The Naked Cross

In Bible times, execution on the cross was the cruelest, most unforgettable way to punish the worst criminals—totally humiliating and dehumanizing.

And yet, Jesus chose the cross to redeem us from the mire of sin. Galatians 3:13(ESV), “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, 'Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree' . . .”

“From this cross He would rob hell and populate heaven,” wrote Joseph Chambers, a preacher. 

Off Duty

Writing is not a duty for me. It has always been a privilege, a time of great feelings, a mountain-top joy, and . . . an undeserved grace of a lifetime. 

Some of my friends in church say it is my assignment from above, and therefore I am duty bound to do it well. I try.  

My writing hours are thus: the actual computer time is all day; the thinking time is all night.

The Kiram, Kristel, and Kris Brouhaha

Every Tom, Dick, and Harry has commented on the current hot issues involving Sultan Kiram of Sulu, Kristel, and Kris Aquino.

Some blame the Media for sensationalizing all three. Some blame the militants for agitating the student population. Some blame the politicians for taking advantage of the situations. Some blame President Aquino for not showing enough concern.

Some blame the government for everything, period. 

Surprise Homecoming

Do you enjoy surprising others?  

Well, I have a surprise for you. You might end up being surprised yourself.

My brother Dave loves to spring a surprise on us. In the last 10 years or so, however, he hasn't had too many opportunities to do that, because he and his wife, Glad, lived abroad. The only chance, then, to surprise us is when he, she, or both come home for vacation.

Look-Alikes

On TV last week, I watched a show that featured same-sex pairs who looked very much alike but who, in reality, are not twins.

Unbelievable. As each pair talked to the camera, I looked at their individual features—eyes, nose, lips, shape of face, hair—and they were the same. If you saw them in person, you'd say, “Twins!”

They are not. They are not even remotely related to each other; they just happen to look so similar. 

Is this possible?

Beware the Ides of March

“Ides,” as we learned in school, comes from the Latin word "idus," used widely in the old Roman calendar to indicate the middle of the month.  

Over time, the phrase “Ides of March” evolved into “Beware the ides of March,” a warning of bad things to come because of William Shakespeare's play, “Julius Caesar.”

The Christian Atheist: A Sort of Review

I discovered this book in faraway Cagayan de Oro (CDO) OMFLit bookstore. In between sporadic book signing, I sat down beside a shelf and took the first book that nudged my arm.

The title caught me off guard. I thought it was blasphemous and therefore I shouldn't read it. But as I often do, I talked to myself:

Where have all your years of training in creative work gone? “Expect the unexpected” you used to say. Well, this one's unexpected. When have you become a bigot?

City of White Water Rafting

Mention Cagayan de Oro (CDO) City to anyone who has been there and he'll say, white water rafting and river trekking!

Well, I've just come from CDO and the only water I saw was bottled and came free with my hotel room. Okay, I got a glimpse of the CDO river when we crossed a scenic bridge, but it was only for a few seconds, the time it took our taxi to zoom past it.

Nevertheless, in between meetings and short trips to town for meals that consisted of energy-giving food. boasting of cholesterol galore and one book signing event (OMFLit Book Shop), I got a chance to take photos of the tricycle which looked so strange, compared to what what I see in Manila. They so fascinated me I stayed at a curb clicking away for a good ten minutes.  

 

CDO is the gateway to Northern Mindanao and described in its Website as a “City in bloom, in blossom, and in boom.”  I have been to many parts of Mindanao but never to CDO so I thought I'd wander through its suburbia and enjoy the bloom, blossom, and bloom, but our schedule permitted only the usual things busy business people do—airport to hotel to boardroom, then reverse the process—and before you know it, the trip is ended.

Disabled Parking

For twenty long minutes we had been driving round and round the parking lot. It was unusually full. Suddenly, a car whizzed past us and parked in the space reserved for Persons With Disability (PWD).

When the driver got out of the car, she looked like she stepped out of a fashion magazine—she was tottering on a five-inch heels in animal prints! Tony and I thought she might have a PWD passenger.

She was alone.

First Draft

Each author regards the first draft differently. Ernest Hemingway said that “The first draft of anything is s—t.” 

Nicholas Sparks has another view, “Writing the last page of the first draft is the most enjoyable moment in writing. It's one of the most enjoyable moments in life, period.”

Today, after I tore off the last page of February from my calendar, I typed in the period to the last sentence of the first draft of my next book with the working title, “Gifts of Compassion.”

