Posts Tagged ‘Lessons’

I experienced waking up in the middle of the night because while I dreamed about a class activity that wasn’t in my preparation for the next day, I realized my lesson could be not enough. And so I add up on my lessons at 2 AM.

I experienced going home so late from school, not because of some late-night school programs, but because of a student who wanted to sit me down and ask for a listening ear, because her parents fought and broke platters again; or because his severe anxiety attacks again; because she feels her family and everyone around her doesn’t really care whatever happens to her; because he is being taken over by depression and contemplates on cutting himself again; because his girlfriend thinks he’s too busy for her; because her boyfriend cheated on her for some new student.

I experienced getting a knock in the faculty room to ask if Miss Bekah was there, and when I went out to see the student, she asks, “Miss, busy ka po?” And I remembered swallowing my inner cries for my impending paperwork deadlines and instead told her, “No, what’s the matter, dear?” Those moments took a toll on my sleep, but I never regretted it.

I have tossed and turned at countless nights. I have learned to always push aside my own concerns, my personal struggles, for a student who may need to have a listening ear. A comforting heart. A consoling soul. A kindred spirit. And I never regretted it.

There are decisions in my life I would always find reasons to regret making. But choosing to teach is not one of them. And I hope and pray that every teacher out there would not regret their decisions, too. That they, too, would find joy in what they do.

Happy Teachers Month!

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[This is an edited version of a letter I’ve written to someone in the future. I realize I have been neglecting this blog for some time now. It’s not really because I have nothing new in life. Quite the contrary, life has had me drowning from all the salty waves and stormy winds it throws at me—and I could hardly keep my head above the surface. This letter somewhat summarizes the things I have been dealing with. There are way more than the things I’ve mentioned, of course, but at least I get to share in this platform the lessons God has been teaching me recently.]

 

JULY 29, 2018 | 7:05AM

Dear Future Person,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Life had recently kept my hands—and heart and mind—so, so full these past months. I got my life turned upside down—in the work, home, church; emotionally, physically, socially… It’s like I’ve recently gone through some major overhauling. I can tell you more of what specifically happened for the first half of 2018, if you don’t know about it yet. But in this letter I want to be raw and vulnerable. I want to tell you how I’ve really been after all the sifting and shaking and breaking. I haven’t also really paused and sat down to think about my emotions and thought processes about all this. So bear with me, as I try to share to you the lessons, realizations, and revelations I have been gleaning in this season of trial and rebuke.

For the first half of 2018, I felt confused with all the occurrences around me. I started asking whether I’m really supposed to stay where I was, or if maybe God was signaling me to go elsewhere. My desire to serve God “more” has led me to thinking that maybe God was leading me somewhere else—where I can do greater acts for Him. Where God could “benefit more” from me. Where even the world would recognize me as a great servant of Christ. Because of that line of thinking, I’ve made some very foolish and rash decisions. I got involved in a group that was proven to be unhealthy and unbiblical later on. That mistake still haunts me even now.

The accumulated stress and exhaustion of my college years and my first year of teaching took a toll on my health. 2017 has been an excessively tiring year for me, especially emotionally (and that’s another story for another time). It took a toll on my health, and I had to stop working for a while. Because of the many surrounding issues of my life, I’ve intended to also not work for at least a semester, or even the entire year. But by the last week of June I found myself getting interviewed for a teaching position in the University of Makati. I started class two days after.

Where has this all left me? My current situation leaves me grasping for breath—every. Single. Day. It leaves me begging God to please give me strength to endure the day. Because, I must say—all these shaking and overhauling have drained all my human strength. I kept asking God for a period of rest. For a time to recover and meditate and regain my footing. But He out of His divine wisdom did not give me that. Instead He has foreordained that I would face more people—around 400 from my estimation—than I did last year to teach. Frankly, I am not ready for this. I am not prepared to face a lot of people again. Not yet. I need, I feel, to recharge first. To gather up courage before I could give life and its attacks a fighting stance. Because what’s happening to me right now is that I’m terrified most of the time. I’m afraid of the burden placed upon me by having to encounter hundreds of souls on a daily basis. I’m afraid of my own heart and how it might deceive me again any time. I’m afraid I’ll make mistakes again—worse this time. I have so many fears. And these fears, they paralyze me. They make me dread the mornings whenever I wake up.

