Cat and Dog

Have you ever wondered why the cat and the dog are perceived by mankind to be mortal enemies? 

Man even invented an idiom—passed on through generations—to dramatize this animosity between the two most popular pets in the world: Fighting like cat and dog! (meaning, to argue violently all the time). We have  translated this into our own Filipino language: Away nang away na parang aso't pusa!

I, too, find myself using this idiom, but then I became an internet denizen and found hundreds of photos such as these:

Now it's all a mystery to me why this idiom ever came about. Could it be the dog's penchant for running and chasing fast moving objects—and cats are one of them? Maybe.

But from today, I will delete that idiom from my mind's hard disc. Both animals come into our homes and reward our lives with the warmth of grace and unconditional love. 

(JR's dog, Attorney, playfully runs around with the stray cats that visit our garden every so often. Attorney plays with chickens, too—but that's another story.)   

“Then God said, 'Let the earth produce every sort of animal, each producing offspring of the same kind—livestock, small animals that scurry along the ground, and wild animals.' And that is what happened. God made all sorts of wild animals, livestock, and small animals, each able to produce offspring of the same kind. And God saw that it was good.”  Genesis 1:24-25

(All photos were borrowed from the Net) 

Rainfall

With the unabated rainfall in the last several days, which has caused massive floods in Metro Manila, our well-ordered schedule has degenerated into chaos.

There is zero internet connection at home, causing communications to go awry; I had to travel all the way to Makati, where I am now, to get wired back to the world. This blog post is eight hours too late! 

Forgotten Episodes

Countless episodes that involve countless people shape our lives; but our brain simply can't remember them all.

There are episodes, however, that leave a permanent imprint in a child's heart. When that  child has grown and unearths one episode for you, you still have no clue as to how or why it happened. And yet you feel unusually thrilled that it happened, and that you were a part of it.   

Today is one such day of unearthing . . . 

I have not seen my niece Mel (daughter of a first cousin) since she was a kid—it has been so long I can't remember the last time we saw each other. She now has her own family  and lives abroad.

Suddenly, my private message balloon pops up while I read my FB wall.

“Hello, auntie . . . do you remember me?”

The Toga

In July every year, I don the most ill-fitting and unflattering outfit in the world—the toga. But it somehow feels right. Perfect, in fact.

At the graduation ceremony of the university where I teach, lecturers are required to wear togas with a hood and cap.  Although the black loose gown is the same for every faculty member, the hoods vary from teacher to teacher.

Answered Prayers

God answers all prayers; no single prayer remains unanswered.  

This thought was as dim as a starless night for me. But as I study the Word and continue to listen to prayer exhortations Wednesday after Wednesday in our prayer meetings, this has become my dawn, the coming of light—toward a clearer day.

Every chance we get, we who believe in prayer earnestly ask for what we want, what we think should belong to us.  We pray for whom we want healed, whom we want touched and stirred, whom we want changed. Our pryers are often about what we want.

Grace Before Meals

First, the photograph grabbed me. Then the caption grabbed me more: Grace before meals.

I echoed to myself what advertising people say when they see a great ad concept, Why didn't I think of that before?

Happy Graceday!

The remarkable thing about Facebook is, everybody remembers your birthday—as in, everyone of your FB friends who are online that day.

Hundreds remembered mine. And I am deeply grateful for having been gifted with hundreds of FB friends.

One of them, Tom, sent a two-word message that said everything I could ever express about my birthday, “Happy graceday!”

Indeed, today is a happy, rainy day of grace—hundreds, thousands, millions, trillions, gazillions of grace. How can one ever thank God enough?

Never. But one experiences so much joy in trying.

Image: birthdaychoice.net

How Should We Pray?

Outside of my home church, I have a circle of friends who don't share my faith. But when we're together, they request me to pray for the food or for someone sick.

“How you pray is something I hope I can do, too,” my friend B told me  after one prayer, “but I can't compose it the way you can.”   

“I don't know how to pray, period,” added M. “I have thoughts, but not the right words—like Grace has.”    

Uh-oh. If my friends think I have the right words and say well-composed prayers, then I have not been praying the way I should—not when I pray aloud anyway.      

