Is White Chocolate Chocolate?

Fast facts about chocolates from several sites on the Net: 

Approximately one billion people in the world eat chocolate every day.

Nine out of ten people love chocolate.

Fifty percent of people in the globe cannot live without chocolate.

Those facts make me odd. I am not a fan of chocolate. 

Although I eat chocolate, I don’t go out of my way to buy it, because I can live without this global favorite. What I love though—with a passion—is white chocolate, which is not chocolate. 

So why is it called chocolate?

It doesn’t look like chocolate or smell like chocolate, and it doesn’t even taste like chocolate. It contains no chocolate solids. It is usually made from a blend of cocoa butter, milk solids, sugar, milk fat and lecithin—a fatty emulsifier that holds it all together.

Nonetheless, I love this chocolate impostor.

I got a windfall, and what a windfall, of white chocolates last Christmas. My brother who resides in Australia came home for a vacation and in his bags were oodles of Australian chocolates. He gave my sons, who adore the stuff, enough to last them months. So I asked if he happened to have white chocolates.

He did. And I got them all (or most of them anyway).   

What’s so good about white chocolate? Let me ask back that question, “What’s so good about chocolate?”

My mind tells me this is a perfect illustration of that well-known adage (first recorded in 1576) that has become an English idiom, “One man’s meat is another man’s poison.”

And it is exactly what’s happening in our country today. Many Filipinos think that President Duterte is the best-ever head of the land; others think he is the worst ever. One side can never convince the other, so the status quo remains: a nation gravely divided.

Now what of this? “Any kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and a house divided against itself will fall.” Luke 11:17-18 (NIV)

Despite our taste differences—chocolate vs. white chocolate—may we never tire in praying for God’s grace to enlighten our minds about what is right according to His precepts.  

Mx.

In many official forms today, people are given gender choices: Mister, Miss, Mrs., Ms. plus that ambiguous word “Other,” about which I have always wondered. I know it to be a gender-neutral honorific but who actually ticks it off?

I need never wonder again.

According to Merriam-Webster, "Other" refers to those who do not identify themselves as belonging to a particular gender—or those who don’t want to be identified by gender.

Can you guess what this world-famous dictionary did to acknowledge "Other?" While we weren’t looking, it added an honorific just for him/her/whomever. 

Mx. 

Pronounced as mix, this new word has been in the Merriam-Webster Unabridged since April 2016 and added to their online dictionary last September 2017.

While the word isn’t used as an official title globally yet, it is already recognized and adopted in the UK and soon other parts of the world may follow suit. Men and women can then freely use it.

And men and women will completely be mixed up. No more shall there be bad and good, rude and polite, correct and incorrect, man and woman, black and white—just all shades in between.

2018 will be cluttered and mixed-up with new words and new identities, reminiscent of our famous Filipino dessert called “halo-halo” (transliterated as mix-mix).

In one tall glass are many kinds of fruits and some vegetables in various colors and shapes with bits and pieces of native cakes thrown it, plus milk and sugar mixed in crushed ice and ice-cream.

More and more people will demand for ways to acknowledge themselves, their individuality, their  me-ness.

This is not at all surprising; it is not going to get better. Apostle Paul warned Timothy, “. . . that in the last days there will be very difficult times.  For people will love only themselves and their money. They will be boastful and proud, scoffing at God, disobedient to their parents, and ungrateful. They will consider nothing sacred.”  1Timothy 3:1-2 (NLT)

By grace, we can keep the faith.  

The Unspoken Word: Aging

People often say to me, "You don’t look your age." I don't quite know how to react—smile or smirk. I am sure they mean well and want to make me feel good, but somehow, there's a disconnect somewhere.  

I feel my age. Every single year of it. I feel it in my bones, in my muscles, in my eyes, in my ears, in my gums, on my scalp and on my skin—in every place of me.   

Does that mean my body parts have aged before my looks?

Sheila Nevins (aged 78), an American television producer and the President of HBO Documentary Films, calls this "compliment" to women of a certain age as fairy tale. In fact, she wrote a satirical and hilarious book about women in this late life stage. She titled it: "You Don't Look Your Age and Other Fairy Tales."

When (or if) I get to be her age and still writing or training young writers in workshops and seminars, I will probably be hearing more "You don't look your age."

Our late househelp Manang Vi, whose oral bluntness was unrivaled, had doused my delight, "When people say that to you, they're wrong."

