One Gift

 

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        It was Christmas morning. My sweet mother woke us up and ushered us to gather around our fake Christmas tree to check our Christmas socks clumsily hanging on its branches. Real socks, not stockings. The use of Christmas stockings was unheard of in our little town in the Philippines back then. We would use a real sock for Santa to stuff it with goodies. I excitedly turned my sock inside out to reveal what he had given me. In that little sock was a three-inch purple chocolate candy bar called “Midget”, a five-peso bill and one other thing I couldn’t remember. I was over the moon. I don’t even remember if there was anything else I received from my parents that day. Growing up, they would only give us ONE GIFT for Christmas but I always have fond and warm memories of Christmas eve and Christmas day – maybe because, there were other things to enjoy besides the gift-giving. Parlor games were often played and there were lots of laughter. Lots of light-hearted conversation, dancing and good food.

        Fast-forward three decades and I am now a mother to two little boys in a country, half-way around the world. It happens to be the richest country in the world. I have only been living here for seven years and one of the things that shocked me was the number of gifts people give each other on Christmas day. Every year, I stare at my son endlessly unwrapping gifts from morning till noon. Sometimes, it would even continue after lunch. When he likes something, we often have to tell him to just go back to it later because there are more gifts to open. Through the years, I have come to understand the logic of it – it is the perfect time to lavish someone you love with material things. Also, many of these things are needs like socks, crayons, clothes, etc. and wrapping presents brings some holiday cheer, anyway! (At least for me) It’s a totally different mindset. Aside from the gifts, “stocking stuffers” is also a thing in this side of the world. At first, I thought it was too much. But, this year, I decided to do it. We all have stockings – big ones that can be filled with little Christmas gifts like chocolates, little gadgets and little toys. Basically anything small. In theory, it’s potentially fun. Right now, let’s see how that goes.

        However, as a mom navigating holidays like Christmas with little kids, there is a huge part of me that wants to take my little boys to the Philippines and make them hang one of their socks on my mother’s fake Christmas tree and give them just one gift on Christmas day. I am curious to observe the emotions it will bring and curious to know whether it will be a big deal. I have always told my son the true meaning of Christmas and it is to remember and celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. I wonder if the gift of the one gift will help him remember that and will help him enjoy other aspects of the celebration. I wonder if one is not less, but more. I wonder if 'one' is enough and 'more' only defeats the purpose. I wonder. I wonder. I wonder.

Our Dog, Sky Passed Away

 

Our dog, Sky passed away about a week ago. And even though, I feel like he deserves much more than a space in my Facebook feed, I am going to attempt to write about him slash us, anyway. I have never been a dog person so my story will be quite different from most dog-passing-away stories that you have heard. He came into our lives only a few weeks after I had immigrated here in the US. I never had my own dog before. In fact, I was afraid of dogs and still tend to be. So, when he was given to us as a puppy, he wasn’t the only one who needed training. Sky and I learned a few tricks together the first few years. To be honest, it wasn’t always a breeze on my part. Sky had a lot of energy and he did a few things that did not make me happy. I cooked some lumpia for a thanksgiving dinner once and there were a lot of leftovers but as soon as I went back to the kitchen, Sky had eaten each one of them. There was a time when he chewed through all the pacifiers that I had placed on the kitchen counter. He also went through a phase of going through the hamper and chewing on the pieces of underwear. I must have thrown away 15 of them. There were the occasional bathroom accidents that I needed to take care of. Sometimes, it’s a vomit or a dead animal in his mouth. There were a few times when he would take off and say hi to the neighbors which often gave me a heart attack. This sometimes required me to drive around the neighborhood searching for him or calling and texting some people. But then, most of the time, we were just normal. He would hang out with us in the backyard - roll on the grass and sit with us around the campfire or play in the snow. At times, we would take him with us hiking or camping or playing by the river. I would throw a stick far out and he would fetch it for me. Like I said, I am not a dog person but when my father was dying, I cried so hard and found my arms wrapped around a dog. He served as my security guard when my husband would go on a trip and I was left alone in the house. He has seen many family dramas and special family events including bringing our newborn sons home and he was always gentle with them - extremely patient and tolerant of their childish antics. He saw and heard all the joys, sadness and fears shared in our home. - all the craziness and everything that comes with being a family of four. As the years passed by, Sky mellowed down and we finally reached a sense of harmony and normalcy being in each other’s lives. But I wasn’t thinking about this too much. It is one of those things that feels too normal, that you think it will last forever. So when he died a few days ago, I was not very ready. I was distraught for a few days but I never thought that would be the end of our journey together. I did not know Sky was very much a part of our lives until he left. It doesn’t feel the same looking at an empty crate or having no one to feed or take outside. Right now, I’m not yet sure how I feel about dogs in general. I won’t probably be an animal activist anytime soon - I just know that a dog that is no longer in my life left a huge paw print in my heart.