I have been taught and I have always known that praying is not having the right words, phraseology, or syntax. Prayers need not be eloquent and well-composed; they should come from the heart. 

How then should we pray?

There are many answers in the Scriptures. Let me quote those that are closest to my understanding:   

 “And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints.” (Ephesians 6:18)

“But you, dear friends, build yourselves up in your most holy faith and pray in the Holy Spirit.” (Jude 1:20) 

“. . . the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.” (Romans 26-27) 

We all really do not know what we ought to pray for. But the Spirit helps us, keeps our hearts and minds in tune with the will of God.

So, what exactly does it mean to pray in the Spirit?

When Jesus went back to heaven, He left His Spirit in every believer's heart. Therefore, praying in the spirit refers not to a particular method of praying—but to a total attitude. Prayer is not an adjunct to our lives; it's fundamental in our relationship with God’s word, God’s Spirit, God’s gift of faith.

Unlike a hotline that is used only when there's an emergency, prayer should be on 24/7, waiting to hear from God's spirit at all times. It’s an open line to God.

Praying in the Spirit is being so in touch with God that you pray what God puts in your heart. Prayer is not about getting things from the Giver; it’s about aligning ourselves with His will. So when the answer comes, whatever if may be, we are ready to accept it.

My friend Ernie said it best, “Praying in the spirit means you are so focused on God that the only thing that matters is what matters to Him.”

In Gethsemane, before He was arrested and made to suffer on the cross, Jesus pleaded to God, “Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as You will.”

When we pray in the spirit, we don't worry about our words, our syntax, or whatever else we worry about when we lead in a group, because the Spirit will lead us if we allow Him to. And then we experience the presence of God in a powerful way.

Praying in the Spirit, in sum, is letting God lead in our prayers at all times.

Lord, by Your grace, may our every prayer be led by the Your Spirit.

 

2012 National Children's Book Day

I thank God for His grace of stoking our passion for children's literature. Please celebrate with me National Children's Book Day!

Highest Blog Hits

Don't fall for statistics . . . don't fall for statistics . . . don't fall for statistics . . .

This I repeat to myself whenever I post a blog. I really (really!) want to focus on why I am blogging, and not worry whether only one reads it—Tony, only because I beg him to.

Who am I kidding?

Occasionally I wonder why some blog sites can generate 54,000,000 unique visitors per  month and why mine gets only 4,000.  Then I quickly shake off the errant thought and concentrate on my blog at hand.

But curiosity always gets the better of me and I click on “stats” today.  What it reveals about my all-time top-five blog posts baffles me.

No. 1: “Prayer as a Lifestyle,” October, 2009

No. 2: “Man and Woman,” May 2012

No. 3:  “Shelf Life,” May 2011  

No. 4: “Upside-down Umbrella,” January 2010

No. 5: “Why Leaves of Grace?” my very first blog post, November, 2006

“Why Leaves of Grace?” I like to think that my new visitors want to know why I named my blog Leaves of Grace.

“Upside-down Umbrellas” is literally that. It features the marvelous interior design masterpiece of my friend L using upside-down umbrellas. Maybe people google it because upside-down umbrellas are good omen to the superstitious?

“Shelf Life” introduces one of the many concepts on retirement—a book I have recently finished writing—that explains our dread over the expiry date of our usefulness. Maybe people click it for information on perishable items?  

“Man and Woman” is a very recent post but it climbed up to the No. 2 spot in my hit chart pretty quickly, dislodging many much older posts. It discusses the differences between genders and nurturing them.  Maybe people google the three words for different reasons, and my post is a beneficiary? 

“Prayer as a Lifestyle” is by far the top blog on my hit chart. It's a very old post but still gets over a dozen hits a day. Maybe people are searching for answers and have turned to prayer? Or maybe, like me, they want to deeply understand and live the multi-dimensional essence of prayer?  

For whatever reasons, I am grateful to my blog guests for dropping by to read about the amazing grace that comes to us in our big and small daily chores.

We stand in awe of the God who untiringly dispenses this grace, from sunrise to sunrise.

Jungle on Facebook

To say that Facebook is like a jungle may be accurate. In one reading, as you scroll down “Home,” you get  snapshots of all forms of inhabitants.

