OPEN LETTER

I know you expect so much from me. And I know I have as much to give. But first, I must learn to open my heart to you, to listen and to learn. I must put myself entirely into your hands and understand that I can trust you.

But I hesitate to surrender fully for I know that first, I must go through a lot of trials and tribulations and endure so much before I can be completely yours. I have walked hand in hand, heart to heart with you. I am sure you felt my grief as deeply as if it were yours. You care for me so much you are attuned to every bit of feeling in my heart. And yet, I ask you one more time to bear with me.

I know you are giving me time, guiding me with your Spirit to allow me to get over the chaos of what is now my life. Let me get over my fear, and get a handle on the myriad changes that are happening all at once. Please be patient a liitle bit more. I know that I can rely on your strength to carry me through. But I also know that you do not want me to muddle through life in less than my best. Mediocrity is not your style, and neither is it mine.

I am coming to you with my whole being, holding back nothing, fulfilling the promise I have given you. I have come with my life and my heart, to do with as you please. For eternity. Thank you, Jesus, for loving me as I am.

LIFE'S JOURNEY

I have traveled life's road for a long time. And on this journey, I have experienced triumphs and failure, made wonderful discoveries that brought me joy and an unsurpassed wonder at how beautiful life can be. I have stared anguish and sorrow in the face, savored the sweet taste of young love’s passion, was knocked down by disillusionment, lost some of my loved ones, and realized that through it all, my character was being molded like clay in a potter’s hand.

I felt proud of myself. Despite the many times I have been knocked down, I was able to stand up again and face the challenges that life chose to throw at me. And I built my strength, don protective layers of covering by learning not to look back at my failures and then to rebuild from the ruins of the past. I didn’t examine my pain too closely, but immersed myself into other people’s grievances, helping them, giving them mercy and compassion. I learned to laugh, even when I hurt. Tears are for the weak, and regret will only hold me back.

I traveled on. Joy and tears marked the way. And through it all, I remained steadfast. I stood defiant, and challenged life to do its worst. I wouldn’t be a prisoner of the injustices that life has dealt me. I will remain unwavering, refusing to give an inch, emerging victorious and indomitable. I knew I was on the right track.

Until today. Until I talked to a man I have known for two days. He questioned my faith, called my bluff, pointed out things I haven’t bothered to look at. He made me face up myself, examine the chinks in my armor, and made me realize that during my journey, I have picked up baggage I had no business carrying. He wanted me to lay them down, go unhampered, but the baggage has become a part of me. I couldn’t give them up. Not just yet. They have become so much a part of me that giving them up will tear off a great part of the person I have become. But I realize now that the strength and courage I have thought I acquired through my trials were just a cover up for what I have let myself become over the years. A coward and a liar. I have fought for freedom, never realizing that I have locked myself in a prison of my own making. I have challenged life to do its worst, and all the while, I was keeping myself behind a façade of impassivity, afraid to feel, having made joy and pain strangers that don’t merit a second glance.

Now, I’m looking at myself differently. I have lost the vision of a victorious warrior, and in place, I see a walking wounded. Now I understand more fully why the Lord has invited me to lay down my burdens, rest in Him, and take His yoke. He has seen me as I am. He has seen my wounds. He has seen my pain. And He loves me just the way I am. Maybe He has shaken His head as I stubbornly resisted letting Him rid me of the heavy burdens I have carried for so long. But in His mercy and unwavering faithfulness, He has sent a brother to remind me that He will always be there for me.

I have many things to unlearn, and many new things to learn. It will not be an easy process, but with God’s grace, everything is possible. In time, I will be a different person. Maybe not as strong, or as self-reliant, but perhaps stronger spiritually, and more dependent upon God.

JOEY

His eyes stared at me with a sad and weary expression. His young body was stooped, and the droop of his mouth tells its own story. The young boy has found nothing much to smile about. Dear God, he’s only 14.

I remember meeting him when he was only about six or seven. He was so cute, so happy and alive that I was instantly drawn to him. He was one of my new Sunday school pupils. I knew right there and then that this boy was very special. Let's call him Joey.

