The Virtues of Filipino Bravehearts

It was a hot Saturday morning and I found myself on the road again with my photo adventure partner (what's left of two wings since the other one left for London) grabbing a sausage Mcmuffin with egg breakfast at McDonald's before hitting the South Expressway to Enchanted Kingdom, Sta. Rosa Laguna. I was invited to attend this camp because I have always been wanting to get involved in something that's got to do with little children.

Children have a way of reaching me and breaking through the walls that have built the facade that says: ADULT - DO NOT TOUCH - IS HERE FOR BUSINESS. I know this and I have been on the journey of shedding off some skin because I have started to believe that the world is a much more pleasant place to live in if I let the calloused walls of my heart fall down.

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I entered the tent and was immediately greeted by Mrs. Stephanie Cabanes. A mother of 3. Her eldest son Jarro now 23 years old, has experienced open heart surgery 3 times in his life for a condition called anti-phospholypid anti-body (APA) syndrome that damaged his aortic valve. She is one of the pioneers of conceptualizing Camp Braveheart in 2001. Camp Braveheart is her advocacy to the cause of bringing back hope to the families of children who have congenital heart disease. Her vision: to let them know that there is still room to dream again.

I saw glistening tears forming from the side of bright brown eyes and I felt mine surge to the surface as well. It is one of those moments where the soul speaks louder and breaks the barriers of age, experience, and environment. I was moved by how this has fueled her passion to live despite the moments wherein she hung by a thread close to giving up.


The irony of being in a Filipino middle class family is when you are not poor enough to be the cause of charity organizations and you are not rich enough to easily afford the expenses that hit you like a shockwave when you are in the middle of a family crisis. But it is here when all solutions seem to fail that another one shows up to unveil what solves the financial burden but most of all the very core of the burden itself: the anxiety of heart. Mrs. Cabanes experienced what it was like to have all options of financial support gone and only rely on her strong-willed mother’s heart to beg and borrow, kneel and pray so that their hearts as a family can begin to beat again.

It is here when the Filipino's "lakas ng loob kumayod kahit wala na ang lahat" [the strength to persevere even when all is gone] becomes an apparent virtue exemplified. The virtue of the Filipino Braveheart. The heart whose cries start from the depths of it struggles and reaches the end of its walls as a willful choice to keep it from caving in. The heart whose weakness is transparent in every lamentation but whose only ounce of strength is flung up to the high heavens because the last thing it can do is keep the hope. All for one thing. Para sa pamilya.

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Zaine Capangpangan is almost 2 years old. She had her open heart surgery when she was 7 months old because of a heart murmur since birth. I met Zaine yesterday introducing herself with a beautiful smile. Her lips next to my ear whispering “My name is Zaine Capangpangan.” She shyly poses infront of the camera and bursts out in exuberant laughter after she sees her photo on the little LCD screen.

She came with her mom and her Tita. Both of whom raised her since her father is working abroad. They are worried about her life and the fragility of her health. She does not like eating a lot except when they go to Jollibee and order her fries and gravy, her favorite meal. They are worried about how she will grow up and if there will be job opportunities that will take her given her condition. But they are happy saying, “Basta makita lang naming siya masaya na kami. Basta magkasama kami, Masaya na kami.” [As long as we see her, we are happy. As long as we are together, we are happy]

I look at the little girl with big bright eyes and a wide happy smile. She has so much life that you can barely notice the deep scar at the center of her chest.


The irony of seeing the vibrancy of life in a child who almost lost it brings me to realize how poorly we can keep our decision to remain vibrant in our lives when we are not threatened with sickness, poverty or calamity. If one little child, with her weak heart, can re-ignite the vibrancy in her family’s togetherness what more are we who have our families and our heart’s intact?
The Virtue of the Filipino Braveheart surpasses any struggle weighed upon by impossible life conditions. Giving value to what is nearest and what is dear, the family for whom it beats, and the life for whom it pours out love.

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I got reacquainted with Sarah Ocson Duremdes, a former Miriam Highschool classmate who was one of the guest speakers at Camp Braveheart. She shared her faith filled story with much inspiration and fortitude on how she conquered the journey of her son’s open heart surgery when he was 8 days old.

Inigo Ocson Duremdes was diagnosed with a condition called Transposition of the Great Arteries (TGA) wherein the aorta and the pulmonary arteries were reversed. This condition limits the body from getting oxygen rich blood. After just 8 days of being born he had to go through the difficult procedure of open heart surgery. His family in complete anxiety awaited the long procedure and struggled to remain hopeful through this whole time. As his family worried for his life, they also worried about the expenses that would be incurred.

Similar to the any middle class family who I have spoken in this Camp, the Duremdes’ went through the whole experience of begging and borrowing to ensure that their son’s condition can be well supported financially. The ordeal of thinking about the economics of the situation and remaining steadfast in their faith was a painful struggle that led them to the end of their selves. Put in one corner of life where the future seemed bleak, they had no other option, no other contingency plan except to surrender what is in their hands to God.

Nigo flatlined a couple of times and when the surgeon had almost turned off the machines that monitored his heart, hope came as if the heavens opened and Nigo by some miracle started to breathe again.




The irony of seeing life just being born to immediately being taken away is heart-wrenching for any mother to experience. After the long grueling hours of labor and recovery, you watch your life from a vantage of point and ask, “What is all this for?”

The Virtue of the Filipino Braveheart is reliant on the truth that there is always a miracle waiting around the corner that conquers insurmountable odds for someone who refuses to give up and let death simply take over.

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The family’s virtues make-up the character of any individual. The family is the microcosm of any nation.

The Filipino Brave Heart is borne from experiences such as these. These virtues allow our lives to shine in the midst of darkness, stand strong in the midst of storms, breakthrough in the midst of circumstances that we thought would cause us to break down.




My experience with Camp Braveheart families yesterday showed me how to live with a heart that beats with no walls guarding its vulnerability. How this vulnerability transforms into the seed of strength wherein lies the dignity of the family. A Filipino Family. Filipino Families who survived and are surviving the journey of collectively letting their hearts beat as one so one can keep on living. How one tiny heart weakened in flesh has transformed all others to be strengthened in the heart of their spirits. This is the kind of miracle that ignites once again our will to live.



If one family can be transformed and re-ignited with passion for one another, then our nation can be filled with families giving birth to the flame that makes these little heroes today the big heroes of tomorrow.

Camp Brave Heart Song

Yung unang mabigat
Ngayon puno ng pag-asa
Sa bawat pagtibok
Tayo’y nabubuhay

Tayo’y nabigyang buhay
Dahil nilikha ng Diyos,
Aming simbolo ng buhay,
Aming mahiwagang puso.



Refrain
Sa bawat hininga
Ito’y tahimik ngunit buo
Mapayapa ngunit matapang
Magpapasalamat habang buhay
Nagpapasalamat sa Diyos.

__________

credits:
for the pictures - Javi Cabanes
for the invitation to Camp Braveheart - Tita Steph Cabanes

V Day

This Valentine's Day is quite different from the rest. I didn't get a rose from my Dad as was his usual stint for us on this day. If I had kept all those roses and cards he gave me it would stack to about 20 or more for ever year since I was about 13.

But despite that, this Valentine's is quite special because it's the first time he has come home since his hospitalization and last night I went with him and my mom to attend the prayer meeting at St. James Church. Martin's theme last night was seeking the giver and not the gift. How timely that the readings were from the gospel of Mark telling the story of a leper who asked Jesus if he can be made clean. If he can be healed.

I saw my Dad be moved and be transformed as he stood up in worship and reverent praise. Despite all the things that I have experienced this week that shook my faith's core, I felt blessed seeing a miracle at work. Knowing that part of the miracle was me.

On Grandparents' Bed

The day is over and I’m back on my bed here in the guest room of it Tita Virgie’s house. It’s a lovely bed with lavender flowers printed all over the bed sheet and a cozy lace canopy draped over. This was my grandparents’ bed.

The day is over and today marks my last full day here in Cebu for this visit. I’m leaving for Manila tomorrow afternoon so that I can go back to work on Monday. I leave with slightly a heavy heart. I didn’t want to leave my parents behind since my Dad is still in the hospital. He is recovering well but the infection will take time to heal because of his diabetes. The experience of looking after him for one full week wasn’t easy and I know that being here was a big help. I am happy that I was able to support my parents this way.

I sleep tonight feeling a little bit rested than I had expected to be at the end of this week. I was expecting to feel tired from all the chores and the work that I needed to start catching up with little by little. But I suppose the Master Planner has taken care of everything because the Goal Setting Activity that I have been preparing for has been moved yet again to Thursday next week. Giving me some ample time to breath and pick up my pace as soon as I get back.

The internet isn’t working here tonight and neither is my wireless Smart Broadband. I suppose tonight I am meant to sleep reflectively. A little bit closer to folded hands, closed eyes and bended knees.

Somber Sightings

Somber mood finds me this morning. I had to get out of the hospital room for a bit and walk out to Gloria Jeans. Starbucks was too far away. My chat with Adi this morning left me thinking about so many things. Past. Present. Future. It left me with the very melancholy conclusion that LIFE IS DIFFICULT. What brings comfort is that I do not have to go through it alone.

I went to the hospital early this morning because my mom needed help with my dad. The caregiver we hired to assist us couldn’t come in today because she had to go home to celebrate their barrio's feast. I parked just outside the pay parking area because it was still closed. We parked at the same spot yesterday too. I got drawn to this little girl lying down on a bicycle cart. Her hair was messy and she was covered with ash and dirt. I wonder what kind of life she must have waking up to a morning without a soft bed underneath.

little girl

I ran past some children riding a truck. Their laughter and noise caught my attention while walking back to the hospital. I wondered where they came from and why they rode a truck instead of a bus.

truck kids

It’s raining today. And I welcome it gladly because it soothes me again and resonates with my somber mood. I laid my large cup of Gloria Jeans Caramel Latte by the window to listen to my dad share to me some of the best practices they have at work. He eagerly showed me presentations that he found useful and gave me advise on what to implement in my new job.

gloria jeans

One of the things I thought about during the darkest moments of this experience was how my Dad always gave me advise about work. And how I would miss that when that stops. So here I am trying to make the most out of this second chance. Hopefully filling in the gaps that were created through the years of our relationship.

I noticed an eager exchange between my Dad and I. My mom would jump in once in a while and we had a healthy exchange of ideas like grown ups would. I felt at ease. I felt walls crumbling down. I felt my parents’ respect for me.

Second chances are indeed refreshing. I suppose it really is a blessing to have gone through this and overcome it. I am filled with an even deeper gratitude for the Giver of Life after having experienced my a series of little deaths.

Writing Like Hemingway

So I'm talking to Adi and she's trying to tell me that I can write like Hemingway. Hemingway. Hmm. I've always wanted to try imagining myself writing in the middle of a busy street waiting for a cab. Or...perhaps somewhere in the middle of a crowded Starbucks scribbling down my Moleskine quite absorbed in my thoughts. But that never gets to happen. I don't know why I want to be able to get self-absorbed like that in the midst of vibrant life. I suppose it's my way of trying to exist while breathing everything in. Not the usual way I get so paralyzed in the middle of a circumstance that attempts to change or shatter. Move. Inspire. Liberate.

She just went offline and my muscles are a bit sore. Helping my Dad do a little shindig of a workout on his bed gave me quite a workout too! I bought 2 Nike yellow resistant bands for my Dad a few days ago so that he can stretch a bit since he's been bedridden for more than a week now. He finally decided to use it. I find it funny how my Dad gets all excited about new activities like that. It's amusing to me for a 61 year old to get giddy about little things.

Now he's off to snooze. His snore gurgling to escape his open mouth. At times I get nervous listening to him snore when we're here in the hospital because it feels like it'll never end. But there are times when I find it funny too because his lips twitch uncontrollably until the snore comes out to a full sigh.

One of the days I was left alone to watch him, I saw his whole body twitch. It gave me quite a scare because his health wasn't so stable then. I never thought my Dad was such a lucid sleeper. So I tried to nudge him and ask him what was going on. He groggily woke up and said, "I was dreaming that I'm riding a train and was chugging along with it." He fell back to sleep and true enough his body was chugging along again.

I had to stifle a laugh because I didn't think it appropriate for me to let out a guffaw in this situation. My Dad's such a character. I love him. He's starting to be annoying when he's restless but as I said yesterday, it's definitely much better having him that way than how he was a week ago.

So yes Slick, you're right. I think I can start writing like Hemingway.

This is What It Means to Be Held

Perhaps it's for my own keepsake and so I will never forget how God has delivered me and my family during this time that I chronicle these words that kept my heart from breaking.

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Psalm 112:7-9. This Psalm came to me during the end of 2008 and carried me through my fears and anxieties in transitioning to my new job. The job that God has provided for me as a way out of the hopeless situation I was in. This Psalm persisted in its promise as I clung to it with all my heart upon hearing my Dad's situation.

7 He will have no fear of bad news;
his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD.

8 His heart is secure, he will have no fear;
in the end he will look in triumph on his foes.

9 He has scattered abroad his gifts to the poor,
his righteousness endures forever;
his horn ^[a] will be lifted high in honor.

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Romans 4:17-21. These verses from Romans lifted my heart and made re-focus on what truly matters. Amidst the despair and the fear, I held these verses close to remain steadfast in my belief.

He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed—the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were. 18Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, "So shall your offspring be."^[d] 19Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah's womb was also dead. 20Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, 21being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.

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The Pilgrim's Progress. Is an essay by John Bunyan found in a compilation of essays found in the library of CS Lewis. Javi found this essay by chance when he flipped open my book and prophetically showed to me something I believe God had wanted me to read so I will remain in hope.

Now I could see in my dream that the High-way Christian was to travel on was protected on either side by a Wall, and the Wall was called Salvation. Burdened Christian began to run up the High-Way, but not without great difficulty because of the load he was carrying on his back.

He ran this way until he came to a place on somewhat higher ground where there stood a Cross. A little way down from there was an open Grave. And I saw in my dream that just as Christian approached the Cross, his Burden came loose from his shoulders, fell from his back, and began to roll downward until it tumbled into the open Grave to be seen no more.

After this, Christian was glad and light. He exclaimed with a joyful heart, "Through His sorrows He has given me rest, and through His death He has given me life." Then he stood still for awhile to examine and ponder the Cross; for it was very surprising to him that the sight of the Cross alone had brought him complete deliverance from His Burden. So he continued to look and watch until springs of tears welled up in his eyes and came pouring down his cheeks.

Then, as he stood watching and weeping, three Shining Ones suddenly appeared and greeted him. "Be at peace!" The first announced. "Your sins are forgiven!" The second one stripped off his tattered clothing and dressed him in bright new garments. After this, the third one set a mark upon his forehead and handed him a Scroll with a seal on it. He directed Christian to study the Scroll as he traveled and to present it upon his arrival at the Celestial Gate.

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God's Word Today November 2008 Edition. This thin pamphlet like magazine was resting on my Dad's side table by his bedside. I found it immediately after I read Pilgrim's progress because I was looking for something to bring to Cebu. In bold letters, the Editors Note is entitled Resist Fear...Embrace Hope!

Fear is a normal reaction to the unknown. While science and technology have pushed back the frontiers of the unknown, we still know very little, if anything about where and in what shape this planet will be, let's say, in the year 3000. Natural disasters, reduction of non-renewable resources, nuclear, chemical and biological threats, terrorism and genocides make some people fear that the day of Armageddon or Doomsday is near.

Quite a few will turn to the book of Revelation--the Apocalypse of John--to confirm their apprehensions and will not be reassured by what they find in some chapters of this last book of the New Testament. It would be very unwise to remain blind to or even to minimize the threats we are facing today, but this is no reason to read into the Apocalypse the script of what is going to happen tomorrow.

When John wrote the Apocalypse, he and his community had many reasons to fear. James had been martyred in Jerusalem in the early forties, Peter and Paul in Rome in the early sixties; war and destruction had been raging in Jerusalem at the hands of the Romans; and now John himself is a prisoner in exile in Patmos and some of his brothers have been martyred, "because of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus" (1:9): It is a time of "great ordeal" (7:14). things coulnd't be worse, and reasons to fear were many.

But in no way do John and his community yield to fear or resignation. The very first words John hears from the mouth of Jesus himself are: "Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last" (1:17). These are the words that John needed to hear from his Lord and that he vowed to pass on to his community.

In times of tribulation, the people of God have no need for prophets of doom, but for prophets of hope. John, the Seer of Patmos, has rightly set the focus on the Victorious Lamb and on the future inaugurated through his resurrection. His numerous and vigorous appeals to courage an dpatient endurance are welcome in this day and age. Be not afraid to read his book, and you'll find compelling reasons to embrace hope.

New Life. New Hope. New Creation.

This morning I am awake early. Listening to songs that my cousin Sister Jennifer has been sending me for the past few days to comfort my family during this time of healing. My heart latches on to this song that's playing on my iTunes now. It's called Be Still.

The layers of my heart that's been constricted because of fear is slowly loosening up. And I am taking in all the air I can breathe in of this new life and new hope that's being given to my family. My perspective has changed about a lot of things. More willing to let go of what's transitory. More eager to cling to what's eternal.

Be Still - Sister Jennifer Villa

Behind The Exterior

It's been a week since my Dad has been hospitalized in Cebu Doctors Hospital because of infection complications caused by a small eruption of his skin in the scrotum area. It's been two weeks or so since I started my new job. It's been almost 2 months since my grandmother passed away.

Barely recovering from another, it piles up on you like a stack of unfinished work. I know I have seen God's grace in all situations and I have witnessed his glory fall upon my life. But there are still some things that are left dwelling in my emotions that need to be healed only in God's time.

The human frailty still exists but I find myself even more persistent in enduring what this life is giving me. Not quick to succumb to despair. But ever so quick in holding on to hope. I am certain that what sustains me now isn't my own strength, not even my own will. For I am not a patient person nor am I an easily forgiving soul.

I am watching my Dad sleep on the hospital bed. Finally the series of visits have died down for today. I'm hoping that it will stay a little bit more quiet for a while so that I can hear myself think. The residue of fear is still quite fresh. I was almost prepared to give up and accept the inevitable. I stared at it in the face and a flood of memories rushed through me. The pictures printed on my memory bracelet stood out on waking moments where I'd stare into space wondering how my Dad was doing while I was still in Manila. I was already trying to imagine what it would be like should he not survive this. Thinking about it caused such a painful ache in my heart.

It is quite different when you face the reality of death this way. When it is your Dad's life ticking on a clock. I can now imagine what kind of pain my parents felt when they lost their own parents too. I am quite lucky though because I am given another chance to understand what dying and losing someone means before it actually happens. And so I am able to live the new chapter of my family's life a little bit differently.

This Christmas Season has indeed been different. Starting off this New Year full of promise and hope manifests a little bit differently for me this time. But despite all the seeming tumult that shakes the exterior circumstances of my journey, I am growing more steadfast in faith. Closer to seeing the truth the lies behind REAL LOVE.

Flying With Hope

Today the flag of victory rises higher.

I heard my father laugh an ecstatic "Hurray" this afternoon when his doctor told him that he can now drink unlimited amounts of water. During the past days of his hospitalization, they limited his fluid intake. Now his kidneys are doing better. Creatinine levels are down to 2.2 this morning. The results of his ultrasound show that the infection HAS NOT gone to the liver.

I never thought I could see the rainbow after the rain. But in 1 day, the day of the Sto. Nino's feast, hope shone through.

There are still so many things on my mind. There are many details that are woven so intricately and I am still amazed at how the events reflect the hand of God's lovingkindness.

Today, I fly with hope. Today I live with hope.

Mustard Seeds

The relief I felt having seen my Mom's SMS light up the screen of my mobile phone saying, "Your Dad's sugar level has gone down from a high of 225 to 125. Normal level is 100. Praise God." is something I will never be able to fully describe in words.

I suppose the closest would be is that I feel like I am breathing again.

My sister and I have booked our flight to Cebu tomorrow morning. I was afraid that I would be jumping inside a plane with a clouded spirit again, just like the last few trips I had back there. But I am grateful that it isn't so.

My Dad isn't out of the woods yet. But his response to the new treatment gives me hope. It is an opening. A small opening. Small as a muster seed.

I know it's not by chance that I've been reflecting about mustard seeds as of late. Now I'm watching and waiting for the mountain to be moved as promised.

Come Holy Spirit

When I was in first grade, my Dad taught me this prayer that his father taught him. He always says that it's what made him get through school exams and claim the valedictorian award for both gradeschool and highschool. It's what got him through graduating college with a magna cum laude. He said that whenever he has an exam, he prays this prayer in soft and gentle whisper so that he will know what to do and what choices to make.

I don't know why I remember this prayer today. But it goes:

Come Holy Spirit
Enlighten me, I follow thee
Teach me what I do not know
Show me what I cannot do
Come to me with Thy Seven Gifts
Amen.

My Dad's situation has become persistent. He is experiencing rhenal failure complicated by his diabetes and the unknown infection that's been pervading his body. This morning, I called my mom and she said that there are 3 doctors who are checking him up and changing his treatment to address his current state.

My emotions have gone from peaceful, to anxious, to despairing, to indifferent, to hopeless, to trying, to hoping again...a whirlwind cycle. And now, I am just hungry and eager to get some food in me.

I've tried to check the flights available today and tomorrow and next week and realized that the prices scaled so high because of the Sinulog Event going on in Cebu at this time. Flights are all booked today. There are still some available tomorrow. Flights next week are expensive.

Next week's work schedule is hectic.

The human mind can certainly carry a lot of things. But as to how well it's carrying all of them, it's a matter of grace.

So yet, another day is to pass with fervent hope for more good news. Straining to clear my vision of all the cloudy haze and the dust of doubt to fully engage in the belief that Miracles Happen.

A Moment of Grace

As if last Christmas Season's challenges wasn't enough, another one visits my family this week. My dad got hospitalized last Wednesday because of an unidentified infection spreading throughout his body. My dad has never been hospitalized for any sickness in his entire life. The anxiety of dealing with this predicament must be unimaginable for him. I have always sensed his aversion to the helpless feeling that unexplained sickness leaves one with. Watching loved ones hospitalized for the past 3 years and passing on is a wake up call on the reality of mortality.

I have barely gotten over my grandmother's death and my cousin's seizure attack and here I am faced again with something like this. Not to mention the increasing pressure that is picking up in my life at work.

But amidst all these, I am grateful for the peace that has found me today. Through the encouragement of friends. Through the knowledge of God's grace. Through the certainty that miracles happen. Through discovering what truth really means despite of what the facts in this life may say.

The week is over. The day is done. And I find myself finally alone in my room. Struggling less and less with anxiety. Giving in more and more to peace that surpasses all understanding.

I haven't found a lot of time this week to be alone with my thoughts. But this experience reminds me that I can't allow myself to be swept up in too much busy work forgetting what really matters most.

So I end this night with a little ode to my father.

_______________

you wrapped me in your arms
as tight as you can somewhere
in between a struggle of love
torn between a fight that
leaves a wide gaping hole
inside your heart

you hold on for the last 60 years
to everything you know
only to find that reason or
intelligence cannot explain
the mystery of what you're going
through today

so tonight i pray for the letting go
of strength you tried to keep up with
so that you will receive the only
strength you need in this moment of grace
and find that in letting go of all reason
a miracles shines upon your face.

On Mother's and Breakfast Preparations

I just got to work. I left pretty early this morning because I woke up early too. I woke up early because I had to prepare my lunch since our house help has gone on vacation.  I went down to the kitchen and found my Mom cooking.  It was a pleasant sight to see.  I never saw her do that all the time when we were young.  But it's a beautiful transformation that even now as I grow older, I am able to appreciate how my Mom is being such a mother to me.  

After she prepared our food, she started sewing the new pairs of slacks I bought over the weekend.  I wanted to cut some length because they were too long.  I appreciated this a lot because I know that her routine every morning was to go to the mass and the Adoration chapel. I've always found myself being thrown off my center whenever a routine of mine is broken.  But my Mom willingly received the short-term transition.  

As a reaction, I dutifully cleaned a bit of my room and made sure I didn't leave it messy for the day.  I missed a little bit of prayer time but I was glad that the morning drive wasn't so heavy that I got to work early enough to have a bit of silence in the prayer room.

I was also happy that I still ran into Adi when I got to work.  It's always a pleasant exchange in the morning.  Another thing that made my morning pleasant was reading through Marie's blog about Tolkien.  She says she's started to finally read Lord of the Rings.  I've had great respect for the author and even have the complete series myself.  Unfortunately, it's one of those things I haven't done yet.  Perhaps, like her, it takes time to be ready to get into certain things.  

Having experienced that little moment with my Mom this morning, I want to cite an excerpt from Marie's blog here because it honors such motherly acts.

Just before the New Year, I was reading Archbishop Chaput's Render Unto Caesar, and in one of the chapters he relates this story:

It's also why asking Catholics to keep their faith out of public affairs amounts to telling them to be barren; to behave as if they were neutered. Nothing could be more alien to the meaning of baptism. The Christian idea of witness, which comes from the Greek word martyr, isn't limited to a bloody death in the arena for the faith. All Christians have the command to be a martyr in he public arena --to live a life of conscious witness where God places them, no matter how insignificant it seems and whether or not they ever see the results.

Years ago I read a story about an Englishwoman named Mabel. She had two sons. It's not clear what first drew her to the Gospel, but she became a Christian shortly after her husband died in the 1890s. She was devoted to her new faith. Every Sunday she would make the long walk with her sons to an Anglican church. Then one Sunday they tried a different place of worship: a Catholic church in a poor area in Birmingham. Mabel already had an interest in things Catholic. She asked for instruction. She then entered the Catholic Church.

Mabel's Catholic conversion angered her family. Her father was outraged. Her brother-in-law ended the little financial help he had been giving her since she became a widow. Her dead husband's family rejected her. She and her sons slipped into poverty. Mabel's health collapsed. Despite this, she remained zealously committed to her Catholic faith and taught it to both her sons. Several years later, she fell into a diabetes-induced coma and died. She entrusted her boys to the guardianship of a friend, a local Catholic priest, who deepened their faith throughout their upbringing.

Very few people remember Mabel and her story. But a great many people remember at least one of her sons: J.R.R. Tolkien. In a letter to a Jesuit friend many years later, Tolkien wrote: "All my own small perception of beauty both in majesty and simplicity is founded" on Mary, the mother of Jesus, and that "The Lord of the Rings is of course a fundamentally religious and Catholic work." He added, "[My Catholic faith has] nourished me and taught me all the little that I know; and that I owe to my mother, who clung to her conversion and died young, largely through the hardships of poverty resulting from it."

I'd sit here all day and muse about Tolkien's journey but I have quite a bit to catch up for work. Finally having a learning outline to work with, I feel a little bit more focused in gaining some speed for the new job to hopefully bear a little bit of fruit.

An Authentic Christmas

It's been a while since I wrote and really sat down with myself to think about everything that has happened for me this Christmas season.

For quite some time, I have been blogging with the sole effort of picking up my writing habit. So that little by little I can start feeling productive as I pursue my writer's dream. For quite some time I have been taking tabs on myself like how meaningful my posts have been or how many pictures I have uploaded in Flickr that caught how many number of views or comments. For quite some time I have been metering myself on my own progress without the knowledge of many so that I know if I am moving or not. So that I can tell myself I am doing good or not. So that I will not be affected when anybody tells me that I am doing good or not.

Experiencing the death of a loved one changes all the perspectives you can have about success or about living a meaningful life or about what fulfillment is for you. I'm not sure if I have gotten mine articulated clearly but I know my perspectives have changed.

I have experienced 4 loved ones pass away but I have never contemplated on the reality of death this long and this deep as when my grandmother passed away. I've written snippets of my thoughts everywhere and have chatted about it with those I constantly confide in. Somehow I can never repeat it enough. My full appreciation for her life came only at a point when she is gone. Mostly because I never understood the way she lived. I never understood the stories I have heard about how she raised her children. I never understood how I witnessed her strict and unpleasant air as she was taking care of my grandfather in his last days. I never understood why I was always afraid of making her cross. I never understood why despite all these, I still follow her and respect her ways.

Perhaps it is this irony that makes me ponder so much upon the effect her death has on me. And why I am suddenly awakened to want to discover how her interior life has been instead of the exterior one. There must be something inside her that I have not fully understood. A feeling. A hidden experience. A trauma. A hurt. That manifested itself as uptightness. As strict-ness. As an idiosyncrasy that never really sits quite well or leaves me at ease. As I reflect upon these things, I also reflect upon my relationship with my own mother and I find several parallelisms in the patterns of our lives woven together. As I reflect upon my own relationship with my mother I also reflect upon the relationships of those I have nurtured. Though I may never be quite the mother many continue to hope for me to be, God has somehow graced me with some experiences that can resonate with what its like to be in a mother's position.

The patterns cycle flawlessly. My lack of understanding for my grandmother's tough shell is the same as my lack of understanding for my mother's tough shell. It is also the same for those who I have nurtured as they try to continue to understand me. However there are breaks I have noticed and these breaks signify a certain illumination on my mother's part and on my part as we probably catch ourselves affecting others too strongly with our "fierce" exterior leading to the weak understanding of others on our intentions from the inside.

As I continue to sort out my grandmother's things, I realized the many similarities I have with her and that my mother has with her. The love for keeping mementos. The love for books and reading. The love for quaint beauty. I also realize the similarities in things we dislike. Of which I would rather not enumerate anymore because it is so much easier to dislike things than to love things and this recount is an attempt to increase my own capability to love.

I realize that there is so much meaning in the word HEREDITY. It can encircle you in a certain perimeter and keep you there forever or you can make the circle wider encompassing and embracing more of life in a variety of ways but in the same nature. For example, my love for the art of diary keeping is something I share with most people. My reflections are something I rarely keep private because I find liberation in sharing them with others. But writing is not only a trait I acquired. It is a trait I inherited from my mother who is quite a profilic writer herself and was a thespian in her day who inherited it from my grandmother who I recently found out does her own writing in the form of calendared thoughts on pages of an old notebook. However, the break in the cycle shows that they are both more private with their reflections compared to mine and perhaps that's when my circle become a little bit more wider because as I take the risk to share my inmost thoughts to others I acquire certain experiences that teach me something else that they may not have experienced while keeping their thoughts private.

It is not to discount the value of whatever our experiences have given us but reflecting this way now helps me realize that even with our similarities there can be a point of difference. What to do with this difference now becomes an act borne out of love. Love can bring about further understanding with one another. Patience when understanding becomes a struggle and Faith that understanding will be a new dawn that is promised to one who remains steadfast.

I suppose it is true when they say that in understanding death, you begin to learn how to live. I never quite finished Tuesdays with Morrie but I'm sure I got myself to that part of the book.

My journey to authenticity centers around living my life as meaningfully as possible. Bearing fruit through the love I receive from my family, relatives and close friends. But there is a difference in how I want to remain authentic. I want it effortless. I want it natural. Not because I want to slack off or not work at anything at all but on the contrary. I suppose I want my authenticity to pervade externally as naturally as it can be and that can't be possible without acquiring a certain interior steadfastness of character.

I suppose this is another break in the circle. For generations of my family, developing character is acquired through discipline. Discipline is quite a strong word that never fails to manifest itself through uptightness. This uptightness weakens the expression of tenderness (not to say that it is not present because how can one love without being tender?). But the pursuit of good and noble character becomes a rigourous pursuit for discipline. I would say if one is kept in a straightjacket for too long, one would really ache to break free from a routine that can inhibit the other expressions that one naturally expresses because of their own individual nature.

So the big question is, what can I do to continue pursuing good without becoming too uptight that my pursuit is misunderstood?

As I have reflected in the previous paragraphs, I have inherited favorable traits and unfavorable ones. The general weakness of man tends to magnify the unfavorable ones. Perhaps this is what Catholics call "the effects of original sin". To remain there would be a painful way to live. So how do I live beyond it? How do I magnify the favorable traits instead? I realize now that everything favorable is not a result of my own effort. I have come to a point where I have felt and pondered upon my weaknesses to the core that trying to overcome them on my own is quite an ardous task. If one is already burdened with having to overcome a weakness, how can one effortlessly exhibit a strength?

GRACE.

Of course one can always say that practice makes perfect. Virtuouso pianists practice the whole day. Athletes train the whole day. But what is it that makes them internally willing to go through the rigor and the toil? What makes them even love it? What makes it effortless for them to subject themselves to such an molding of mind, body and spirit?

GRACE.

I suppose a musician knows that without thoroughly completing the scales, his fingers will lose their dexterity. I suppose an athlete knows that without properly stretching his limbs, he will lose his flexibility. Dexterity. Flexibility. Both associate with the ability to bend and stretch beyond what is normally capable. It is an admittance on their part that they become weak in their craft/art/sport if they do not remain a certain degree flexibility in mind, body and spirit.

Taking it to its intrinsic value, what causes interior flexibility?

GRACE.

I may sound like I'm trying to prove a point but I'm not. It's just that I find no other answer in my mind as far as my experience in this lifetime can say aside from the word Grace. And how timely that I just refer back to 2 Corinthians 12:9 where it says "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness."

Someone who knows that his body will not bend that far without a certain surrendering to a routine knows that he is intrisically weak without that routine. For the spiritual person, this routine is prayer. I suppose that's why for musicians practicing their instrument becomes a sacred moment as well as morning walks or jogs are for athletes. The rhythm of repetition in the beginning causes a tension but with consistency produces fluidity and a calming effect that lulls the senses and makes what is being done an effortless motion expressed.

It may seem that I have gone off tangent already but the whole point of extracting this out of my system is to face what I have been absorbing the past Christmas season.

It definitely has made me understand a lot of things. Now making me comfortable in sitting with some of them. And that's all I need to be for now.

Remembering that I belong to a family of women who may live fierce but love just as fiercely. Grateful that I am given the wisdom to understand some things I found difficult to understand. Relying on the grace of God to propel me to move forward and continue to journey the authentic and blessed life I have always longed to live.

I realize now that even if this Christmas may not have been as Merry or as Happy and even if it didn't seem to bring "glad tidings", it has been the most authentic Christmas I have ever experienced because it is during this Christmas I realized a lot about the truth behind significant people in my life and in realizing that I come to know that I have always been loved.

Remembering is Love

I have spent the past 30 years worth of Christmasses in my hometown Cebu. Thirty Christmasses In a 3 house compound lined up in a cozy little street called Sanjercasvil Private Road. But this year is a little bit different. I sit on a bamboo chair at Tita Virgie's lanai and look at Yoya's house just a few steps away almost expecting her to come out of the swing door in her brown Carmelite dress and call out, "Hi Choots!". Her voice full of life. Full of certainty. Full of purpose.

I wonder what makes her passing so different from my Yoyo's. Me and my relatives have contemplated about it a lot but I'm not sure if we really understood it fully. As I move along Christmas day today I stare at the quiet house and remember her presence. I remember how much of it was shared and poured into to every moment we came to visit.

I suppose her that's why her passing aches a little bit more. It's because she always made sure that she was never absent for anything significant in my life.

The memories of Yoya come in waves right now. The most recent one I remember was when she attended my Life in the Spirit Seminar sharing in August of last year. I remember finishing my testimony in tears. Welcomed by the hugs of family and friends. And there silently standing to wait for me to reach her was my grandmother. A proud smile on her lips. A certain twinkle in her eye. She hugged me and said in her most certain voice, "I love you Choots."

I don't know why out of all the memories I have of her, this is what surfaces today. It's not that easy to find the words nor to make sense of it all. But in a silent melancholy way, today I remember how much I am loved.

An Evening Meditation on St. Therese of Lisieux

The darkness enfolds me, Lord, it is the end of another day. Noises are being hushed, and I still my restless heart in your presence.

I rejoice that I am safe in your keeping whatever may come to pass. And I thank you for the many blessings received today and throughout my life. You have fashioned my soul to seek you out, and now that I have found you, I know you will never let me go.

As the day draws to a close, I reflect on many things, and find I am negligent in remembering your commandment to love others as you love me.

Your little friend, St. Therese, understood your dear request, and tonight I am reminded of that phrase that traced her own destiny: “At the evening of life, you will be judged on love.”

If I am judged on love, Lord, I confess to many lapses. And before this day goes by forever, forgive me, for not having comforted those who need support, for turning away when someone looked for help, for using harsh words instead of kind ones, for remaining silent when others deserved praise.

Help me to remember the words of St. Therese, and increase my little ways of love to share with friends and strangers. In prayer, link me with those who suffer, are hungry or distressed. Take them in your care, Lord, and let your loving spirit fill the world tonight, so that we may understand the true meaning of life, when you again send us your morning light.

____________

This is a prayer I found in my Lola's prayer book (The Divine Office). It was inserted in one of the pages and peeked out when I was leafing through. St. Therese is a saint who has permeated my life and my family's life for as long as I remember. I take comfort under her wing in this time of healing and restoration.

For Lola

For my Lola who passed away November 30, 2008.

Dear Lola,

There are a lot of things I don’t understand right now and am finding it hard to grasp. I don’t understand why in our family death would always come in the season of Christmas. I don’t understand why in our family grief is always dealt with laughter instead of tears. I don’t understand why in our family deep affection is mostly expressed in deep silence.

There are a lot of things I don’t understand about death and what it takes away and what it leaves behind. Like my memory of rushing to write little notes behind the photographs I took just a week before you passed. I found my littlest doll and remembered the tons of dolls you kept above your shelf. So I thought you’d probably need one for company. I sent the doll I named Star along with envelope of photos and through my Mom just a week before your final goodbye. It never occurred to me that my lighthearted liking for dolls was something you and I shared till now. I didn’t know that this would be the last thing I would do for you because all I was thinking was trying to finding a way to make you smile as you lay in the hospital healing from everything you’ve been going through.

Mom said you liked the photos and in our last conversation which happened also just a week before, your muffled voice told me with much effort but with a lot of conviction, that you’ve seen the photographs and they’re beautiful.

It occurs to me now that behind that strong, bold and decisive exterior was hidden a little girl, who probably had many stories to share with her dolls simply veiled by a canopy of dreams we couldn’t quite see.

I realize now that I never got so close as to finding out what your own dreams were and if some of my dreams were actually yours bearing fruit. But I know that you went to all of our graduations and I know that you proudly displayed all your children’s diplomas on your living room wall. I realize now that these walls were where you stored your memories and that you held these memories so dear that you can’t help but share them to every guest that came into your home.

I didn’t realize that we both liked the color red. I never admitted my liking for it in the beginning because Red might be too bold or too strong or to out there. And for most my life, I remember always having to struggle with being “too out there”. But you never shied away from boldness or any moment that called for you to stand up and offer what you can of yourself in service to God or in casual companionship for another. I realize that your daily afternoon routines of taking a drive down the city streets of Cebu or the panoramic roads of the South Reclamation was a silent devotion to the virtue of always having the zeal to remain in active participation in the life you had lived.

There was so much energy in your step and so much persistence in your stride that no wheelchair, no cane, and no, not even a leg amputation can keep you down. To your last breath, you had enough fight in you to even go looking for your shoes.

Even when the lights grew dim and your memory faded, you stayed awake long enough to graciously send everybody off.
I realize, we your family, was everything to you. There are no compromises in your mind and in your heart when it came to ensuring that your family is taken cared of, well fed or warmly attended to. Your intensity protected us. Your passion fueled us to move through life. It didn’t matter whether we took different paths because the fierceness of your love always brought us to remembering home.

This night before we bade you our last farewell, we remember everything. We hold everything. We feel everything. Though you may find us badlungon tonight because of this tribute, I pray that you allow us to just do what we do best. I’m sure you’ve already found a new pair of shoes and perhaps a bright red dream cloud that’s carrying you off to the your most exciting laag ever, allow us to serenade you with our own heartsongs. Songs that cradle for us the most intimate memories we have of you and what we have shared in this life. Songs that say, we know and understand now the life you lived and who you were in ours. Songs that say, we have learned, you have made a difference and the fierce and fiery way your heart kept beating for each one of us sets us free.

So La, everything is okay. We are fine. We are definitely well fed and your love will hover and keep us warm through all our days.

It’s now your time to dance. Walk Free.

We love you.