In a page, you read messages that reflect people's varied characters, traits, politics, dispositions, spirituality or the lack of it, activities, and status (this is the most volatile of all). 

They represent the depth and breadth of the animal kingdom—from the tamest to the wildest—and all types in between: gentle and ferocious; loving and angry; mushy and gritty; optimistic and pessimistic; orderly and messy; intelligent and dense; profound and inane; sweet and bitter; inspiring and disparaging; generous and greedy; fair and prejudiced; enthusiastic and sarcastic; deep and shallow; spiritual and profane; etc, etc.

As I read the posts, I am alternately inspired and disappointed. And I ask myself these four questions: 

1) Why do we choose to be nasty when it is better to be kind?
2) Why do we choose to be angry when there is so much to be thankful for?
3) Why do we choose to destroy when it is more productive to build?  
4) If we can't write anything good, why write at all?  

These are the same questions I ask myself when I read the dailies. 

Then I turn introspective and go back to our Biblical history: From “The Fall,” the day God sent Adam and Eve out of the peaceful Garden of Eden, everything has been a like a jungle, where vultures and victims co-exist. 

So as not to fall prey to the dangers of ravenous beasts (or becoming like them), and losing ourselves, we need to be armed every day. Ammo can only come from a God who gives us His grace of protection through our conscience and discernment, if we humble ourselves and seek Him out.   

“ . . . whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” Philippians 4:8 (KJV)

Images: http://slodive.com/inspiration/funny-pictures-of-animals/

Don't Smoke, Please?

Knowing I teach Advertising/Marketing, a friend emailed me a link to images of vintage cigarette ads. 

I did a few ads for a cigarette company in my time (shoot me), and I experimented with smoking in college (shoot me again), but these old ads smack of . . . um, uh . . .

Babies as endorsers?

Doctors/Nurses encouraging smoking?

Santa Claus puffing and huffing?

Women becoming more attractive through cigarettes?

We've come a long way. Today, ad claims are regulated and cigarette advertising is banned in most countries, including the Philippines. Many buildings now prohibit smoking and in many offices, there are limited areas for smokers.

Our own Metropolitan Manila Development Authority (MMDA) has gone into an aggressive anti-smoking campaign. It recently unveiled a mobile smoking cessation clinic: a converted bus deployed in many areas to counsel and suggest lifestyle change to smokers.

At the launching of this bus, a survivor of throat cancer gave a moving testimony about how he lost his voice to smoking.

I have grieved over a dozen close friends who died of lung cancer in the past five years. Four of them were non-smokers, but they were in the company of heavy smokers in their home or place of work. That's why I am thankful that many forms of anti-smoking crusades have sprouted today.   

And yet, the death toll and economic losses from cigarette remain alarming. Ten Filipinos die every hour from illnesses caused by smoking, while the country loses nearly P500 billion annually from healthcare costs and productivity losses, according to an anti-tobacco group.

Fortunately, cigarette advertising has evolved through the years, and these powerful ads today may yet save a friend's life. Grief, without grace, is a bottomless pit.

May we remember the Scriptures' admonition for us to keep our bodies free of toxins (tar and nicotine are but two of these) that snuff out our precious God-given lives.

“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.” 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 (NIV) 

Don't smoke, please?
Photo credits: thechive.com

Quiet Celebration

Yesterday was a quiet day, a wordless day, in fact. If you've been cleaved unto your husband for over four decades (more like forever) like I have, words need not be said.

I think he might have murmured an obligatory "Happy anniversary" upon waking up, and I might have slurred back, "Same to you" in a still sleepy yawn. Other than that, it was all, for me, a quietly intense thanksgiving to the God Who blesses us with the grace of forever marriages that stand the test of life-threatening diseases and mind-altering crises.    

I received many email and text greetings plus shout outs on FB, mostly from younger friends and much younger couples—proof that the younger generation celebrate and look out for a lasting relationship.

To commemorate the occasion (meaning, so I don't forget!) I uploaded yesterday on this site images of hearts, which in many cultures, including ours, represent undying love. I exaggerate—it is symbolic of love, not necessarily undying.