I don't think it's s—t. It still needs a lot of work, but the framework is there.

Wordless Wednesday

(Photo: 9gag.com/augustines)   

Yellow Sky

The nation was on tenterhooks 27 years ago when then President Ferdinand Marcos refused to leave his seat despite millions of people gathered at EDSA and elsewhere in the first-ever people power the world has ever seen. Yellow was the color that symbolized our unity.

Then on TV, on the edge of our seats, we saw the man and his family board a helicopter leaving at last.  It was like New Year's Day, but the rejoicing was accompanied with cathartic tears and euphoria.

Crossing the Street

One of life's most difficult endeavors is crossing a street in Metro Manila. Vehicles don't stop for hapless pedestrians.

Traffic signs seem more like suggestions than regulations.  To cross successfully without minor mishaps (sudden skipping of heart, stubbing a toe, straining a leg muscle, and holding one's breath) is a prized achievement, not unlike completing an obstacle race or getting out of a maze after hours of dead ends.

My one wish, which will never be fulfilled in my lifetime, is to be exempted from ever crossing a street.  But truth is, an ordinary mortal with no access to private transportation every single day needs to cross a few.

There was that one day which I keep wishing would come again:

No Teeth

Dread is the perfect word to describe what I felt about renewing my passport.  In past years, it took a minimum of two hours to wait in line and get things done.

This time my survival kit included my iPad (euphemism for a small scribble notebook) and two crossword puzzles, torn from that day's newspapers; Tony is less impatient, so he needed no survival kit.   

Our travel agent was there on the dot. He ushered us to a hall filled with people in snaky long queues.  

“Three simple steps,” he said. “First floor for identification, second floor for picture taking, and back to ground floor for exit.”  

He then gave us the password: “Senior citizen.”

Risking it All

A big, deep, pure love came to Jesus.

And it came from the lowest of the low—a despised prostitute. 

Today, Valentine's Day, I will attempt to talk about that love (Luke 7:36-50) from my limited, layman's view.

Many sermons have been delivered and many books have been written about it, and yet we are still trying to fathom if we, too, are capable of loving the way she did.

Chinese New Year (Year of the Water Snake)

“Are you Chinese?” People sometimes ask me.

“No, but my children and husband are,” I reply. “And I celebrate Chinese New Year.”

Chinese New Year's eve this year was a quiet, extremely quiet affair. Tony and I were invited to dinner at the home of his closest living relative—a septuagenarian first cousin, whose wife is three years younger.  

For the first time in years, I was in a group where I was the youngest.

The Great Commission

If you are a Christian and feeling guilty (as I am) about not being able to do something about the Great Commission, don't. There is something we can do—or may already be doing—about it.

This was the gist of my talk at the district conference of women in over 50 churches recently. I was invited to challenge the attendees into doing missionary work:  

"Therefore, go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:19-20 (NLT)

I felt unworthy because I am no missionary. While praying about it, however, I came upon this verse:

“In his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well. So if God has given you the ability to prophesy, speak out with as much faith as God has given you. If your gift is serving others, serve them well. If you are a teacher, teach well. If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging. If it is giving, give generously. If God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously. And if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly.” Romans 12: 6-8 (NLT)

Let me share with you excerpts from that talk:

I have no authority to preach. I am not a pastor, neither was I ever in Bible school. I have no advice about being a better mother or a better wife or even a better person—because I, myself, have not been an ideal mother nor wife.  I don't think I can tell you to be more faithful servants of God, because many times I fail miserably in my faithfulness.

Everything that I know about the Great Commission, women of God like you already know.

Then it dawns on me that not all of us can be a missionary in the sense of 'going out to share the gospel.' We can use our individual gifts right at home to help those who have the gift to proclaim the Word.

I constantly ponder what I have been doing in terms of the Great Commission. Aside from contributing to the Missions fund and praying for our missionaries, I have not been doing much else. The world out there is thirsty for God's Word. They badly need to know about the saving grace of Jesus.

Cancer (3)

(This is the third and last part of the excerpted chapter, My friends Sonia and Brenda, from “Gifts of Grace” Book 3. )  

My Friends Sonia and Brenda (Part 3)

Good-bye millions in damages—money for my medications and hospitalization, a small part of me said. But the bigger part of me thought of God, how He must have felt when He sent His only Son to be crucified and die for our sins. I wept and started going back to Ward 451D. They stopped me, saying I could occupy that private room for free.

