Samaritan Angel

Google map has been an acquaintance when I go places. But it kind of abandoned me halfway today.

I had an appointment at 10am. I left my humble abode a little past 830am, albeit later than I initially planned. I was confident that despite my solitude, I would reach my destination hassle-free and on time.

The map instructed me take bus 45, and it tacitly warned me of the long, jaw-breaking-yawn boring journey. I took on the challenge, believing that at 10 am, at the latest, my destination would be within eyesight.

So I alighted the bus. With my BB on my right hand, I scrutinized the paths being spoon fed to me by google map. The lost girl being my middle name, reading the map that produced real-time images conveyed abstract likeness to me. I took an overhead bridge, realized I headed to the wrong exit, took a turn on a street which, apparently, was a grave mistake again. I was in the middle of nowhere, my feet were rationalizing on their own, my mouth and my brain exchanged diverse points and concluded that tardiness was the trouble-maker to blame. The sun was not spewing heat mightily, I was thanking God for this consolation, when a stranger in his white, glimmering car pulled over in my weariness. He inquired if I was heading to CHIJ Our Lady of Good Counsel. I was. He offered a ride. 

"Seek, and you shall find", the Bible says. But even if we do not seek, our Father in heaven knows the desires of our hearts, and we will find. I entered the seemingly recently purchased car of this good samaritan, took the front passenger seat, and breathed his hospitality. He drove his wife and daughter to the same recollection I was heading, he told me, and he had been noticing loads of people walking the same path. He had been picking up lost sheep and delivering them to the venue. My ride was his fourth send off. 

Angels disguise themselves to aid us. This stranger is the perfect representation. I arrived at my destination just in time for the priest's opening prayer. It would have been another 15 to 20 minute journey on foot had I not been rescued from that dilemma. God always, always provides. He profusely bleeds blessings, trivial or epochal. Even transport. :)

Sundae Sunday!

The little surprises have the heaviest impact. I was blown away, I laughed my heart out, therefore hereby declaring today to be an official happy day.

I arrived late for my catechism class. It was a good thing, I guess. It gave the class the time to connive and to draw on my stainless white board the sweetest "Good morning, May" I have ever gazed upon in my entire existence. At the right part of this art was the four smiley faces with the names on top of it of the four girls who conjured this heart-warming idea. I melted.

Saturday was the presidential election in this country. As expected, the hot topic of the day was the Saturday's event. So one kid asked me if I voted. Before I could even answer, one classmate replied on my behalf that I was not a citizen. I affirmed by saying that I am a filipino (a foreigner of this land). The kid who asked turned to the classmate beside him, inquired of his knowledge of my roots by saying, "how did you know?" Guess how the classmate replied? "Well first, she sings..", stretching one of his folded fingers. I teared in guffaw. :)

F and M and G

I received a phone call in the wee hours of the evening from my mother. I preferred not to entertain it; I thought if it was serious, I would have received numerous call attempts. But that missed call happened only once. So I just filed the worries away.

I thank God for facebook. My mom did not have enough credits for a long distance talk, but there was free wi-fi connection in the hospital. I was informed of my father's medical condition through this powerful social network.

Immediately after learning about the situation, I talked to my father. In the span of two words he stopped in his track, his construction chapped, his voice cracked. The gravity of the situation had finally settled within me, and in the middle of my lunch, I broke into tears.

There was blood in his stool since last week. He kept the occurrence to himself. It recurred on Thursday. On a normal night, just as soon as he reaches home, my father sojourns to his room, changes his clothes, and in the span of five minutes, his big heavy steps conquer the stairs and the kitchen floor. But on Thursday, he was particularly taking his time. More than 15 minutes expired, the familiar sounds on the wooden staircase was inaudible. My mom got worried.

She dashed into his room. There, my father, instead of filling his physical hunger, prioritized his bedtime and took a nap. The abnormality of his actions worried my mom. After probing, my father confessed. He was rushed to the hospital the same night.

Upon hearing the news, and how concealment of fear and emotion seemed an impossible task for my father, worst scenarios started to fill my cup up to the brim. It consumed me. I immediately contacted my church community to solicit prayers. A comforting string of prayers in different forms formed a bouquet of offering to God. I guess it might have been deafening to Him, and the only escape is to grant it affirmatively. On Saturday, nightmares evaporated like a smoke in the chimney. They only found ulcers in his tummy. I prefer this over anything.

I guess the highlight of this experience pinpoints to his release from the bondage of the hospital walls, and his guilt. My mother shared with me how my father shed tears, held her hand, and uttered the sincerest apologies her ears have ever heard. Good things happen even in the darkest of days. A divine coincidence, since I discussed the Sacrament of Reconciliation to my catechism class today. And a beautiful reconciliation transpired in that part of the world. God operates mysteriously. He improvises and uses situations and overturns it as a result. Making us feel blessed somehow. I know I am. :)

John 3:12

I was reading the Gospel of John, pre-empting Saturday's church session, on the bus on my way home. And God inaudibly spoke to me through John 3:12. 'If I have spoken to you earthly things, and you believe not; how will you believe, if I shall speak to you heavenly things?' This passage reminded me of Mother Teresa, when she said 'If you cannot love the person whom you can see, how can you love God whom you cannot see?'

