traveling thoughts

My work with the publishing house has entailed some travel, both domestic and overseas. And I’m not complaining. I’ve welcomed every business trip with open arms and a hastily packed suitcase. (No matter how much lead-time I get, I always pack at the last possible minute.)

I suspect I am a natural wanderer who derives an unusual enjoyment from being in transit. Truth be told, I usually enjoy journeying more than actually arriving; while many travelers get impatient and moan, “Are we there yet?” I feel a tinge of anxiety when the bus begins to slow down or the plane starts its descent. “Another half hour of travel, please?”

But I’m sensing a shift in my relationship with traveling of late. Nothing tectonic, but still a change. Let me explain.

The past few months have found me on board a plane more than usual. Except for missing Daphne, having to cycle clothes and other travel paraphernalia, and getting disoriented the first minute of waking up in a hotel room, I think I’m coping quite well. But that’s the problem—I’m just coping, where I used to have fun.

Traveling, I’m afraid, is slowly becoming a chore more than an adventure.

Case in point: Before, I used to always want the window seat so that, atop clouds, I could watch the sunrise/sunset, marvel at the labyrinth of streets and rivers below, and trace the crinkling of terrain. Now, I find myself requesting for an aisle seat more often, preferably by the exit row so I could get more leg room for my arthritic, long legs. And as soon as I locate my seat and stow my luggage, I promptly doze off, sometimes missing the safety demo altogether.

I don’t think I will ever detest traveling, but I do think I need to intentionally fan the flames of wonder. I’ll start by asking for a window seat on my next flight come Holy Week. I fly to Davao very early in the morning; I hope I get a fantastic view of the sunrise.

 

classy

Hear that rusty, creaking sound?

Well, that’s me switching my brain to “student mode”. Last week I began a leadership and management course at the Ateneo Center for Continuing Education. I’ll be hurdling this course for the next three months, sitting in class for a total of 14 hours per week (including all Saturdays of summer, ouch), and praying three days a week for a good parking space in crazy Makati.

And I’m stoked! It’s a welcome change to be in a formal learning setting again, complete with handouts, classmates, and debates. And, yes, homework too (this part isn’t too exciting). I joined a batch of over 30 managers representing a hodgepodge of industries—IT, hospitality, construction, FMCGs (fast-moving consumer goods), automotive, real estate. We also come from various functional expertise—sales and marketing, finance, human resource, operations, manufacturing. As the sole dude from publishing and book distribution, I’m happy to contribute to and learn from this rich tapestry of professional experiences.

When we had the requisite introduce-yourself exercise during the first meeting, I was happy to find that several of my classmates recognized our publishing house, bookshop, and books. One even came up to me during coffee break and said she frequents our Makati bookshop. Another told me that he found one of our leadership books, The Way of the Shepherd, very helpful. Praise God!

Judging from past experience, I know that I can be very conspicuous in a classroom setting—and not just because I am tall, but also, and perhaps mainly, because I can be boisterous and, er, competitive. (Yes, in the past, I was usually that kid in class whose hand shot up one time too many to recite, who cheered and jeered—good-naturedly, I hope—during group presentations, and who dispensed from a bag of humorous asides that brought down the class in fits of laughter and sometimes derailed the teacher.) For this class of, eherm, management professionals, I had resolved to tone down “Bibo Kid” mode a few notches lower.

But I’m not sure if I’m succeeding.

Yesterday at the end of the long Saturday session, the training coordinator came in to conduct a class election for President and Vice President. Guess who the class elected (well, “called out” is more accurate) for President. Put on the spot and feeling awkward, the only thing I could muster to say was, “Do I get discretionary funds?” Everyone laughed, and some demanded a treat for my “victory.” I’m thinking Chocnut.

singing a prayer

We’re blind but pray for eyes to see
Where we’re bound, Lord, make us free
Stained, we plead for purity

I believe it is to present-day evangelicalism’s impoverishment that reciting from a prayer book or uttering prayers written by other believers (usually in formal, difficult language) is somehow deemed less spiritual compared to saying spontaneous, self-composed prayers. The latter is considered more sincere and potent owing to its being more personal; the former reeks of tradition and is therefore frowned upon by many today for being “scripted”. And yet, it is interesting how the “personal” prayers are oftentimes filled with overused christianese—”cover us with Your precious blood”, “for the nourishment of our bodies”, “expansion of Your kingdom”—thereby robbing the prayers of, ironically, personality and freshness. Modern evangelicals who discover old prayer books, hymns, and recorded prayers are surprised to stumble upon a fresh pathway to the heart of the Almighty.