I wasn't wrong in my assessment of Joey. He was that one boy who helped me clean up the classroom after Sunday school- stacking the chairs, cleaning the board, and putting back the toys in their boxes. When he sees me coming, he would run immediately to my side and offer to carry my stuff. During class, he may be slow to catch up, but I could easily see the hunger for knowledge, the eagerness to memorize scripture verses. And I started praying that this boy will grow up to be an instrument for the ministry.

But life has a way of springing up unexpected punches that are too much to handle, especially if they are aimed at a defenseless young boy. I've seen how poverty has driven this boy's mother into becoming an entertainer in Japan, heard stories of how she had been sexually abused, beaten and how her body was filled with drugs so that she will be controlled easily by her pimp. She came home after her ordeal, a broken woman, a mentally-deranged drug addict.

The father, who was a lazy good for nothing lay-about soon turned to drugs, too, probably to forget how his irresponsibility towards his family has driven his wife to that pitiful condition. The other two sons, followed in the footsteps of their parents, and started inhaling rugby (contact cement, a kind of solvent) and later on turned to other drugs. The only daughter, 13 years old, went to live with her maternal grandmother. Some days, I’d see her standing outside in the street, staring at nothing, her pretty face blank of all emotions.

And Joey. He has continued to come to my church and has shown the same enthusiasm to learn about God. He will come to my house every Sunday, expecting to be given a free ride to church and free meals. Every time I see him coming, all done up in his best clothes - the pair of jeans not so faded as his other pair, the T-shirt that’s too big for him, probably a hand me down, and the pair of rubber shoes that has seen better days- well, my heart swelled with thanksgiving. I thought to myself that while the boy believes in the goodness of God, he may survive and not get caught up in the pit of blackness that the rest of his family has fallen into. I kept praying and hoping that he will continue to resist the bad influence of his own family.

Then, I left and moved to a town where my adopted daughter was studying. I talked to my friends in church to keep an eye on Joey. They promised they would. I left with a heavy heart, for I felt that the odd collection of misplaced kids in my Sunday school ministry were too much. Most of them have a history of dysfunctional family life, and if you don’t have much patience and a big supply of understanding, they were a bit difficult to handle. My friends keep telling me not to worry, and I tried not to. I knew that if I leave, God will anoint someone else to handle my ministry.

Years passed. I got so busy with my own life in my new home, attended a new church, and met new friends. I forgot about Joey and the other children. Until today, when I came face to face with Joey.

“Hey, how are you?” I greeted him. “You are all grown up. You must be graduating from high school now.”

“No, Ate,” I smiled at the term. He hasn’t forgotten. Ate is a form of address meaning older sister.

“What? You are not grown up? Or not graduating?” I joked.

He smiled sadly at that. “I quit school after you left.”

And church? Have you quit that, too? I didn’t say that aloud, afraid of the answer I might get. But as if he could read my mind, he blurted out, “I don’t go to church anymore either. There’s no money for the fare and it’s too far too walk. Lot’s of times, there’s no food either. I have to do odd jobs like running errands for a little food.”

“And the others?” I asked.

“They don’t go anymore either. Totong has turned to gambling, And the other boys are either into stealing or just making trouble for the fun of it.”

I asked him if he himself has turned from God. He smiled crookedly at me, and said that he still wanted to know God, but how can he? Besides, the people in church didn’t want anything to do with him or any of the others. They were mischief-makers, not exactly said to their faces, but their actions implied that. If that were not so, they would have come and visit them when they stopped coming, wouldn’t they?

I was saddened by that comment. What is going to happen to this boy? He has gone older than his age. He has been stripped of the joy of being a child, and the security that should have been provided by his parents was taken away at such an early age. What more, the chance to know God has been denied him by these bible-toting people who professed to love Jesus. But wasn’t it Jesus Himself who said to let the children come to Him?

My sister has started a bible study with this group of unwanted kids when she came back to live there again. Not a church sponsored ministry, but an independent one. She buys the materials and food for the kids from her own pocket. I just thank God that there will be someone to continue to lead these young people to God. And I pray that she will have the stamina, the resources, and the guidance of the Spirit as she goes about her ministry,
As for Joey, nothing can take away the scars of his childhood, except Jesus Himself. I just want him to know and learn that he could lay down his burdens at Jesus’ feet and find rest there from his weariness.