Dear Second-Born Son

 

Dear Second-Born Son,

         Let me assure you that I am not writing you this letter out of obligation. There was a time when I felt that you also deserve one because I wrote to your older brother when he was only a few months old so I knew I had to wait for the right moment. Now that you are two years old, I know I am not driven by guilt. I have so many things to say to you. I am very proud to say that your dad and I wanted you so bad. You are indeed an answered prayer. Because of you, I will always have respect for the discerning abilities of babies. I say that because I know you sense a lot by what you see, hear and feel by experiencing life with us - by seeing that someone else has come before you and is doing pretty well. He is alive and pretty happy. You most likely sense that you can be a little more reckless because I have done the figuring out before. Been here and done it. And your instinct is probably right - I am more relaxed this time. Even though most things are still a learning curve for me, I pretty much know how I want to take care of a baby and I am now able to stand by my choices. You don’t talk much but you probably know that you are safe and loved - that you could jump into the pool and your dad will always catch you, that you could fall a thousand more times and I will always kiss your booboo, or you could cry and I will go running and offer a hug even before I understand what’s going on. Forgive me for bringing up your older brother too much. His existence will always mean something about who you are. When we had him, he had our full attention. Not so much with you. You were born seeing that you are not the only child, that you are not the only one we love. Most of your brother’s things were brought brand new but you get the hand-me-downs. But these things don’t matter. In fact, things do not matter. The things that you cannot see are the ones that do. Someday you will know what I am talking about.

 Your birth says a lot about you. You came out less than 5 hours before we were going to force you to come out. In the future, you might take a lot of time, but you are still going to make it. That is my prayer for you. This world is broken and there are many cruel people out there. But we can still find beauty and awesomeness amidst the brokenness and good people still exist. I am hoping and praying that you will grow up to be one of them, and inspire others to do the same. I love you too much that it is tempting to think that you are my possession - but you really aren’t. First of all, you are God’s - and knowing that is comforting and terrifying at the same time - but that’s just the flesh and the spirit talking inside of me. I’m excited to share life with you and go beyond this poopy, drooly, messy, noisy stage of life. I am not complaining; I am just expectant. In the meantime, let me end this letter and get some sleep - for tomorrow, my human alarm clocks will start my day once again - will drain all my energy but will fill my love tank to overflowing.

 

With love,

Mommy

On Mental Health

 

img source: https://www.clemson.edu/campus-life/healthy-campus/images/MentalHealth.jpeg

I love my sons and husband to death and for the most part, I love not working outside of the home at the moment. But I’ll be honest - there are times when I get extremely bored and overwhelmed at the same time. These are often combined with feelings of depression and anxiety. It feels like falling in a mud pit and nothing seems that interesting. Not even a chocolate doughnut or a Netflix marathon (In fact, I found that too much of this makes it worse!). All of a sudden, it feels like a huge project to take the dog out or do the dishes. Then I begin to ask why I suddenly feel so down and immediately I start to think whether my thyroid levels are off, or whether I am not exercising enough or whether my binge eating has finally taken a toll on my mental health. Realizing that I could answer yes or no to many of these things, I have confirmed that my well-being is dependent on a variety of things.

GOOD OL’ EXERCISE - I sincerely believe that we were designed to thrive through regular movement - ideally outside of the house where the sun can shine on our bodies and the fresh air can rejuvenate our lungs. Without the good ol’ exercise, our health which includes our mental health will have a hard time working properly.

GOOD FOOD - There is so much food out there that should not have been allowed for consumption in the first place. These food are not real food and they make people sick not only physically, but mentally. I am talking about food with 10,000 ingredients that are hard to pronounce and will last 10 years on the shelf. I will be honest that food is one of my weaknesses. I simply love to eat - and yes, sometimes, even food that are bad. I tend to binge-eat these crappy food products when I have bad feelings or when I feel bored. Choosing to eat good healthy food is definitely a step in the right direction.

HOBBY - As a mom, it is very easy to get drowned in a sea of routines and chores day in and day out. However, I believe that people were designed to be creative and to engage in activities that interest them. Sometimes, it is better to let the laundry wait and spend an hour or so feeding your soul by engaging in art, music and other areas of interest. It is taking one step back to be able to take many steps forward in everything else.

FAITH - As a Christian believer, my faith is a powerful force in my life. When all else fails, this is my safety net and my catch-all-else (for computer programmers, wink, wink). God affirms my existence and loves me to the core. I like how C.S. Lewis says it, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” In simple words, it does your soul good to believe in God.

PURPOSE - I believe that a sense of this is crucial in everyone’s lives. I am convinced that this is foundational for a joyful and satisfying existence. This will motivate you to keep going every day despite all the challenges that life brings.

Life is hard and seeing a doctor for their mental health may be the best route to take for some people. If you sometimes go through episodes of depression, I encourage you to consider the things I have mentioned above. Take a deep breath and know that you are worthy to not only exist in the world, but to thrive and be amazingly satisfied.

 

Healing the Enemy's Ear

 

img source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/608760074604637103/

I do believe that timelines matter in the Bible. For example, did you know that Jesus' last miracle was healing the ear of the High Priest's servant that Peter had cut off while Jesus was getting arrested? (Matthew 26) I repeat - Jesus healed the ear of the guy who was arresting him. Then Jesus turned to Peter and said, “Put your sword back in its place..for all who draw the sword will die by the sword." (Matthew 26:52).

I believe that the sword Jesus mentioned here is metaphorical to anything that we can potentially use as a tool to hurt people who we think are hurting Christ. Peter's loyalty to Christ at that time was a little bit unstable and wordly. However, Jesus wanted Peter to stop using his loyalty and affection as a weapon and instead, take it to a higher level in terms of treating others - even his own enemies, for the sake of the Gospel.

In today's world, especially due to the ease of knowing what everyone is up to, it becomes easier to spot our potential enemy - people who do things we don’t like or people who are on the other side of a political or moral issue. I am as guilty of it myself at times and I want to be very honest here but I see a disheartening trend going on among Christians - which is the seemingly hateful compulsion to defend Christianity as a religion in public platforms instead of spreading the Gospel and living it out. I see a trend of Christians losing opportunities of sharing the Gospel and making disciples in exchange for gestures of “defending the faith” or pushing back against persecution. It becomes even worse when politics is added to the rhetoric.