Personally, when I feel too overwhelmed to shape a prayer with my own words, I have found it refreshing to borrow another Christian’s words and let those rise to the God who hears, whose heart is inclined not to my words but to my very heart.

Of late I have been praying this prayer-in-song by Steve Green, which in turn was inspired by reformer Martin Luther’s first of 95 theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said ‘Repent,’ he intended that the entire life of believers should be repentance.” I first heard this song at a prayer meeting at Davao Chinese Baptist Church.

Here, have a listen. And, yes, pray.

“Penitent, we breathe Your name.” Amen.

spaghetti, anyone?

Back in college, an American was helping me and my friends explore the Bible. He was a crazy fellow in his thirties who came up with the silliest jokes and the most outrageous stories. And he loved God’s Word with great passion.

He and his wife always had food—chips, brownies, chocolate—on the table during our weekly meetings. One Monday evening, there was a bowl of spaghetti on the table, one fork beside it. I hadn’t had dinner yet, and was secretly wondering how we would all share the small serving of pasta.

I should have known my crazy friend had other plans.

He started forking the pasta, chewing on it in between sentences. And then, without warning, he spewed half-eaten pasta back into the bowl! He swirled his fork to gather more pasta, chewed on it, and again spewed food from his mouth back into the bowl!

“Spaghetti, anyone?” he lifted the bowl, a mischievous look on his face. His offer was met with “Eeew” and “Yuck!” from the group. I was hungry, but surely not enough to partake of half-digested food!

As it turns out, my friend’s demonstration of gross table manners wasn’t pointless. There was a valuable insight to be learned: When we rely solely on what other people write or say about the Bible, we might just as well be eating pre-chewed food! Writers and speakers have digested our spiritual food for us and served it to us in bite sizes. If “processed food” is our major source of spiritual nourishment, we are surely missing out on the really good stuff!

Using devotional books and listening to sermons are great. But they shouldn’t take the place of our reading and studying the Bible on our own. The real excitement of spiritual growth comes in discovering for ourselves the truth in God’s Word, and letting it transform us. Other materials and sources should only serve to enhance our discovery.

Now, I know the Bible can be an intimidating book. As if pronouncing foreign names wasn’t hard enough, you need to consider things like culture and context to understand the Bible’s meaning. Because of this, it is wise to enlist the help of other sources, written or otherwise, to help you navigate the Scriptures better. It is also wise to interact with others in engaging the Scriptures.

What is not wise is forgoing a fresh, nutritious buffet to binge on servings of half-eaten food.

Think about my crazy friend and his bowl of yucky spaghetti. Remember that no matter how inspiring they may be, the words of other people about the Bible will never be as powerful and life-giving as the very words straight from the Bible.

Bon appétit!

__________
[This piece was written a few years ago for youth. The "crazy friend" was Kuya Craig Meyer who is now in heaven, enjoying an eternal feast with Jesus Himself. A few days ago Daphne and I had a chance to catch up with his wife, Ate Deb, who was visiting with their kids from the US. I will be forever grateful for the lives of men like Kuya Craig who have modeled for me how it is to strive to be a man wholly for God.]

space for prayer

I’m taking a Davao-bound flight later to attend to some work-related matters in my home city. Whenever in durian city, one of the things I look forward to doing is attend prayer meeting at Davao Chinese Baptist Church where my brother serves as senior pastor.

Every Friday prayer-ers, many from other churches, fill the wooden pews of “ChiBap”. The church building, almost 60 years old and one of the very few, if not the only one, in the city that still has a steeple, swells as it welcomes the weary, the joyful, the downcast, the victorious—and everyone in between who seeks to join others in prayer.

The program is as simple as it gets. No creative and bombastic numbers to attract “seekers”; no special instrumental music to create a prayer-conducive (spa-like?) ambience; no flashy videos or high-tech presentations to capture the attention of the elusive digital generation. The meeting starts with a word of welcome from the pastor, followed by singing, then prayer and some sharing from the Word by the pastor, and then more prayer.

There is a sense of clear purpose. Everyone seems to know they’re here to do one thing—pray. (Half-hour before the meeting starts, some would already be sitting in solitude, quieting themselves for prayer.)