I also changed my header  . . .

to something that reminded me of the huge, pale yellow, long-stemmed roses I used to receive before the undying (forgive me, I'll use this adjective liberally as I please today) love was sealed on  paper.

They don't come anymore (Barbara Streisand sings, "You don't bring me flowers anymore”) simply because they were sold in Chicago where the undying love began and bloomed. 

Yes, after the passing of time, what remains are not necessarily words that are formed with a string of letters, but a life that is marked by peace that passeth our mortal understanding.

Years teach us that undying love cannot be defined. It can be shown through flowers, sweet nothings, surprises, or other feel-good gestures planned and splurged on (oh, those were the days of yore), but most significantly, through the wordless act of believing that marriages are, as God meant them to be, "for as long as we both shall live."

Mark 10:9: "Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

Wordless Wednesday

 
Leche Flan: by  Sandy Sevilla, FB 'Come Visit My Philippines' 

Point of View

My husband, first son and I were to dine in a pricey place, courtesy of second son and daughter-in-law who reside abroad. It was a Father's Day gift, which dad graciously extended to JC and me.

The restaurant was empty (sign of the economic downtrend?), except for a white-haired, bent old lady in a wheel chair and a young man. They were midway through their meal. Grandma and grandson, I thought.

While surveying the array of food, I overheard the conversation between lola and apo. It wasn't much of a dialogue; it was more of a monologue.

The young man was very solicitous, “This is really good, try it.”  “I am sure you'll enjoy this other dish, it's the restaurant's specialty.” “Taste it, they're, delicious, right?” “Have some more.” “Let me scoop some for you.”  

What a fine, young man! I gushed silently, a hint of tears fogging my eyeglasses. To husband and first son I verbalized my thoughts, “I wish my own sons and grandson would be half as good to me when I am that old.” 

Reply of husband: “He just wants to extract some money from the old woman.”

Reply of first son: “The old lady forced him to escort her here.”

Two pails of cold water doused my spirit.

I am sure that if there were one other person with us, he would present a different perspective, too.

Points of view are like that; they are as varied as people, with individual hypothesis and conclusion.

My boss in the workplace used to say, “Try to reduce your meetings to just one client. If there were 12 clients in a room, you'd get 12 different points of view. And then you'd have an ad going in 12 different directions.” 

Now, as for the grandmother and grandson, one of us might have been correct—or maybe not. But in this instance, I wish husband and first son were wrong. 

As my contemporaries and I continue to advance in years (this is discussed at length in my new book, What, Me Retire? to be launched in September),  I wish young people were as kind as the young man in the restaurant to their elders.

I wish they'd heed the words of the good Book, found in 1 Peter 5:5: “Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for 'God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.'”

When we left the place, the young man was wheeling the old lady toward a shiny limo where a uniformed driver was opening the passenger door.

Image: http://home.netcom.com/~swansont/

Laughing with Nora Ephron

Nora Ephron makes (I re-read her books) me laugh, but now she's dead. Should I still laugh? 

She was known as an intellectual, a journalist, an accomplished woman, a celebrity, a novelist/essayist, film director/screen writer, but for me, she was someone who, like a confidante who lived next door, told me so many truths about myself that would have been tragic had she not made them hilarious.

By writing about herself in her bestselling books, she was also writing about others who saw themselves in her adventures, in turn of phrases that make one guffaw in near tears. She could write about the bitterest experiences with such unpredictable wit they become funny quirks.    

When my day becomes unreasonably tight and stressful, I turn to Nora Ephron's books and in a few minutes, the tight knots in my neck begin to loosen and disappear. She has (I talk about her in the present tense because her works will be around long after the tears of her passing shall have dried) a way of bringing on the ha-ha-ha. Her Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail are two of my favorite feel-good movies.  

She poked fun at aging, the bane of women over 40.  She went as far as taking her illness (a six-year battle with Leukemia) and fading memory with a spoonful of sugar. Her thoughts on being a woman influenced and were enjoyed by many women who admired her works.

To die at age 71 is young in my book. Losing one who has been a part of your reading life at her age makes one sad.