I feel like many of us are losing touch with what Jesus really wants us to do in the last days. I don't believe he wants us to spend most of our time expressing our anger on social media because Starbucks refuses to write "Merry Christmas" on their cup or to keep posting memes that Christianity is under attack. Of course it is. It has always been under attack but the last time I checked, Jesus wants us to make disciples of all nations (Matthew 28:18-20) which is the last thing He told the disciples before he went back to heaven. If someone you love was leaving on a really long trip, wouldn’t you regard their last message as the most crucial, if not, the most important thing for you to remember and do? Jesus wants us to "simply share the Gospel, by the power of the Holy Spirit and leave the results to God" (credits to Campus Crusade for Christ). In fact, the Apostle Paul said, "When I am with those who are weak, I share their weakness, for I want to bring the weak to Christ. Yes, I try to find common ground with everyone, doing everything I can to save some." (1 Corinthians 9:22)

I am convinced that God can pretty much handle himself. He already knows that so many people couldn't care less about Him. He can handle the rejection and He is not surprised by it. Now, I believe that what He wants us to do is not to “nurse His wounds” and angrily defend Him against those who reject our message. Our job is simply to share it and love those who reject it, anyway. I like what Charles Spurgeon once said, “The Gospel is like a caged lion. It does not need to be defended. It just needs to be let out of its cage.”

 

 

God Still Speaks

img source: http://wheregraceabounds.org/talking-god-desires-attractions/

One of the most popular ways for people to battle all sorts of trials in life is through PRAYER. Praying is indeed powerful and even Jesus engaged in prayer as he went through his ministry. However, Jesus DID NOT ONLY pray, he also listened to his father. Jesus read scriptures. In fact, everything he did was for the fulfillment of it. It is good to resort to prayers to gain wisdom, or loneliness, brokenness, emptiness, to express hurt and confusion and feelings of insecurities. However, praying is only one part of the equation. To win life’s battles in the long run, we have to be totally equipped with other tools to victoriously live the Christian life. In this day and age, we talk to God through prayer and he talks to us through the Bible. Without the latter, the believer would have nothing to hold on to, nothing stable to rely on. It’s like shooting a bullet without the gun powder. It’s like endlessly talking to a friend without reading the letters they have been sending to us. It would be absurd that all along, we have been missing out on life, on the very messages we needed to hear because we have failed to take the privilege of listening to God through His Word.

 I cannot overemphasize enough what the Word of God has done in my life. When I was a sophomore in college, I went through a major relational crisis that hit me so badly, I was almost ready to pack up my stuff, call it quits and just go back home. However, one person shared one Bible verse with me that changed my mind completely. JUST ONE BIBLE VERSE. And two years later, I graduated with a degree. There was also a time when I was so afraid of one of my college professors that I would always feel anxious to go to school, then in one of my personal daily devotions, I encountered this Bible verse: “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Instead, fear the one who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.” (Matthew 10:28)

 Forgive me for being blunt but we simply cannot know God without reading His Word on a regular basis, without making it a reference point in all areas of our lives. “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness,” (2 Timothy 3:16). To me, life has many compartments and aspects but our spiritual life is not one of them. Our spiritual life is not a compartment - it is the central driving force that defines us. We have to pray according to truth, otherwise, we would be spending the rest of our lives praying about something that God has already answered 365 times.

        “Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night. That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers.” (Psalms 1:1-3)

The Well is Deep

img source: http://amjunus.blogspot.com/2014/11/letter-to-my-lds-friends-and-family.html

After listening to the Gospel of John being narrated in the movie I was watching yesterday, I saw a few points with fresh eyes. One of the things that struck me the most was this line from the famous woman at the well: “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? (John 4:11)

         This was her reply when Jesus said: "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.” Apparently, the woman had no clue who she was talking to and I was struck by her attitude because it reflects human tendency to be unfamiliar with what Jesus is capable of doing. "YOU HAVE NOTHING TO DRAW WITH AND THE WELL IS DEEP." More often than not and whether we are aware of it or not, there are times when it is hard for us to believe that Jesus could satisfy our deepest longings, that he could understand our suffering or change some bad habits or heal our wounds. For some reason, we refuse to believe that Jesus could go that deep.

 Beloved, Jesus is capable. More than you will ever fathom. And He means it when he said, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:13-14)

Unschooling

 

img source: https://mysunnysideuplife.wordpress.com/homeschooling-fun/

I might be in trouble for sharing about this raw passion but I am starting to become attracted to the idea of unschooling, a subset of homeschooling, which is basically the concept of following the child's interests that eventually lead to science, literature, music, history and all the things that interested people before anyone thought of them as subjects (Stevens, 1994).