People are free to kneel, lift their hands, weep, keep their eyes open, all while communing with the unseen and yet present One. Interestingly, there is freedom for prayerful expression, but this is beautifully tempered by everyone’s sense of respect for the silence, the space, that helps the soul detach from the noisy world and connect with God.

In this place, it is not uncommon to see grown men pull out their handkerchief to wipe tears welling from their eyes. A mother might wrap an arm around her teenage son who now towers above her. Students, uprooted from the province and trying to get an education in the nearby colleges, come to lift up to God their concerns.

The oft-repeated refrain from the pulpit is that the Lord is near to the broken-hearted, that He helps those who are helpless. And, in grace and mercy, the Spirit honors the space created for Him in these meetings—to be near and to help. I have felt God near to me in this place. I have been helped. For I, myself, have stained this church’s floor with my own tears.

feet

Sharing from my journal.

(27 June 2011)

It’s all about feet this morning.

Before I dive into work, which is mainly with spreadsheets today, I want to write something about the odd things I’ve encountered about feet this morning. I say “odd” only because they have not yet made sense to me.

Dirty feet. This morning I read about Jesus washing the disciples’ feet. Peter was hesitant to have his feet washed by Jesus, but Jesus rebuked him by saying that he will not belong to Him unless He washed his feet.

Clay feet. In an article on The Gospel Coalition that I was reading, the term “clay-footed” caught my attention. It was used twice in the article. I thought it was an apt and interesting way to describe human frailty. A reference, perhaps, to King Nebuchadnezzar’s dream which Daniel interpreted?

Bare feet. I decided to walk to work today. Not because I wanted some exercise (well, that was an afterthought), but because my car was so dirty I did not feel comfortable parking it at the office for everyone else to see. (The sun casts a very unflattering light on Graham where he’s parked at the office.) While walking I saw a little girl, no older than 9 by my estimate, walking barefooted. She did not seem uncomfortable, confidently brisk-walking the busy pavement traversed by office-attired workers trying to make it to work on time. At first I thought she was alone, but when we both stepped on the MRT station’s escalator, she reached for the hand of a man in front of her. He was now holding the plastic bag I had seen her toting just a few moments ago. He must be her father.

What’s this about feet, Lord?

And, oh, I’ve been singing Keith Green’s song of late: “Grace By Which I Stand”.

***

(6 July 2011)

I am on the verge of tears now. I just read again what I had written above, and now it seems to make sense to me after the past days’ prideful rebellion. I got my feet dirty–very filthy. It seems the Spirit knows I would be in this situation. So He sent help ahead of time… Wow. Unspeakable grace.

I am Peter. Resisting Jesus’ feet washing seems to me at times the “spiritual” thing to do. “It’s my mess, I’ll fix it. Leave the Master out of this,” I tell myself. And so I struggle, trying on my own to keep from sullying my feet with sin. And when I do get my feet soiled and shamefully dirty, I run away, hiding from the very Person who can wash me clean. Until I learn to let Jesus serve me by washing my feet, I will never have a part in Him. I must realize more and more that my dirty feet–my filthy sins!–are my Master’s business, and He wants to wash me clean of them all. But I must let Him. Oh for grace to let Jesus wash my dirty, dirty feet!

I am clay-footed. The times I stand on grace I feel powerful and indestructible. And sometimes I deceive myself into thinking that this strength is mine. Truth is, my feet are made of clay–unsteady, brittle, unable to carry my weight for me. Let me run on clay feet and eventually I fall! But let these clay feet stand on grace–and never lose sight of this truth–then I can “run and not grow weary, walk and not faint.”

I am the barefooted little girl. I might appear helpless, alone, in a crowd of strangers and towering challenges, but the truth is, my Father is close at hand. I need to be like that little girl who, even with her dirty feet and small stature, walks the city street confidently and hopefully, not because she thinks she is big, but because she knows her father is nearby and she is safe. He will carry her load. He will carry her.

***

But nothing lasts, except the grace of God, by which I stand, in Jesus.
I know that I would surely fall away, except for grace, by which I’m saved.
-Keith Green, “Grace By Which I Stand”

here

It’s Saturday and I sit here at a mall in good ol’ Quezon City. I still think Quezon City, especially the Diliman area, is one of the best and sanest places in Metro Manila. It wasn’t long ago when this had been my ‘hood. Before I moved to Mandaluyong two years ago, Diliman and its environs had been home to me for many years.

Today, I am a visitor. But one who feels most welcome, with nary a hint of awkwardness.