We are a visual flock. We rely on our five senses. 'To see is to believe', they used to quote to us in elementary days. But I guess we have the tendency to overlook manifestations even if we literally are seeing them. My mom used to tell me, when I could not find what she tasked me to find, that if that thing were a snake, it would have bitten me already. The item was laid right in front of me. I let my blind side do the seeing.

But God has memorized our weaknesses and strengths. Like a translucent jellyfish floating in the darkness of the abyss, He can pick out our very system and identify them before us. In and out, like a jagged tee-shirt, he accepted every worn-out part and continues to wrap us in His love. God approaches us through our most basic humanity, our human senses. He manifests His own flesh and blood, thus the word made flesh, to persuade us. All we need to is open our eyes, realize the beauty lying lavishly on our table, and make a substantial effort to own it. To devour it. A lift of the finger is all it takes.

Assumption

Today is the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. Being the day of obligation, I stormed from my workplace to the church I frequent. It was a blessing I arrived just in time for the Gospel.

Mary was assumed body and soul into heaven. Today, not only this commemoration transpired before the holy banquet, but one assumption of praises and faith transcended beyond the boundary of norms.

He had unexplainable haircut: close to a full shave seemingly patterned after the famous mysterious signs that invaded the corn crops. His tattooed body glistened under the warm light that burnished the church. His whole ensemble contradicted with the ambience of the holy ground of God. I thought someone must have forced him to attend, that it might have been his first time. But God proved His point. This man, in his most solitude communion with Him, clasped his hands in fervent prayer. His voice chorused with the congregation. His smudged facade, overshadowed by his great faith, was too fragile to contain the tsunami of thanksgiving bursting from his heart, he spewed a beautiful string of total union with the One Above. Disappointing all negations. He vividly reminded me of the Canaanite woman whose daughter Jesus healed in the Sunday's gospel.

Mother Mary and Jesus' divine tandem was at work today. His presence was an affirmation.

Delirium

Love has always been an equation that baffles many. It is reachable to some; love blooms like flowers in spring upon their touch. It is elusive to others. Love is a many splendor thing, and it does make the world go 'round.

Delirium. A love that is associated with delusion. While the real world views love to be liberating, this particular book by Lauren Oliver perceives love from an oblique perspective. Pessimism at its peak. Love is the source of a dystopian society.

I guess you can consider it the Romeo and Juliet of the modern time. The girl is of conservative nature. She adheres to every rule and every regulation without batting an eyelash. The boy is from the forbidden outside world. He gets inside the society, a twisted place where love equates to sin, wears the cloak of pretense to camouflage with them, exuding normalcy behind falsified personality. Everything seems perfect.

But what is a plot without a conflict? The two main characters committed the most grievous of all crimes. Ninety days prior to Lena's procedure, an operation that removes their capability to love, she met Alex. This girl who is all excited for the day she will be devoid of this dangerous emotion, overturns the table and defies all laws. Love indeed is an unstoppable arch nemesis.

I have to admit, it took me a good three months to finish the book. Hands down it was very well-written. The problem lied with me, I pre-judged the story. In the middle where it rolled into a bubble gum summer adventure, a teenage dream kind of thing that you can basically predict what happens next (I thought, and I thought wrongly), I got bored. What I learned from reading a very well-written piece is not to give prior conclusions, and to let each leaf transform into a world of the unbound. I am glad I did not give up on it.

I read past the denouement. Less than ten pages and I was ecstatic to find out how the ending would be. Three pages expired. And then two. And before I knew it, I began to imagine the exact details as transcribed in the book as if I were embedded within: how Lena felt the razor sharp walls that tear her flesh, how Alex's harsh childhood all seemed to be deducted from his being every time he is with Lena, how he planned to materialize their escape to the Wilds. How he looked at her for the last time. Before I knew it, tears came running down my face. Every word created a lump in my throat and choked me. If I would be asked to define love based on this novel, the last four paragraphs would give it justice. I closed the book with a heavy heart.

More than puppy love and infatuation, and summer dreams and night outs, love blooms even in the most scarce places. My appreciation for the book reached the maximum height that I told everyone, confidently, that I slept at 1am to finish it, that this book made me cry, and that my eyes were all puffy the next day because of it. Some are heroic at their expression of emotion, regardless of the consequences. This book is dedicated to all those whose love is real and suppressed. To all childhood memories that never seem to fade. And to all those who are brave enough to show emotion amidst the ridiculing stares. Love is something no one can take away. It is a gift that lingers. Love is forever.