 I said, “No, I belong to Ward 451D. It’s where I met my God!”  

P.S. Ward patients are not supplied with newspapers.  But from then on, I began receiving mine. Every day. That’s what I got for damages.  My own newspaper. And that is more than enough.

I had difficulty breathing myself—from trying to hold back my tears. I e-mailed back immediately, “Brenda, our e-group friends are really blessed by your short e-mails on faith.  Through you, God’s magnificence is almost palpable. With your permission, may I share your two-part e-mail to me with our e-group?”

Cancer (2)

(Continued from yesterday's post. To those who have just chanced upon this blog, this is an excerpt from my Book, “Gifts of Grace” Book 3, which has a chapter on two friends afflicted with cancer.)  

My Friends Sonia and Brenda (Part 2)

Our response was instant and electric:   

“Welcome to the group, Brenda!”

“Another one to include in my daily prayers, thanks Brenda!”   

“Hi, Brenda! Please delight in reading our sometimes crazy but always interesting exchanges about anything under the sun. Share with us your thoughts.”

Brenda’s first e-mail to us read, “I feel so honored to be a part of this e-group. Thanks for letting me in. I was diagnosed with a cell lung cancer last year, given three to four months to live, but by God's healing grace, here I am—still very much alive.”

That was the beginning of Brenda’s short but regular e-mails. She updated us on her condition. She was now also a faithful prayer warrior for our sick friends. Always, she spoke of her unwavering faith in God.

I e-mailed Brenda privately about the gift of salvation and sent her a Bible plus my books Gifts of Grace 1 and 2.  She thanked me privately as well, and shared with me a most gripping story—in two installments. I was moved that she chose to let me in on what turned her life around. Let me summarize it, hoping to capture Brenda’s heart.

First installment:

Cancer (1)

(Another loved one just lost her battle against cancer. Every so often, I would read posts of friends grieving over someone suffering from this dreaded disease. One posted an excerpt from my book “Gifts of Grace” Book 3, which he says helped him in his darkest hours after his wife's  death.)  

Let me share this excerpt with you. May it help others deal with their grief. 

My Friends Sonia and Brenda (Part 1)

Not too long ago, people were reticent about cancer. We would refer to it as “The Big C” and would say it in whispers. But the scourge and rise of the disease has become so severe—the No. 2 cause of death in the U.S. in the year 2007—we now call a spade a spade, so to speak. People openly say, my aunt or uncle or friend or mother or father or grandmother or grandfather has cancer.

It is in this light that I will speak about my friends Sonia and Brenda. They have touched my and other people’s lives on such a grand scale that by writing about them, I hope that many more will be similarly touched.

Sonia and Brenda never met each other. And never will—at least not in this lifetime. But they always come to my mind simultaneously. They had two things in common: faith in God and cancer, in that order.

Cockroaches and Motorcycles

Cockroaches. That's the only image I can summon to describe the motorcycles on the road.

 
The above photo is kinda gross I know, but I needed to upload it to get the point off my chest and join the crusade in abating road deaths.

Like these cockroaches, motorcycles are all over, darting here, there and everywhere. If you want to be stressed, just get on a vehicle and observe them (if you are a passenger, that is; if you are driving, have a third or fourth eye—and a reservoir of patience—to avoid being needled by them).

Dot Dot Dot

Among all the punctuation marks in English, the most unused, misused and abused is the period.

In this confused era of text messaging, Twitter, Facebook, and electronic gadgets, people seem to have taken the period for granted or found it irrelevant. Sometimes, in a long-winding paragraph, it is nowhere to be found. Sometimes, after a phrase, it comes in succession—four or five of them, sometimes more.

The proper use of the period has been trashed for no logical reason. Instead of one dot, people resort to using a series of dots. Sadly, the users are clueless on what the series of dots is called or how to use it properly.

The series of dots, often referred to as “dot dot dot” does have a name. This punctuation mark is called ellipsis.

Grammar books are explicit in saying that an ellipsis is a series or row of three periods (not more, not less).

Here's what The Chicago Manual of Style says:

Man and Woman: Take Two

A car cut right in front of ours and my driver slammed on the brakes. He muttered, “Women drivers!”

I looked at the other car's driver and sure enough, it was a woman. “How did you know?”

My driver replied, “Nobody cuts like a woman does.”

