Posts Tagged ‘Life’

This year, the Lord revealed truths about Himself to me—
Not in grand gestures and excessively dramatic style,
Not in the form of a burning bush or a speaking donkey,
Not even in the guise of an angel in a dream.
But He showed Himself to me in the little, everyday things—
in verses daily read, in hymns often sung,
in casual conversations, in trivial tasks—
which I think is even more majestic and astounding.
 
This year, He taught me He knows me inside out
And that He’s the best person to teach me lessons—
Never too hard so I’d inevitably fail,
But also never too easy so I’d get too comfortable.
He taught me to fully let go of my life’s steering wheel
And wait on His every turn with patience and complete trust.
He taught me to never doubt His loving care,
To never question why He puts me in situations,
But simply to ask how to best glorify Him there—
How to best bloom in the garden He has placed me.
 
This year He revealed to me matters of the heart,
Teaching me to love more unconditionally His people,
And let go of things that aren’t meant for me.
This year He taught me that letting go doesn’t always have to be painful,
And that painful breakage can be beautiful too.
Like a vessel breaking and showing up cracks,
Only to reveal golden light inside.
 
Yes, this year, God broke my heart—a lot.
But it all turns out to be a beautiful breakage
And, dare I say it, may He prepare me for more heartbreaks.
Because it was when he broke me that I’ve seen—
I am in need of nothing and no one else but Him.
 
This year I learned to be more honest with the Lord—
With how I feel, what I hope for, what I’m confused about,
Things I want to know from Him and of Him.
My relationship with Him grew so much deeper as He taught me
That I can really and literally talk to Him as I would an esteemed friend.
And isn’t He the best person to be friends with!
 
This year I learned to laugh more heartily—
Not because I have no more cares and concerns,
Not because I can see the solution in every problem,
But because I’ve clearly seen how God is very intimately involved in my daily life—
And with a loving and Almighty God writing your story,
Who needs to fret on the plot development and ending?
 
This year I found myself singing along with Horatio Spafford when he wrote,
“Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, ‘It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Has God spared me from traumatic trials?
It is well with my soul.
Has He kept me from getting things I thought I’ve wanted?
It is well.
Has He told me countless times to let go?
It is well. It is well.
 
Because what He ultimately taught me this year
Is that I may never be enough,
But He always is. Always will be.
And I guess that’s the best lesson of all.
 
And so, yes, I’m now facing a new “turn” in the road.
And I can only smile excitedly as I wait to see,
just right there at the corner, what He has in store for me.
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An Unsettling Paranoia

Posted: July 14, 2015 in Prose
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July 7, 2015
________________

I really appreciate this notebook. As an effort to make the fellowship among SGC youth more intimate, a youth meeting every Sunday afternoon was formed. But Ate Hapi also wanted to have a talk just among the girls. And understanding that perhaps spoken words (not poetry, lol) may be a challenging avenue of expressing ones thought. Ate Hapi gave us this. Supposedly, this is for questions and thoughts one would like to discuss.

Mine is not a question, nor a logical/reasonable thought. It’s a paranoia, a fear on what’s yet to happen. One also that I haven’t been able to shake off, for years now. And that is, my fear of being hurt by the ones I love.

Mingling with non-Christians and becoming friends with people who do not hold on to the same faith as you do is not so grave of a conflict. Dwelling on the common ground, one can actually work with them; laugh with them, even. But whenever I get to think of these non-Christian friends, there is always, always that looming thought.

The thought that, one day, the civility would have to end. That the common ground would cease to exist. The thought that, today, it may seem that we are treading towards the same direction, but someday the road will be forked and the demarcation line shall be clear. That, right now, we may be content to leave each other in peace with out own personal convictions, but someday we would wake up and find out–we can’t do that anymore. The rift would be too great, the division too vast. There would be no more gray area. Everything, everyone, would be in black and white. Hard line. Explicit.

And then–I think–what? What would happen then? What would become of us, of the years of friendship and laughter, and sorrows shared together? Would it become a shield to protect me from agonizing pain, or would be the knife to wound me lethally from the inside?

You see, that’s what I fear. I fear that, because these people I dearly love do not adhere to the same belief I succumb myself to, and because one day the “wicked shall be wicked still and the righteous shall be righteous still,” they would actually be the cause of my future affliction. Persecution.

I could already picture myself in the years to come–being tipped to the authorities by a Catholic, hunted down, captured, and arrested by an agnostic, tortured and executed by an atheist. The image burns in my head, perpetually. To the point that, at times, it gravely affects my dealings with these people. That sometimes I’d wish I could just shut them out of my heart and keep my emotions at bay.

But then the question remains, and the fear, the paranoia, is still not dealt with. Would the friendship suffice, when fate has declared the war? Because more than the idea of being persecuted, I melt with fear and anxiety with the thought of having to suffer affliction and betrayal in the hands of people I used to share such golden memories with.

On Healthy Living

Posted: March 28, 2015 in Uncategorized
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If I want to have a healthy lifestyle,

If I wish to live long at all,

I should stop eating fries.

Just like I should stop thinking of you.

Of Life’s Ironies

Posted: March 2, 2015 in Poems
Tags: ,

There are so many people

who are there only

to laud you in your success,

but never to strengthen you

when you’re fainthearted;

there to commend you

when you get the job done,

but never to smile at you comfortingly

when you commit a mistake.

There to say, “I’m proud of you,”

when you’ve gained world recognition,

but never was once there to encourage you

when you were still treading that trial-filled journey.

There are just so many people

who are ready to smile with you in triumph

without even bothering to know the heartaches

you suffered before reaching that victory…

and without bothering to realize

how they have actually inflicted all the pain.

Waiting For The Music (12.7.14)

Posted: December 7, 2014 in Poems
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I await for your shadow
to darken my doorsteps.

I await to hear your voice,
which surely is music to my ears.

I await for that instance
when we’d be spending time together.

I await for your stringed instrument
to infiltrate my tedious life.

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.”

“If Ever” (12.01.13)

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Poems
Tags: ,

If ever I should someday marry,
A set of standards must first be met.
The right traits in my man I should see,
Or I’d soon do something I’d regret.

If ever I’ll get married someday,
I want to marry a man so strong–
One who can make me yeild to His way;
For such can spare me from doing wrong.

He must be a good enough leader–
For I am wild and wayward, you see.
I am strong, so he must be stronger;
For only then can someone lead me.

Above all, he must be a Christian–
One who’s fully devoted to God–
Because only a truth-loving man
Can ever give true and selfless love.

But then, if ever I should marry,
I, too, must be transformed once for all.
I should be meek, submissive, and lowly,
And learn to love my Lord above all.

These things are all standards to be met,
Graces to pray for, goals to target.
But ’till I learn to be gentle and quiet,
I don’t want any romance just yet.