“Not all powers are spectacular. Sometimes the hardest power to master is the power of yielding.”
(Hestia, The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan)

Control. Over emotions, circumstances, crises, people– most of us have this automatic response to try to be on top of them. I know I do. But we can’t always be in control of everything.

Duh. Of course you know that already. I know that too. Every time I mess up or witness something or someone fall apart within an arm’s reach, but unable to do anything about it, I am reminded keenly that there are just too many things that are beyond my help or control. But, oh, God help me, I still try. I fight until I get to the end of my strength and even my sanity. Yielding is the final option, but I hardly even think that far.

Which brings me to Elvie. People  who follow my facebook and twitter statuses would probably have heard about her because I got to donate blood to her recently and have been looking for more donors. I met her in 2008, but I got to know her better just this year, when I got to work with her in the Single Adults Ministry (SAM) at church, and recently, when we started a Bible Study at her house.

Elvie is dying of cancer. Invasive ductal carcinoma, histologic grade 3.  She’s at stage 4 already and the cancer has spread to the spine, bone marrow and liver since it was detected in 2005.In the past few weeks, she’s been in and out of the hospital. She stopped her chemo routine because it wasn’t working anymore, and now she’s trying a new one.  There is a tube plugged through her stomach to drain it of fluids regularly. She has lost all her hair. She is so thin now that I’m scared I might break her whenever I give her a hug.

She is only in her 40s, still too young to die. Sometimes, I don’t even want to acknowledge it because, really, what can you say? Last Friday, she texted me, telling the facts of her situation flat out– “Alam mo, sis, pwedeng matigok ako anytime…” Her hemoglobin and platelet count is dangerously low that if it gets even a little lower, she could die if she doesn’t make it to the hospital in time and immediately get and injection and a blood transfusion of blood type A+.

But you know, she’s one of the most optimistic, joyful and positive people I hang out with right now. She still shows up at church and the SAM activities when she can. She still goes to the office! She even told me that, even as she is scared of the pain, she’s grateful for her cancer, because if she hadn’t gotten sick, she wouldn’t have experienced this full-on dependence in God, and seen just how much He could take care of her. It may sound cliche and trite, or even crazy, but coming from her, her gratitude is so real that it’s sometimes baffling.

That’s Godspotting for you.

By yielding to the fact that she could succumb to her sickness at any time, Elvie has her priorities straight. Each day counts. She keeps on going so that God’s power and glory can all the more be shown in what’s left of her days, and to see the people she has shared the Gospel to grow closer to our Savior. But she has surrendered her sickness to God. She is ready to go whenever God calls her home. Her only prayer is to be able to keep on serving until the end. She is no longer afraid of death because it is already welcome any time.  She is free.

See her victory?

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
(Exodus 14:14)

I built another temple to a stranger
I gave away my heart to the rushing wind
I set my course to run right into danger
I sought the company of fools instead of friends

You know I’ve been unfaithful
With lovers in lines
While you’re turning over tables
With the rage of a jealous kind

I chose the gallows to the aisle
Thought that love would never find
Hanging ropes will never keep you
And your love of a jealous kind
Love of a jealous kind

Tryin’ to jump away from rock that keeps on spreading
Solace in the shift of the sinking sand
I’d rather feel the pain all too familiar
Than be broken by a lover I don’t understand
‘Cause I don’t understand

Have I been unfaithful to You, Lord? Every time I put something or somebody else at the center of my heart and affections, bypassing You, I know I have cheated on You.

I remember praying not too long ago (even as I was so scared to pray it), that I want You to be at front and center in my life. I was so in love with a boy that thoughts of him saturated everything I do and everywhere I went. And I couldn’t help it, I had given my heart to him. But I knew that my heart was Yours first, and I was worried that I had taken it back and given it to the boy instead. Because You’re invisible! He’s flesh and blood. When he held my hand, I could feel the warmth and the strength of his bones and sinews, I felt his heartbeat when he held me in his embrace. I know You’re there, but I couldn’t feel Your hug, I never see Your smile with my own eyes! You didn’t joke around with my friends like he did. I tried rationalizing that we give glory and honor to You through my love for him, but I knew that this wasn’t the case.

I guess it was at that point when I realized that even while I was happy back then with the boy, it couldn’t be complete because I had You trade places with him. I could only be happy with You first. And when the boy started failing– when we were both failing each other– it was bound to happen, though I still wish it had turned out differently.