My cup of Krispy Kreme coffee has surrendered its contents into my system. I feel the caffeination. I like that Krispy Kreme makes strong, jolting coffee. And really sweet too. In my book, their concoction is perfect.

Now let’s see if this blend of nostalgia and caffeine will beget some writing.

restless

You have made us for Yourself,
and our hearts are restless
until they rest in You.
~Augustine

It’s a warm Saturday morning. I’m listening to Audrey Assad’s song “Restless,” inspired by the words of Augustine. I have a few hours to kill before I need to walk to the mall for a quick haircut. Then off to pick up Daphne and Gladys to attend our friends’ wedding after lunch. My barong is dry-cleaned ready. I just need to press my pants and undershirt and maybe shine my black shoes.

I’ve been asked to serve as liturgist during the wedding ceremony later. Since last night, while strolling around the mall, I’ve been pondering about how to help the wedding guests take a worshipful stance during the ceremony this afternoon because, I believe, the wedding of Christ-committed people is not just a social event but a solemn occasion that provides an opportunity to worship, to glimpse the mysterious love of the self-sacrificing Bridegroom for His bride, the Church.

Augustine has beautifully lent words to the truth that God, the Great Lover, has created us, His Beloved, for Himself. Our hearts have been fashioned to be fully satisfied by and in Him. And yet we are an unfaithful lover, abandoning the embrace of God in favor of the caresses of lesser loves. Soon enough we find that none can truly calm our restlessness, except God.

I’ve been feeling restless the past few days. Not sure why, but I have a few clues. This isn’t new, the restlessness, but I know better now than to passively yield to its pull which can easily suck me into despair; I know now that I must “find rest, O my soul, in God alone.”

If restlessness is a compass, a pointer, then I pray that God grant me, and all of us restless ones, the wisdom to let it bring us to the heart of God, the only place where we can truly rest. And on the way we worship and celebrate the manifold ways the Great Lover draws us to Himself despite ourselves.

Without You I am hopeless
Tell me who You are,
You are the keeper of my heart
~Audrey Assad, “Restless”

tea

I’m capping this Sunday with a cup of hot milk tea. Never mind that it isn’t the real thing (it’s powdered Lipton tea). Instead of the usual coffee, I decided to have something different tonight—to celebrate the day’s great feat.

And what great feat, you ask?

Well, I heroically tackled domestic chores for the better part of the day. That means doing the laundry (major, major!), vacuum-cleaning (ha-ha-hatsiiing!), floor-waxing (I used the no-buffing-needed variety, especially formulated for lazy singles), and lotsa sweating (no swearing, but almost).

Total estimated man hours spent: 5.

It’s no biggie for most people, but it’s remarkable, even miraculous, for someone as domestically inept as moi. My girlfriend smiled when I proudly reported that I had finally dealt with my condo chores after procrastinating for eternity plus a day and a half. But I dared not take her to my place to inspect the outcome of my day’s striving. I’m sure the lady will find my achievement wanting. Any lady would.

But, hey, this man’s happy enough for tea. Sip, sip.

trusting strength

“…they [the Babylonians] are deeply guilty,
for their own strength is their god.”
(Habakkuk 1:11)

“The Sovereign LORD is my strength!
He will make me as surefooted as a deer
and bring me safely over the mountains.”
(Habakkuk 3:19)

“My strength is god,” or “GOD is my strength”?

The Babylonians were God’s appointed people to execute His judgement over idolatrous Israel and the other nations. This proud people with military might unrivaled in those days would conquer many nations swiftly, including God’s beloved Israel. Pagan Babylon would rule over God’s chosen nation — what an affront to proud Israel! But this was God’s way of disciplining His beloved.

The book of Habakkuk records the prophet’s complaint before God, citing the grave sins of the Babylonians and appealing to God’s justice and love for His own people. God responds by assuring Habakkuk that Babylon will not go unpunished because she is “deeply guilty” for deifying her own strength. In contrast, at the end of his book, Habakkuk declares that the Sovereign LORD is his strength.

God, in His sovereignty, can and does choose to use the wicked things of this world to reveal His glory. But ultimately, He will judge fairly; evil will receive its due punishment. Those who trust their own strength may seem to prosper for a season, but their reign is short and they will, in God’s time, be put to shame. But those whose trust is in the LORD and His strength will be lifted by Him, even as they scale the mountains of their present sufferings.

_______

Notes from my Bible reading in Februrary 2011.