But somehow, I get by, day by day. Somehow, I manage to deliver my lessons to the kids. And it is in this time of crisis—and still managing to get through each day despite the crisis—that God’s sustaining grace is actually made magnified to me. I’ve never yet in my life had as much dread on my daily life as I have today. But I’ve also never felt the need for His grace more than I do now. And yet again God’s fresh mercies every day have never yet been so strongly, overwhelmingly shown to me as they are being shown now. What I could see that God is teaching me is that I am TOTALLY RELIANT upon His grace. Literally. That I really can’t survive a day—even a moment—without His loving arms upholding me. That I am like a puddle of water in His hands—I am without form and void outside of Him. I am a broken vessel upheld only by the grace of my loving Father. And that I have to truly trust Him on a daily basis. He’s really driving me to my knees. Showing me I need Him every passing moment.

And this entire process is humbling me. Breaking me and shaking me, yes, but also humbling me and comforting me through God’s reassuring grace. And so that’s one lesson. God is making me learn to humbly trust in Him.

Another lesson I’m learning is that God has foreordained for me to be where I am right now because this is where I can serve, love, and follow Him best that results to His glory. Do you remember the parable of the talents? It said there that the master gave to one servant five talents, to another two, and yet to another one, each according to his ability. Now, I searched up on the Greek origin of the word “ability”. And the word, [du/namis], literally means “miraculous power”; the abundance of one’s innate ability/power/strength. He is showing me that whatever lot He has given me—right now I am a city college, an ordinary church member, a non-remarkable daughter, a mundane friend—is in accordance to my intricately woven design the He Himself had made. I am given my share of talents. Why do I try to bury my share and take the talents, the portion, of others? God is teaching me to fully recognize His wisdom and to trust completely His sovereignty. And you know what? In showing Himself to be in total control, God is guiding my heart to the rediscovery of the vast beauty of the lines He has assigned and drawn to be my portion. It’s like God is waking me up from my deep slumber in envy (long story. Ask me—show me this letter. I would remember.) and showing to me once more the wonders of my own God-given inheritance. And this is another overwhelming lesson and revelation. Often, this realization drives me to tears—of sorrow, guilt, and repentance because I have so lightly regarded the work of the Lord in my life. This realization often drives me to tears—tears of gratefulness and humility, because who would not be humbled before this Almighty, All-knowing, All-loving God? These realizations are painful, but all these tears are worth it.

God is yet teaching me another important lesson in my most recent mistakes. And this is, my love for the brethren was not as strong as I thought. I’ve always thought I’ve perceived the right rightly already. With love and reverence and patience. God is showing me that I haven’t loved enough the people around me yet. That, after all, I haven’t cared for the Body of Christ enough. I haven’t loved the church as Christ would have me love His people. I’ve taken lightly the Bride of Christ. I’ve thought of her members in a quite unloving manner when I felt misunderstood by them. And God is proving to me that I’m wrong in so many aspects. This one included. I foolishly thought I’ve tried hard enough in building a relationship with these people. I was wrong. And right now God is teaching me to love more. Bear more. Understand more.

This letter got longer than how I intended it to be, but the bottom line is that, I am learning so many things right now. And one of them is the fact that despite being showered by God’s mercy, grace, and love, sometimes my heart still lacks the proper, warm, deep-seated love for the brethren. And that is what He is teaching me. Love more, Bekah. But I feel like I might forget or lose sight of this lesson often. And so, if I ever forget this lesson again, I ask that you always remind me of the great love I have been given. Because my heart can sometimes forget. And it tends to love people less.

I am writing this so that you may understand what I’ve been through, because I believe some scars I have here, I’m meant to keep. I am determined to keep going, to keep walking on the Narrow Path, every step closer to Celestial City. But sometimes, I may falter and get tired. If I do, please point me back to my only Source of strength—my Savior, Jesus Christ.

 

I am keeping you in my prayers.

 

Reby

 

| 10:58PM

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If there would just be one word I could use to describe my 2017, there’s nothing else more fitting to use but the term, “transition.” It was the year that for me was the best and the worst at the same time because of the many things that happened to me. I started 2017 as a student struggling with graduation requirements, and I ended it as a Licensed Professional Teacher who makes Senior High School students struggle. It was the hardest year for me just yet, full of difficult lessons and heavy realizations. But never had I been so blessed and overwhelmed with the truths revealed to me as I had been this year. And so looking back, I can say that all the tearful nights, the exhaustion, and the disappointments of this year have revealed to me in a deeper personal level who God is, and have ultimately drawn me all the more nearer to my Savior.