You have every right to be jealous, because my heart was, and will always be, Yours. And when I, fallen and broken, turned to You, You scooped me up in Your arms and held me together. You were my safety when I wanted to cry. You showed me how it is to be loved and pampered, and still not be left all empty and spent. You restored my joy, gave me peace and kept me whole when everything should be broken. And while it still hurts, You never let me feel that I should be over it by now. But You gently prod me to keep on moving forward.

When I look back to my other relationships, I’ve always meant for them to please You first. But it never turns out that way. My emotions, my lust, my needs, I get in the way. A case of loving none to wisely, but too well. But O, Lord… Let it be different next time. You take over. You come first before him.

One hundred other lovers, more, one hundred other altars
If I should slow my pace and finally subject me to grace
And love that shames the wise, betrays the heart’s deceit and lies
And breaks the back of foolish pride…

Love of a jealous kind…

(A Jealous Kind, Jars of Clay)

Closing Cycles
by Paolo Coelho

One always has to know when a stage comes to an end. If we insist on staying longer than the necessary time, we lose the happiness and the meaning of the other stages we have to go through.

Closing cycles, shutting doors, ending chapters – whatever name we give it, what matters is to leave in the past the moments of life that have finished. Did you lose your job? Has a loving relationship come to an end? Did you leave your parents’ house? Gone to live abroad? Has a long-lasting friendship ended all of a sudden? You can spend a long time wondering why this has happened. You can tell yourself you won’t take another step until you find out why certain things that were so important and so solid in your life have turned into dust, just like that. But such an attitude will be awfully stressing for everyone involved: your parents, your husband or wife, your friends, your children, your sister, everyone will be finishing chapters, turning over new leaves, getting on with life, and they will all feel bad seeing you at a standstill.

None of us can be in the present and the past at the same time, not even when we try to understand the things that happen to us. What has passed will not return: we cannot for ever be children, late adolescents, sons that feel guilt or rancor towards our parents, lovers who day and night relive an affair with someone who has gone away and has not the least intention of coming back.

Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away. That is why it is so important (however painful it may be!) to destroy souvenirs, move, give lots of things away to orphanages, sell or donate the books you have at home. Everything in this visible world is a manifestation of the invisible world, of what is going on in our hearts–and getting rid of certain memories also means making some room for other memories to take their place. Let things go. Release them. Detach yourself from them.

Nobody plays this life with marked cards, so sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. Do not expect anything in return, do not expect your efforts to be appreciated, your genius to be discovered, your love to be understood. Stop turning on your emotional television to watch the same program over and over again, the one that shows how much you suffered from a certain loss: that is only poisoning you, nothing else. Nothing is more dangerous than not accepting love relationships that are broken off, work that is promised but there is no starting date, decisions that are always put off waiting for the “ideal moment.”

Before a new chapter is begun, the old one has to be finished: tell yourself that what has passed will never come back. Remember that there was a time when you could live without that thing or that person–nothing is irreplaceable, a habit is not a need. This may sound so obvious, it may even be difficult, but it is very important.

Closing cycles. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because that no longer fits your life. Shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust. Stop being who you were, and change into who you are.

This day was hard, emotion-wise. Everything may have gone smoothly and on schedule, but my heart was stuck on the breakup once again. It felt fresh again, and for once, I was glad for the traffic jam that let me have a lot of time to cry and pour out my heart to God.

I complained and whined. I asked God why do I have to be the strong girl– a complaint that I’ve had most of my life. Why can’t I just be the regular girl who can cry and be weak and heartbroken? Then I was interrupted with the thought, “Who say’s you’re the one who’s strong anyway?” And who says I don’t cry and I’m not weak? Ok, so I may not be heartbroken, but why do I keep on acting like I am? And that shut me up for a beat. I stopped complaining for a while and took out my Bible (yes, the traffic jam was that bad). Turns out, Psalm 73:26 was part of my Bible reading that day. Touche, God. Well, of course I knew all along that it’s not really my strength, but God, I’m so tired.

I wonder if Moses ever thought of making his friends put his arms down because they were already asleep during the battle of Rephidim.

Thinking about it now, that day was a like a battle for me. And God sent unlikely (well, not really that unlikely) friends to hold me up. M, my unofficial cheerleader, just kept on assuring me that I was awesome– and if he weren’t gay, he would totally hit on me (haha!). And J, my chocolate bear– who knew what it’s like to feel one thing despite knowing what is right, and has lived with that struggle all his life with no end in sight– just kept on telling me to hang on and move forward in faith and hope. For what else can we do, when things are beyond our control?