I replied, "You mean, they're lying?"

She said, "No. They just don't know what they're saying."

God bless her soul.

There's a statement that I wish people would say instead, "You're aging with grace." But there’s a stigma attached to the word "aging." You don't dare speak it to other people's lined face, unless you are a physician specializing in geriatrics.

The word grace does not come naturally in conversations, either—unless you are in Sunday school or a prayer meeting. 

But since “You don’t look your age” seems to be the “in” thing to say to people whose looks have obviously transformed from a fresh plum to a dried prune through the years, I should be grateful.    

  

Whatever changes my body (or mind) has gone and will go through, the only One that matters remains unchanged.

"I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you." I Isaiah 46:4 (NLT)

Ang Pao

That little red envelope with gold Chinese characters is known by different names in different places: ang pao, ang pow, ang pae, tae ea, lai see, ang-pau, or hongboao.

Let me simply call it ang pao.    

  

I must have lived a pretty cloistered existence before I got married, because I never knew of ang pao till my wedding—to a true-blue Filipino, in mind and in deed, of pure Chinese parentage. I was given a bulging one by my new in-laws. And to my surprise, it contained cash. All along I thought envelopes came with letters.

Then when son #1 was born, my in-laws handed me another one of these red carriers of treasure, “For our grandson.”

Ang pao had since become a part of my children’s birthdays, Christmases, holidays, and all occasions we celebrated as a family. Not only did I associate it with cash, I also linked it with my sons’ unbridled joy when receiving one from Angkong and Amah.

My in-laws are gone now, but I have made ang pao a part of my gift-giving. When I run out of gift ideas, I give cash in an ang pao. Okay, I also want it known I am partly Chinese.

“You don’t know its history,” son #3 rebuked me one day. “You could be carrying on a pagan ritual. Do you even know what those golden characters say?”

Well, the people I give ang pao to (Filipinos) don’t know what they mean either. Also, what harm could little red envelopes do?  So I went on my merry way.

But last Christmas I was short on ang pao while wrapping my Christmas gifts. So I rushed to the mall. Alas, I went from store to store and found none. “Out of stock po,” said the sales people.

I suddenly realized how popular ang pao is! That got me curious about its whys and wherefores, and so here's one legend that my research yielded . . .

During the Sung Dynasty in China, a village called Chang-Chieu was terrorized by a huge demon. No warrior could defeat it. However, a young orphan with a magical sword inherited from his ancestors dared fight the demon and killed it. The village elders presented the brave young man with a red envelope filled with money for his courage. Since then, ang pao has become a symbol of Chinese celebration. 

Like any beautifully wrapped gift, ang pao brings grace. And that is a beautiful thing.

When Your Wine Runs Out

Why would Jesus choose turning water into wine, in a wedding, as his first miracle?!

I’ve struggled with that question for years, especially because today, intoxication (drinking too much wine) is frowned upon. With technology, I’ve researched the subject and got an overwhelming volume of answers that can’t be understood unless simplified. I never got around to distilling them—for me to live by.

Up until last Sunday when our pastor preached about it.

And now, I see it clearly. I am distilling it (as I did for 20 years with 30-second ads from volumes of information) here so I will always remember.  

Back in Jesus’ day, people were hard workers with so little time to have fun. A wedding feast was therefore a big deal; it stretched to a week.

Such was the wedding in Cana to which Jesus was invited.  Wine was an essential element in the celebration; it was a source of joy, hope, and rest. But into the third day, the wine had ran out. What a catastrophe! The hosts would be shamed, the guests would be disappointed, and the feast would be a flop.

Worried, Jesus’ mother (John 2:1-11), tells her son about the problem. Jesus answered, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come!”

And yet, He turns water into wine enough to last the festivities.

The feast symbolizes the celebration of our new life in Christ. Just as wine was the customary drink at weddings, and just as a man and woman are joined in marriage, so are we with Christ after our life on earth ends.
 
Being united with Jesus in the Great Beyond will be a feast where joy, hope, and rest will never run out.

Remember the last supper? Jesus said (Matthew 26:28), “. . . this is my blood, which confirms the covenant between God and his people. It is poured out as a sacrifice to forgive the sins of many.”

Yes, wine was generously poured in miraculous grace—from a wedding in Cana to the last supper.

In this analogy, modern man often runs out of wine (for various reasons). We feel empty, spiritually dry and depleted, becoming weak and tired. But, if we we have so much of Christ in us, we will never run out.
 