MARIA MAKILING

I usually wake up at 5 am and one of the first things I always do is to open the door to the balcony. I breathe deeply and look my fill of the slumbering Mt. Maria Makiling, never getting tired of its serene beauty.

Mt. Makiling is an inactive volcano, located in Southern Luzon. Its highest peak is 1,130 meters above sea level, not your usual towering mountain that looks majestic in proportion. But it’s so beautiful, like a long-haired woman reclining serenely between the provinces of Laguna and Batangas, undisturbed by the hustle and bustle of traffic on the undulating highway below it.

I grew up hearing much folklore from my elders and teachers. The Philippine culture is steeped with myths and legends, and if you have an over-active imagination, it isn’t hard to get carried away by the many colorful stories handed down from generation to generation. One of my favorite stories is the story of Mt. Makiling .

It is said that during the Spanish regime, there was a beautiful Diwata, a magical being who lives on the mountain top. She was so beautiful and kind that she was beloved in the province of Laguna. She helped the poor people by giving them ginger that turns to gold in the morning. Because of her famed beauty, many suitors wooed her, but three of them were the most determined. Captain Lara, a Spanish soldier who always gifted her with luxurious gifts from Europe, Joselito a Spanish Mestizo who is a student in Manila who had many stories to tell about places and things he has read in his books, and Juan, a common but very industrious farmer. Because Juan works so hard, he always had a good harvest, and his animals thrived. It was him whom Maria secretly admired.

As time passed, the suitors clamored for Maria to choose the one she favors. Maria was forced to promise them that she will give her decision on the next full moon.

When the night of the full moon came, all of Maria’s suitors climbed up the mountain to hear her decision. They were surprised and affronted when she named Juan as the man she loves. Captain Lara and Joselito didn’t take this too well, and together, they plotted against the unsuspecting Juan.


It wasn’t long before fire gutted the Spanish cuartel. Many Filipinos were captured and tortured, and some did not survive the torture that the Spanish inflicted on them. At the prodding of Joselito and Captain Lara, and fear for they lives if they didn’t comply with their plans, the other prisoners pointed to Juan as the arsonist. Juan was taken to the plaza by the soldiers to face the firing squad. Juan was innocent but he was sacrificed by his own people because of cowardice. He died for something he didn’t do, but managed to shout Maria’s name before he did.

Maria heard him and came down from the mountain, but Juan was already dead. With tears running down her lovely face, Maria cradled the lifeless body of her beloved in her arms. She looked at the people with accusing eyes, and they left one by one, guilt heavy in their hearts.

In their fear of the Diwata’s wrath, Joselito and Captain Lara fled to Manila. When Maria heard this, she uttered a curse against the two. It wasn’t long before Joselito was afflicted with a lingering illness that has no cure. Captain Lara was recalled to Laguna when the revolution against the Spanish tyranny broke out. He was later killed by the Filipino revolutionists.

Maria disappeared into her mountains. She never helped the people again because of their betrayal of her beloved Juan.

Now, when you look at Mt. Makiling from a certain angle, you see a reclining woman with long hair. People say that the woman is Maria, the Diwata, alone in the mountain peak , still lamenting the lost of Juan.

A beautiful but tragic story isn’t it? And when I look out in the morning, I think about Maria, how beautiful she is, but how sad in her solitude.

A BLESSING OR A CURSE?

I'm the kind of person who will go out of her way to help an old lady across the street, or to help a child being chased by a dog. I always thank the driver when I get off a public transport, thank the crew getting my order at the fast-food restaurant, or the cashier at the bookstore. It's quite easy for me to get someone to confide in me, or to feel comfortable talking to me, as if I were an old friend. But it's also easy for me to empathize and get involve with these people – feeling their pain, making their worries my own, and generally immersing myself into whatever is currently happening in their lives. People are special to me, whether they are my family and friends, or just strangers.