At the end of the day, I found myself talking to another friend in her room while she struggled to hold herself together under the pressure of everything that she had to finish at work and at church. We shared our struggles and gave each other encouragement. And I prayed for her– something we both needed. She needed it because she was so stressed and lonely, and I needed to get out of my head and share the strength that I had been given to help out a sister.

Thank God for friends, Christian or not, God uses them just the same to comfort and to teach lessons that should have been learned several times before.

For some reason, I really thought that life would get easier during the 60-60 Experiment but then again, if my desire is to grow even closer to God and go farther with Him in our journey, that’s not exactly going to happen all the time, right? If I want to see His strength, He would have to expose my weaknesses. If I want to be healed, I have to show Him all my wounds. If I want to minister, I would do it with all transparency, because I’m a person saved and sustained by grace too. Kinda scary, right? But onward we go!

]]> http://godspotted.com/2010/04/day-3-of-60-60-experiment-life-may-not-be-easier-but-its-definitely-more-exciting/feed/ 0 http://godspotted.com/2010/04/dead-people-walking/ http://godspotted.com/2010/04/dead-people-walking/#comments Tue, 06 Apr 2010 12:14:36 +0000 Stef http://godspotted.com/?p=256 I was reading this yesterday from A Slice of Infinity and thought that this would be a good share for today.

Where was God in all this darkness and blood and suffering? He was right there… even in the darkest of events in history, He brings us out to the other side, to be a testimony of the power of forgiveness over retribution.

Dead People Walking

In war-torn relationships of Northern Uganda, forgiveness is complicated.  Betty was a teenager when her village was raided by the Lord’s Resistance Army, a rebel army known for its brutal tactics and widespread human rights violations.  She was kidnapped as a sex slave for a commander and ordered to commit callous acts of violence as a child soldier, until gradually she was broken and became an active member of the LRA.

After six years of bloodshed, however, Betty managed to escape, running across the country to freedom.  But coming home would not be a simple matter of returning.  She had committed violence against the very people she hoped to rejoin.  Her own guilt and shame was as palpable as the mistrust and anger of her village.  In her absence, two of her own brothers had been killed by the same army Betty fought alongside.

In the midst of such loss, with so many permanent scars, forgiveness might seem hopeful, but perhaps naïve at best.  Is reconciliation even to be desired when brokenness is irreversible?  Does forgiveness cease to be hopeful when neither party can ever be the same again?

The people of Uganda believe it is.  For hundreds and hundreds of children like Betty, terrorized by crimes they were forced to commit and returning home to terrorized villages, tribal elders have adapted a ceremony to make it possible for both.  In a ceremony that includes the act of breaking and stepping on an egg and an opobo branch, the returnee is cleansed from the things he or she has done while away.  The egg symbolizes innocent life, and by breaking and placing themselves in its broken substance, returnees declare before their village their desire to be restored to the way they used to be.  In a final step over a pole, the returnees step into new life.  In many cases, women returnees come home with babies who were born in the bush, usually a result of rape.  When they arrive at the broken egg, the child’s foot is placed in the substance, too.  The spirit of reconciliation, like warfare, must touch everyone.

In a single weekend, Christians have just remembered the crucifixion of Jesus, his burial on Good Friday, the silence of Holy Saturday, and the terror and amazement of Easter Sunday.  In a weekend, we were reminded how the disciples failed him miserably, falling asleep when he needed them most in prayer, denying ever knowing him as he was convicted for being himself, watching him die alone from a distance.  In a weekend, Christians moved from recognizing ourselves in this list of failures to sensing the hopeful confusion of the disciples, the overwhelm of Thomas, and the timid longing of the women at the tomb.  In a single weekend, we moved from complete despair to shocking hope, total darkness to surprising light, the finality of death to the last word of resurrection, from broken and sinful to restored and forgiven.