“What happens when your wine runs out?” asked our pastor. “It’s when a miracle takes place.”

Jesus will turn your water (troubles) into wine! When Jesus says to Mary, “Don’t worry about the wine; my hour has not yet come,” He means that our real need cannot be met by more wine (our material cravings on earth).

It could only be met when Jesus’ hour comes: when His body is broken for us and His blood is shed for us on a cross.

This miracle is not about alcohol consumption at all.

It is about our present: Jesus turns our struggles into wine and meets the deepest needs of our heart.

It's about our future:  In the afterlife, we will enjoy a grand feast with Him.  

Love of Land

My parents' farms in our home province never grew on me. Not even with the happy memories of my growing up years with four siblings: we would watch crops being harvested, roll on haystacks or run around fields, and feast on newly roasted corn.

After my parents passed on and I had a family of my own, I washed my hands off those lands even if the onus fell on me, being the eldest. For one, I can’t grow anything, not even weeds I plant on purpose.

I abdicated and told my younger sister (who has gone back to live in our old home), I would go along with whatever she decides. But now, she is getting on in age, too, and is busy with church pursuits.

Thankfully, our youngest brother, Dave, has taken up the cudgels and recently supervised with his wife the planting of corn in one parcel and rice in another. He documented for us the corn growth process through photos and e-messages that my mind punctuated with exclamation points.

And now comes grace galore. It is harvest time!     

And I suddenly miss roasting and eating newly harvested corn (but not the land).

Only someone like Dave who treasures the great outdoors can watch any crop grow from sowing to reaping.

He would have done our parents proud.

As he awaits his rice harvest, I wrote Dave that whatever share I have from the produce (two other siblings echoed my sentiments) would go to the local church fund (Project Nehemiah it is called) so the parsonage could be built on another land that my grandparents bequeathed for the sole purpose of serving the Lord, Who in fact and in truth, owns every land anybody will ever till or “own.”

“For the LORD your God is bringing you into a good land—a land with brooks, streams, and deep springs gushing out into the valleys and hills; a land . . . where bread will not be scarce and you will lack nothing . . .” Deuteronomy 8: 7-9 (NIV)   

No Kyok

Ever heard of the word kyok before? Most likely not. It is archaic and not found in any dictionary. Yet members of our clan say it all the time, even if we don’t know exactly how it’s spelled. 

 

Kyok is a word that defined the attitude of six generations of us (huge now at over 400 members scattered all over the world), and shaped the way we perform today.

It was our grandfather's (lolo) command word during our family reunions, where the highlight was a talent show or program of sorts. He and our grandmother would place before the stage a batia (another archaic word that means, huge metal basin made from an old drum or large tin can, used for washing clothes).

Then they would sit in the front row with a bagful of coins.

As their children and grandchildren performed (dance, song, declamation, whatever), they would throw into the batia coins that clinked and clanged, encouraging the performers to do their best. 

Nobody was spared from performing. Lolo, with his autocratic Hispanic posture, would declare in Ilocano, "Awan ti kyok!" (Rough translation, “No kyok!”) Kyok means, cowardice to perform.  "No kyok” therefore translated to, “Perform or else!'  It didn't matter if your performance was not the best; what mattered was, you did your best, if only because you did it.

This led me to believe that business' just-do-it principle was inspired by my grandfather's "No kyok!”

The just-do-it corporate attitude, as defined in management books, means, "Start your work immediately, and get things done. Do not waste time doing unnecessary research or learning unnecessary skills. Do not squander time being shy and lazy, or indulging in wishful thinking."

Taking this further, "If you want to succeed in life, you have to work hard and create things using your talent. If you kyok, and do not take action when you should, you'll never succeed—your batia will be empty.” 

My grandparents, being Christians, lived this value from Philippians 4:13 (NLT), "For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength."

Such was the mindset of all the 206 reunionites (or clanistas) of all ages who attended our end-year-beginning-year 73rd reunion—not only on talent night, but also in all activities.

Chaired by a sub-clan whose members mostly live abroad, the reunion’s battle cry was still "No kyok!" And the batia (a modern version, since the old form has become extinct) clinked and clanged even more outrageously.   

It's amazing how this attitude, including the batia, lives on in us to this day. These photos show it all:

What grace is mine that I belong to this no-kyok clan! 