When people tell me that they appreciate my concern, or my kindness, I think the Lord has truly blessed me. When I have made a person smile, or made him feel good, or consoled someone in the midst of his grief, held someone’s hand in silent support… when I feel that I have touched someone’s life and made a difference, no matter how small, then I know my sojourn in this world is worthwhile. When I manage to teach a child to say sorry and thank you, encouraged an elderly friend that this life is still worth living despite his many aches and waning sight, I thank God most humbly that He has made me aware of the needs of others, and has used me to manifest his goodness and faithfulness. And then I truly feel blessed.

But as I search for words to comfort someone whose loved one is dying, when I feel as if every word I utter does not mean anything at all, or if there is someone who needs help and I couldn’t meet that need and he has to go away empty-handed, or I see the suffering of a friend but there is no way for me to alleviate that, then I feel as if I am cursed. For what use is my life if it can’t ease the pain of someone?

Sometimes, I wish I didn’t care so much. But will life be any easier if I didn’t?

MOVING HOUSE – AGAIN!

About two years ago, we left our old house in Sta. Cruz to move to an apartment near Mitch and Jaybee’s school. It was such a difficult decision to make because the house was so full of happy memories. It wasn’t just a home for my family, but for our church as well. The very first worship service for the first Reformed Church in that town was held in our living room, and later, when a small building was built to house the church, the house became an extension for Sunday School.

Now, two years later, we are moving back. At least my mom and sister are coming back to stay. The girls and I will only come home for the weekends. On school days, we will be in Calamba.

The house is so different now. Two years of neglect has taken its toll, so it would take a lot of money and effort to get it back in shape. Even the yard looks different. My dad, when he was still alive, spent hours tending his plants and fruit-bearing trees. You will never see a clump of weeds daring to show itself on my father’s private domain. Even now, I can still see him busily watering and pruning his favorite “rosal”, spraying the “langka” tree, or just standing in the middle of the yard, admiring his handiwork.

But that was a long time ago. Now the yard is overrun with weeds, the flowering plants have been stolen, some of my Mom’s orchids are missing, and the fence… it’s no longer there. The neighbors have torn down the fence so that they can take a shortcut through our property. Some people have no sense of respect.

And the house itself… the wallpapers are torn, the termites have found their way to the wooden doorframe, and the paint is starting to peel. . The house looks so sad and abandoned I can’t help feeling guilty for leaving it for so long. As I stand in the living room, I remember my daughter growing up in this house. This is where she has taken her first step, said her first word, celebrated her first birthday, her first Christmas. This is where she and her grandfather had played so many times, her childish voice mingling with my father’s deep one as he tells her stories of his boyhood. I remember them laughing together, her laughter tinkling like tiny bells as she and grandpa played horsie on the living room floor.

So many memories. Some were happy, and some were sad. I don’t know if coming back here is a good thing. My mom will remember that this is the house my dad built for her. That she has spent 50 years with him until she lost him to cancer in this very house. That she will no longer be able to see him working alongside her as she tends her orchids, and him, his part of the yard.

Everything is still a big question mark. Will we be able to settle back in this house? Will the happy memories outweigh the sad ones? Will the girls be able to rediscover old friendships? Will Mom be happier here, in her husband’s house? Will my sister manage to look after her in spite of her job? Maybe, time will have all the answers. Maybe we will be staying. And then, maybe not.

EXTREMES

This week has been an exceptional week. I went to a lot of extremes and it amazes me that I survived. God has a way of of making you face up your strength and weaknesses, and then lead you to reaching your potentials. He also shows you who your real friends are, the ones who would stay with you, not only in good times, but especially during the bad times. Some of the things that happened were trivial, and funny, now that I think about it. Some were really heart-rending. But they made me open my eyes to a lot of things. But that is another story.

TONGUES, OR TAILS?

James 3: 5,6

5Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!
6And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell.


Japanese Proverb:

One reason the dog has so many friends: he wags his tail instead of his tongue.


I just wish that people will try to restrain not only their desires and appetites but their tongues as well. Especially if they belong to the Body of Christ. If you can’t say anything good about a person, just keep your mouth shut. Why take the negative side, if you can go the positive? It’s so easy to find something nice to say to a person than it is to malign, and it doesn’t cost anything. It would earn you smiles, and feelings of well-being. The tongue is so small, but so hard to tame. People with wagging tongues should be given tails instead.

FICTION: A MIRROR OF REALITY?

A comment by a fellow Christian about a fictional novel we have both read has made me look deeply at some of the literatures my daughter has been reading. Some of her oldest books were a set of fairytales, some of which were made into famous movies by Walt Disney. To name a few, Cinderella, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, Hansel And Gretel and The Gingerbread Man. We see questionable values, spiritual and moral, in some of the adult reading materials on the bookstands today. But have we ever looked closely, if at all, at the seemingly innocuous nursery books we give our children? Snow White is a plot of a premeditated murder because of one person’s extreme vanity. Hansel and Gretel of irresponsible parenthood. Beauty and the Beast of a crime committed by the father and paid for by the daughter. I could name a lot more, most of them tackling the subject of greed, envy, vanity, murder, betrayal, etc., etc.

But in all of these, there is something good also. Love, sacrifice, the strength of human spirit, compassion. So we see a struggle of good and evil in mostly everything we read. And we see the same happening in real life. It is a theme that is as old as Adam and Eve. So who is imitating whom? Life imitating fiction? Or fiction imitating reality?

Take the movies- The Lord of the Rings, all three episodes was darkness versus light, temptation every step of the way, betrayal, hunger for power, but good triumphed in the end. The same thing for Starwars.

Even newspapers are interspersing their reports with fiction. A sex maniac of a congressman appears sparklingly clean in the newspapers, when everyone knows he has raped a couple of young girls. But he has paid a lot of money for good press, so there you are. It’s a mean world out there. The bottom line is only God’s Word is infallible. It is the truth, it doesn’t change, it’s reliable, and it has withstood the test of time. In everything we read, everything we see, we have to display a great amount of discernment in separating the chaff from the wheat. Not so, with God’s Word. We can count on it to be what it claims to be: THE WORD OF GOD.

RAPHAEL ANGELO

MY DAUGHTER & I

My daughter and I are the best of friends. We tell each other almost everything. And I think when I decided that I will treat her always as an equal, I made the right decision. Raising up teen-agers is a dangerous occupation:-D. Once you lose control, it’s the end for you. So, starting on equal footing is a good thing, in the sense that my teen-ager has to take responsibilities in maintaining a balance in our relationship. Granted, she’s only 16, and needs to learn a lot yet about life, but because I am a parent who is not a control-freak, she is not afraid to voice out her opinions, or to talk about her problems. This way, we have a chance to talk things out and more often than not, we arrive at a decision that is acceptable to both of us. Also, I have set certain parameters, and I made sure she understood them. She knows when something is out of bounds, but like any teen-ager, she would try to push me and won’t stop until I push back.

Trust is very important to me. She knows that and acts accordingly. The only time she ever attempted to defy me was when she was seven. She was in first grade, and the one cardinal rule that is to be kept at all cost, is that she doesn’t leave the school premises until someone from my family picks her up. But alas, like any kid just having a taste of freedom, she went off with her friends to a bookstore 3 blocks away from her school. And my sister, her biological mother, chanced upon her there. When my girl saw her, she started crying and didn’t stop until they got home. That was the last time she ever pulled anything like that.

When she started high school, I got her a mobile phone, and one of the new rules, was to call me up if there is something that will keep her in school past the time when she is supposed to be off, or if classes were shortened and she has to come home alone because the guy who drives her to and from school is not there yet.

I’m not saying that my way is the best way to treat a teen-ager. It works for me, but I don’t know if it will work with anyone else. And I’m not saying that my daughter is a perfect daughter. She isn’t. She could throw the mother of all tantrums and she would try to ride roughshod over me if I let her. But the most important thing in our relationship is trust and honesty. And this the foundation on which we have built not only a parent-child relationship, but friendship as well.

JORDANNA

HOT MAMMA , ANYONE?

I saw this funny joke on the net. With apologies to the unknown author, let me share it with you.

Morris, an 82 year-old man, went to the doctor to get a physical. A few days later the doctor saw Morris walking down the street with a gorgeous young woman on his arm.

