He’s More Than That

“ Your husband is excellent!”

One of the doctors in the conference room commented the moment I sink on the chair. I sheepishly smiled, keeping all these not-the-first-time unsolicited comments from the people we work with. Knowing Benedict who would not brag the things he do, it’s overwhelming that people around us can see and appreciate those things.

Having married to him for months, I was so wrong to say that he was the answer to my prayers...

He would open the door of our home to welcome those who needs his help for their advance life courses. And he would do it in a way that they would really learn. There was a day right after Christmas when he packed fruits from our stocks to give to his patient and to the guards. He would be the one to pity strayed cats (and find them really cute). 

A week after we learned we are expecting of our first child, I was on bedrest because of threatened abortion. “In sickness and in health” came early. I would wake up with food in the table, our living room arranged that there would be no clutters on my way to bathroom. At night, he would put pillow so I can elevate my legs, socks applied on my feet. We would read our devotional and yes, talked to our little one, thanking God for all the pockets of mercies undeserved, yet, was given.

On my 5th week, I started to throw up. I can’t keep my intake down. I’d stay awake all night, in full swing of vomiting. My husband, whose sturdy and oh, always so handsome, would rub my back, wipe my tears and assured me that we are together in this difficult pregnancy. He would slip into slumber, tired not only from the day’s hurdles but also from ensuring that I would be just fine. I saw my man beyond his clean shaven face, eyes glowing in joy and pride during our wedding. It's the same man who would wake up at wee hours to join me in the sofa after cycles of throwing up.

I was so wrong to think that he was the answer to my prayers. He's beyond and much more of that!

Last night, I was watching him dozing off,  mouth agape. He was sleeping in silence. Like nothing could bother him. That's the same feeling he's giving me everytime he would stroke our growing little one in my tummy, kissed me goodnight with contentment. I would sleep then with a full heart. 

I have all that I ever wanted my whole life.

And it's all that matters.

Happy Birthday Benedict!

You are my favorite face of God.

God Heals. One Day at a Time.

We often go for nightly strides around the hospital premises. It was the beginning of the outbreak, a time when everybody has difficulty embracing the normalcy. We would see patients specific to the ward we knew would have limited to prohibited visitors. On few occasions, some of them, out of boredom, we concluded, would wipe their own window. Perhaps to kill time. Perhaps to hasten time. Perhaps, to disrupt time on a standstill. Little did I know that those scenarios were just preparations for the coming storm.

It was Sunday when we received our most awaited documents. On a Monday, Benedict was already in the Emergency Room. How time shifted from a calm sea to the raging waves, I can only clutch my hands in prayer.

The succeeding events wore me down. Being the Supervisor-On-Duty that day and attending to the love of your life, inserting his access, hearing the words I feared for the people I love. “He will be tested for COVID and admission is needed”.

I was brought back to those nights when both of us would think how it must be so difficult up there. Looking down here. It’s happening to us.

On his second day, my fear was fed when he called me and surely, I couldn’t swallow the lump on my throat. “Babe I’m positive”, his words cracking. It was a pivotal moment in our relationship. After all, we were in the middle of our wedding prep. 

I couldn’t count the number of calls I didn’t answer correctly that day, decisions I have to make not only being the Head Nurse of one of the busiest Units of the hospital and relieving for the Supervisory post, and at the same time, caring for the person you least wanted to take care of as a nurse: my Benedict. I pushed his wheelchair silently. Deeply wounded. Him as my patient. I, his nurse. 

I went home that day after God-knows-where I got the strength just to pull off my 12H shift, closed my door and for the first time, cried for the situation I never wished to a worst enemy to experience. 

It’s easy to be grateful when things are easy, when circumstances fits to what we shaped them to be, when we get what we wanted and prayed for. When the sea is calm and the waves are tender, softly washing our feet clean for the remnants of the sands that were once playfully there. I wanted my tears to do the same. That night. When I don’t know how we will keep this ordeal from Benedict’s family. From my family. The people who loves us the most.

I wanted the night to be over so I can see the glimpse of him. When an infiltrated IV cannula is my chance of holding his hand against my gloved hands, wistfully longing that this is just all a dream and that I would wake up with an extra inch of enthusiasm because Benedict is there, reaching for my hands ungloved.  

When difficult blood extraction becomes an opportunity for me to see the sight of him. Eyes weary from fatigue and heart drained. I can only depend on little pockets of mercies, wherever it is coming from.

Him trying to be strong because I’m around. I, trying to recollect whatever strength left because he is around. 

I wanted the day to be over so I can see him from the window waving. Or just merely there. Standing. Just like what we see months back. It’s happening to us.

The only difference is that I’m staring to the window alone, and Benedict, now the patient.

This wasn’t our plan. 

But this IS God’s.

The nights we would walk around and see those patients in the COVID wards were intended for us. God was preparing us in those nights for this bleak moment. It wasn’t the type we had foreseen, but exactly the type God knows we would endure together. 

