Monday, April 20, 2015

My Retelling of Psalm 75


To God, our God,
We lift praises to Your name that is
           like no other
The only name that matters.
We cannot fathom the glory of all
           Your mighty works
Yet we are still in awe
As we are at the edge of something
           immense and the only
Right reaction is to glorify Your name.

Your hands are the hands that put things
           into order;
the hands that hold the whole world
           and moves it as You please
God, You are the God who humbles
           the proud
God, You are the God who is stronger
           than the boasts of any man
For who is he compared to You?
For who is he to stand a chance against

           Your might?

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

A tribute to grandparents

My grandparents are special to me because they shared about who they were, what made them who they were, and what they stand for. I wrote about who they were to me and how I understood them, as that's how they imparted the things that made them special to me.


Who was Lolo Val?

Lolo Val was my dad's dad, and he had many things in common with Dad, as they both were intelligent, loved listening to news, loved spending fun times with me, and were serious and dedicated with whatever they were doing.

He would teach me many things from his head knowledge about books, science, agriculture, and math. Sometimes he would tell me jokes that, most of the time, I couldn't get the punchline out of; he'd let me and my cousin, Ate Shayne, borrow and dance to the music of his radio that would always be by his side; he'd let me read a little out of the Bible he also always kept near him, and tickled my foot and dare me not to laugh.

We were never really that close, like best friends close, but I know that we enjoyed each other's company and admired each other's qualities and personalities without really saying it. I don't really miss him that deeply, maybe because I was never really that close, but every time that I remember Lolo Val, there's just that strong sense of honour because of the great deeds that he did that I can see in the legacy he left in my father, Lola Lyd, and his children.

Who is Lola Lyd?

Lola Lyd is my dad's mom, and I can see that he got most of his boldness and smarts from her, as she was a midwife and cancer survivor from previous years, and a talkative, knowledgable, and deeply faithful Catholic woman today.

In the character of all mothers and women, she loves doting upon her children and grandchildren. And in thanks, we return her love by including her in all family events, taking her on mall dates, sending her handmade cards, having heartfelt conversations, arranging her trips to visit abroad, and in every other way that we can tell her how important she is in our lives.

I am one of her seven após, but she treats as all with the same specialness. She has served me many tasty meals, entertained me with many stories about her life and her kids, taught me many lessons, given me many gifts, and welcomed me in her home and with her presence many times. I admire her for being the most courageous, selfless, and valiant grandmother anyone could have.

By blessing others, she has been blessed back a hundredfold from the fruits she had sowed so lovingly. I hope that I'll be able to honour Lola Lyd with all that I'm able, because her value justified through Jesus is immeasurable.

Who was Lolo Gil?
Lolo Gil was my mom's dad. Every Christmas before we moved to Kathmandu, we would go down to the province to see both sets of grandparents, and it was as well, because Lolo Gil was unable to walk due to his diabetes. The four things I remember him for was his strictness, invalidity, art, and that he was the first in my mom's family to be saved in the Christian faith.

We never talked much, as I spent my time going on adventures in their big house and outside in the garden, read all the books my grandma had in the house, or played with my cousins, and I decided, as a child, that he was quite a boring person to be with, and therefore never attempted to socialise with him. About the only words I remember he spoke to me was not to bang the screen door when I went out, and that he liked my violin recital. But I don't blame him.

I guess it was his decision that he'd already done enough in life and was struggling with the pain of being sick to make friends with his granddaughter. Yet, I'm not angry at him for that.

I guess I just didn't know him enough to have any clear opinions about him. But now, it makes me a little sad and regretful that my younger self didn't want to get to know him more - other than from his artwork, his impact on his family and mine, and the stories about his good work - because gathering from those things, there was, obviously, more to him than what met the eye.

Still, I owe a whole lot to the things I do know about what Lolo Gil did. His children are the greatest examples, because I appreciate everything I've learned about and through them -- especially Mom. He brought the Abela family to salvation, and contributing his artist gene to our bloodline, both of which got passed on to me and my siblings!