In this solitary weekend, Christians remember a story that should make the bold and touching forgiveness of war-torn Ugandans seem natural, expected, and necessary, however shocking or complicated or slow-coming it might be.  After the egg-breaking ceremony, Betty went from rebel to ex-rebel, shamed to restored.  “I feel cleansed,” she said of the ceremony.  After a day of being welcomed and celebrated, she adds, “Some of the bad things in my heart: they are gone.”(1)  Alex Boraine, deputy chair of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, notes of such radical forgiveness: “[With its] uncomfortable commitment to bringing the perpetrator back into the family, Africa has something to say to the world.”(2)

Indeed, so does Christ Jesus.  In one eventful weekend, we remember the ugly depths of our sin and stare into the deep scars of the servant who bore it away.  This utter shift in our condition is as overwhelming as Good Friday, as dumbfounding as Holy Saturday, and as inconceivable as Easter Sunday.  But it is our ceremony.  Christ is broken, we are covered in his blood, and we emerge as dead men and women walking.  How beyond our knowing, that in the Father’s inexplicable mercy and loving-kindness, to redeem a slave, He gave a Son.  Yet because God did, in a weekend, we can claim again the mystery; we can claim the power of reconciliation; we can claim Christ, who moves us from perpetrator to family.
Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

(1) Abe McLaughlin, “Africa After War: Paths To Forgiveness—Ugandans Welcome ‘Terrorists’ Back” International Center for Transitional Justice, October 23, 2006.
(2) Ibid.

Back to work! It’s so funny how the line to the parking lot here in ABS-CBN is a whole block long when I got in! Normally, there’s still no lines at this time (9am). I guess, after Holy Week, everyone felt the work and deadlines piling up already. But I don’t want to leave Holy Week just yet for today’s reflection. After all, I was in camp for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Black Saturday.

So let me tell you about camp– we called it Re-Creation. Not just because it was at Caliraya Re-creation center, hehe. But we focused on the transformative power of Salvation. These kids are mostly church-grown and have been going to Sunday School, only a few of them know what it’s like not to be a Christian. Their age range is from 12-16, with the college volunteers (that I handled) are 18-24. In our small groups, I was surprised how most of them aren’t even sure if they’re saved or not. And despite the lecture sessions (we had four- rebirth, regeneration, refocus, re-creation), some of them still have the wrong idea about how they could be saved. I was rather concerned when my college volunteer small group leader confessed to her group that she’s “not saved yet, but in the process of being saved.”

I wonder if some of us still think of our salvation is like that.

Anyway, that was my cue to swoop in and clarify that we get saved when we repent from our sins and accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, the moment we do that– that’s when we receive salvation, then the sanctification process follows. (Of course, I didn’t use the technical terms.) Salvation is not a process of years, like a college course, where if we fail, we won’t get a diploma.

But ultimately, who am I to say who is saved or not? It’s between the person’s heart and God, right? But shouldn’t it be seen in our lives if Jesus is in it or not? What’s the use of a relationship with the God of the Universe if we’re going to keep it private or just scheduled on Sundays?!

So what do you think?

Dear Mr. Yancey,

guest blogger: anj

I just needed to ask you a question that a friend and I have been arguing about for a while now. We were discussing disappointment and trusting God and my friend basically said that if you trust God or if you consult him on all areas of decision-making, it’s possible to never feel disappointed with the answers he gives you, because your trust is complete and whole in him. However, just from my experience I believe that its possible to be disappointed with God’s answer but to trust that his way is right and true and to obey despite your personal desires. Does that mean my trust in him is not complete? Because I occasionally still feel disappointment?

I know you’re a busy man and probably won’t have the time to respond to this but I hope you do. I have felt an enormous amount of condemnation regarding this and although I have read my Bible nothing has jumped out that has been a clear word on this. I’m not looking to be proven right. I just want to get some perspective from someone who seems to have more insight on this.

Thanks very much!

Angie N.

and this was his reply (she got it this morning)

Dear Anjie Nandwani,

In an attempt to maintain some control over my time (mostly futile, I admit), I do not use email.  But I am borrowing this one to respond to you.  It’s an unmonitored address, for outgoing mail only, so please do not reply to this address.

Your letter was a “grace note” of encouragement to me.  We writers work in isolation, with little idea of the impact of our work.  Responses like yours keep me going, and I thank you for taking the time and effort to write me.