 

Group photo by nephew Egay
All others (collage) by nephew Pastor Jeff

Getting to Know You

All the exhilarating essentials that make our clan look forward to our annual reunion was in place, except for one additional bonanza. Our 73rd reunion was hosted by the sub-clan whose over 30 members live in the US. And majority of them flew in to attend it!

This three-day-two-night event was planned entirely abroad. Except for some assistance from a local executive committee, everything—from the theme, logo, advertising, activities to communications—originated from across the miles. Social media made it all possible; it bridged all gaps.

It was Broadway time.

"Getting to Know You" from The King and I musicale served as a most fitting theme since many of the reunionites (or clanistas as we call ourselves) have not met the hosts for years, or at all.

Broadway it was, too, because one of our nieces is a Broadway star, who has played many major roles in different musicales over the years. Ali Ewoldt currently plays Christine Daae—the first Asian-American to be cast thus—in the long-running Phantom of the Opera. 

(Photo from Rodney Ingram's website)

We have a newsletter, edited by son #1, which details all activities, but because it has limited pages, it could not document all the untold grace through kin who came from all parts of the world.  Each one, therefore has his own heart newsletter, and this one’s mine.

The riot began at registration (total 206, an unprecedented number) when cousins, nieces, nephews, grannies, aunts and uncles—ages one year to 89—saw each other again. I, for one, could not believe that the cousins of my childhood were just a hug away, and my soul clock yo-yoed between the happy past and the happier present.

Ours is a competitive, no-kyok (this word deserves a separate post; for now, I’ll simply define kyok as, “Perform or else!”) clan and so everyone gave his all in the games, sports, talent night, videoke, etc. 

(The yellow team, to which I didn't belong, was the over-all champion in all events.)

(Top photo: Ali Ewoldt performing with her sub-clan.)

A solemn memorial/thanksgiving service officially opened the reunion, after which every good and noisy thing erupted. Divided into teams, our version of the Olympics began.

We have grown too big to fit our traditional love-circle into any hall. So we made do with a squiggly shape to re-enact for the 73rd time the “The Tie That Binds” (our hymnal battle cry) to say goodbye to 2017 and welcome 2018.

Holding on together, we sang old favorites and after a thanksgiving prayer by our resident pastor, our oldest clanista started the electric handshake and then, 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

And I sang . . .

Suddenly I 'm bright and breezy,
Because of all the beautiful and new
Things I'm learning about you (all 200 plus of you!)
Day by day.   

Photos by nephews Egay and Noel

555,555

I’ve waited for this number for some time. If only I could catch it, I wished, I’d take a screen shot. Why ever not? It comes only once in a blog moon.

I am referring to my blog hits. When I reached the half a million mark early this year, I had this hopeful thought to reach this six-digit number five.

Then on Christmas eve, while waiting for the clock to strike 12, I visited Leaves of Grace, and was surprised to see my blog hits almost reaching 555,555. I kept returning to the page on my computer screen—between gift unwrapping and reading my new Bible devotional on Grace, a Christmas present from son #1.

And there! My 555,555 suddenly came. Click, click, click—before it could change.

A mundane thought: The next time I’d have uniform numbers would be more than a hundred thousand hits from now. Wouldn’t it be great if I took a screenshot of 666,666? 

Nah, those numbers have too pregnant a meaning.

While reading Dr. Roger Barrier’s (author and retired pastor) explanation of what the book of Revelation says about the number 666, I have second thoughts about celebrating it. If you’ve been reading about the last days, we are told about an Antichrist which is closely associated with the number.

Of course, our limited knowledge cannot fathom what that number really means. The Bible is, after all, both historical and prophetic. So since we are now living in dangerous, chilling times, I’d rather not celebrate it.

In fact, numbers shouldn’t a blogsite make. These e-leaves will continue to write about grace till it reaches its ultimate number on planet Earth.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Psalm 90:12 (NIV)

Resibo

Fake news abound today. What’s worse in our country is that the most notorious fake-news peddlers are columnists who occupy high positions in government.

Amidst this scenario of falsehood, fabrication, and filth, a brave purveyor of truth shines  through: PAB.

She dares condemn the lies of the powerful and mighty in her Pinoy Ako Blog (PAB). With every controversial issue she writes about, PAB presents proof (equivalent to in-text citations in academe or supporting documents in court) to underpin her statements and calls it resibo (official receipt).

Thanks to PAB, I now have the exact word to prove that the news below isn’t fake.