If in some way Lolo Gil ever reads this, I want to tell him I'm sorry for not trying to get to know him better, but I thank him with my whole life for being my grandfather, and introducing Jesus Christ to my mom's whole family.


Who is Lola Cory?
Lola Cory is my mom's mom, and Mom is just like a carbon copy of her. That's probably why I feel Lola Cory relays the same kind of love and care my mom gives to me.

Well, the thing I love the most about her is her gentleness, which I mainly witness from the way she cares for her garden and home in Masbate.

Lola Cory's garden is a place of wonder; I love basking in the sunlight there, exploring its nooks and crannies, studying the colourful plants, and even seeing beautiful birds lighting on it. The house is another marvellous thing, and it's where my imagination runs aground and where many of my adventures took place.

I appreciate Lola Cory for being a good steward of all that's been given to her, and because she contributed lots to my adventurous spirit!

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

The Boy Jesus and the Bottle of Myrrh

by Samantha Adalia


On a sunny afternoon in the sixth year of Jesus, his mother Mary showed to him the gifts of the Magi from when he was two years old.

Over the uppermost shelf in the bedroom Jesus called his own, there were three chests. They were all carved and coloured with foreign-looking and elaborate patterns, with an air of majesty to them. A layer of dust covered the chests, for a long time no one had held and opened them. Mary pointed to them now.
She smiled to her son who was waiting for an explanation, then began:

"My child, these chests were given to you as gifts when you were but once a babe. The brightest star one almost could not comprehend was shining high in the night sky. I was watching over you inside, when there were many sounds coming from outside and I knew a host was there to visit.

“Next, I opened the door to wise foreign men who appeared to have travelled from far away in the East, judging by their faces, clothing, and escort. You were in my arms as I answered them, and when they set eyes on you they suddenly bowed down and worshipped you!

“'The King of the Jews! The shepherd of the people of Israel! Praise and glory be to your name!'

“I stood there, marvelling. Then three of them rose with eyes shining to bring to you three gifts."

At last, Mary rose and carried each of them to the window seat to show Jesus.

The biggest chest was an indigo box shaped like the pointing petals of a flower, its cover inlaid with stained pieces of glass forming a star, and polished dark wood lined its opening.

The median chest was made of a light shade of mahogany, the colours of a sunset behind vines that sprouted many a bird and leaf encircled its sides, and an array of gems were clustered on the top.

And finally, the smallest vessel, with dark onyx for its body, was decorated only with shards of mirror that reflected sunlight or cold, bright stars.

"They-they are beautiful. And… they gave them to me?" The boy Jesus' eyes grew wide in amazement.
"My son, you are the only one fully deserving of them," Mary answered with sincerity, making Jesus ponder these words. He turned his eyes to the gifts again.
"What is inside, Mother?"

Mary took the biggest chest first, and let Jesus lift the top. A shining came from inside.
There was a slab of the purest gold, smooth and pristine. Jesus slid his little fingers over it, and imagined it being mined, refined, and welded - which all led to his wonder of the gift at that moment. A gift fit for a king.

He pulled open the second gift, and peered inside. The chest was half full with tiny pieces of resin. Mary told him it was called frankincense - a special incense, offered as a sweet aroma to the LORD. Half of it Mary had already offered in the temple in Jesus' behalf, and brought back promises of blessing from the priest.
Jesus began to wonder why these certain gifts were given to him.

Then, he undid the clasp of the last one. Lying on top of red cloths was a clay bottle. He brought it near to his eyes.
"That is myrrh," Mary said, with a hint of confusion in her voice.
"Why did they give this to me?" Jesus asked.
"I… don't know, son. Myrrh is an anointing oil, and a sweet perfume used when burying the dead," Mary answered, while silently replacing all the gifts from where they came.

***

"Mother," Jesus called up from his room, rolling close the last scroll he had of the Scriptures. He went downstairs and showed Mary the last page of the scroll of Psalms. “I have no more left to read,” he laughed.
“Ah,” she smiled, and thought of a solution. “Your father and I have only just enough to get you ten more scrolls, and I should think our collection can be made complete in the next few years.”
“Why not get the other ten with the gift of the Magi?” Jesus suggested.
“You wise child,” said Mary, ruffling his hair, amazed at her nine year-old’s suggestion.

“Hello, James,” he said to his little brother who was by the window in their room. Then he turned and began taking the gifts down from the shelf. James now looked curiously. Jesus saw his eager eyes, and explained the story behind them. James became excited, his green eyes lighting up.


“Show them to me, please!” he requested.
Jesus opened the chest of gold. “I shall buy more scrolls of the Scriptures with this,” he told him.
“Awww,” James cooed. “But I s’ppose Scriptures are more precious than gold.”
“Right!” Jesus smiled, marvelling at the understanding his four year-old brother had, even now. Next, he took the frankincense. James held pieces of it like sand, and chuckled at its texture.

“Now, this is myrrh.” Jesus took the bottle from the red cloths.
“What is it?”
“It’s a sweet perfume, an anointing oil… used when burying somebody.”
James nodded confusingly, then slid his fingers over the cap.

“Could you open it?”
“I’m not sure, James… I don’t really see why.”
“Well, it’s yours, isn’t it? And I bet it would smell really nice.”
Jesus wrinkled at his dialogue, but because of his search for wonder out of everything he agreed. The cover broke open, and a lovely scent filled the room.

Then Jesus suddenly wept.
The tears surged like waterfalls on the Jordan, sobs shaking him like storms upon ships on the Sea of Galilee.

James was taken aback, but he began hugging him, and with his best efforts tried to console him.
“Jesus, it’s okay, I’m here with you, it’s going to be okay, you don’t have to cry… Why are you crying anyways?!”
Jesus was still crying, and it was a minute until James could get a word out of him.

“Why?” he asked. With eyes blurred from tears Jesus found the cap and closed the myrrh bottle.
“James,” he gasped with difficulty, as if starting to explain why. Yet a bout of sobbing came again, and he struggled to say, “No, you wouldn’t understand yet.”
“Why?” James asked again, but he’d given up already. Jesus stood up, wiped his tears and carried the two boxes up again.

“James, I promise I will tell you when you are old enough to understand. Right now, just know that I cried because when the bottle opened I felt something very sad. Please understand,” he requested his brother sincerely, holding him by the shoulders.
James took pity from Jesus’ hurt face and nodded, trusting his promise.
“Thank you.”

James accompanied him in bringing the gold to his parents. He found he was right when he said that the Word of the LORD was far important than gold, as Jesus delved into and lived them, then, James could see how his life became beautiful because of them.

***

“Jesus, can we look at those boxes again?” James, now eight years old, was playing with him one afternoon.
“Why not?” So Jesus reached up for them with a spark in his eyes.

“Aren’t these boxes beautiful?” he remarked while examining them. James grinned, holding the smallest, shiny one. Suddenly he recalled what had happened before, then grew serious.
“Brother. Do you remember your promise?”
Jesus paused from shaking the chest of frankincense. Wordlessly, they opened the bottle of myrrh again. The fragrance flowed out. And the tears returned. But Jesus held himself this time.

“You know, James? A vision had come over me four years past, and so it was awhile ago. But it is so terrible, so terrible...  I think that if you are to hear, you would be very, very sad. I wouldn’t want to wish that on you! Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

James was surprised again.
“If only you are willing. I want to, but the LORD Almighty revealed it to you, so let He be the one to decide.”
Jesus was also surprised by the words he said. Yet the spirit of the LORD pressed him to tell James.

“All right…” he replied, and silently prayed for his brother not to receive his burden of sorrow.

“My brother, I was on top of a rocky hill, and many people were moving around me. There were some who stood with arms pointing to someone, and had faces full of scorn: they were mocking. And some were falling prostrate, with indescribable anguish evident in their wailing: they were mourning.

I then turned my head towards what everyone was looking at, and shivered at the scene.

Three men were hung upon three crosses. The ones to the left and to the right wore faces of resign to their fate, but it seemed that they were not the ones who received the crowd’s attention. So I looked upon the man in the middle.

My hands went up to my face, for what I could observe about him was horrific. Red wounds were scratched all over him, blood dripped from everywhere, a crown of thorns was on his head, and nails were driven through his skin so he was suspended on the cross. I walked nearer to gaze at his face, then my hands fell and went limp.

Looking down on me were the same wide and bright eyes.”

“No! No! No!” James yelled, and found he was crying painfully too. Unable to keep it in, Jesus joined him.

“You are chosen by God, my brother. But why did He choose you to die?”

James fell down on the floor weeping, bringing Jesus with him. They embraced each other, comforting themselves, but surrendered themselves to the will of the LORD, the comfort greater than their embrace.

***
From the mill Mary heard the noise of a thump from the floor above.

Her feet tread fast on the steps, and hands swiftly swept the curtain to the room of her sons.
Jesus and James were both fast asleep on the floor, a different kind of peace lying over them. Mary gently tousled their fine curly hair, delighted that they were both alright.

Though, she could smell something pleasant in the room, and found the source as a bottle by Jesus’ side. It was broken open, and the liquid was slowly dripping to the floor. She lifted it up, placed it on the shelf and decided to wait for Joseph to figure out how to close it again.

Later, the mystery of that gift returned to her. Why was this given to Jesus? And another question was presented to her mind. Who is Jesus?
She remembered the words of the Magi, the angel who heralded his birth to her, and even prophets concerning Jesus.

“The King of the Jews!”
“He will be called Son of the Most High.”
“Sovereign Lord… my eyes have seen your salvation.”

The answers to her questions were revealed to her in a new way, and she looked at the boy sleeping in the corner in a different light. She became afraid to touch him as she began to lay blankets over each of her children, because this boy was her King, the Son of the Most High, her salvation, and he lay not five inches away from her.

Do I even dare? she asked herself. But the Spirit of the LORD reminded her that she had found favour in His eyes, and at once she felt immeasurably blessed to be able serve Him. So with a smile and joy brimming out from her eyes, she bade them good-night, and drew the curtain over Jesus and James.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Paano Ako Maging Isang Bayani?




Akó, Bilang Isang Mag-aaral
  1. Palaging magsikap para maging mahusay sa lahat ng aking aralin
  2. Gawin ang lahat ng paraan para makapokus at magbigay ang aking lahat
  3. Sa lahat ng gawain ko, pupurihin ko ang Diyos

Akó, Bilang Bahagi ng Pamilya
  1. Alagaan at respetohin ang bawat miyemro
  2. Maging mahusay na lider sa aking kapatid
  3. Mahalin sila gamit ang buong puso ko

Akó, Bilang Bahagi ng Pamayanan
  1. Irespeto, galangin, at mahalin ang bayan
  2. Tumulong sa at gumawa ng mga paraan mapaunlad ang bayan
  3. Ibigay ang aking lahat para makita itong nag-mamahal sa Diyos ng buong diwa nito

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Indescribable




Isaiah 38:12
"Like a weaver I have rolled up my life, and he has cut me off from the loom; day and night you made and end of me."

Isaiah 40:12-28,
"12Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand… 15Surely the nations are like a drop in a bucket… he weighs the islands as though they were fine dust… 26Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these?"


Another testimony as to how poetic, majestic, and unfathomable God is. Sometimes I forget this and focus on how my poor arms flail and complain to myself how weak I am. I fail to recall that His grace is sufficient for me, and through my body, however broken it is, His power flows through.

Even though humanity is one insignificant speck in the universe, the infinite creator and God has taken special notice of us, knows how sad and broken we are, and made the ultimate move of love by going down from His mighty seat in heaven to be born on our earth as a lonely human to live as we should've lived, died the death we deserve, and rose from the clutches of death so that our ignorant senses would be broken through and see that He is the living God. All because He made us with His very breath and so He loves us.

In my ten years of faith I still don't understand this.