My Heart Exults

Must do: change my header now, just 21 days after I had it up:

It's because my heart is all lined up with thanksgiving:

The worst is over for my best cousin who had a stroke in New York. She will soon be moved to a private room.

Son #2, who was rushed to the emergency room in a Pittsburgh hospital, has been sent home.

The Face of God

My quiet time today centered on the life of Jacob, the man from whom the 12 tribes of Israel came. He certainly had a dramatic, tele-novela life.

What riveted me most, however, was when he went back to his homeland to seek the forgiveness of his brother, whom he had wronged.

If you remember your Bible, he betrayed his brother Esau at the deathbed of their father. At his mother's prodding, Jacob pretended to be Esau so he could receive their father's blessings.

Too Many Bibles?

One can't have too many Bibles—not if they come in different translations. 

The reported numbers vary, but it is safe to say that there are over 450 English translations of the Scriptures today, and counting.

I got my 19th Bible translation as a Christmas gift from son #1, JC. It's NLT (New Living Translation), which I already have, but with a difference.

Pure, Purer, Purest

This extraordinary woman of faith breastfed me when I was a baby.

 
And from now I will talk about her in the past tense with both sadness and joy. She went to be with the Lord on New Year's day at age 98 in Chicago where she lived.  

Auntie Pure was my mother's older sister. She and mom gave birth almost at the same time—Auntie Pure had my cousin Lorna just one day ahead of the time my mom had me.

Should Traditions End?

Everything on earth will end when the Lord comes again.

This is what the Scriptures tell us, but some cousins and I discussed a different kind of ending when we got together again for our 68th annual clan reunion (CLAN-V we call ourselves). 

Sadly, we see an ending to this reunion saga somewhere in time—when our generation (third) shall have passed away.  The second gen (our parents) was totally wiped out with the death of our lone surviving aunt in Chicago on New Year's day, just a few hours after we closed the last reunion.

Year 2013

2012 was another year of the Lord.

Reviewing my past 100 posts, I see all the hills and valleys that gripped our lives in this country. It was an uncommon year.

In all of these seemingly sad circumstances, God's grace has given us happy endings in various forms, which  helped us move on to come this far: 2013.

Dinner with Eddie Garcia

Am I dreaming?

The Eddie Garcia, best actor of the 55th Asia Pacific Festival and the only hall-of-fame Famas awardee for three categories, materialized in front of me, spoke in basso profundo, and we would have dinner together.

It was for real. 

He was actually one of the few invited guests to a Christmas dinner (the first we attended this year) that my friend ALB hosted in her spectacular home. A more apt description of that structure with luxurious interior in an inclusive enclave in Makati is: royal palace. 

Through the years, miles and miles of news have been written about Eddie Garcia (now in his 80s), he who has won more awards than any other Filipino actor, and whose name is synonymous to great character acting—all of them well deserved.

Weeping Mothers on Christmas

Innocent children slaughtered. 

This gruesome news shook the world in recent days. A lone gunman massacred 20 schoolchildren in the affluent town of Newtown, Connecticut, considered a very peaceful and safe place in the US.

This was exactly what happened in the small town of Bethlehem in the year that Jesus was born. The first Christmas was not festive nor luxurious as it is today. It was awfully dark. The woeful sound of weeping mothers competed with the gusty sound of the winter wind.

Our Biblical history tells us that the magi went to Judea in search of the newborn King of the Jews, having "seen his star in the east." They were directed to the small village of Bethlehem, and King Herod asked them to let him know who this King was when they found  him.

Beginning of the World

The first Christmas was the beginning of a world saved from sin. Hope was born, and every man—no matter how deeply mired in sin—can now receive the free gift of forgiveness and be a child of God through Christ.

Jesus said in Luke 4:18 (NLT), “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for He has anointed me to bring Good News to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the oppressed will be set free . . .”

Now we can see. We've been released, we've been set free.

Warm Christmas greetings from a family scattered in the year 2012. Our card this year tells the story of the grace that came our way through various milestones in various parts of the world.

"Merry Christmas," says Attorney . . .

  

. . . and so do Earl Grey, Chai and brood

End of the World

The rumor had been rife; it persisted for days.

Many people believed it—to their peril and embarrassment. It occupied huge spaces and frequent mentions in social networking sites and newspapers: The world will end on 21 December 2012.

That was yesterday in our part of the world. That's today across the seas.

The Trouble with Christmas Gifts

The greatest Gift—and the only one that should matter on Christmas—is the birth of Grace. God made Himself poor so that we may be rich and have eternal life.

If we played by man-made rules, Christmas gifts could really get us into trouble.

A neighbor was so furious because she spent time choosing a beautiful towel for her exchange gift at a Christmas party. What did she get in return? A cracked mug. “I will never participate in any exchange gift again!” she swore.

What More for Manny Pacquiao?

The phrase “four-letter word” refers to words with four letters that are considered profane or vulgar. It is a euphemism for the many English swear words which are four-character monosyllables.

Among all these four-letter words, I believe that the worst of them all is . . . more.

More has caused the downfall of great men in history. It was the cause of the first-ever sin committed by Eve in the garden of Eden. She wanted more than what she already had in paradise.

More is the core of every addiction (drugs, gambling, alcohol). It means, not being able to stop.

Do, Not Try

Unlike my friend Malou who can echo, word for word, other people's speeches just by listening to them, and knows all her friends' cellphone numbers from memory (she doesn't use her directory), I am a synthesizer.

In my own words, I jot down ideas and concepts I hear, simplifying them as I see fit along the way. That means I am also a simplifier. 

One part of the sermon I heard last Sunday made me squirm in my seat. I want to share a part of it  with you by synthesizing and simplifying it (the words, not the content), especially because I think it was grace particularly meant for me.

Pastor: Are you a grumbler? A griper? A growler? A whiner?

Clearest Words of Grace

To escape the horrifying headline news on the deadliest calamity that ever hit Mindanao wrought by Typhoon Pablo (over 500 deaths to date), I turned the day's newspaper to the inside pages and got mesmerized by the Lifestyle section.

Splashed on several pages were tall, beautiful ladies and dashing young men garbed in the latest fashion. I drooled over how they carried their clothes, bags, shoes and accessories with flair.

My thought balloons: 

Ooooh, I wish I were one inch taller . . .

Ooooh, I wish I were as well-dressed . . . 

Ooooh, I wish I had those accessories . . .

Hit and Miss

A blogger's all-time natural high is caused by her number of hits, even if the hitters miss reading a word of her blog.

I've been quite happy, extremely happy, when my average of 30 hits per day suddenly surged to 200 since May this year. I can't explain the unusual spurt. But I won't question it either.

AIDS Begone!

Not too many people know this fact: AIDS has reached epidemic proportions in this country. I was shocked when my physician friend, Luis, who has made AIDS prevention his pet advocacy, rattled off statistics I wish I didn't hear.   

He directed me to the AIDS Society of the Philippines website, and while there, I discovered one startling fact after another.

AIDS (Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome) is the final stage of  HIV (Human Immunodeficiency Virus) disease, which causes severe damage to the immune system. The virus attacks the immune system and leaves the body vulnerable to life-threatening infections and cancers.

Common bacteria, yeast, parasites, and viruses that usually do not cause serious problems in people with healthy immune systems can cause fatal illnesses in those who are found to be HIV positive.

Ice Cream at Christmas

To someone whose blood sugar is always precariously at high-normal levels, ice-cream is taboo. There are sugar-free flavors, but they're a poor copy of the original.

So if you can't eat them, hang them.

These ice cream cones were painstakingly made by three pairs of hands: Ate Vi's, Analou's (her niece and now her adjutant), and mine.

The idea was suggested by my friend G, an art director whose mind traverses the universe and back looking for beautiful things to do and behold. She sent me photos of various kinds of ice-cream, but I chose the model that is easiest to make.

Religion?

The blank line in a document stares at me. I stare back and wonder how to fill it up properly. 

Religion:_______________

In a world that runs on labels, it is sometimes complicated to give a definite answer to a simple question. 

If I were asked what my religion was verbally, instead of filling in a blank, I would explain:

“I have no religion. But I have a personal relationship with my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  I attend a home church affiliated with other churches so I can fellowship and grow in my knowledge of God with people who share my faith. There, my brethren in Christ help me become closer to God by keeping alive the Scriptures together—and making God's Word be seen in our lives. I belong to this movement of Christ-centered families and individuals wanting to be Christ-like.”

Six Years Is a Long time

Consider the following numbers:

• 2,191 days
• 189,302,400 seconds
• 3,155,040 minutes
• 52,584 hours
• 313 weeks

They define six years. Proudly, I like to think I own them because they show how long Leaves of Grace has been in cyberburbia. Tomorrow I complete my sixth year! I am blogging about it today because I am following my regular blog rhythm.

My old header comes down:

My new header goes up:

There are other numbers that come after the above numbers. You may skip them; I am recording them only to keep track of where I am this year, compared to last year:

151,000 hits (from 111,000)
171 countries (from 154)
614 posts (from 506)
120 followers (from 98)
2037 comments (from 1530)
7 change of headers (from a total of 19)

My numbers increased bountifully and so did grace. Thank you, Lord.

“Shout with joy to the Lord, all the earth! Worship the Lord with gladness. Come before him, singing with joy.” (Psalm 100:1-2)

Driver and Driver

They came and went, courtesy of the HR department, who evaluated employees' performance and screened applicants.

"Hilarious," is the comment I get from readers. One sent me a text message at 4 AM, "I am reading about your drivers and laughing so hard after a long day of TV ad shoot. My neighbors may think I am a candidate for a mental institution!" 

Well, I, too, laughed with every word I wrote. Oh, those were frenzied, manic days!

After jumping off the corporate tightrope, I settled into a placid, sedentary life of writing, glued mostly on a computer chair in one nook at home.  There is no sense in having a driver on standby for my short hop to the university where I teach part-time, once-a-month trip to a book talk, twice-a-year book launching, or occasional coffee or lunch with friends.

I have learned to enjoy the perks of public transportation—tricycle, bus, jeepney, cab, FX—and the extraordinary grace they cart in.

There are very special occasions, however, when I need a car, and therefore a driver. So without the aid of an HR (and the absence of a steady income), I have to hire someone for . . . free.  

This someone is driver #25 and, between you and me, if I still had the luxury of an HR, I'd beg for driver #26.

This current one is in a class all by himself. His mysterious and obsessive rush to get ahead of every vehicle on the road makes my heart skip and my toes curl.

Sometimes, I resort to praying for my life. But if I have to get to where I need to be, intact, I stay quiet.

What brings about the horror, I think, is the fact that with this driver, I need to sit politely awake in the front seat instead of the back where I used to nap, daydream about the next TV concept, do whatever I wanted, and openly verbalize my displeasure over sudden swerves and brakes.  

In this new hallowed front passenger seat, I hear every gear change, every tire screech, every whiz of racing motorcycles zooming straight past me just when my driver is turning right, every silent expletive and grunt in tune with Elvis' rock n' roll or gospel songs.    

I can't take my sweet time with this super-punctual driver either, nor ever change any of our prearranged-or-agreed schedule. He slots me in his busy calendar, honks his horn when I am taking two seconds too long looking for my cellphone or eyeglasses, and tells me where I need to wait, at what exact time, for pick-up.

Although he says nothing when I am delayed for an important reason (like trying on  blouses on sale), nor has expressed anything that resembles complaint, I feel the need to treat him out for keeping him waiting and hungry. Meals or coffee cost.  

Oh, what a ball I had writing about those 24 paid hands!

And now it's as though all 24 of them have conspired against my person, daring me, "Okay, now write about the 25th one." 

Huh? How can I write about the one who shares my home address and who lists me as the principal beneficiary in his insurance policies and bank accounts, and whose driving fee I can never afford? 

Those 24 drivers would now be rolling with laughter. After their abbreviated stints in my employ, I am left with a driver I can't fire, suspend, berate, admonish, ignore, chide, pay, replace, nor name—for life.

They would be right, can anything be more hilarious?

P.S. Oh, I have an occasional driver, my friend G. But she and my driver above are two peas in a pod. The only difference is—G, who is gorgeous with a capital G, can disarm any traffic cop or any other driver on the road.  

A Dog's Love: The Second Time Around

When Attorney, our dog, was put to sleep by the Vet a month ago, we didn't give ourselves a period of mourning.

Illness came to her early (she was four years old) and she wasn't able to cross the critical line between life and death. But she brought us joy all those years and guarded our house fiercely from intruders. 

Losing a dog that loved unselfishly can be depressing, and the sooner you get out of the moping stage, the better.

Immediately, we looked around for one to fill the void left by Attorney and it came in a beautiful package that looks so similar to Attorney when she was that age.

The decision, therefore, to name her Attorney came from the real attorney in the house, JR, who was the late Attorney's real master. He said it was the most logical thing to do—and the wisest one, too.

So although Attorney (the first) is gone, another Attorney (the second) has come to love us and whom we will love in return.

Meet the new member of our household, Attorney II—another grace delivered at our doorstep.