I keep bragging to friends that one of my nieces is a Broadway star, the current Christine Baae in Phantom of the Opera, no less. But nobody takes me seriously. They think it’s a joke. 

Well, Ali Ewoldt recently came to the Philippines to attend our three-day clan reunion, where she awed us with choice songs from her various Broadway roles. With mouths agape, and jaws locked in mid-air, we watched and listened. Tear-drenched eyes with matching goosebumps filled the hall. Such soulful, soaring soprano voice!

Resibo. 

That's Ali and me. If you think that’s not moi . . . 

Resibo.

(From left) son #1, son #3, moi, and Tony, all made-up for our family presentation.

Resibo. 

Ali’s signature and my name. Only family calls me Grace May.

I first met Ali when she was just toddler, in one of my rare trips to New York. At that early age, she already showed promise in music and acting. Years later, I read about her in the news. And then I get to see her again in person—not as a toddler but as an unassuming celebrity.
    
Resibo.

Resibo.

Resibo.

Bravo, Ali! Keep using the grace of singing that brings joy to music lovers in various parts of the world.

“In his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well . . .” Romans 12:6

Mateo Wins Big

In the context of the New Year, I am writing about Christmas.

Every December, the University of the Philippines (UP) campus in Diliman erupts with lights, colors, and fireworks at what people have known as the annual Lantern Parade, a tradition which began in 1922.

Then it was a simple homage to an old Christmas tradition at the UP Manila campus, but has evolved into a spectacular event with remarkable creations (lanterns, floats, music and costumes) that are mostly commentaries of the social and political landscape of the country.

Once when I was still a student, I was honored to be chosen as its emcee. That’s why the UP Lantern Parade brings warm memories.

But the festive event suddenly became even more meaningful for me this year because of Mateo.

“Mateo?! Mateo of the ‘Oh, Mateo!’ series?!”

15 books, plus a devotional 

“Yes, that Mateo."

At this point, I will let AT and GMA News tell the story:

“At the tail end of the 2017 Lantern Parade were the works of the students from the College of Fine Arts, who compete in their own category. Their creations were a celebration of human rights, especially rights that every child enjoys at birth.

“The students visualized a child's right to life, right to be safe from harm, right to education, and right to information among other things.

“Second year students who presented right to self-expression won first place!" (Exclamation point mine)

Mateo was the students’ top-of-mind choice to: “Speak Right, Speak Love.”

I could only guess why. These students (aged 16 and 17 today) must have been reading the “Oh, Mateo!” series while learning to read and growing up.

Mateo is an eight-year-old, adventurous Christian boy whose mother died when he was a baby. His father, a hardworking farmer in a small town, is bringing him up single-handedly.   

Together with OMF, my publisher, I envisioned Mateo to symbolize children reared on good values such as RESPECT (for elders, peers, nature, rights of others), HARD-WORK (in school, at home, in the neighborhood), and HONESTY (with money, possessions, words, feelings). Award-winning art director, Beth Parrocha-Doctolero, gave Mateo a unique, lovable image, and she went on to illustrate all 15 books of the series. 

This winning float therefore affirms Mateo, what he stands for. He won not only in the competition, but won big in the heart of children.  

Every new year, as kids grow up and outgrow the “Oh, Mateo!” series, I pray that they will never outgrow the Christian values they learned through him. And that new, younger readers will find a friend in Mateo.

Happy New Year!

Gift Exchange

Why do people give gifts on Christmas?

Many speculate that the three wise men who traveled hundreds of miles to pay Jesus homage with gifts started it all.  When they finally “saw the child and his mother, Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasure chests and gave him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.” Matthew 2:11 (NLT.)

I personally believe we give gifts on Christmas because Jesus gave Himself as a Gift to all. In our own little ways, we want to emulate that unparalleled gift-giving.

Unfortunately, gift exchange today has become so commercialized, even taxing. Yet give gifts we “must” and spend weeks shopping, wrapping, and tagging.

We simplified all that at our OMF Lit’s Christian Writers’ Fellowship (CWF) Christmas party:  “Bring a book you love to be exchanged with someone’s.”

 

Days before the party, I kept changing my mind about which book to give away. If you love books as the CWF members do, you know that one of the most difficult things to do is to part with a book you love.

Sure enough, the words spoken at the party were about (each had to explain the book he was sending off), with apologies to Shakespeare, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“I bought many copies of this book because I wanted family and friends to read it. And now this is my last copy and . . .”