“My grace is sufficient enough for power is perfected in weakness”. This is my favorite Bible verse Benedict was trying to memorize in one of our evening devotionals.

The days were indeed long and the nights agonizing. How we survived, it’s only by God’s grace alone. 

There’s no skipping ladder. 

There’s no shortcut. 

Carrying the Cross was never a straight path. But when He chose us to bear this cross, He designed it in a way it will be carried by two. By Benedict and I.

Last Saturday was St. Benedict’s day. On the sunny Sunday before the sun beats down, Benedict was discharged. 

3 days after, before we celebrate the Feast of Mt. Carmel, he was tested negative for the virus.

God didn’t only heal Benedict physically.

God healed our impatience.

God healed our doubtful hearts.

God healed our ego and pride.

God healed our sense of control.

God healed our rigid timelines.

God healed our poor ability to surrender.

God healed our limited vision of God.

It was a tedious journey. But at the same time, it was Redemptive. Transformative.

Winging everything we’ve seen and felt, all the terrors and miracles, we are resolved that these, and more, are cathartic to the soul. He was locked up in the four corners of that room, but our lives were open:  

For God to stage His ocean of mercy.

For God to perform the miracles if we allow Him to.

For God to use ordinary people for His purpose.

It was a languishing 17-day journey. 

But we’re finally home. 

God heals one day at a time. 

Dont Be Sorry You’re Single (For Now)

The social media hype has reached that point of no return. Our perception of happiness has been altered in tantamount ways. The Who’s-with-Who, Them-God-Knows-Where-Travels photos, and the list is endless. It’s as if your hashtags are the indicators of how well/bad you go through life. We have developed immunity. And I bet the cure is a gargantuan challenge. 

Right. I know exactly how it feels. Christmas time. Weather is cold. Blinding lights emanating from everywhere. 365 days at hand to completion. And there’s you. 

Very.Much.Single.

I knew so well how it must be felt. I share with your sentiments when asked with that repetitive, eardrum-inflicting pain question: “Why are you still single?”

There’s nothing wrong with you, beautiful soul. Please read that again. 

There’s nothing to be ashamed of from unsolicited comments of your Standards ( though I know how much you would want to zip someone’s mouth).

Don’t be sorry you’re single.

A married friend of mine dropped me a message telling me how lucky I am to be traveling the world. “Buti ka pa buhay single”. That was quite a message that I feel vindicated🤣 I politely replied that our blessings come in different forms and that perhaps, hers is being a homemaker. 

Perspective wise, you don’t know how many people would have wished your solitary life. That “Sana All” has exception. On the optimistic side, yah’ know.

Don’t be sorry you’re single.

It’s the best time to return favors to your parents, to your community, and most importantly, to your self. “You cannot give what you don’t have”.  Understanding fully a particular stage of your life gives you meaning to the next that’s waiting. You don’t have to feel stuck at your Season of Waiting. You can flourish at this stage to be the best version of yourself, no skipping ladder just because everyone else has been in that hashtag! And imagine how much of a giver you can be when you are already in a relationship. 

Don’t be sorry you’re single.

Life is giving you a chance to make sound choices. You are allowed to build those walls (I say so) and see the ones who are brave enough not just to conquer it but to be with the one who built it. That might sound traditional. That sounds kinda off track when cohabitation and One Night Stand are like hot cakes. And being a virgin makes you feel you don’t belong. You were left behind. 

Don’t  be that someone who is just settling because you are scared what everyone is scared about. Raise your market price. You are more than just a single commodity for a cheap relationship shopper. 

Don’t be sorry you’re single.

Your life now is like a jigsaw puzzle. There are pieces you don’t like. Pieces that won’t fit simply because you are in a hurry to fit them all. It’s as if the rope is getting shorter and the puzzle will never be complete. That abyss. That one thing. 

But listen to this: your timeline is not of God’s. Your theory of best is not of God’s.

One day, while Benedict and I are having this conversation, I learned how much he also yearned figuring out what’s on the other side of the horizon. I, on the other side, is also thinking his thoughts. 

Our parallel worlds. 

One that would never meet. 

But who can tell what lies beyond those parallels?

Imagine if I didn’t wait. Imagine if I settled from all the ones I met in my travels and ended up in a shallow relationship just to have something to call my own. Imagine if I jumped to the wreckage just for convenience and thirst for connection.

One day, when all the pieces fit, when the song you hum in your heart is audible enough it drowns your own rhythm, you will thanked those years of Pause. 

Those years of waiting? In God’s economy, nothing goes to waste!

There’ll not be a one second late when the One is right in front of you saying these words:“ I’m glad you weren’t sorry you were single".

P.S. 1

I started this article on a 14C, my coffee turned cold, Christmas tree glimmering at my back. Continued it in Los Angeles Airport during a layover. Benedict, on his scrubs, was calling me.

P.S. 2

Today, as I publish this article, my ring finger looked even better. I just said YES to his proposal.

Indeed,I wasn’t sorry I waited. I wasn’t sorry I was once single.❤️