 At this point, the idea still sounds a little bit odd for me - but that's because like many other normal human beings I got schooled under a regular education system in my country, plus I spent four years studying how to teach English and Literature to high school students at one of the best universities in the Philippines that specializes in teacher education. During my senior year, it had just been recognized by law as "the Country's National Center for Teacher Education". I was and still am very proud of that. I enjoyed learning about teaching - strategies, philosophies, the whole shebang and was just a decimal point to graduating cum laude. I love teaching with my whole being, however, there is something about the "general idea of schooling" that turned me off. In fact, I remember feeling utterly depressed during my practicum days because I started to develop doubts about the profession I thought I wanted. My experience handling 80 kids in the classroom for a few weeks made me start really questioning classroom disciplinary practices, routines, the need for standardized tests and the seemingly absurd idea of shoving content into the kids' throat. It felt like school was a constant struggle for everyone involved. Despite of this, I applied for a job as a high school teacher at a private school right after I graduated. That was some experience I would never forget. I made some friends there and learned many things but my internal struggles were simmering underneath my performance on the job. Somebody asked if I wanted to eventually teach at a public school (which is usually considered a better route for most teachers in terms of pay) and I said NO. The idea alone was depressing for me. Somebody asked if I could see myself becoming a principal someday and I said NO. I just could not stand the system. I quit my job and worked as a writer the following year. It was not so much about policies and the politics involved as it was about "schooling" in general and the idea of making square pegs fit in a hole, about the imposition of subject matter to kids who will most likely forget half, if not 70 percent of it. I felt like we were wasting a lot of time. But before I proceed, I just want to make it clear that the university where I graduated is a really great school and my professors were excellent. My paradigm shift has more to do with the concept of "schooling" in general as opposed to a specific institution. I also know that even though I feel this way, I also know that as imperfect as it is, the education system has still worked for some people and has produced successful individuals. In addition, I would like to make it clear that I still believe in higher education, that some people should spend many years studying a specific field like medicine and law. I am talking about educating children, toying with a few "what ifs": What if we follow George Barnard Shaw's advice and let kids pursue knowledge rather than let knowledge pursue them? What if we allow children to focus on who they really are and spend more precious time on what they are inclined to and what they are good at? What would our world look like if everyone spent their childhood this way?

        Fast forward about 10 years later and we decided to be a homeschooling family. We have many reasons why we have chosen this path and one of them is the decision to take sole responsibility of what and how our kids will be learning. We want to shape their minds according to what we think they should learn - not what the government thinks they should learn. However, I have had serious doubts about our choice. Even though, more and more families are starting to homeschool, we are still the minority. As soon as school started for all the other kids last September, that was when it hit me: Instead of feeling left behind, I have to embrace this journey and seek out our tribe and make friends with like-minded homeschooling families. I have to relearn strategies, think outside of the box and apply what I learned in college, and customize it to my son's needs, personality and interests. I have to make learning fun and interesting for him.I have to teach as if the world is our classroom and learning is a natural part of life.

        Life has no guarantee and I might have another paradigm shift in a year or two. But at this point, I couldn't agree more with what John Gatto said during his acceptance speech for the New York City Teacher of the Year Award in 1990: "Schools were designed by Horace Mann ... and others to be instruments of the scientific management of a mass population." We want to give our children more than that. Teaching as many as 20 kids at a time seemingly sounds more efficient, while concentrating one's time, skills and effort into just a child or two seems a bit excessive. But are my children worth all of that? I am going to say yes to that.

 

To Pre-born Babies in America,

 

img source: https://christianresearchnetwork.org/2015/09/14/evidence-mounts-for-viability-of-babies-not-considered-legally-human/

I have great news for you. When you come out of your mommy’s belly, the world will revolve around you. Everyone from all walks of life, from every profession will make sure you are safe and sound. At the hospital where you are born, most nurses won’t allow you to co-sleep with your mom because the American Academy of Pediatrics believes that co-sleeping is one of the leading causes of infant deaths. Doctors, nurses and lactation consultants will freak out if you are not latching properly or if you are losing too much weight. Your pediatrician might also scare the heck out of your parents by calling them to come back to the hospital immediately because your bilirubin test result came back abnormally high. The hospital will also make sure you go home in an unexpired car seat facing backward and from then on, all of society will make sure that you are not left alone inside a car, regardless of any circumstances. Grandmas will break car windows for you. The neighbors might call the cops if they find out your mom spanks you at times. When you’re a bit older and in school, all the cars in front and behind your school bus will stop until you are able to safely get off.

 However, I have some bad news for you little one. These same people might not fight for your life while you are still inside Mommy and you will get to enjoy all the benefits I have mentioned if and only if your mother decides to keep you. Yes, if she wants you alive. If she doesn’t want you, you will be called a “fetus” or a “clump of cells”. Otherwise, you will be called a “baby”. If she wants you, she will have a baby shower thrown for her where everyone will celebrate your life and be excited about you. They will talk about what name to give you; spend a lot of time, money and effort designing your nursery; google the best pediatrician in town and decide whether to vaccinate you or not. Your parents might even have a maternity shoot or go to birthing classes, read tons of books about parenting and baby-proof the whole house and even the yard just for you. It’s a million-dollar industry.

 But like I said, you are at the mercy of your mom’s choice. I am sorry that the value of your life depends on whether your mom or dad is ready to have you, or whether they want to give you a chance to live even if the doctors said you wouldn’t make it or whether they want to let you live anyway despite knowing you are going to be different from most people. I am sorry that many “endangered animals” like pandas and polar bears are more protected than you.

            So I have some advice for you little one: Make it through the birth canal – because in America, your successful passage through it will endow your “humanity”. You will be called a “person” if you make it. People will stop calling you mere "clump of cells". Do not be even a day late because in some states like Colorado and New York, your mom’s doctor can take away your life even a day before you begin your journey out into the world. Even if your mom did not plan you, your life and even hers might still turn out amazing. YOU could still turn out amazing. You have so much potential simply because you are human – right from the very start, even while you are still small.

 

Love,

Jill

Are You Really There?