“This book was such a blessing to me. I’d love to keep it forever but . . .”

“I love this book so much, it makes me cry even if I read and re-read it. But it’s about time someone else is given the chance to cry . . .”

“This is my favorite book, but I discovered there are still copies at a book store so I am giving it away.”

“Before I became a Christian, I read lots of apologetics. Now I know the truth so I am giving one away.”

There are many more quotable quotes but I got so excited when I received my book, I missed taking down more notes.    

Goodbye (left) and Hello (right) 

What a meaningful Christmas gift (I mean, book) exchange!

Red Leaves

Over coffee, between the Sunday worship and Sunday school, our two pastors and I had some kind of a speculative discourse (some people call it idle talk).

“Do you think we would all look the same in our glorified bodies in heaven?” I asked.

“Definitely not,” they stressed.

“Just look at how diverse creation is,” one explained

“Yeah, not even identical twins look exactly alike,” the other added.

I brooded over those thoughts as I changed my header for this blogsite. When I think leaves, I think only green (in different hues and shades)—even if I had gazed at and oohed over many autumn leaves.

Of course leaves come in different colors! We studied in grade school the three pigments that color leaves: chlorophyll (green) carotenoid (yellow, orange, and brown) anthocyanin (red).

And because it is Christmas, we see poinsettias—red leaves—adorning shops, homes, and other public places.

The Poinsettia (Euphorbia pulcherrima), which is indigenous to Mexico, derived its name from Joel Roberts Poinsett, the first United States Minister to Mexico, who later brought the plant to the US in 1825.

The plant’s leaves are actually all green initially. But because it is so sun sensitive, it cannot produce chlorophyll when it is deprived of enough light.  In a state of darkness, the only color that it can produce is red.

If you have a Poinsettia plant, bring it to a dark place. Soon it will oblige you and, through a process called photoperiodism, it will give you nothing but red leaves.

There are many other plants with red leaves such as those in my collage.

 

Our Creator’s creativity is boundless. Just look at all the unlimited shapes, sizes, and colors of anything visible or even under a microscope.

If even leaves aren’t colored the same, then glorified bodies will be more varied than we could ever imagine.

“O LORD, what great works you do! And how deep are your thoughts.” Psalm 92:5 (NLT)

Merry Christmas!

Cold Turkey

This idiom means, “Stop doing or using something abruptly and completely.”

It held true for my family on Christmas eve, last night. We stopped our traditional roast-turkey dinner at home, cold turkey.

I remember each annual roast turkey prepared by Tony in the old days (when my three boys were still growing up). Then Manang Vi, our long-time househelp, and son #3 in the years that followed (when son #2 had started his own family abroad) took over—up until last year when we opted for a ready-made bird ordered online. It was because Manang Vi had retired and son #3 was helpless without her.

The prospect of another pre-ordered turkey this year was unappealing. So we agreed to dine on some chef’s turkey in a nearby hotel.     

(Upper left and right) The boys give the bird a once-over. 

Gift unwrapping (left); a tree I didn't have to trim this year.

It wasn’t nearly as good as our home-cooked turkey year after year. Not because of its taste (it was tender and yummy), but because it didn’t create for us memories—recorded on countless photos—of planning, of shopping, and of anticipating how it would finally turn out.    
 
I feel wistful, as I guess people often do when the many Christmases they have celebrated with family wax and wane with the tides of time.

But I also feel joyful, as I reflect on that first Christmas when Christ was born to save those who believe.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God . . .” Ephesians 2:8 (ESV)

CHRISTMAS: The soil of humility

(I was tasked to be the devotional speaker at our OMF Christian Writers' Fellowship [CWF] Christmas party last week. Some of those who failed to attend have requested that I post my reflections. Sharing with you the abridged version.)    

When I reached the age of reason, the first thing that would come to my mind on and about Christmas was: HUMILITY. I’d imagine the circumstances of Jesus’ birth—no room in the inn, manger, shepherds, etc. 

Why would the Greatest of all, the Owner of all, the Wisest of all, and the One who needs nothing else would come to an earth filled with evil men and be birthed as One of them?

Incredible. But such is humility—inconceivable, mind-blowing, and hardly achievable by mortals with a sinful heart. Tim Keller wrote in Christianity Today, “Humility is so shy. If you begin talking about it, it leaves.”

