Archive for November, 2014

Me: An Oxymoron (6.24.11)

Posted: November 24, 2014 in Poems
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Who is this confident girl you meet,
Who, for leadership, seemed to be fit?
Who is that girl who speaks out her thoughts,
Stubborn, seems hard to be trapped and caught?

I am the girl who appears to be strong,
Unafraid, confident to face the throng.
I am the girl who appears to be holy
To those who doesn’t know its meaning truly.

I am the unbendable that wavers;
I am the straight one that waves like waters.
I’m the strong armor that easily dents,
I’m the determined who’s ready for relents.

I am the leader who needs to be led,
And the strong one who is as weak as dead.
I’m the laughing one that grieves every day,
I’m the “righteous” who strays out of God’s Way.

I’m the “generous” who acts selfishly
And the “matured” who thinks self-centeredly.
Yes, I’m the “valiant” who is sinful
I’m the intelligent who is a fool.

I’m the “spiritual-wise” thirsting for knowledge
I am the hopeful whose hope is at the edge.
I’m the indifferent who’s weak inside,
I’m the solid that shatters in all sides.

They all see me as the strong-willed lady,
Yet I’m the girl who longs for God’s face to see.
I’m the unworthy and undeserving one
Who, if not by grace, would’ve been long gone.

I am the sinful, wretched, dying man
For whom Christ gave up the life which He ran.
I am the stone-hearted who heeded His call,
And begs for God to change my heart and all.

I’m the cold stone that grows warm by His grace,
I am the wimp who will finish God’s race.
I may be the girl whose words aren’t credible,
And whose life, with grace, is incompatible.

But I do know this one more thing for sure:
That God’s grace is limitless; it endures.
My life may linger with remains of sin,
But Christ can change me on the outside and within.

Quickly Fading

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Prose
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Old Grandpa sat on his rocking chair. He was staring at the flower garden again. Last spring, the flowers were all blooming. The lilies were glowing so white. The roses, so red. The orchids were all blooming. I couldn’t help but fall in love with these creatures, especially with the pink roses. But this week, they started to wither. Autumn had come, and the flowers’ beauty began to fade away.

“Grandpa,” I said as I approached him. As a six year old girl, I always loved to talk and spend time with my Grandpa. He seemed so wise, so understanding, so loving.

“Well hello, Lizzie. Come here, girl,” Grandpa smiled. His warm greeting was like the sun to me. And it warmed my heart, as it always did before.

I sat on Grandpa’s lap. I noticed he was still gazing at the flowers. So I asked him, “Grandpa, why do you always stare at the flowers?”

“Don’t you want to stare at them too, Lizzie?”

“Not when they’re withering. There’s nothing much to see.”

Grandpa chuckled. “Flowers are the forgotten meaning of beauty, dear child. They tell us something when they are in bloom; that is true. They are the living that proves the beauty of simplicity. But they tell much more when they wither. They remind us of the brevity of life and beauty. And they are so much like humans.”

“Like us, Grandpa? How?” I inquired, and he began to tell me his story.

Grandpa was a sturdy and dominant young man. He was successful both in politics and in business. He was known throughout the country, and he enjoyed the privileges of being the “favored one” of the society. He was handsome, strong, and rich. Like a gorgeous flower, he was blooming.

He was all settled, and he could have made it to the list of United States’ most prominent men. But then autumn came in his life, and his blooming figure began to wither.

The first petal to fall was his fame. He got involved in some political issue. It was rumored that he manipulated the ballots during one election. Though it was never proved, this rumor dethroned him as the people’s apple of the eye. Thus he left the world of politics.

And then a year later, he fell into a severe sickness, myositis by name, which damaged his muscle coordination permanently. Thus his strength, the second petal, fell.

Because of his damaged reputation and inability to work, his business greatly tumbled down. Investors withdrew their shares because of my Grandpa’s damaged reputation. He was at the very edge of bankruptcy. As his business fell, so did his wealth. The third petal has fallen. The heart of autumn had arrived, and my Grandpa started to wither—socially, mentally, and physically.

The once apple of the eye of the society became a plague for them. The loved and favored one, in such a short span of a time, transformed into an object of the people’s hatred. The winds have changed. The weather altered. Spring had come to an end, and days of cold and painful winter started to reign in his life.

He lost properties. He lost friends. He lost his money. He was left with nothing but his family, an old, almost-tumbled-down house, and barely enough money from his pension after retirement. From a great figure, he became an old man in a rocking chair.

“It has been such a short period of blooming, Lizzie,” concluded Grandpa. “Days of glory has been short, and followed by long periods of pain and misfortune,” he sighed. “Oh well, like what that old Chinese proverb said, man cannot be always fortunate; flowers don’t last forever.”

“But Grandpa, why do we have to wither, like these flowers in our garden? It’s so sad.” I frowned.

“It might be a sad thing. But you see, Lizzie girl, old flowers have to die. It is only in this way that new flowers, like you, can grow and bloom. Such is the reality and cycle of life. The death of one marks the birth of another. Flowers that wither and die give way for new ones to sprout up and have their chance to live and enjoy life.