A couple of days later the doctor spoke to Morris and said, "You're really doing great, aren't you?"

Morris replied, "Just doing what you said, Doc: 'Get a hot mamma and be cheerful.'"

The doctor said, "I didn't say that. I said, 'You've got a heart murmur. Be careful.'"

Had a good laugh? So did I. But it asks for serious thinking. How many senior citizens do I know that are lonely, sick, and alone? Too many, it breaks my heart. There’s this old guy I know, just 65 years old. He’s always drunk. Day or night you’ll see him inebriated. He was abandoned by his wife and children many years ago because he is too poor, and didn’t have much education, so good paying jobs eluded him. He is just waiting to die, he told me. For him, life is so empty there is no sense in living. So he is slowly poisoning his system with alcohol.

Then there is this woman, 63 years old. Widowed, misunderstood by her children, and left alone by them most of the time. But she met this man, much younger than her; he must be between 45-50 years old. They fell in love and are now living together. You’ll never know the amount of flak she took for taking up with that man. But look at her now, looking younger than her 63 years, happy too, I think for she always wears a smile on her face.

How many times have we taken our elders for granted? Have we ever tried to think about the many sacrifices they have made for us? Now that we are grown up, do we tell them often how much we appreciate what they have done for us? Are we doing anything to make them feel loved and valued? Or are we driving them to ease the loneliness they feel in the only way they know how? Like alcohol or affection from other people, affection which we can give them because they deserve it?Let us give more attention to our elderly family members and make them happy and content and spare them the feeling of having outlived their usefulness to the family. They have done a lot for us, so let us return the favor.

STREET FOOD

Being the daughter of a woman who has taken homemaking to a new level, street food has never gotten the chance to be present in my diet. My mom is a wonderful cook, and she frowns upon ill-cooked food, especially those that are sold in the streets, left open to dust, insects, pollution and what-have-you. I remember when I first went to school, my mom will be up early, preparing packed lunches for us, and sandwiches for mid-morning breaks. My siblings and I all get pocket money so that we can buy candies or ice cream for dessert, but she will never forget to remind us not to buy cooked food from the vendors dotting the streets on the way to school. So, I never had a chance to sample the gastronomic delight that I see displayed so temptingly in any street where there is no policeman to object.

Until I became a mother, myself. I can cook okay. If you have a mother like mine, it is a given that you will learn how. But it isn’t in me to make it my be-all and end-all. There are more important things in this life than slaving in front of the stove. I let my daughter eat at a hamburger joint during lunch breaks. It’s just around the corner from the Christian School she goes to, so I can't see any problem why she shouldn’t. The grandmother disapproves, of course. The cholesterol, salmonella from undercooked meat, the lack of fiber in the diet, was a daily mantra that is geared towards discouraging fast food lunches. But fast food has a very strong attraction for my daughter, and no one can stop her from her daily fix of hamburger and French fries. And adventurous girl that she is, she has also discovered the delights of street food, as I knew she would. She has discovered fish ball, squid ball, cheese stick, isaw, kwek-kwek, and a lot more. With great cunning, she will bring home this forbidden food for me behind her grandmother’s back. And that was when my impeccable taste for good food took a turn for the worst. I started to have cravings for kwek-kwek which is boiled quail eggs dipped in batter and then deep-fried, siomai, and kikiam. Mang Pete’s food stall became a favorite, and I usually gave my daughter extra money so that she can take home some of whatever I fancy at that given time.

What has made street food so popular? Possibly the fast-paced style of living today. If you didn’t have time to eat breakfast, you can just grab something to eat for a few pesos from a food stall on the way to the bus stop. Or maybe the sagging economy- street food is cheap. Or maybe the creativity of these small-time entrepreneurs- they can whip up dishes that are totally scrumptious despite their doubtful choice of ingredients. Like for example barbecued adidas (chicken feet marinated in a special blend of barbecue sauce), chicken intestine or “isaw”, pig’s blood, and internal organs of either pig or cow. Filipinos love to eat and are not averse to trying something new that will challenge the palate. Actually, the less innocuous ones have found their way to first-class restaurants and mall fast-food outlets like balut or boiled fertilized duck eggs, squid balls, fishballs and kikiam.

Whatever factors contributed to the popularity of street food, it is now serving a purpose. I can’t honestly say I like or even tasted some of them. But the way I see it, street food is here to stay.

FREEDOM

I became a Christian when I was still a student; I was very idealistic, very innocent. Here is something different, I thought. Something perfect, something wonderful. I thought the promised freedom that one can only find in Jesus was a simple thing. Clear-cut. I thought that it will make my life easier and more straightforward. How wrong I was.

As my faith matured, and I learned the principles by which a Christian’s faith is founded, I also learned that my own concept of freedom was at odds with what Jesus had in mind.I should have realized that freedom, with its accompanying responsibility, is even harder to handle than what I thought then were the shackles that kept me from the things I wanted to do.

Freedom, as Jesus intended, was freedom from the condemnation that is our lot if Jesus didn’t come and deliver us. Sin blinds us. It makes us self-centered, our needs and desires proclaiming it our master. But Jesus gives us hope, gives us strength to master the self that is hell-bent on leading us down the road to destruction. He frees us from the grasp of the enemy, and gives us a new insight into a better life that is centered on God.

Freedom in Jesus is a complicated thing. Instead of willfully following our instincts, it teaches us to deny ourselves. It is a life-long struggle, for from time to time, the self will try to reaffirm itself. It will try to follow its instincts to align itself with the goals of the world. But the spirit, regenerated and given authority over the flesh, will not cease to fight for supremacy to bring the whole being into the life that is governed by the will of God.

Freedom, anyone? It is the perfect, working version. Better than what this world has to offer. Take it now or regret it forever.

HEARTS

I just read the post from my Bible Study Group on the web. One of the guys had a sister-in-law who had a triple by-pass surgery and he was asking for prayers. That was yesterday. Just this morning, I had another post and she is on her way to recovery. Amazing what modern science can do. There was a time when people will laugh if you tell them that hearts can be “repaired”, but nowadays, heart surgery sounds just like another surgical procedure.

But how does one mend a broken heart? A heart that has been trampled, forsaken, messed up, betrayed? Don’t you just wish it’s as simple to find a cure for this malady? One simple stroke from a surgeon’s knife, and everything is well again? How come a person who had a triple by-pass can survive and live normally again, when a person with a broken heart has to walk like a walking wounded, or even like a zombie? Have you heard the saying that no one dies of a broken heart? True, not possible if what you're thinking is a literal death. But parts of a man whose heart has been broken dies a kind of death. The death of trust, the death of the ability to feel again, the death of hopes and dreams. The worst death of all.

So let us tread softly, lest we trample someone’s heart.

GOOD MORNING, GOD!

Good morning, God. It’s 3 am, and I couldn’t sleep anymore. I woke up in full alert mode and I don’t know why. Did you wake me? Did you want something to tell me? Hmmm, I have just opened my devotional book, and I’m reading about depression, and suddenly, my friend Herman was in my mind. He needs a job, Lord, and I don’t know what the job situation is in Australia today. But it seems Herman is finding a hard time finding one. Can you please help him? He wrote me about being depressed and taking medications for it. The problem is being aggravated by his worries about not having a job, so I’m adding my prayers to his. And Edmond, this young guy from Ghana, he is such a sweet boy, I’m asking you to look out for him, please. He is a young Christian, still full of fire for the ministry. He has so many ideals, such high hopes, I’m praying that he will find the fulfillment he seeks for as a servant of The Most High. And that’s You, God.

Ain’t it funny? I was so tired last night I went to bed early. I was hoping I could sleep in today- no baby, no classes, and no worries. But You have a funny way of calling out to me. You seem to call me in the strangest places, and in ungodly hours. But, mind, I won’t have it any other way. You can call me anytime You want. You’re my very best friend and I’m available for You anytime You want me, okay? And I’m depending on You to be there for me. ALWAYS. Good morning, God. I love You.

FRIENDS:

What is a friend? According to the dictionary A person whom one knows, likes, and trusts; an acquaintance, person with whom one is allied in a struggle or cause; a comrade, one who supports, sympathizes with, or patronizes a group, cause, or movement. But each of us has his own definition of ”friend” that is more intimate, more clear-cut.

