prisoner’s lament

Shackles, deathly shackles—
Round these bleeding wrists and ankles

Freedom, oh sweet freedom—
Longing nightly for your kingdom

Savior, mighty Savior—
Look on this pris’ner with favor.

take two

Train me, God, to walk straight;
then I’ll follow your true path.
Put me together, one heart and mind;
then, undivided, I’ll worship in joyful fear.
~Psalm 86:11 (The Message)

This morning I’m pondering two thoughts from this prayer by David (perhaps written when he was being pursued by Saul’s men in order to destroy him).

First, the word “train.” It implies a long process that entails commitment, perseverance, falling and getting up again, pain, suffering a setback and then fighting to get back on track,  progress in small increments. Waking up an hour ago, I felt my muscles aching from my late-night workout and early-morning swim yesterday. I want a flat, ripped tummy, a don’t-mess-with-me chest, and Arnold biceps… well, probably not that monstrous. More than that, I want to feel like I have control over this glob of biological matter, unfettered by premature aches, shortness of breath, and lethargy resulting from neglect. But a fit body isn’t FedExed to me overnight after a few clicks on a website. I have to train myself — to workout even if I don’t feel like doing so most times; to self-talk in a way that puts some sense into my coach-potato head; to not give up when I slip into a no-workout week (like last week).

I want to be trained “to walk straight” in life, not as someone who doesn’t know his way, mindlessly turning at every corner. A friend of mine who runs marathons says that running has helped him gain insight into the spiritual life. I assume working out regularly — training myself physically — will also yield a similar enlightenment; or at least a better insight into my spirit’s need for obedience training, even if it’s the kind that’s infinitely more difficult than bicycle crunches and bicep curls. But considering the rewards — life! — it’s worth the spiritual sweat.

Second, “put me together, one heart and mind.” I claim this prayer as my own. I desire unity within myself. Like all Christ-followers, I am waging an internal war, as if I were “two men entrenched in a battle,” as the dcTalk song goes. When I made the decision at the start of the year to get serious about putting to death self and all its selfish pursuits, I had very little idea how much of a battle Self will put up. Daily, I become more conscious of this intense, unseen battle and how important the stakes are. And daily I come face to face with a deeper sense of how utterly weak I am and how I can so easily switch sides: from Team Life to Team Self. It’s crazy!

Many times I break the heart of God with my choices; I am swayed by the deceitfulness of the Enemy and my sinful nature. And so with David I pray for the Great Physician to perform the complicated surgery of “put(ting) me together, one heart and mind.” For Team Life to take the upper hand more and more, until Team Self is contained and eventually vanquished. For wisdom to see that I am only as strong as my weakness and faith in the finished work of Christ.

I take comfort in the truth that ultimately the war has been fought and won for me in Christ. Father, grant me faith to train faithfully and submit wholeheartedly to Your work of uniting the inner man for Your use and glory. This is my worship.

the job of humanity

“How frail is humanity! How short is life, and how full of trouble! Like a flower, we blossom for a moment and then wither. Like the shadow of a passing cloud, we quickly disappear.” ~ Job 14:1-2

Beset with all sorts of suffering imaginable (aggravated by insensitive words of friends), Job sees clearly what many of us refuse or have difficulty understanding: our frail, full-of-trouble, and fleeting humanity. Now what to do with this blink-of-an-eye existence, this tumultuous bleep in eternity? Moses, another ancient man of God who also was not a stranger to suffering, prayed, “Teach us to number our days aright, so we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

Father, guide and be glorified with this one life.

first 2010 post

I am forcing myself to blog today.

I sense a full heart that is dying to write its contents down, but is held back by a sluggish mind and rusty writing skills. It is frustrating to not be able to match heart stuff with the right words. The trip from heart to typing fingers is bumpy today.

But still I force myself to let it out. Even if in incoherent trickles.

* * *

I’m thinking about the first few days of 2010 and how the 2009 year-end holidays already feel like an eternity ago. I spent my holidays in Davao with my family. And what a roller-coaster ride it was — with its ups and downs and all the extreme emotions in between that just made me realize all the more how much I love my family. Speaking of home,  this morning I was going through my journal entries from last year (they’re scattered all over my computer, tucked away in all sorts of folders and applications) and came across the following entry written sometime in July when I was in Davao for a few days.

While I was getting dressed one morning in the big room that is now Kuya Bong’s room, I asked myself, “When did this house stop being home?” Not that I no longer have fond memories of this place; or that I have stopped longing to come to it every now and then; but, for some reason, this familiar place of my childhood has ceased being home. Should I feel ashamed? If this isn’t home anymore, then where is home now?

Where, indeed, is my home now? Maybe for now it is not a physical place. Or maybe, in its truest sense, home is never really just a physical place. “Home is where the heart is,” says the cliche. So I guess the deepr question is, Where is my heart now?