2017 taught me that God, and God alone, is in control. My entire life, to the last detail, is in His hands. Not in mine. Not in anyone else’s. He holds my heart like water in His hands, and turns it to whatever direction He pleases. He has the complete hold on the reins of everyone’s lives. We all try to hold on tightly to our plans and intentions, but at the end of the day, it is always the perfect plan of God that stands. And thankfully so.

Because this year, I learned that God is a purposeful planner. I learned that my stay in this temporary world is simply my pathway to the state of glory. And everything I have to go through has a significant contribution to my sanctification. Not a detail in my story happens randomly. Nothing is meaningless. Every turn in the path, every twist of the road, every rock that blocks up my path, every pebble I have to stumble upon—each has a truth to reveal to me. And the Lord makes sure that I get everything I need to be more Christ-like every day.

This year also taught me that God is a loving God. He has a perfect plan for me, and He executes that plan very lovingly. He sees all my tears and puts them all in a bottle. He knows my every pain, and He does not make me suffer in vain. Instead, He is a God who leads me through the valley of the shadow of death while keeping me under the shadow of His wings. He is a God who will let me go through storms and wild tempest because I need to learn how to trust Him. But at the same time, while I suffer in the storm, He is a God who would cause His loving promises and means of grace to surround me, giving me the strength to endure, and overcome, the stormy nights. He is a loving God, and if discovering this on a personal level meant having to go through everything I went through this year, I would not skip out on even one of them—even the most painful and difficult ones.

And most importantly, I learned this year that God is working on countless stories all at once to weave the one that matters most: the story of His glory. What’s happening around me is not about what I feel. It has even very little to do about me at all. But everything that happens is about God and how He is best glorified through the lives of all His people. It’s about how He is continuing the story that has started from eternity past—the story of how He will sanctify His people, the story of His glorification.

2017 has been a year of transition. It was a phase I needed to go through to find myself in far greater places, in far better situations. My dark night of transition is over, and as I enter 2018, I see the glimpse of a bright morning of trusting God more, of a faster running of the race, of a more victorious fight of the faith. As the old hymn goes, I can say the year 2017 was “a well-spent journey, though seven deaths lay between.” And as I begin another year of faith lessons, I pray for my heart to have only one cry: “I am the Lord’s servant. Let Him do to me as He pleases.”

The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad. (Psalm 126:3)
I recall my four years of stay in PNU with such fondness and tearful eyes. If every milestone is a framed painting, I would like to believe college is a completed masterpiece, now with added highlights of gold. But the painting isn’t all happy colors. There were hues of purple and gray, of wicked green and pitch black. There were moments of self-doubt, confusion, and plain heartaches. In my limited perspective, there were those I-don’t-get-why-this-should-happen times; the “times that try men’s souls”; the painful times of failures and losing battles and letting go.
My masterpiece wasn’t all gold. But if there’s just one thing I’ve learned in college, it’s that I am being painted by the Best Artist ever, One who doesn’t just want a great work of art but loves the painting very dearly, too. I’ve learned to thank Him for the happy colors, and to trust Him as He paints the darker hues. I’ve learned to entrust my heart to Him, and to wait for Him to gather me back into His arms when He, in the process of teaching, breaks me into pieces.
College taught me to lie still as God turns my dull existence of a canvass into a picture-story worth telling.
College taught me to not be afraid of going out of my comfort zone, so long as God is the one calling out to me.
College taught me that, yes, life will have an abundance of heartbreaks–but all will be beautiful ones with God securing me under His wings.
College made me realize that life paintings will have various shades of painful reds and insecure greens, of confusing grays and sorrowful blacks. And that’s okay, because my life-picture needs all those colors to be my loving Painter’s masterpiece, along with all the silver linings and golden highlights.
And more importantly, college taught me that people come and go, but there are those who are meant to stay–in our hearts, forever. These are the people who matter. These are those souls who hugged yours tight when you weren’t in your best state to be hugged. These people are the strokes in my canvass that made all the difference.
The past four years have been a series of mental, emotional, and spiritual crash courses for me. I learned, I taught,  I laughed and cried, I broke my heart, and again learned a lot in the process. As I look back to see the kind of masterpiece God painted of me, I can only say, “Jesus led me all the way.”
When all thy mercies, O my God, my rising soul surveys, transported with the view, I’m lost in wonder, love, and praise. (Addison, 1712)

Quickly Fading

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Prose
Tags: , , , ,

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.”