"How Do You Listen To God?"

(c) Rene Tahum

"..Why would so many things conspire to save one for a girl's life?  What if she is no more special than anyone of us? What if we are all unique? And the universe loves us all equally. So much all that it bends on backwards across the centuries on each and everyone of us? And sometimes, we are just lucky enough to see it.."

I entered the beige-color place. Smaller. Everyone there knew who I am. But none of them my memory can grasp. I walked passed in the right corner. It seems like there's a ceremony. A confession, maybe. I stopped when I neared what I believed is the altar. I turned around to find the walls. But it didn't exist. I gazed back to the altar. Water springs from its center, now surrounding the doomed-shaped place. I know where I was. For in my random dreams, I always visit a church. I moved out of the place with mystery, as always. Why I am there, why it has to be me when it can be others. The why's are unending.

Now I can see the whole down view. I realized I am on top of the hill. Walking. But to where, I do not know. The sun is high, illuminating the stone henge surrounding where I am standing. I met a nun. In her old age. Wearing that black dress in which I can only see is the face. And the eyes that seemed to have known me. Back in time "You used to hold that scapular with enthusiasm", the nun said. I touched the thin cord around my neck, felt the little square I always carry with me. Wherever I am.

"How Do You Listen To God?", I asked her with a plea. But she only looked at me the way she did the first time we met. It seemed that I was asked with my own question. I turned around. The blue-green water is suspended in the middle of tall rocks. Calm. Still. I must be on top of the world to see all these things. The nun is nowhere to be found. I crossed the bridge. And I opened my eyes. 

One day, I will come to understand the purpose for this another waking day...

Among the bustles and hustles of life, how do you listen to God? 

With the seemingly nuisance of work, of piling bills, of  annoying traffic, how do you listen to God? 

Amidst the inevitable criticisms, judgments, disappointments, stones thrown at you no matter how good you tried to be, how do you listen to God?

When you cannot fit to the standards built by the world,  how do you listen to God?  

When trust is forge, when loyalty turns to betrayal, when love tears you down, when you are smashed into pieces, how do you listen to God?

I sat on the wooden box for sometime. Winter hasn't totally bid goodbye for the air is still giving me a chill. There are quite few stars tonight. Probably 5. Then I recounted again, for there are smaller ones that were not so bright. They are stars anyway. I felt the pain in my neck staring at them. Nothing to be called a starless sky. For they are always there. And for the longest time, I believed I was watching them. But no, they were watching me all along.

"Here I am, Lord. Speak to me. And let me hear You".

..No life is more important than  another. And nothing  has been without purpose. Nothing. What if we are all part of a great pattern that we may someday  understand? And one day when we have done what we are capable of doing, we get to  rise up and reunite with those we have loved the most. Forever embrace. What if we have to become..Stars."-Mark Helprin

..the blind man is rich..

I've been wearing my glasses for a short duration. Back in college, I can't afford to sit if it's not in the front or second row. The tendency is, my eyes become chinita-ier (no word in the dictionary), and my eyebrows, narrower. One day, I crammed when I cannot find where I placed my glasses. The pile of reviewers is waiting for me and the guilt of  this-procrastination-thing I can't overcome. My room seemed to have been visited by a tornado my Auntie came to rescue. "What are you looking for?" My eyeglasses, I replied exhausted.  "Y o u   a r e   w e a r i n g  i t!". Ouch, that was loud. I touched my head and felt the glasses strongly anchored on my haven't-shampooed hair. Blinding truth....

And speaking of that, there was once a blind beggar who lives alone in the street. A scavenger for years, dependent on the generosity of  other people, she lived a life saving the everyday coins she collected from everyday begging. One concerned person who knew her told her to stop, for she had accumulated enough. But the streets are her den, her home. And from where she feels secure, that's where she breathed her last. After her death, it was found out that she actually left a gargantuan amount, so huge that the coins valued to a thousand times at the present it is estimated to be a million dollar's worth. 

20/20 vision. I do not have that since I can't see things at a distance. The advantage of it, on the hindsight, is that you can't dwell with not-so-beautiful things from afar. The disadvantage though is that you often overlooked what is already there, that what you are looking for is in fact, anchoring on you, strongly. That you have to see it intentionally rather than looking at it. I've been wondering how many times I go on a day figuratively blinded. Seeing the messes rather than the blessings, glancing at all the wrongs and had set aside the things that are going right, overwhelmed by storms and forgotten my Anchor. 

Dear God,

Uncover my eyes so I can see the purest of Your intentions for me. Let me not be blinded by the light of wealth, the material prestige the world is offering, the treachery in honor and self-glory. Disturb me everyday to see what is good, to search for what is good, and do what is good; above and beyond any circumstance that puts my faith into test. Do not allow me to be selective in showing my compassion, for You have done it with me when I was less lovable. Remind my "beggar" spirit how scandalous and overflowing my Source is. Above all, remind that the blind man in me is actually rich with Your unfailing love.

Heal my spiritual blindness.
Have Your Way In Me.

..worth to get lost in the trail..

(c) Picspin

The mountain seemed to be a painting, cut out from a canvass and pasted on my front view. Capped by thin clouds around its tip while the occurring drizzles created a rainbow I cannot remember anymore how many colors it is made of. Exhilirating is an understatement. I can see from where I am standing the descending whole city, and I am relieved that at that moment, I alienated myself with the busy life there. The time that passes quickly without noticing slowed down here in this rain forest, and our tents were arranged in such a way that we are the lucky sole guests occupying the verdant spacious grass with heaven as our roof. Life on top of a hill, it's one of the many lists in my dream board. And the air I'm breathing, it's liberating.

We prepared our back packs for a hiking. It was early morning and the weather's gloomy, but not our enthusiasm to reach the waterfalls. We started out with reminiscing stories of highschool bloopers, and in a half hour, we are already at the dark insides of thick trees untouched by civilization. "No trespassing", we read the sign after figuring out that the trail we used to follow is actually close. Determined not to go back to the camping site, we did what seemed to be the craziest and so far, the  most perilous journey. We walked the strait of the river, having in mind that it has only one source, which is our goal: finding the waterfalls. Everyone is quiet now, as none of us cannot say what time is it, how far we've come and how long we'll be walking and climbing the rocks and logs along the river. It started to rain, and I felt the pang of fear of not going back again. Of not being able to attend my college graduation, not having to work in the hospital, and my top list of being the best wife and the best mommy should the water rise and flood us away. I fell on the shallow rocks and bruised my knees, but we kept going, as we can hear the strong gush of water falls...somewhat near, but where?

Hours passed, and though I'm poor in Math, I estimated about 3 hours of being lost in the trail. What consoled us the entire journey is the sound of the waterfalls. And having gone long enough, and hard enough, turning back without finding what we are looking for was never our option. Over our shaking knees.

The waterfalls welcomed us with such grace and splendor, as if it was worth journeying, worth losing in the trail, worth all the bruises. We bathe to our hearts, and the past hours of inconveniences were forgotten. It's a cliche but indeed, it was worth the wait. And though I've been there for many times, it felt like the first time.

How many dreams do we have in mind? Probably, some of them we dropped already. Because along the way, we can read the sign, "No Trespassing". We think it's a dead end, and that it is not for us. But somehow, deep in the strand of our hearts, we can hear the "gush" of our dreams, so intense that we are determined to use another path, no matter how impossible it may seem. We may fall once, even twice, and bruise ourselves in the name of pursuing it. But if you keep hearing it, somehow near but don't know where, it must've been waiting for you to find it, in grace and splendor. And if you find it, you'll thanked the rocks that once blocked your way, the falls you endured, the scars you bear. You'll forget the rain, the time that passed, the pangs of fear.

It was worth to get lost in the trail... And finding your dream.

"But no one can lose sight of what he desires. Even if there are moments when he believes the world and the others are stronger. The secret is this: do not surrender."-The Fifth Mountain

.. pull back and launch..

(c) Live Strong

It was early morning before the sun had fully risen when I moved out of the small room back in the island of Boracay. I sat on the cemented stair of the currently closed resto. It's not everyday that I get to have a pause, a laidback morning when I am just in a corner waiting for the sun to say hello while the magnificence of the horizon in front of me never failed to amuse my childhood curiosity of what lies after the infinity. The sound of waves are enough so that my heart is attuned to the gift of solitude I wasn't able to find in all those little successes I had earned so far. I was unreluctant to close my eyes amidst the passerby, because in those space, I can see nothing but the goodness of God chasing me wherever edge my feet touches. I am aware of that borrowed moment, a glimpse of what it is to be at peace with whatever and whoever I have at the present. The sands beneath my feet, the warmth it offers on a fine morning assures me that I am so much alive, that I am capable to feel the simple joy of living. 

Pause. Space. Silence.

These are the words I was after at during the days I was in the island. And while I am writing this, I noticed that the "space" bar in the keyboard is actually the biggest among other characters. Canyouimaginemewritingthiswithoutspace? Or is it easier to read it as "can you imagine me writing this without space?" True enough, the beauty of something manifests best after sometime of giving it a space. I've known people who jump from one relationship to another, only to find out that the same mistakes are repeated all over again. The loophole? They didn't give themselves the time to pullback and see the bigger picture, where to improve and mend that part that needs healing before giving themselves into another commitment. I believe you can't give whole from a broken part. And don't expect to get that part from someone else to make you whole. It's dependency, not love in generosity.

To wrap it up, allow time for growth in any area of your life. This is what I've learned from the past years of being single. To root. To step back. To pull a little way behind. Yes, there are uncomfortable days when I wished I was with someone romantically enjoying the island of Boracay, sitting by my side while I am on that pensive mode. On the hindsight, I'd like to feed my trust in the orchestration of my every piece put together for that  bigger picture that is yet to be revealed. 

In our discouragements, the failed attempts out of trying our best, the repeated finding and losing, the missed hits, never forget that God is holding us all the while, pulling us back, stretching us once in a while until it hurts, and then the unimaginable thing happens. He launches us to the greater target: beautifying our soul. 

The Archer knows His arrow and bow. Is there anything else we can do than trust?

"You have the skill, dignity and posture. You have a good grasp of technique, and you have mastered the bow, but you have not mastered your mind. 

You know how to shoot when all the circumstances are favourable, but if you are on dangerous ground, you cannot hit the target. 

The archer cannot always choose the battlefield, so start your training again and be prepared for unfavourable situations. 

Continue in the way of the bow, for it is a whole life's journey, 

but remember that a good, accurate shot is very different from one 

made with peace in your soul.". -An excerpt from the book The Way of the Bow 

..looking through our neighbor's garden..

(c) Robz Tan

When I went home for vacation last year, the last remaining days before going back here are indescribable torture. I wished days will lengthen as my flight schedule is nearing. One afternoon, I sat on our sala and watched my mother's garden. She's a hands-on wannabe when it comes to her pots of flowers. Then I was able to glanced our neighbor's garden, too. I started comparing. Their land area over ours when we have the same corner lot. I noticed that their grass are well-trimmed, there are various types of plants not found in ours, and the comparing went on for a period of time.

I woke up the following morning with mom not beside me. She rose up early, as she always did. I can hear the splashing of water in the window near our room. I curiously went out of the room to watch her. She's watering her plants. I felt a sudden guilt when I realized the time and effort she is investing everyday to grow the flowers in our garden while I was so busy comparing it to our neighbor's. I saw her hands caressing the leaves while she aptly removing the weeds. Indeed, beautiful people have ugly hands.

It becomes my habit to ride the bus very early in the morning. It's my most peaceful part of the day. I confess that the past days drained me from remembering God's goodness. The times when I prayed I'll be able to hit a vein so I'll avoid stitching my patient's skin and He would listen. The arid days when I would trivially pray for a lesser admissions so we can rest for a while from the contagious toxicities, and He would listen. Or when my ATM card was deactivated for my failure to update the required document and a colleague enthusiastically handed me the exact amount I needed. Or going home late and hungry and my flatmates cooked a good meal, exactly the one I was thinking when I said, "sana may pagkain sa bahay". In those times, I noticed that I can grasped my hands together tight and say "thank you, God".

It's easier to be grateful when things are easy, when we get what we want, when being lucky is entwined by being blessed. When things become not so smooth-sailing, our hands are interlocked snuggly. We start to overlooked the beauty in our "garden", the bounty of God's abundance in our lives. We can only see the rocks, the weeds, the not-so-greener leaves and all the Why-I-don't-have-this mentality. Amnesia creeped in in an envious heart. We forgot how God waters us everyday, caressing us so that we will grow. So that one day, He can put us in a pot and say, "This is what I'm working on 24/7. Isn't she beautiful?"

Forgive my ungratefulness.

"Can a mother ever forget her child?

Even if she will forget....

I WILL NEVER FORGET YOU"-Isaiah 49: 15