Bird Nest on the Roof

It was too late for me to say, "Don't!" The painters had already wrecked and taken down a bird nest from our roof. The once awesome, sturdy nest made of twigs, hay, and feathers was now a sorry sight.

What was left of it was dumped on this bush in our garden. In this condition, the nest was no longer fit for the birds who made it their home. I am sure they will not come back. 

“Sorry, po,” the painters apologized, seeing my long face. “We can't paint the roof properly with a bird nest on it.”

What they ruined was a work of many days and maybe even nights.

Birds build nests to hold their babies and to give these helpless ones a safe shelter, a hideaway from predators, until they are old enough to fly on their own. A bird's building materials depend on what types of supplies it can find: grass, soil, twigs, feathers, rocks, etc.

To build a nest, a bird makes hundreds or thousands of trips to and fro just to gather building supplies piece by piece! Using only its beak, the bird carries these nesting items and constructs the nest by weaving the materials or putting them together using its saliva, or other sticky items like spider webs or mud.

When we think of a bird nest, we usually picture it on tree branches. But birds these days nest in and on many different places because their habitats are being destroyed by unscrupulous nature villains. Now you can find nests on rooftops, eaves, and even under the ground.

Nests come in different shapes and sizes. Sometimes they look like cups or bowls on trees. Some hang like sacks from branches. Some are flat, others are round.  Some nests look like piles of leaves and sticks—just like what was found on our roof!

Birds are indeed some of nature's greatest builders!

All the nests we see around us speak of perseverance and love. They were built painstakingly with so much love. 

I wonder how long it took for the bird on our roof to build that nest that now lies beneath the rotting mess in our garbage can?  It took seconds for the painters to trash it. 

May we never throw grace away in that manner.

Little Angels

On Halloween last week, I saw many children on the streets for “Trick or Treat”dressed and made-up like devils, ghosts, evil spirits, witches, and ugly monsters.

My stomach churned. 

The images in my head of little children have nothing to do with those; they have everything to do with the good and the beautiful. I think of kids as angels—lovable and adorable, God's delightful gifts to one and all.  

Call it a coping or healing mechanism, but when I lost my second son, Adrian, I pictured him as an angel happily playing in that wondrous place where Jesus lives. From that day to this day, over 30 years later, I can't imagine him any other way.

Some parents who dress up their kids in ghoulish costumes say, “Where's your sense of humor? It's just for fun!”

Fun for whom? For the kids? Will they have less fun if they were dressed like the lovely creatures in storybooks and fairy tales?

Children love wearing costumes, that much I know (having reared three boys myself), but parents have the authority to choose or censor or recommend. 

I liken this to choosing which books children should read. Today I have no jurisdiction over what my adult sons read, but when they were little, my husband and I had the responsibility as parents to make sure they read only  those that would make them see the goodness in people and God.

The evil things, well, they eventually learned them on their own just by going through life. But by then, they had strong enough foundation to choose between right and wrong.   

Once I read a book written by the daughter of evangelist Billy Graham. In it she narrated about one dinner where she and her brother were kidding each other about who was the devil. Billy Graham shushed them both. He said, nobody talks about the enemy on the dining table, not even in jest—the devil is no laughing matter.

As a children's book author, I am extra careful about the concepts, the characters, the moments, and the words I write. It is my desire that the children who read my books will learn only good values from them and help them grow up into well-principled and well-grounded adults.

The world has enough advocates of evil and to even add a hint to it—like costumes on Halloween—among innocent children is unconscionable.  

“Holier than thou,” I am not trying to be. I am simply a believer of little angels born purely of grace.

Last Song Syndrome

Insomnia was a malady I couldn't understand. I had absolutely no idea about tossing and turning in bed. 

I could sleep through any crisis, sleep with my eyes half open, sleep sitting down, and sleep standing up. All I needed was something to rest my head on and I would dream on. In fact, I often blogged and bragged about it.

Not anymore. I have been having bouts of occasional and intermittent insomnia. I wake up at all odd hours—12 midnight, 2 or 3 AM to go to the bathroom—and can't go back to sleep for an hour or two,  even if I sang myself a lullaby.

So I sing this song (not too loud, or the husband would kill me) instead—before, during, and after going to sleep, like an LSS:  

“When I'm worried and I can't sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep counting my blessings.

”                                

“No LSS can cure the sleep patterns of the aging,” one of my friends, who is suffering from the same problem, said. “We just have to get used to it.”

