church commended the women’s group, “Your activities—Sunday  school, prayer sessions, and cottage group ministries—are excellent for meet-ups with fellow believers. My wife repeatedly tells me how blessed she is with the sharing of God’s grace in your lives to build each other up.”   

We all know that a day will come when our life on earth will end. Until then, let’s spur each other on.

Second Opinion

 Intestinal gas had always been Yoly’s problem. All she would do was take an antacid pill and the pain would be gone in minutes. This time around, however, no antacid worked.  In fact, the pain in the pit of her tummy was so unbearable she went to see a doctor.  

“Ultrasound,” the doctor ordered. “I want to know where the pain is coming from.” 

The ultrasound revealed a mass in her intestine, so the doctor required biopsy, which would confine Yoly in the hospital.  

Yoly was not convinced so she sought out a second opinion. 

After reading Yoly’s ultrasound, the second doctor said all the things Yoly wanted to hear: change of diet and medication for two weeks. 

In two weeks, Yoly’s pain subsided, but in another month, she was fighting for her life in the hospital: pancreatic cancer, just as the first doctor suspected.  

Research reveals that many people, like Yoly, seek out information that supports their position. We have our own idea about what ails us, so we avoid people who challenge our opinion. We avoid wise advice if it isn’t what we want to hear.  

Such is the experience of many Christians today. Scripture is clear, “You can enter God’s Kingdom only through the narrow gate. The highway to hell is broad, and its gate is wide for the many who choose that way. But the gateway to life is very narrow and the road is difficult, and only a few ever find it.” (Matthew 7:13-14 NLT) 

“I’ve tried sharing this message to someone dear a few times,” a frustrated friend complained to her dad, “but he asserts another opinion that justifies his way of life.”  

Her dad replied calmly, “As boundless as God’s grace is, our perseverance should likewise be the same. We should keep trying . . . and trying . . . and trying to help an unbeliever find the gateway to life.” Amen. 

Ice bags

My friend shared with me this anecdote about her 80-year-old mother, who always wore, indoors or outdoors, oversized sunglasses.  

“Why do you keep wearing those? Don’t they feel uncomfortable?” she asked her mom. 

“The most uncomfortable things in the world,” her mom replied, joking. “But I keep them on to cover my ice bags.” 

They both laughed at her pun. 

Like wrinkles and crow’s feet, bags under the eyes appear as people age. Over the years, the tissues around our eyes, including some of the muscles supporting our eyelids, weaken. According to doctors, the normal fat that helps support the eyes move into the lower eyelids, causing the lids to appear puffy.  Hence, “ice bags.” 

Trying to maintain a façade of perfection to still be perceived as looking-forever-young does not encourage others to be transparent with their lives. It’s like seeing images of people—on social media—looking better or younger than they actually do in person. 

This kind of “hiding” parallels our spiritual journey, where the only things we show the world are the best of us. This cannot help build up fellow travelers. But sharing our imperfect lives, and when we are a bit more transparent about our failings, we may find people who are struggling in similar ways.  

As we accept our own inadequacy and strip away any pretense, God is able to use us more fully to help others. Apostle Paul said, “. . . I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.” (2 Corinthians 12:9 NLT) He is an ideal role model! 

God’s grace does not include a mask that shows the world a perpetually rosy picture. So, Like Paul, we need to be transparent, show the real us, to influence others to trust God with their imperfections, too. 

Kidnap for Ransom

Kidnappers choose victims who they think can afford to pay a ransom.

A recent case of kidnap for ransom (2019), reported in newspapers and on TV, happened near Monterrey, Mexico. It involved American Shane Andersen, who moved there to open a chain of pizzerias. 

Anderson and a friend were going fishing when a truck—with three young men carrying  rifles—pulled up and kidnapped them. During their captivity, Anderson was in constant prayer and constant fear. The kidnappers demanded $20,000 for his ransom, and negotiated with his co-worker for an expensive family car in exchange for his life. 

During the ordeal, Andersen’s friend was able to escape. Now left alone with the kidnappers, Andersen knew that God was with him when a young boy, whom he befriended, pleaded to the kidnappers to spare their captive’s life during the negotiation process.

In all, the kidnappers were paid $6,000 by Anderson’s boss. In addition, Andersen gave his wedding ring valued at $7,000. Andersen’s new young friend helped him get to a nearby city. In just over 36 hours, God delivered Andersen safely home.  

The kidnappers priced Andersen’s life at $13,000. That’s a pittance compared to the value God places on each of us. Our worth is not measured in terms of money but by Jesus’ sublime act of grace on our behalf.   

“. . . God paid a ransom to save you from the empty life you inherited from your ancestors. And it was not paid with mere gold or silver, which lose their value. It was the precious blood of Christ, the sinless, spotless Lamb of God.” (1 Peter 1:18-19 NLT)

That is how much we are worth to God. He paid a ransom nobody could ever think of or afford to give. He gave us His life.  

Going Solo

“Try to come home before the sun sets,” Lita’s father reminded her. “It is raining and it’s dangerous driving alone on slippery roads at night.” 

“I’ll try, Dad,” Lita said.  

Sunset came too soon. When Lita was finally able to leave the party, it was close to midnight. The highway was indeed slippery as the rain continued to pour.  

Suddenly, Lita heard and felt a thump and vibration. “Flat tire!” 

This was followed by a loud flapping noise. Her steering wheel pulled to the right and it took mighty effort to get her car to the curb. Dear God, she whispered. How was she going to manage changing tires alone? 

She decided to stay inside and prayed for a kind soul to help her. Not one, but two kind young men in another car stopped. They were strangers but they were full of compassion and willing to help. All she could do was hold her umbrella over them as they changed her tire under the pelting rain. 

Don’t those two young men remind you of Aaron and Hur, who helped Moses at a critical hour? We read in Exodus 17:8-13 that the Israelites were in battle. “As long as Moses held up the staff in his hand, the Israelites had the advantage. But whenever he dropped his hand, the Amalekites gained the advantage." 

Moses’ arms soon became so tired he could no longer hold them up. So Aaron and Hur found a stone for him to sit on. Then they stood on each side of Moses, holding up his hands.” In the end, the Israelites won the battle.  

We cannot go solo in following God. We need our faith brethren in church or wherever they may be, to help us persevere through difficulty. 

In the same manner, we could be Aaron and Hur in upholding someone who needs help.  

photo credit

The Thief of Joy

"What is the thief of joy?” I asked this in the context of Marketing in my Consumer Behaviour class.  

The answer of course is “comparison.” 

If you thought you got a good price for an apple at P10.00, you feel content and joyful. However, if your neighbor shows you exactly the same kind of apple and says, “Hey look! I got this on sale for only P8.00!” 

Your joy is suddenly seized from you. 

Marketers study consumer behaviour closely so they can craft a good, competitive strategy. In purchasing anything, consumers find joy in a brand that is “er” (better, cheaper, bigger, etc.) than others. No wonder Theodore Roosevelt is often quoted by Marketing students.  

In the context of life, however, comparison degenerates to envy, jealousy, anger, fear, insecurity, bitterness, plus all the emotions that are the opposite of joy. 

Comparison becomes competition—we feed our ego, grab selfish ambition, and breed conceit to be above others. 

This is a classic example: when our former President was being compared with then VP Leni in helping people in need, he went berserk and castigated her, “Do not compete with me!” and uttered words I dare not repeat.   

What does Scripture tell us about comparison? 

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others.” Philippians 2:2-4 (NIV) 

As we continue to rejoice in the Grace birthed on Christmas, and the salvation He gifted mankind, may we be grateful for our blessings. 

Humility will guard our joy, so it may not be filched by a thief called comparison.  

Hit the Brakes

Rush, rush, rush. 

If you are retired, like I am, this was your and my life’s tempo yesterday.

If you’re still working, this is yours today. You need to get some errands done, go to places to purchase one thing or other, and meet people in a reunion or meeting. But the heavy, standstill traffic stalls you. Before you could blink, the day is over and you have not accomplished all you had planned on doing. 

While running around like crazy, you get stressed. The more you get stressed, the more you can’t concentrate to do your tasks right. Before everything goes haywire, please hit the brakes. 

Just stop. 

You need to be calm and quiet to get your bearings back.  

God showed us how to rest. “On the seventh day God had finished his work of creation, so he rested from all his work. And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because it was the day when he rested from all his work of creation.” (Genesis 2:2-3 NLT) 

Jesus did the same. “Then Jesus said, ‘Let’s go off by ourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile; He said this because there were so many people coming and going that Jesus and his apostles didn’t even have time to eat.” (Mark 6:30–32)

When our speed is too fast and there are too many roads to take, our body feels the pressure. Let’s hit the brakes. Let’s find a quiet place where we can soak in God’s grace and turn off the noise that garbles His voice. As we read His Word and talk to Him in prayer, He will speak to us. 

In Psalm 46:10, He nudges us, “Be still, and know that I am God!” 

Poor Me

On Maning’s 75th birthday, which was celebrated with a grand party mounted by his children and grandchildren, he felt mixed emotions. He was happy that he had come this far. 

On the other hand, he felt ancient, fearful of what is to come, especially because his energy level has dipped tremendously.  

He could no longer do the things that were once so easy. With his aching knees, climbing up the stairs and biking had been difficult, if not punishing. So he gave away  his bicycle and bought himself a rocking chair. 

But those were not the only reasons Maning was troubled. It was also because he no longer called the shots in his own household. His two adult children had taken over. He could feel their impatience when he as much as repeats what he had said previously. 

That’s why self-pity visits him now and then. And when it does, he tells himself, Poor me, and wonders whether he still matters to God.  

The Creator of the Universe created all human beings. Therefore, each of us is worthy of His love and attention, demonstrated when Jesus visited earth in the form of a servant—graphically and dramatically illustrated by His death on the cross. He showed that the big hand of God is for all the small people for whom He came. 

When we, in our sunset years, find ourselves wallowing in self pity, overwhelmed by the pain of insecurity and poor self worth, let’s reread this verse: 

Luke 12:7. “. . . the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.” 

We need never say, “Poor Me” ever again.