So I did myself a favor and took down from my bookshelf her “I Feel Bad about My Neck,” bought on sale in a second-hand book shop years ago, and re-read a chapter or two.

What she did in life, she does exactly in death: make me laugh.  

Lord, thank you for bringing into our lives people like Nora Ephron who could lighten our days with your grace of laughter.

Fat Cops

This photo had me in stitches one early morning:

Ate Vi rushed to see what was wrong.  She was sure I had snapped, not having heard me laugh that loud in a long time. A great way to start another extremely hot day. How refreshing it was to LOL!

I found this so funny because it hit home. Once I also couldn't bend from having a waistline as wide as my hips. That was when I suddenly found myself out of the workplace, unprepared for an early retirement.

My new pace in slomo and change of lifestyle made me eat more, sit around more, and sleep more. Before I knew it, I was thirty pounds overweight! My doctor found everything wrong with me after that and made me go through a daily-walk regimen.

Ah, how I wish I were a fat cat instead, but the loss of steady income had reduced me to a fat mess and mass.

It took many months and daily grace to shed off the unwanted pounds. And today, maintaining the ideal weight is still a constant battle for me. And I am not alone.    

Back to fat cops: According to the Philippine National Police (PNP), one in 10 policemen are obese and will have to undergo a slimming program.

The findings prompted the PNP head to warn the 145,000-strong nationwide force they could lose their jobs if they were not physically fit.

Well, Philippine cops are not alone either. Obesity is a global phenomenon:

Now, how about fat superheroes?

Well, I won't go into alien territory. I'll stay close to home.

In my own ongoing war against weight gain and other excesses, I reflect on what Paul said in his letter to the Romans (Chapter 12:1-2 KJV), “. . . present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and perfect, will of God."

Top photo: Philippine Daily Inquirer, June 21, 2012 issue

My Atheist Friend

John (not his real name), a Caucasian, was my client for about five years in my other life. He was the fair-haired boy of his multi-national company. Although he was young (30s), he was promoted by the US head office to Marketing Director in its Philippine subsidiary (the biggest in Asia in those days).

He headed the huge department that had a workforce of a dozen bright brand people and over 200 aggressive sales agents. 

John was exceptionally smart, aggressive, and perceptive; he towered over most of my clients in our eyes. He could grasp ad concepts just by glimpsing tiny thumbnails (doodles), and we in the creative department did not have to go through elaborate presentations to make him see our point.   

It was always a joy meeting with John in the board room.  He was never rude and had a dry sense of humor.

He became a friend when he and I traveled abroad one day to see to a post-production of one of his products. Thoughtful and gentle, he was the epitome of GMRC (good manners and right conduct)—saying all the proper things, careful not to offend anyone.

That's why I almost choked on my sashimi when he mentioned that he was an atheist. In the same breath, he said in words to this effect, “I may not believe in the existence of a god, but I have a deep appreciation of what is right and wrong.”

I was not about to debate the subject. First off, an ad person is cautioned never to antagonize her client, especially one whose ad budget pays the salaries of everyone in the agency.

Like a turtle, I retreated into my shell and lost the golden opportunity to share my faith. 

But my thought balloon was crowded with, How can you have a conscience and not believe in God?  How can you, who have been incredibly blessed with so much, not see God's hand? I changed the subject to how well our TV ad had turned out.

John was promoted to a bigger subsidiary two years later, and today, he is the president of the entire conglomerate!

I have always believed that our conscience is a gift from a loving God, who likewise gave His only Son to save us. When we accept His Son's love, He guides us closely through our many weaknesses by heightening our conscience. In the process, we see God’s holy ways.

Our conscience is God’s way of saving us from further temptations, making us realize we need to cling to Him to see right from wrong.

Listening to our conscience is like listening to the voice of God; our conscience is His Holy Spirit in our heart day and night, showing us the way of truth. We are safe there. 

On days when my conscience pricks me, I think of John.

I pray that one day, he will come to know that his “deep appreciation of right and wrong” is grace that could only come from a living God, who exists from everlasting to everlasting. 