I researched this issue and I am more confused than ever. Medical studies show so many reasons for “sleep awakenings.” I can't pinpoint which ones are mine.

And so I sing my LSS and count my blessings—as you and I know, this can take forever. In the beginning of my sleeplessness, I got terribly frustrated. But now I simply go to bed early, too early, to make up for the hours I am up singing my LSS and counting my blessings.

Grace comes around to refresh me in the morning. And I count that as another blessing.  

Wordless Wednesday

The Tasteful Life

There are very few afternoons like this.

My bi-monthly luncheon friends and I had just wolfed down a tableful of unlimited dimsum at the Chinese restaurant in Shangri-la Hotel; the rest of the afternoon loomed large before us (translation: what now?). So one suggested going to the coffee shop to allow our digestive system to properly work on what we pigged on.

Some coffee, some tea, some mineral water. At exactly 3:00 PM, like a surprise dream while catnapping, a pianist in tuxedo played a hauntingly beautiful kundiman on the keyboard. We all suddenly swooned in chorus and discreetly sang the lyrics, which our generation knows by heart.  “Ikaw lamang ang aking iibigin . . .” (Loose translation: You alone will I love . . .) 

Then from different directions materialized lovely ladies in gown, more than a dozen of them, playing the same kundiman on their violins and flutes, and walking elegantly to swarm, like a host of angels, the stage where the pianist continued to play, now with a cellist, also in tux. The music went on and segued to another tune . . . then another. . . then another . . .      

    
 
The musical ensemble on a quiet afternoon reminded me of the days of yore when men were genteel and women were proper—a time of the tasteful life.  

That refined era is gone now, but one afternoon it came back for an hour or so to remind and regale us, like a cool breeze of refreshing grace. 

Postscript: (posted October 31, 10:36 PM)

I didn't think this special afternoon would happen again anytime soon. But it did.

This time, a new friend introduced by two BFFs, whose passion revolves around publishing Christian books, treated all three of us to lunch—in the same hotel and at the same restaurant. Our conversation naturally centered on our common faith, the fullness of grace, and my favorite pursuit: writing.

On our way out, we passed through the coffee shop where the same musical ensemble was playing nostalgic tunes. Will there be another afternoon like this?

Well, grace always surprises. 

 

Nationalism

The eternal challenge (and joy) in writing for children is painting with words.

Authors like kids to actually see and feel the excitement, the characters and where they are in the story. I grew up on books like those: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Treasure Island, The Secret Garden, Heidi, etc. and tons of fairy tales.
 
But from the beginning of my writing life, I've said over and over again, “Any book—be it fantasy or adventure that I write has to have a value/s in it, or I don't write at all.” Values . . . that's where the difficulty lies.

Some values are not very visual. One of them is nationalism. I've struggled with the brushes in my mind to try and paint it in various ways, yet I am never content. 

Nationalism is commonly defined as love for one's country.      

    

Historically, however, nationalism takes on a far greater meaning.  Over the years, large groups of people who share a cultural identity (language, customs, history) have felt the pulling power of nationalistic spirit—something like the belief that one's country is better off as an autonomous state, one that can stand on its own and ward off foreign dominion. 

Now, how can that translate to images that children can see and feel? Are they even ready for the concept?

Some of the pictures that appear in my mind on nationalism are children with their right hand on their chest while singing the national anthem, reciting the “Panatang Makabayan,” enjoying our native foods instead of imported ones, and proudly wearing a shirt with the Philippine map on it.  

I made an attempt in “A Flood of Kindness,” the #14 “Oh, Mateo!” book, where I dramatized love for one's place of birth. But what came through was the value of kindness instead. Nationalism played second fiddle.

I was given a second chance in “Quiet time with Mateo,” 52 weekly devotions for children. For the 11th month, in the chapter entitled “Love of Country,” I wrote four devotions: 1) Pride in One's Country; 2) Caring for Fellowmen; 3) Supporting Local Products; 4) Appreciating Your roots.

 

My thoughts: I barely scratched the surface; nationalism is such a multi-layered value that needs a series of stories, not just one; it can only be a subliminal theme in a story, not the main one; it shouldn't be belabored to be understood; it can't be forced on anyone, just suggested; it creeps in as one grows up and not learned in childhood. 

Meanwhile, let me go paint other values while my brushes on nationalism stand by and one day, a stroke of grace will illumine my mind on how to use those brushes for the words that create images in a story.

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