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| Credit: Prison Ministry |
Years ago, my dad was murdered in the hands of a man that has taught me hard lessons on forgiveness. I viewed the world back then as something ideal. That it is incapable of inflicting pain when you make the church your second home. When you believe that prayer is an invisible armor to protect you from the things outside the ideal world. That world turned upside down when at the very young age, I learned to fight my battles in silent ways after the death of my beloved father. Mostly, bringing my anguish to the feet of the Lord. To the bosom of the pierced Hands. It was a lingering question as to why good people has to suffer, having tasted its shadows monotonously. Repetitively.
Through the years, I learned to consecrate my pains to the One who saved all my tears. Life has to go on, me and my sister as fatherless. I guess, it takes a stronger soul to be better people despite the lashes life has given me. Us. To be a reduced person because of our situations is never an excuse to live a life of significance. Perhaps, an adage I always believe in has been our way of living: Pain can either break you. Or it can make you.
"I forgive you"
My father's murderer was killed in the same way he took my father's life. It was on the year 13 days after we remembered his 13th death year anniversary. The scar can never be silenced as it left a profound wound. It wasn't a vindication for the whole family. Because we knew what is a loss. We knew what Christmas is, or Father's Day without that person to greet with. We knew what Sundays are without the person preparing that Sunday meal. We knew how it felt receiving your school awards without the person to pat your shoulder. We knew so well.
And again, the universe has its own way of healing us. It may take time. But that time will always come. The hardest words to say came out easy.
"I forgive you". I closed my prayer with the hardest words from the deepest wound.
I knew.
I was free.
The Pain is making Sense.
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| Credit: Prison Ministry |
Forgiving someone doesn't have to stop with words. It should continue with actions.
My year doesn't feel complete without sharing what pain has made me. Through a friend in Prison Ministry, I yearly share my blessings to the inmates in Bacolod City Jail to bring Jesus' love behind bars. This is not to brag as I always love to cultivate my private life. A life that has to be lived bigger than the things I dreamed of having.This is to remind others who are in the same boat with what I have gone through the past. In the same boat with the inmates who are in prison.
Many of us are free but are prisoners.
Of pain.
Of the past.
Of guilt.
Of anger.
Of self-rejection.
Set Someone Free
I cannot judge the people inside the jail. The many "why's" from people who didn't know their story. I cannot judge as some of them are also victims of social injustices. Of dirty politics and the role of money in the justice system of the country. It's not my obligation to see the side of their many wrongs. As everyone has its own story to tell. It's my obligation to do what will Jesus do.
To love.
To forgive with no conditions.
Because when you forgive, you set someone free: YOURSELF.
Last Christmas, I was content with the family photos back home. Warm. Happy. Unpretentious. A sight to behold.
It was never like that when my dad passed away. It was horrible Christmas to date. No lights. No food. No hint of coming hope. It felt we were all night travelers rejected by the Innkeeper. It was messy. It was depressing.
Looking back, the plans of God are always just. Always for our advantage. Always for our growth.
We grew stronger as a family. We valued time as you never know what awaits after someone closes the door. And never comes back alive. We said our Iloveyou's like my uncles and aunties and mom are kids, and us, like kids who never age. Our rough edges were smoothed by God's mysterious ways. It was painful. But nonetheless, beautiful.
I live for moments like this. And always for something that is bigger than myself.