It is my firm belief and personal experience that God does not want us to turn into automatons when we decide to follow him.  I believe God wants us to come to him with our whole heart, soul and mind, not leaving anything of ourselves stuffed in a closet or relegated to the back shelf.  Therefore, we will bring the struggles of our will vs. his will to the relationship with God, just as in any other relationship. I can think of numerous examples in the Bible where this was true, and the person involved was disappointed but chose to accept God’s will over his own.  Think of Paul and his thorn in the flesh.  Or of David, longing and pleading for his and Bathsheba’s son not to die.  Or Abraham and Sarah wanting a child before they were old and gray.  We can go on on and on with the examples of deferred gratification in favor of God’s best.  The best response to your question is to recommend the book of Psalms: it’s full of disappointment, even anger, yet has been the believers’ prayer book through the centuries.  That says it well, I think.

I respect your friends’ point of view, but I like yours better.  Listen to your own heart, Anjie.  You can trust it.

Philip Yancey

makati underpass

station one

(from in-indie.org) Ondoy's destruction

my parents

I don’t know if you still remember me, but we used to be classmates in fifth grade. I was the new kid in class and I didn’t know who to talk to. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my pink shirt and jeans outfit. My oversize glasses seemed like a good idea back then. Looking at my pictures now, it wasn’t. Your smile was the first direct acknowledgment of my presence in that strange classroom. You motioned me to the empty seat beside you and introduced yourself to me.

It didn’t take too long for me to know why the seat beside you was vacant. The other girls in class– at least the more outspoken ones, the pretty girls with their neat ponytails, and the teacher’s favorites– loudly demanded why I chose to sit with you. I saw why. In first few weeks of school, they taunted you, they made you yell, throw things in anger, and make a fool out of yourself while they laughed. They said you were sick, that’s why they tried their best to make you angry. It was funny when you got angry.

I remember standing up for you– for a while. I couldn’t understand why they would treat you like this. You were my only friend in class. The girls gave me hell for it. Soon, they started calling me names and hating me. That was a new experience for me. I had always gotten along with everybody before, and just stayed out of people’s way if I think they could hurt me. It was weird because this was my first time to be in a Christian school too. This was how Christian kids behaved in a Christian school?

I don’t know how it eventually happened, but the same girls who used to yell how much they hate me in front of the class became my friends. I even got invited to a sleepover with them.

Then I started noticing just how different you were from us, how much bigger you were than the rest of us. I noticed the funny way you talked and walked. I laughed when the boys made you cry. I didn’t want to be seen with you anymore. I moved two seats up front, with the popular girls and never looked back.

You moved to another school the next year. I didn’t see you anymore, but sometimes I remember you and I wonder how you are now. Did you make friends in your new school? Did they treat you better than we ever did? Did you get better? Did you lose weight? Did you move out of the country, or maybe you’re working in the same city I live in now? Do we shop in the same mall? Did you fall in love with a man who loves you back? Are you happy now?

I tried looking for you online, but I haven’t found you yet. I guess you wouldn’t like it if I brought this all up if ever I do find you. I wouldn’t want anybody else to bring it up for me. We weren’t nice to you at all. I wish I had stuck up for you, but it’s too late to take any of that back now.

I guess I just want to say I’m sorry. We didn’t know any better, and I’m glad that I’m not like that now. I’m sure we’ve both gone a long way since then. For that I’m really grateful.

Anyway, thanks for being nice to the new kid. God bless you, wherever you are today.

“Unity is a rare thing in our country; we have it now; and adding to the feelings of grief is the wistful realization that it took the passing of Cory to reunite a divided nation.”
- Inquirer editorial, August 2, 2009

“Our existence deforms the universe, that’s responsibility.”
-Delirium of the Endless

I got the news of Cory’s death from Manu. I was having my lunch last Saturday in KFC. I worked in ABS CBN, a network that pretty much owes its existence to her, but I didn’t get the news from any of my colleagues. Maybe they thought everyone should’ve known by then– including me, who didn’t have a TV or radio at our flat. The world changed, and I got the news late.

For all my opinions about how she was as an administrator, God put Cory Aquino in power. A housewife, a mother, a widow, she changed the political landscape of our country. She was a remarkable woman.

As I watch the TV coverage of the cortege of Cory traveling down EDSA, of the outpouring of emotion and love from the people out there on the streets, I just have to say this:

I love my country. I love being a Filipino everyday (which is not the same as being proud to be one every day). I often despair about the state of our politics, government, and society. I often wonder what it would be like if we all work together for the good of our country, to sacrifice, to have a vision for the Philippines, to have hope for our country and our people. Will we find out in this lifetime? I hope that it would happen nonetheless, someday, in the near future.

For now, thank you, Lord, for the life of Cory Aquino.