Photo credit: http://debunkingatheists.blogspot.com/2010/07/atheism-is-religion.html

Emperor Chicken: a.k.a. Beggar's Chicken

This ancient dish, which originated in China, is prepared by wrapping chicken in clumps of mud or soft dough made from wheat flour and then cooking it over fire. It was a poor man's (or beggar's) food.

But a story is told that an emperor who happened to taste it took a fancy to this poor man's food and had it cooked in the palace, eventually becoming his favorite dish. With the addition of some herbal and fancy concoction fit for an emperor, the dish was baked in an oven for hours, and became the Emperor Chicken. 

I speak not as a big cook but as a non-cook with a big appetite, which we call in my family the Chong palate.  

True to this tag, JR came home from Singapore with a luggage half-filled with packed marinades of all kinds, one of which is for Emperor Chicken.

So to the kitchen he went, and with the enthusiastic help of Ate Vi, our resident empress and chef, he whipped up (by adding some herbs freshly picked from our garden) one of the most delicious chicken recipes a food beggar like me has ever tasted.

Tada!

Through all generations, the grace of palate encompasses both beggars and emperors.

Older Women

"Older women have an important role in church," spoke a much younger woman (a lawyer whom I have known since she was a toddler in Sunday School), not much older than my youngest son.

In one statement she catapulted me into a specific echelon, and handed me my job description. There were other older women in the room, but somehow, I took the jolting remark personally.

"It is in the scriptures that you have to teach the younger women," she was relentless.  Then she turned the pages of her Bible and read Titus 2:3-4.

"Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children . . ."

I had read those verses before (many times), but God chose that day in a small group meeting and Atty. Karen to dig it in.

Reviewing my hurriedly written notes later, I read her points loud and clear.

“Teach and train young married women to:

"1. Love their husband;
2. Love their children;
3. Have discernment over what is right, and self control over what is wrong;
4. Keep the marriage honored by being pure;
5. Be busy at home—ministry in the home should be their top priority;
6. Do good deeds and be kind to others;
7. Submit to their husband.”    

Tough job.

I have not done any of the above—not consciously anyway.  Not once had I sat down with any of the young married women (most of whom are my godchildren in either child dedication or wedding rites). Many of our chats had centered on . . . maybe I had, one way or the other?

“Older women,” she added, “should model for us a life that honors God. From your lives, we can learn to give glory to our Creator with ours,” she continued. She and the young moms in our circle seem to be doing pretty well—happy and well-adjusted in their marriages.  I guess their mothers (my friends) taught them well.

And maybe they likewise saw a thing or two in me and learned from it . . . 

Karen was just a toddler when I first met her parents, now dear, forever friends who have big ears that listen and giant hearts that love God.

That toddler is now a lawyer . . .

. . . and a mother.

A distinguished lawyer, loving wife, and caring mother, Karen today has the gall to say to me, her mom, her titas in church, about what we might have forgotten to focus on—but thankfully, still have every chance to do so.

“This is not for us, neither is it for you,” she said to conclude her short talk. “You must do it so no one will malign the word of God.”

This job description is a document of grace, my heart spoke. And in total submission, it signed the conforme, pledging to the beat of a Titus 2 woman.

Robber Caught on Camera

Shamelessly and hurriedly, she robbed.  

She crammed three, four, five copies of books into a bag. It was a steal! She was rabid, uncontrollable.

The R.O.B. Us! (Raid Our Bookshop: Ultimate Sale) of OMF Lit had turned her into a ferocious ROBber.

You can't be giving your books away! she half-whispered to Gracia, the lady in charge of OMF Pergola. Gracia laughed heartily despite being slumped over the cash register for two hours straight, serving the mile-long queue of equally unrestrained ROBbers with bags brimming with books. 

There are actually several exciting sale permutations in celebration of OMF Lit's 55th anniversary this year.

The sale is ongoing till the 27th of June, but this blog is about that one single day before the official sale began. That was the day one woman turned into a big-time robber. 

On OMF Lit's Facebook shout out, this woman had read that for only P550, she can stuff all the books she wants in a bag. That she did, ravenously—and she was caught on camera with her loot.

Here's more.

From all the receipts on that day, a winner will be chosen from each OMF Lit Bookshop branch for the “Most Stuffed Bag” and will be awarded a prize by end July. The prize? A special book pack!

Yes, in addition to all the ROBbed books, OMF Lit will give away more books!

This particular robber's receipt says she ROBbed a total of 29 books, with a whopping savings of P6,700! That's an average of P19 (!) per book.

 ooo

I had to talk about me in the third person, and blur my face like they do on TV when they present cons, because I am now suffering from guilt pangs for being such an insatiable ROBber and for being slapped with an incredible discount.

What is it about the printed page that makes book lovers become book ROBbers? Not a book, nor a book series, can answer that question adequately.

So let me answer it with one word, “Because!”

Turning book readers into book ROBbers on sale days helps OMF Lit fulfill its desire to disseminate as many Christian books (short of giving them away) as it could to readers in every part of the country.

But if truth be told, the volume of books that are pushed out on said days cannot begin to match the volume of God's grace that has yet to be written, shared, ROBbed, read, and  believed. 

Meanwhile, you still have a chance to ROB until June 27.

Most Relaxing Place

The most relaxing place in the world, for me, is the hammock. The spa comes a poor second. 

What sets a hammock apart from a spa is people. There is nobody in the hammock but you and there you can allow life to really slow down.

An hour in a hammock frees mind and soul from the disappointments and frustrations of days past.

Maybe the neurons in our brain take us back to those nine months we swam in our mother's womb or to those days of infancy when our mom rocked us to sleep humming a lullaby.      

No wonder people have been making all sorts of hammocks—some elaborate, some simple, some in-between.

This one's ours: a simple rattan hammock handmade in my province, Pangasinan.

It's a recent purchase. The family was driving home from out of town when Tony spotted a caravan of vendors on cart-bearing oxen. He got off and bought this quickly. He'd always wanted one but he neither had the time nor knew where to find them.

I had in mind the exact place for our new hammock—between two coconut trees in our garden. I was beginning to imagine me in the great outdoors enjoying the song of birds, the smell of grass, and the breeze of the hour swaying me gently.

Hammocks, however, are not the easiest to install. One has to have the strength and courage to climb trees to hang the ropes. Tony no longer possesses both, and neither do I.  Our boys have no interest in this ancient invention so they didn't figure in the plan.

We settled for a semi-outdoor place of the house where the ropes can be secured with minor effort.  It's not the place I imagined, but hey, a hammock is a hammock is a hammock.

The first try was tragic—the ropes lacked strong enough knots, causing Tony to land on his rear. The second try was an exact repeat of the first. A sore tush twice over is twice tragic.   

Past that, I can now have wordless Wednesdays and silent Saturdays.

How does one explain God's peace beyond understanding? Well, how does one explain the grace of rest?

“…Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Matthew 11:28-29

Wordless Wednesday

Guessing Game

Three young women in the campsite office, where I dropped by to request for supplies for our cottage, met me with warm smiles. “Are you Ms. Grace Chong?” they asked. 

Wow, you know who your guests are, I thought, delighted. Our group of 200 had about 10 speakers, including me.

“Are you a doctor?”

“No,” I replied, glad I wasn't mistaken for a patient.

“A pastor?” one guessed.

“No.” Maybe I look a little holy.

“A lawyer?”

“No.” Maybe I have some of Cuevas' chutzpah.

Teacher?”

“Well, partly . . .” I replied.

“And mostly . . .?” another pushed.

“An author.”

“Ooooh,” a chorus.

At this point I was sure one of them would say, “Yes, I've read one of your books!” 

Instead, one asked, “What does an author like you do?”

My bubble burst.

When I came to, I rationalized that this campsite is at the end of the earth, a valley ensconced between mountains, and bookstores are miles away.

I scribbled my website on a sheet of paper and said, “If you have time, please visit this url and you'll find what I do." And I stressed before walking away, "Only if you find time."

www.leavesofgrace.blogspot.com

“May we invite you to be a speaker in the staff camp we are planning for next month?” they called out.

Without knowing what I do? “I suggest you visit my blog first before you decide!” I beamed. 

“But she said she is a part-time teacher, didn't she?" they might have asked each other.  

People know exactly what doctors, pastors, lawyers, and teachers do. But an author?

Sob.