And here I am talking about it tonight. It’s almost Christmas after all, and if we can put a date on when humility was birthed or came into our consciousness, it was on Christmas.

The word humility is from the Latin word humilis, meaning “low, lowly.”  It literally means “on the ground,” from humus (earth). As humans, we are “lowly creatures of earth.”

But do we see ourselves that way? The way we really are? Meaning, are we humble? Are you? Am I?

Our pastor said in one of his sermons, “If you say—or even just think that you are humble—you are not.”

And yet, humility is crucial for you and me as Christian writers.  Because we can only receive Christ through meekness and humility, upon which we hinge all our writings. Matthew 5:3 says, “God blesses those who are poor and realize their need for him.” In verse 5, “God blesses those who are humble, for they will inherit the whole earth.”     

Now knowing how BIG God is in relation to our humanity, how can we not feel small?

Philippians 2:6-8 spells it out for us: “Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross.”

Can we even come close to such humility?

Jesus’ humility was a planned, conscious act.

Let me digress a bit and mention a planned, conscious act as an illustration that is closest to my circle. I personally think that some of the humblest human beings on earth—and that is not just to make them feel good—are the book editors.

Invisible People

In making our Christmas gift list, many of us suddenly remember all the people we ignored (those whose eyes we never met; whose voices we never heard; and whose names we didn’t bother to ask) all through the year. Swiftly, we (I am actually talking to myself here) add them to our list. 

This list—perhaps due to guilt or an itch to give because it’s the season of giving—includes the invisible people around the neighborhood and in the places we go to or pass through regularly.

On Christmas, we acknowledge their existence and at last, they become visible.  

And who are they? Those who make our lives better all year through: the street cleaners, the garbage men, the traffic policemen, the janitors in our offices, the messengers, and security guards, to name a few. Listing them is like atoning a one-year-old sin of omission.

I read somewhere about a homeless guy who really thought he was invisible. He roamed the streets night and day. But nobody, not one, ever glanced his way or exchanged a word with him. One day, however, a little boy gave him a Christian pamphlet.

Stunned, the man asked, “This kid can see me?! How is that possible? I am invisible!”

This may not be a true story, but it illustrates how unnoticed people feel about themselves.

Sometime ago, as I was labelling my Christmas gifts for the invisible people who figured in my places of work, I couldn’t write one name. Not only did I feel mortified, I felt like I dishonored them. After I had researched and finally written down all their names, I personally handed each one my gift, calling him/her by name for the first time.

“Merry Christmas, Burnok/Mayet/Erning, etc.” The smiles they gave me in return were priceless grace, as though raising the cost of the gifts I had wrapped for them to the price of gold. 

A bit late for me to learn a lesson, but since then I have tried to know better the people I deal with regularly by first, knowing their names, and second, making a connection. A simple “Hi, Maria!" or, “How are you doing, Mario?” can lift her/his spirits.

Such is one of the countless life lessons I have learned from Christmas to Christmas.  

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:34-35 (NIV)

Photo credit

A Tradition Ends

Our family tradition of putting up a tree every Christmas has come to an end.

It was a tradition I began when I Tony and I had our son #1 in the 70s.  It seemed like the right thing to do, a creative expression of sorts. Year after year, I would have a different motif which took me the whole year to dream up and the whole day to put up.

I know all about its pagan origins and why it is not necessary to celebrate the birth of our Messiah, but I enjoyed the activity.   Perhaps because my long-time househelp, Manang Vi, would nag me about our yearly and all-day ritual.

This year, however, there is no Manang Vi. She passed on last month, and it feels like we have lost not only a tree enthusiast but a family member who shared our traditions. 

“I don’t think I will put up a tree this Christmas,” I thought aloud.

“Good idea,” Tony immediately replied, solving my indecision.

I skipped telling son #1 and son #3, because from my observation over the years (since they reached the age of enlightenment), they are no longer Christmas tree fans.

Another good idea was the announcement by our church’s youth pastor: “We are raising funds for the December Youth Camp out of town. If you want to get rid of your junk, we’d be glad to pick them up.”

It was an ideal time to visit our storeroom, which had been under the exclusive jurisdiction of Manang Vi.

Aaargh.

I needed a face mask to protect me from years of dust covering old suitcases, golf clubs, bowling balls, paintings, baskets, knick-knacks, plaques, equipment, trophies, plus all other unrecognizable doodads—and my Christmas tree and heaps of Christmas decors!