Have you ever wondered why people who died for their nation are called heroes? It is because they offered up their lives for the hope of the future generation. They died, so others, so that the young ones, can live. So you, Lizzie, you are one for whom our fore fathers died. Make sure they did not die in vain. Live your life to the fullest. Use the days of your youth wisely. And make the most of your spring time. Always remember, flowers don’t last forever.”

The Assurance Within

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Poems
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God knows we can’t be perfect on earth;
O my soul, why then do you despair?
The Lord understands we’re weak from birth;
Why then doubt his grace and loving care?

The Lord saves man not based on their works;
My soul, why do you doubt His promise?
God forgives, as was said in His Word;
Why tolerate those doubting feelings?

Know that the Lord, He is merciful;
Know this, that Christ Jesus is gracious.
In mercy, God forgives the sinful;
In grace He pardons the rebellious.

Why am I in turmoil inside me?
Oh my soul, I tell you, doubt no more!
Do you not see God’s ability
To change you down to your very core?

O my spirit, why has peace left you?
Believe God when He says He forgives.
Salvation’s joy, where have you gone to?
Hope in Christ, in the grace that He gives.

Doubt not, and no longer be cast down.
Depend upon Christ, and Christ alone
That on You, God may smile and not frown.
Cling, my soul, to His merciful throne.
© Rebekah Mambiar. All rights reserved, 2 years ago

Wounds that would always scar

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Poems
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I can never understand you
To you I’m impossible too.
From the start, we’ve never agreed;
Parting ways seems to be our need.

The heat in us never went out–
A little spark, and fire’d break out.
With me, you failed not to compete;
Arguments make your day complete.

I have been a fool to believe
Once that I can peacefully live
While we’re staying in the same room.
No, but disaster is just doomed.


And again, here we go
I thought we’re okay, but no
That can never really happen,
‘Cause now we’re fighting yet again.

And no, we can never be friends,
For our ties are so bound to end.
Best fiends, that’s what we are,
For you give me wounds that would always scar.

We can look like an ocean calm.
To others, we may appear loving and warm.
But this discord is rooted way underneath;
Our smiles just can’t this beneath.

Just like volcanoes lying still,
To others, we may seem to be at peace for real.
But that’s because, the magma, they don’t see
Building and boiling up inside me.


And again, here we go
I thought we’re okay, but no
That can never really happen,
‘Cause now we’re fighting yet again.

And no, we can never be friends,
For our ties are so bound to end.
Best fiends, that’s what we are,
For you give me wounds that would always scar.

Oh, can’t you see I’m freakin’ tired of you
I’m sick of all your gossips too.
Words scar deeper than you think
So please, think before you speak.


And again, here we go
I thought we’re okay, but no
That can never really happen,
‘Cause now we’re fighting yet again.

And no, we can never be friends,
For our ties are so bound to end.
Best fiends, that’s what we are,
For you give me wounds that would always scar.

And yet again, here we go
They thought we can be fine, but no
That can never ever happen,
Because we can only fight again.

And no, we will never be friends,
For our ties will always end.
Best fiends, that’s what we are,
For you give me wounds that would always scar.
Yeah, my wounds would always scar.

Stone to bread,
The Tempter hissed,
Turn the rocks to food.

Stone to bread;
He was tempted
To disregard the King’s word.

Stone to bread,
The tempter whispered,
Go not after God, but comfort.

Stone to bread,
The voice strongly uttered,
But He heeded it not.

Man by bread
Alone shall not live,
He uttered and said.

Lean not on bread,
Trust not the tempter,
But abide by the King’s word.

“Stay Forever” (11.21.14)

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Poems
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Stay Forever.jpg

The soft hues of blue
dominate the view
that captivated my soul.
I could stay here forever.

As the waves rolled by softly,
And as I gaze out to the sea,
I was soothed and calmed.
I could stay here forever.

As I walked through the shoreline,
My bare feet touched the sand so fine;
And, that moment, time seems to stop.
I’d love to stay here forever.

And then a song began to play,
So sweet as honey, so clear as day.
It speaks of love so strong and true
By a soul full of fervor.

The song is pleasant to my ears,
But not to my heart, I fear.
For the words, sweet though they be,
Remind me of nothing sweet.

Instead it painted so clear in the air
A picture too painful to bear:
the happy ending that should’ve been ours,
Gone, vanished like the hastening fleet.

All the lovely what-ifs of you and me
Were sung ever so sadly.
The plaintive thought haunts me on:
How could I endure this forever?

The soft hues of ocean so blue
Faded out as tears blurred my view.
The fine, sad song plays infinitely.
I can’t stay here forever.

“Helpless” (11.20.14)

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Uncategorized

I’m not angry.

Teary-eyed, yes.

Feeling cheated, definitely.

But not angry, because anger

Gives you violent strength and power.

I feel nothing but helplessness.