* * *

During the holidays, God dealt with me in a tender and yet powerful way. As I think about it now, there is a lump in my throat and my eyes mist. I am overwhelmed by the Heavenly Father’s relentless love in stark contrast with my unfaithfulness. There are no words to explain it — the feeling is a mixture of both the familiar (“God loves me.”) and the mysterious (“How could God love me?!”).

“This year I die,” I wrote on FaceBook. Death to self is  life in Christ. Quoting a line from the song Seasons of Love, I posted on FaceBook on New Year’s Eve: “Five hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes. How do you measure a year?” A missionary friend answered in one word: Obedience. Wow. I looked back at 2009 and found to my shame that I have lived more for self than for Christ. “My only hope is full surrender, so with each borrowed breath, I inhale the Spirit’s will for me to die a deeper death.” I thank God for whoever penned the words to that Steve Green song. God has used this song to convict me many times.

But even death to self is not the ultimate pursuit. Yesterday I met with two men whom I love dearly and trust deeply, and I shared with them in halting sentences what God is doing in my heart; that His invitation to me is not to strive harder, or be more disciplined, or do more for Him and His kingdom. The invitation, extended ever so lovingly and tenderly, is to know Him. Now I sense an inexplicable desire to know this Person whom I call Lord and Savior. And I pray that this desire will burn and consume me so that every day I wake up like a child on Christmas morning wondering what gifts of knowing my gracious Father await me.

The year is long, and—the Lord willing—this life longer still. I am aware that this fiery desire can and will be tested. I write this on my blog so that when those days come, I can return to these words and remind myself of that tender invitation and the blazing fire it has set in my heart.

Oh to know the pow’r of Your risen life;
And to know You in your suffering;
To become like You in Your death, my Lord,
So with You to live and never die.

Knowing You (All I Once Held Dear)

topped

It took a few months since moving in before I discovered the rooftop of the  building where I now live. Tonight, after bringing out the trash, I boarded the lift all the way to the topmost floor, went out the fire exit, and took a few flights of stairs to the open-air rooftop.

The cold December wind greeted me. I acknowledged her welcome with a smile. Now thirty-two stories above smoggy EDSA, it seemed safe and sensible to take deep breaths and let the cool air wash over me. The relentless cold wind tousled my hair and dried my lips. I felt my face tingle as it started to grow numb, a good kind of numb.

Looking down, things transformed. Highways and streets became winding veins and arteries traversed by a two-way stream of blood. But instead of red, this blood was golden, created by the yellow headlights. If you squinted just right, the traffic below blurred into a yellow worm that seemed to be going somewhere and nowhere at the same time.

It’s amazing what vertical distance can do. I could shout and not care about being heard. I could sing at the top of my lungs without fear of troubling anyone. I could look up and see stars. I could look within and see myself, away from the cares of life below. I could remind myself that no distance — height, depth, nor breadth — can ever separate me from the One whose love for me knows no space.

Obviously, even at this height, the heavens are still infinitely higher.

Wherever I run, wherever I go,
You will be there, never to let me go.
(No Mount Too High)

stories

While Metro Manila’s streets were being turned into raging, deathly rivers by non-stop torrential rains last Saturday, I was with forty-plus co-workers on board a tourist bus somewhere in Batangas. We were heading back to Manila following an exhilarating and spiritually enriching company retreat at a Batangas resort.

News of the unfolding calamity in Manila reached us in trickles. An officemate got a text (or was it a call?)  from her brother about “rubber boats” on EDSA. I couldn’t believe my ears, and so I clarified: “Did you say ‘rubber boats’ or ‘rubber boots’?”

It didn’t take long before we all began to appreciate the gravity of the situation in the metropolis. One of us gravely reported that the flood had reached their house; a co-worker received a text report that their car had been displaced by the current; flood waters had risen to second-story heights.

We were at a crossroads: to continue our journey home via an alternate route that avoided the express way, or make a U-turn and make good on a co-worker’s offer to house all of us for the night. Some of us were anxious to get home and be with loved ones despite the risks, while some felt that the best course of action was to wait it out away from Metro Manila and then resume the journey when the situation improved.

Before entering the express way our bus driver discovered a problem with our brakes, a setback that proved to be our biggest blessing. After the brakes were fixed (which was nothing short of a miracle!), it became clear to everyone that the wisest decision was to spend the night in Batangas and continue the journey in the morning, hoping that by then the rains have stopped and the floods have been drained out of the major thoroughfares.

Thankfully, everyone in our group was calm, patient, and cooperative. With a few others, I helped lead our pack of marooned travelers—silently pleading for God’s mercy and guidance at every turn, helping to lighten up the mood with a few jokes, updating the group of whatever progress or new setback we were facing…. By God’s grace—and I mean that with all my heart—we were able to make it back to Manila the following morning without any further incident.

Our story is just one of many in the tapestry of stories that last weekend’s calamity has woven all throughout Metro Manila and its neighboring areas. Surely, our story is among the least grave, if at all. The media, the Internet included, tell of harrowing tales of families trapped on rooftops, shivering in the rain for many hours while desperately praying for help that usually came belatedly. Photographs and video clips, both amateur and journalistic, show ghastly images of men, women, and children being subjected to Nature’s stormy wrath. The fatality toll continues to rise, not to mention the cost of damaged properties and displaced lives.