 

img source: https://figtreefreedom.blogspot.com/2012/12/ultrasound-photos.html

I am about 9 weeks pregnant today and aside from the ultrasound photo I took home with me a couple of weeks ago, nothing visual seems to prove that I am really with child. To be honest with you, even though I prayed so hard for this baby, his or her existence in my body does not seem real. He or she does not feel alive. I am looking forward to my next doctor visit when I could finally hear his or her heartbeat for the first time and not just see it beating on the ultrasound monitor. Perhaps by then, I will completely believe that there really is a life trying to grow inside me and I am not just pretending to be tired and hungry all the time. This made me realize why it’s easy to call a human being this small with a different name – because they are so tiny, so dependent, so underdeveloped and so quiet. 

Abundant Life

 

img source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/557601997596628449/

          I don’t think it needs to be said that the world is full of brokenness, that at some point in our coming of age, we had realized that life is imperfect. However, if you are of the Christian faith, it is possible to live the fullest of life on this side of heaven. It was not lip service when Jesus said in John 10:10 that he came that we might have life and have it to the full or in John 7:38 when he said that whoever believes in him, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them. God also made numerous attempts to describe what life should be like for those who believe in Him through various metaphors and imagery such as an olive tree flourishing in a dry, wasteland (Psalm 52:8) or a tree planted along a riverbank (Psalm 1:3). Of course God, with his initiating nature and sovereignty would always reach out to us but I am convinced that He also does not force – therefore, our experience of God and of life with respect to Him largely depends on the extent to which we allow Him to get involved in our lives. To provide a clear imagery, it is like inviting a guest over for dinner. If our interaction with him ends at the end of the dinner then his impact and influence will also end right there but if we invite him frequently and maybe allow him to stay after dinner to talk some more or to fix a few things at our house, then his influence will be greater and our relationship with Him deeper and better. Now think about this guest being the creator of the universe (Genesis 1), the beginning and the end (Revelation 22:13), the one who created us and knows us from the inside out (Psalm 139), the one who knew us even before we were born (Jeremiah 1:5), the one who has great plans for us (Jeremiah 29:11) and the one who wants to spend eternity with us (John 3:16). I heard it once said that the first sin the human race committed was disbelief in the sufficiency of God, the suspicion that he might be harboring something better for us, other than what He has already provided – and I think this is one of the reasons why sometimes or most of the time, it is hard for us to completely surrender to this kind of God despite His many good promises, even despite of all the great things He has already done in our lives. This suspicion is the reason why most of the time, we want to let Him in – everything is formal and nice, food is great, dinnerware is perfect but we don’t want anything beyond the pleasantries. We don’t want Him to see the dirty clothes in the laundry room; the rotten, disorganized filth in the basement or the closets full of random, hodgepodge of junk that we have chosen to fill our lives, instead. We want just a little bit of God, but not all of Him. For some reason, we are just comfortable where we are – even if despite all the materialism, we are empty, or regardless of the big crowds and the cacophonies of laughter everywhere, we are lonely, hopeless people- that we have to rely on external things to fill us with joy. We are eating crumbs the dogs have left behind instead of sitting at the banquet table.

          But the truth is God is dying to fill our lamps with unlimited oil, to give us peace and joy that go beyond understanding. God is dying to heal our broken hearts, to help us sort through our challenges, to help us understand who we are and why we are here. Sure, there are random things in the world that can make us happy: Christmas (and everything that comes with it), summer fun, family vacations, chocolate, coffee, a gorgeous sunny day -  but those are just glimpses and hints of His glory. They are not meant to fill the God-shaped hole that He alone could fill. God wants to reveal Himself to you. If you will only let Him in – you could even skip the dinner part.

 

Why I am a Christian

 

img source: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/25/opinion/the-day-christian-fundamentalism-was-born.html

          Whenever I stop and ask myself why I chose to follow Christ and why I still tell people I am a Christian in spite of the negativity associated with the religion, some benefits about being one immediately come to mind.

First of all, believing in Christ helped me discover my hidden potentials, overcome my fears and do things I thought were impossible. For example, I used to think I wasn’t the marrying type, that I wasn’t pretty enough to be liked by a man. I didn’t even believe I would be happy to be in a relationship with one! Seriously, it was once my prayer item for God to help me open my heart to men, to become vulnerable and stop seeing them merely as competition, a threat or some species not worthy of my trust. It’s a long story but God eventually answered my prayer and gave my heart a huge overhaul. My marriage, like all marriages, has its ups and downs but I am pretty much happy married to a man. I also used to think I would never like doing “homy” things but many times, I find God just telling me to get out of my comfort zone and not be afraid to engage in new experiences – to welcome change, to see new things or see the same things with fresh eyes. In a span of four years after I arrived in America, I have learned to do a handful things I never thought I would learn: sew curtains; paint; drive a car and a tractor at times; take care of animals; build a pig pen gate; plant seeds and watch them grow and actually eat them; cook for my family and for many people at times; bear a child and keep him alive; start a fire and keep it going ;do face painting on children’s faces (while their parents were watching closely) and many other things. I don’t mean to brag. I just want to boast about God who has been my encourager at times when I wasn’t so sure about myself or what I was doing.

          Christianity has also helped me make wiser decisions in life. There was a time in my university life when I made a huge mistake – big enough that I thought about just packing up and going home – even though I only had a few semesters left to graduate, even though it meant losing the chance to finally get a Bachelor’s degree. However, before I could get a plane ticket home, I met with one of my good spiritual mentors. She shared a Bible verse with me that instantly made me decide to keep going and stay. About two years after that, I finally got my degree. One Bible verse that changed the course of my life.