For me, a friend is a trusted companion, one who is not afraid to show me his or her real self, warts and all.

A friend is a person one can sit with quietly, not feeling that there is a necessity for words, because the silence is already a manifestation of the perfect accord that is ever present in the relationship.

A friend is someone who is willing to listen to you until you are talked out, but is not afraid to talk back and has no fear in pointing out the rights and wrongs of your stand.

A friend is someone you can be comfortable with, someone who wouldn’t mind if he sees you with your hair like a bird’s nest, or that you are wearing your oldest dressing gown shot with holes.

A friend is someone you wouldn’t mind seeing you emotionally naked.

A friend is someone you can count on to laugh at your corny jokes or share private ones with.

A friend is someone who sometimes leaves and stays away for a long time, but you still feel the warmth of his presence in spite of his absence.

A friend is someone who will stand by you when everyone else has walked away.

A friend is someone who will let you share his burdens.

A friend is someone willing to share your joys and sorrows, your failures and victories.

A friend is someone who will not be embarrassed to tell you that your slip is showing or that you have spinach between your teeth.

A friend is the first person you think of on special occasions.

A friend can be anyone – your parents, siblings, children, your lover, even your dog.

BE SURE TO TELL THEM OFTEN HOW MUCH YOU CHERISH THEIR FRIENDSHIP.

HI-TECH?

Today, students spend longer time in school, have more subjects in their curriculum, and have more projects and extra-curricular activities. The school buildings are bigger, the rooms air-conditioned, the tuition sky-high. You would think better and more intelligent students will turn out from these schools. But take a close look. A lot of youngsters today couldn't do their math without the use of a calculator. They don’t even know that you can compute square roots minus the scientific calculator. They couldn't do their research works without the computer and internet connections. You see them with a lot of gizmos at their fingertips to do their school work. They can even text the network for thesaurus, current events, and watch a 30 -minute television news on phone video. But watch them panic when an important assignment is scheduled for submission and a power failure occurred just when the cell phone battery is empty.

When we enroll our children in school, we make sure that the school is of a standard acceptable to us. We check out their teaching standards, their computer lab, the rooms, the grounds, even the class population. We pay a lot of money so that they can use the school's online resources, and we investigate if their I.T. Instructor is any good.

But are we encouraging our children to be so technical and "cyber-dependent" and therefore helpless and lacking in resourcefulness? How are they going to cope without the hi-tech paraphernalia that is so essential to the students nowadays? Even when it comes to entertainment, they lean more on the latest that the tech world has to offer. There are not many students who like to read books. They prefer the television for entertainment, or watching DVD. Online games like Counterstrike and Ragnarok are also "in". Whatever happened to board games like scrabble and monopoly?

Maybe we should be encouraging our children to read books, to go camping, go on a nature trip or just tear them away from the computer once in a while. Let us make them aware that the brain didn’t go out of business at the advent of CPU. Technology has a lot of good things to offer. But so does the brain.

GOD’S WORD

The Word of God is the Christian’s manual on how to live a victorious life. But let us not forget that it does not belong solely to the believer. The unbeliever as well as God’s enemy can also use it to undermine the faith of the believer. The skeptic will be open and above-board when he tries to tear down the tenets by which the believer’s faith foundation is built upon. But the enemy, the father of all lies, will use it in order to mislead, sounding sympathetic, but slowly and underhandedly tearing down our confidence in it.

God’s Word is powerful. It turns everything we believe in upside down. It teaches us to turn the other cheek, when we would rather get our own back. It teaches us to serve, when we would rather be served. It exhorts us to be like children, when we would prefer to be grown up and all-knowing. It teaches us to put our faith, and our very lives, in the hands of a hero who was executed by the enemy.

It is inconceivable for a person to look at these truths and not wonder if there is logic in them. But for the Christian, who has been regenerated by the Holy Spirit, the Word of God brings wisdom, and with wisdom, life. Let us be careful when we read the Scriptures. Let us not interpret with our own puny understanding, but let us be guided by the Spirit, that we may find the treasures that are hidden within.