But the stories do not end there. For me and my officemates, the story continued with thanksgiving and praise during the weekly company meeting this morning, followed by an earnest petition on behalf of the calamity victims. In the afternoon, just outside my office room, the conference table was filled with donated clothes, sorted according to their intended wearers. On the floor, next to the steel cabinets, canned goods were neatly arranged, waiting to be packed tomorrow with other relief items. Earlier we were trying to compose a list of more things to buy for inclusion in the relief packs.

The pile of goods doesn’t look a lot. But we pray it will make a difference in the stories of some people in our community.

retreat

It’s just Wednesday, but we’ve been wrapping up the week’s work here at the office like it was Friday. That’s because tomorrow we all troop to Batangas for the annual staff retreat. Call time for the bus ride is 6AM. Although I live 10 minutes away by foot, I dread not making it on time. Must set the alarm — multiple times, at 15-minute intervals.

Tonight I load my backpack with three days’ worth of clothes and stuff, anticipating a great time by the beach with co-workers, most of whom have become dear friends, even family, through the years. Tonight I also start unloading my heart and my mind of clutter wrought by the past weeks’ busyness, and prepare the inner self to retreat — to actually zoom out, come away, reflect on the ‘big’ issues above the minutiae. And, hopefully, encounter God afresh in whatever way He chooses to reveal Himself to me, to us.

One more task before I go on full retreat mode: set my email’s auto-response.

the question

“You don’t blog anymore, do you?”

The question was posed with a kind smile by Ate Grace last Thursday at the Book Fair. “Ate Grace” is actually Grace D. Chong, multiple Palanca award-winner and among our prized authors at OMF Lit. We were chatting during downtime at our booth where she was doing media interviews and graciously signing copies of her children’s books (much to the delight of awestruck young readers and their parents).

Ate Grace’s question lent voice to a feeling inside of me that has been silently bugging me these past months. I replied with a sheepish grin and mumbled something unremarkable about being too busy with work to blog.

Truth is, I feel guilty about neglecting personal creative pursuits, blogging included. I do enjoy my marketing work at the publishing house. It keeps me on my toes and presents enough creative and leadership challenges to keep middle-brained me engaged. Plus I am blessed with a great staff who work as hard as they laugh.

Without realizing it, or perhaps taking time to acknowledge it, I have let busyness with work take me away from the things that I love doing on my own. And that includes blogging. I have all but ignored the creative “itch” these past months with very sparse writing (it gets sparser if you discount writing status messages on Facebook).

I’m not making any promises with this post. No blog marathons to be launched here either. But it does feel good to be blogging again — just because. There is something invigorating when you submit to the call to create no matter how small the output is. I believe this is divine joy gifted by a loving Creator.

Now I wonder when I will start drawing again.

places

There are places so different and aloof that no matter how hard you try to blend in you just can’t shake off feeling like a stranger. And you realize that regardless of how long you stay or how often you visit, they will never feel familiar, or at least comfortable. That’s just the way things are between you and these places.

And perhaps the same can be said of people.

confessions of apathy

There are ways to cope with frustration over a government that has done nothing but drag this country deeper into the pit of poverty and shame. The most popular one has been to pack and find a better life in a foreign land. Who can blame those who have taken this road? I know I don’t. Although I have thus far chosen to stay put, there is nothing noble about how I cope.

Apathy.

I’m not proud of it. And maybe writing about it is my way of finding absolution. It’s not that I woke up one day and decided I would stop caring about how the Philippines’ shameless, thick-faced leaders are ever tightening their grip around the neck of a very sick nation, choking the very life out of her for personal gain. But one can only take so much exposés by whistle-blowers, blatant self-service of so-called public servants, assassinations left and right—all assaulting the public psyche one after the other, and none finding resolution or even a semblance of justice.

Imagine the numbing effect on a citizen like myself.

But give it to our politicians to make even the most apathetic and numb flinch in disgusted awe of their ever-growing shamelessness. The other night I was enjoying my dinner of sisig when the news on TV reported that the lower house had approved House Resolution 1109  in a glaringly unconstitutional and anti-democratic move that would eventually allow the extension of the present administration’s term.

I do not claim to understand the intricacies of this political maneuver. The Palace-dwelling beneficiary of the move by administration congressmen has denied involvement. (It is disgusting how stupid they must think the public is!)  But I have to thank the House of Representatives for thawing my apathy, and for making me realize that I have, in the first place, grown apathetic.

Now I am outraged. But outrage, in itself, is unproductive. That’s why I write. That’s why I’m thankful that yesterday during our office prayer time we had the chance to pray for the issues of this country, the controversial HR 1109 and its implications included.

One cannot pray and remain indifferent. Faith and apathy cannot occupy the same space.