          Being a Christian also affirms my self-worth. I was bought with a price – with nothing less than the very life of God’s Son. I am unconditionally loved and always remembered. Generally, I feel like I don’t have to prove myself, that I am free to succeed and fail, to keep trying, to love and lose, to laugh and weep, to be joyful and grieve, to doubt, to question, to reason and yet be unconditionally loved. I also know that in times of failure and defeat, I can always run to God and He will always accept me.

          With Christ, my life has a deeper, more profound meaning and purpose. Like most people, I go through different trials and phases of depression but because God’s plan for my life is larger than any of those things, I find myself always seeing the rainbow or finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Certain sad and absurd events seem to make sense. Certain horrible memories of the past seem to eventually and softly fade to nothing until they don’t hurt or cause a feeling of shame anymore. Mundane and random day to day events seem bearable, if not exciting because they are all tied to God’s good purpose. In fact, because of the many ways God has led me to go out of my comfort zone or go through a phase of difficulty, I am able to discover certain skills and talents I didn’t know I had or desires and dreams I realized were worth pursuing.

          Lastly, following Christ helps me forgive others – both those from my past and present, to refuse to hold grudges, to give the benefit of the doubt, to simply let go because doing so will not be in vain. God is watching and He is taking note. In fact, I guess that’s one of the most encouraging qualities of Christianity – the fact that someday all loose ends will be tied, all plots will have a resolution and all the dots will be connected because God is taking note.

 

The Princess and the Pauper

Today, I realized I am a princess. This sends me goosebumps because for 20 years I had been living like a clueless pauper. When I was five, I started thinking I belonged to a middle class family. It was also then that I started making distinctions between who is rich and who is poor. I often envied the neighbors for having this and that and I concluded that we were not rich. As a kid, I started believing that maybe life is about possessions, that they are the center and the driving force of every man's endeavor. So whenever I saw a shooting star, I would always whisper, “success and happiness.”

I grew up in a neighborhood where money and career were the common topics of women and even men, in their siesta/gossip time. The ones worthy of praise are those who were poor years ago and have worked their way into working abroad, bringing home dollars and are now having their house remodeled. As a playmate, I had my share of boasting around with friends trying to pretend that my family is rich. One time I brought to school a jar of sand with starfish on it, to support my false claim that we have this really nice house near the beach. When I arrived home from school that day, I never felt poorer. So I said to myself, “I will be rich one day.” With the influence of education and my family, I began believing that climbing up hard in the ladder of academic success is the key to wealth. And so, I tried my best to do well in school. But it was not easy doing so. I had my inferiorities, insecurities and relational issues to begin with. When I was five and in kindergarten, I was one of the objects of bullying in class. My friends, especially, the guys would laugh at me putting my right foot on the chair while sitting down. I didn’t see anything wrong with it but since being bullied was not fun, that habit stopped - but not the bullying. Some guys teased me for my skin color; some, for other things I could not remember anymore, perhaps because there were unpleasant for me. There was one time a boy said my other girl classmate was prettier than me. My five year old heart was crushed. It has been over 20 years but I could still accurately spell out that boy’s name and role-play that event with the exact lines. There were times I could not trust my own test answers and had to ask my classmates what theirs were. There was a time I erased my own answer, having heard my classmate say it was wrong – only to find out later that mine was correct. I had my insecurities to begin with and so I could not be so confident in my skills, in being successful and finally being rich or having the power. So I was not only a pauper. I was the ugly pauper who could not trust in herself. And that made becoming successful seemingly difficult. So I made an attempt to change my mind. But this world is the survival of the fittest, it appeared to me, so I tried again. Many of my classmates devoured studying. Many of them gathered in groups to talk about the lessons and sit in clusters and brainstorm answers to teacher’s questions and cheer together as teacher affirms answer. If I was smart, I would be a member of that circle, I thought to myself. So I had second thoughts about actually being smart. I remember one particular instant when the teacher asked the whole class what the color of the sky was, and everyone said blue, except me who said, orange, sometimes even red, actually a mix of both. The class’s reaction made me feel strange about myself, as if I was the most abnormal person in the world. My teacher didn’t react to the commotion I made and simply said, very good class, yes, the color of the sky is blue. My memory of the sky being red and orange could not have simply deceived me then, but, maybe it was just me. To be smart was not that easy, indeed. And to feel this way as a five year old was way too stressful. So sometimes, I did not care about being smart and simply enjoyed playing with friends. My favorite was playhouse and I usually played the role of mom. I like being mom because I could tell my husband what to do and what he did wrong. I could also scold my children and tell them things I believed I was an expert of. I also liked playing teacher because everyone could just sit there and listen to me. My sister said being a teacher is no good and I could not understand why she thought so. I did not ask her because you are not supposed to ask questions from children who have different opinions from yours. I liked playing Tumbang Preso because it felt glorious to be able to hit cans with slippers and run away with it without getting caught or Piko because I felt accomplished to be able to hop my way back to home base with my eyes closed. I liked biking, but was not very free at doing so because my parents only allowed us to ride our bikes nearby - basically just around our small front yard. 

I was a curious child. I did not care if it meant death to do certain things, be it eating raw red chilli peppers, soap or lizard’s manure, or perhaps inserting beads or flowers in my nose. Driven by my what-ifs one day, I stooped so low at a fish pond – too low I fell into it. Weeds were all over my head and I wondered if I had eaten fish. People were sympathetic but I didn’t tell them that I kinda saw it coming. I was too curious in third grade, I asked how I was made. My parents got the encyclopedia to show me the insides of a man and woman. The pictures kinda helped but some things were not clear. I got the impression though that a man and a woman made me – my dad and mom. I didn’t just spring from a bamboo shoot, according to some Filipino folklore. I was a spoiled brat sometimes and people especially one of my babysitters named – okay I’d rather not say her name, gave me so many names I started to think I was the worst child in the world. I was maldita, taklesa, himantayon (bratty, tactless, judgmental). Those moments were my emergent exposure to human character. Sadly, I thought I was on the bad side. So I wasn’t only the poor, ugly, dumb kid.. I was the poor, ugly, dumb, ill-mannered kid. That could have been enough for me to commit suicide, but life was still fun – what with all the outdoor games and the occasional family gatherings. Our family wasn’t perfect but I felt we were happy.

In grade one, I was in the honor roll. Mmm.. so I was smart after all, but not smart enough to know what honor roll means. I had to ask my mom what my teacher meant with that. In a world where everything is measured by numbers (and I actually do not like numbers), it is hard to believe in yourself sometimes and easy to forget your dreams even if it means studying in a Catholic school. We all go through the same insecurities no matter what school we go to, I guess. Until now, I remember clearly the names of those pretty girls I envied – those who had pretty eyes, white skin, nice hair and nice stuff. I envied them too much, I was confused about how I felt about them. It was an intense and powerful feeling of envy that sublimed itself into a strange attraction. So based on who I easily got attracted to, I got confused about who I was. (to be continued)

This Halloween, I Celebrate My Dad

While people in the States celebrate Halloween with carved pumpkins, costumes and props, most people in the Philippines do so by remembering the saints and the loved ones they have lost. November 1^st and 2^nd would be spent going to the cemetery visiting graves, embellishing them with flowers, lighting candles, sharing a meal or two with family. Some people would stay overnight, play board games, play the guitar and sing to their heart’s content. I will be honest and say that this holiday was merely a tradition for me until I lost my Dad two years ago. I don’t get to visit his grave as often as I want to but at this point, I don’t think I need something tangible for my memories of him to be this alive. That bruise in my heart associated with his death is still pink raw and burns every time I dream of him – twice or three times each week.

This Halloween, I am not celebrating with a Piglet costume or a Tauriel. I am spending it remembering my Dad and honoring his memory – even if it means allowing myself to grieve again. I wish our last few days had been more ceremonial – me and him at the beach saying our last goodbyes; me thanking him for that special walk we had one day when I was in 5^th grade; him pinching my finger one more time; or the whole family having karaoke night or dancing by the beach on New Year’s Eve one last time. However, some things are meant to happen only in the movies and somehow, life is just blunt, even if it’s about something as serious as losing your dad. My brother who is also a seafarer like my dad was, recently shared that one of his co-workers happened to have worked with him before. They spent time talking about him as a co-worker and as a dad and ended the conversation with tears in their eyes.

My consolation besides the idea of heaven is the thought that if my father were still alive, he would be proud of the life skills I have recently developed. It would surely warm his heart to know I could cook now, that I could build a fire and keep it going for hours, that I could singlehandedly build a pig pen gate using power tools and that my son turned out fine even though I spent most of my pregnancy crying because my father was dying.  A friend once told me that sometimes it is not the quantity of time that you spend with someone that matters, but the quality. And that’s how it was with him. He was away 80 % of the time because of work but we made good and rich memories that are worth remembering and celebrating not only every All Souls Day, but every single day. So today, I will remember. I will sing our favorite songs and I will smile and cry at the same time. 

Blue Squeaky Shoes

A friend of ours gave our son Jhun a pair of squeaky shoes as a hand-me-down. For awhile, they just sat in the box because they were still too big. They are a formal looking pair - blue and leathery and they fasten by a Velcro. They look like something Prince George would wear. A few weeks ago, I thought I would take them out of the box and put them on the shelf thinking they would fit him soon. This morning, his daddy told him to grab his red boots because they were going to feed the animals. Unable to find the red boots in the house, he grabbed the blue squeaky shoes, instead and put them on. Of course, he couldn’t do it well so I helped him out. That was when I realized they are actually squeaky and immediately thought they were kinda corny – and annoying especially because Jhun would intentionally make squeaky sounds with them. We went to the YMCA later that day and not wanting to annoy the childcare staff as well, I switched his shoes with another pair – a more normal one. We came home and we had a campfire with some friends and Jhun started running around in the dark. It was hard to see him and I was afraid to lose him. Then I thought of the annoying blue squeaky shoes. When we went back inside the house to grab a bite, I made him wear those. We went back to the campfire where Jhun would sometimes run around. However, I didn’t need to keep my eyes glued to him anymore. He only needed to keep producing squeaky annoying sounds with his shoes and I pretty much knew where he was. 

My First Letter to My Son

Dear Jhun,

I am writing you now because one day, things are going to change and it will seem like yesterday when you and I spent one of the craziest stages of our lives, as a new mom and a new baby. As I write, you are spending time with your dad. Yes, there is life outside mommy and I have to keep reminding myself that. Sometimes, I have to rationally tell myself that you are safe with him every time I have to back off so you can have your ‘men time’. He is ecstatic about having you in his life too. It also takes effort for me to trust friends who offer to hold you. Call me crazy but at times, images enter my mind, of them dropping you on the floor or letting you roll off the hill in your stroller, but I am still sane, so the images go away and I realize I’m not the only one who cares for you.

You are 7 weeks today. You survived probably the most crucial moments of your infant life – getting out of a tiny hole, leaving the comforts of your life in the womb and staying at the hospital a little bit longer because of jaundice and oh, don’t forget our struggle with your latch. I wouldn’t know which one was the most traumatic for you. Life is hard as a new mom but I’ll never know how hard it is for a newborn. I was heartbroken when you started refusing to breastfeed after experiencing the bottle. But I feel proud of you when I look at you now, happy as a clam with my milk and getting chubbier each day.

I haven’t had a decent sleep since you came and I don’t own my time anymore. I have become a 24/7 on-call caregiver and your rapid changes compel me to be flexible, to overlook chaos and forget stability – all these despite the lack of sleep and lack of experience. Yet, as my prize, I get to experience your smile, your funny attempts to express yourself through your coos and enjoy the scent of milk on your skin. I don’t know when I’ll have my next free time, but you are fed, clean, safe, sound and thriving – and I already feel more successful than Oprah. I pray multiple times each day for various seemingly petty reasons – that you would keep napping while I rush to have lunch or take a shower or that the snoring sound in your chest is not pneumonia. My prayers are not always for the small things, though, for I pray that you will live up to your name, Jhun David - be as loving and faithful like your grandfather Jun was and become a man after God’s own heart like King David in the Bible.

Your dad and perhaps, everyone else in the world think I have become a little crazy since I had you – worrying all the time and sometimes feeling responsible for every bug bite, every cold and every constipation that you go through as a baby. I got to tell you - my heart breaks a little every time you cry, every time you are trying hard to sleep but can’t because of stomach cramps or whenever I see a rash on your face. It is crazy but I think that’s what we call ‘love’. I haven’t experienced this kind before so it can be a little overwhelming. I am convinced that if I am not careful, this love could be dangerous to you at some point – if I express it in a way that would not give you room to grow and be the kind of man God has planned for you to be. Again, call me crazy but I am already picturing myself scolding you for refusing to make your bed, or for not doing your chores, or talking you out of an unhealthy relationship with a girl one day. If someday, you might break a woman’s heart, remember that mine was the first you broke. Yet, I want you to remember that I will always be there for you, no matter what.  

I am praying for you Jhun because even though I feel like I am your Wonder Woman, I know I cannot always shield you from the ugly sides of life. I pray that you will be a Superman to many people, by God’s grace and according to His will and purpose for your life. If one day, you might doubt your worth as a person, remember these days when God did not only express His love for you by compelling me and your dad to take care of you despite all the challenges, but projected His very being through your existence. You are worth my back pains, this drool on my shoulder, my aching breasts, these stretchmarks and these tired eyes. I got to go now, to check whether you didn’t roll over the bed and suffocated yourself.

Your crazy mom,

Jill

                                                                                                                                                

America's Food

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A fitness guru once told me, “Eat like a king for breakfast, a queen for lunch and a princess for dinner.” I of course would later find that this rule is followed – in reverse, in America. Many Americans would just eat cereal or granola bar for breakfast. Some people would even skip it or just have coffee. Some people (especially the construction workers) will never drop whatever they are doing to have lunch while others will eat while working. It is pretty common for people to have lunch at different times and it’s not a big deal if someone’s having lunch in front of others who are still working. Most people would just eat leftovers or something that did not require a lot of prep work - a carrot stick, potato chips, peanut butter and jelly sandwich. While going to McDonald’s is considered by many Filipinos as a special meal time wherein you have to dress nicely to sit down and eat, in America, it is pretty common to see men in torn shorts and dirty shirts falling in line to get a sandwich. Nobody cares. People won’t judge you by your dirty clothes.

Meanwhile, in the Philippines, most people would have lunch at around 12 noon and spend 1 hour of “lunch break”. Whatever one is doing – whether he or she is in the middle of a construction project, of manually handwashing clothes or of a meeting, people drop whatever they are doing to eat. At noon, flocks of people will come out of their offices, schools, construction sites to head to restaurants, cafeterias and the like to have a sit-down hot meal. A typical one would be some rice with meat and veggies. In some small cafeterias, the soup is usually served free but that is because most of the time, it is really just seasoned hot water or the liquid part of a huge pot of soup. People rarely eat alone and most people look at their 1 hour break as a very short vacation. After eating, some people take a nap, listen to songs or watch TV.

Many Americans eat their largest meal at dinner. I discovered that they rely so much on baking to cook. I think it’s because it’s faster and it allows for multi-tasking unlike stove-top cooking. When I arrived here, we didn’t have a kitchen yet and that shocked a lot of people. It was almost unthinkable to them that we could make do with a mere single burner stove that we got as a wedding gift in the Philippines. I remember sharing this interesting fact about myself with a friend and her eyes grew large. Her reaction confirmed that gut feeling in me that many Americans are not used to roughing it, except maybe those who go camping often. But even their camping stuff is fancy! We went camping with other families one summer and they had a fancy kitchen set up – complete with stove, tables and other kitchen utensils. But camping was what it felt like while my husband and I were still working on our house at the same time living in it. The day after I arrived, the first thing I did was throw away many expired food products in the cabinet. That was my first encounter of the basic necessities to the typical American kitchen: catsup, mayonnaise, cheese, whip cream, milk, eggs, paper towel and Ziploc bags. My husband, despite being a “red neck” as he was or is, had a lot of Ziploc bags!

(An excerpt from my book)