With the help of Bonna, Manang Vi’s former adjutant, and who is now trying super hard to fill in Super V’s shoes; and Sammy, driver of son #3, I packed 75% of the storeroom’s denizens for our church's youth fund drive. After thorough cleaning, the once jam-packed room might have said, “What a relief!”

What to do with the Christmas tree and old decors? Plenty. Just twist, cut, shred, combine, separate, and mutilate—with no theme in mind.

 

Expenses for the decor: zippo.

Fund for the youth: almost there.

Grace for the home: much more than we deserve.

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:18 (NIV)

Young Writers Radiate (Day 2)

Day 2 of “Radiate: Young Writers’ Workshop” was held exactly a week after the first.

By this time, the 22 participants had already written their second essay, which—after some tweaking or editing—would be included in the book project we were preparing for.

We (CSM editorial team and I) spent a large part of the day on feed-backing: evaluating and discussing their second work, while referring to the basic writing principals we learned on day 1.

Some of the essays made me tear up, some made me laugh. The harvest was plentiful.

We agreed on the importance of journaling, every day. Writing for the Lord is not a sporadic when-I-have-time activity. It takes more than a laptop, or pen and paper, or a special time reserved just for writing—it takes all of oneself.
 
We analyzed why a writer needs to re-write and re-write after his/her first draft.

We assessed our general writing output: why good enough is not nearly good enough.

As we bade good-bye—to meet again at the book launching, for sure—we promised ourselves to continue honing the gift of writing entrusted to all 22 + 1 (me) during the two-day CSM workshop. And that we should always reflect the radiance of God’s marvelous grace in every word we write.  

"Writing should be for God's glory alone."

"Your words should help heal and inspire others."

"Make the reader see and feel exactly what you mean."

"From today, start writing your own story of grace."  

"This is the beginning of an amazing journey."

Young Writers Radiate (Day 1)

As far back as February this year, this training/workshop—held recently, nine months later—was  already announced by Church Strengthening Ministry (CSM) Publishing:

“Offering millennials an opportunity to speak to their generation, Radiate is a writing workshop created intentionally for young writers in English who are interested in being trained to write for publishing and are passionate about the ministry of the written word.

“Radiate aims to reflect God’s glory through the prism of life experiences of this younger generation. It aims to hone the potential of aspiring writers and to encourage them to boldly tell their stories of faith to inspire others and draw them closer to God.”

The early announcement was necessary because the workshop required a screening. Would-be participants had to write a 500-word essay on why they want to write.

Twenty two were chosen to attend the training held on two successive Saturdays.

Some of them had already written for their school paper, but majority still had to write their first published work.

Before I clicked on my first slide, it was apparent that everyone was on the same wavelength. The enthusiasm was so palpable, I knew I was among kindred souls who were likewise birthed with the passion for writing. It was a moment of grace; I couldn’t wish for a more radiant group.

The day (9 to 4 PM) went by quickly, too quickly.

Millennials, according to research, could not listen, concentrate and do exercises on a topic for hours, but this group of 22 proved this empirical datum wrong. The photo collages below try to tell the story of that adrenaline-charged Saturday, but fail. No camera could capture the outward radiance that springs from intense feelings deep within.  
     

"Let's engage our readers with stories."

"Content, content, content. Fancy turn of phrases come later."

"What do we want readers to think after reading our piece?"

"We are not preachers. We are writers baring our soul."

Nine Days in November

Everything unusual and unexpected seemed to happen in those nine days last month, November 2017.
 
Earlier, classes were suspended almost every week due to typhoons. Then classes were suspended again for three days because of All Saint’s Day. Then classes were suspended again because of the ASEAN summit.

Some things had to give.

Since very few working days were left in the month, every one of my activities were crammed in those nine days: make-up classes, a series of seminars (scheduled since March), on top of regular classes and activities. All these needed slides, readings, presence, participation, and various preparations. I had to turn down an opportunity to have a book talk in the Middle East because there was just too much on my plate.

“Lord, please help me get through these nine days,” I begged daily for mighty grace.

The nine days didn’t go like a breeze (I spent more time worrying and painting scenarios of dismal consequences rather than concentrating on my activities), but—to borrow an old idiom—I was none the worse for wear.

After the ninth day, I soaked in the bath and treated myself to a nine-hour sleep. But not before I rebuked myself and asked forgiveness for forgetting about this verse: