I am so looking forward to summer but apparently, my sem ends on the 29th. What a stretch! But THIS LIFE IS A BEAUTIFUL ONE :) I'm taking this short time off to chill for a bit before getting back to work, work, work! All the downs I've experienced in the past months made me learn (in a hard way, but I learned) and appreciate the value of unwavering focus, hard work, hard criticism and GRACE (thanks to my BIG GUY up there).
I run out. This tempest is cruel and getting more spiteful by the minute. What started as ripples surround like tidal waves, engulfing everything along its way. I run out.
Suddenly, my defenses turned on me. My sails are now frayed from the howling winds. My canons are rusted and useless. The perfectly tranquil ocean, my old friend -- the traitor. Where have all my men gone? Where is the crew to bring down the anchor? Nay, they’re all gone. Waters rush in unwelcome. They flood inside as I empty my vessel with just a bucket and my own two hands. But oh heart, it’s weary. The darkness blinds me. The downpour hides the surge of tears. And the lighthouse is far from near.
My ship is plummeting down the spiral. Like in a drain I see myself submerge. And as my everything runs out, I go deaf and defenseless to the trouncing and thrashing. And as I close my eyes to accept this doom, a hand rests upon my shoulder.
Security.
Ever so gently amidst the storm, he carries my almost lifeless body.
Oh the sturdy arms that wrap around me!
I can hear his heartbeat, calm and steady with a consistent thump that does not skip a beat.
I can feel his warmth surrounding even when all is wet and cold.
I can feel his grip secure yet tender, impervious to the raging sea.
I feel far above the ground, how tall must he be?
Yet as I try to get a glimpse of his face, my eyes, they hurt in His glory
He walked and stopped before the hand wheel, there I realize my identity
I hear His voice, the placid tone, whispering ever so quietly
That I am the crewman and He, my captain
Is greater than the waves of the sea.
Though my sails are tattered and the fabric’s torn
Like the cry of mortality
I am the crewman and He, my captain
Hath not departed me.
She was 18.
And a bit of a surprise.
I was addressing them for the first time, fired up and fresh from Sunday. I can hear myself as the words flow faithfully as if from memory. But her gaze was different from the rest. I caught it flew in interim, outward towards space. She was back fast enough. But her eyes were overcast, eclipsed by a well made-up face.
So the breakthrough came. They spoke, one after another, recounting stories, unloading weight upon weight as if I was some bare container. Never mind that I had to take it all in; I treasured the moment. They did not fail to surprise.
She was the last to speak. She hesitated at first, but after minutes of prodding from the others, she acceded. Then the tears came. And that’s when I felt my heart stretch as if on reflex, with a compulsion that demanded urgency. She knew how to hide herself pretty well. Her demeanor spoke differently but her heart could not be contained.
The following week, I got to talk to her alone. Her smile was different this time, hopeful and expectant. I offered a billion times to accompany her to that place she did not yet belong to. How my heart leaped when she wanted to name him (or could it have been a her?) after me. Unbelievable, this girl. Unbelievable. Enthusiasm filled her afternoon and mine.
But it dissipated as quickly as vapor. Like life.
She couldn’t be blamed, could she? It was too late. Much as we wanted the lad to owe up to the blame, to heck with attribution – as if it mattered now. It might have been too late, but for C it was new life. They come at the most unexpected time and bring redemption if you grab them.
The young lad was as confused as she was. He had hormones that raged most haphazardly, and then the guts – and the gall – to lead innocence to slaughter. This is what the world does – make boys out of emerging men and premature mums out of missies.
What adds insult to injury is not this reality but the normalcy that keeps it company.
I look at C. There’s one too many.
I stumbled upon Alyssa Quilala’s blog last month when her husband Chris posted the link somewhere in Facebook. In her first post, she mentioned something which caught my attention: “I think that blogs should be vulnerable and honest.” Congratulations, instant epiphany for me right there - which led me to this post.
I never had a positive take on vulnerability, until lately. In fact, it still scares me but appeals nevertheless. Vulnerability is as good as inviting judgment or the tendency thereof. It’s exposure that may elicit either admiration or the ire of people you care and not care about. The world is no non-judging breakfast club after all. When you open yourself up, you let them see the beautiful and the ugly, the sanity and the madness. And there’s always relativity, so you don’t expect the same feedback from everyone else. But why choose to be vulnerable and honest?
Not all judgment is sound – brutal fact. But not all of them are necessary – thank heavens! My personal space right here, though virtual, is an invitation to whoever takes a peek in my life – even when it’s not always spick and span – to share it with me.
So here’s the real score. I don’t like feeling vulnerable and lately I’ve been feeling exactly that. A tug of war has been playing inside me and I’ve been trying to draw the line, trying to find my safe spot, tugging my security blanket closer. But at the same time, I realize that it’s making me more fearful and causing me more distraction than I can afford. It generates paranoia and peters out faith. It doesn’t help in any way.
Then God reminded me of something. If there are moments when I actually revel in my vulnerability, it’s those alone times with Him. Those times when I can unload every burden, present my heart in whatever state it may be in, and just feel stripped of every piece of me, yet feel peace and calm and acceptance, are the most priceless ever. With Him, I desire to be most intimate to a point of losing myself and finding it again. Again and again and again, I feel like I would never tire of being pierced through, of being infiltrated. It’s purification in its highest form, shamelessness in its most humbling.
I can be most vulnerable before my Creator because I share a special relationship with Him. With people, He told me it’s almost the same. You have to allow yourself to be seen, to be shared if you want others to come in, if you want others to also shake off the reluctance around you, and ironically, if you want others to be less judgmental of you. But this is not always the case in every context. At some point and situation, it’s also wise to withhold some part of yourself before you decide to take the plunge. You just have to rely on something, someone greater to cover you when your defenses are down, and to protect you when your heart needs the shield.
So what’s real? That hey, I’m not always okay, but I always know that I will be. That there are times I flounder and fall. That I’m not always as strong as I appear to be – it’s just that in my weakest, the strongest in God takes over in me. That I have my share of woes and sorrows but that I believe His mercies are fresh every morning. That I make a lot of mistakes, but He disciplines ingenuously. That I struggle, but I overcome. That I can only be as good as the grace who died for me. That when I am in my most vulnerable, God works best in covering me. That I can be vulnerable to the pains of this life and not lose to it because when God was at His most vulnerable in the Cross of Calvary, He won over death to bring back my identity.
What can I say? It’s good to finally be unloading here, for this almost hypothetical world to serve its purpose. Who would’ve thought it’d come to this. :)
I never had a positive take on vulnerability, until lately. In fact, it still scares me but appeals nevertheless. Vulnerability is as good as inviting judgment or the tendency thereof. It’s exposure that may elicit either admiration or the ire of people you care and not care about. The world is no non-judging breakfast club after all. When you open yourself up, you let them see the beautiful and the ugly, the sanity and the madness. And there’s always relativity, so you don’t expect the same feedback from everyone else. But why choose to be vulnerable and honest?
Not all judgment is sound – brutal fact. But not all of them are necessary – thank heavens! My personal space right here, though virtual, is an invitation to whoever takes a peek in my life – even when it’s not always spick and span – to share it with me.
So here’s the real score. I don’t like feeling vulnerable and lately I’ve been feeling exactly that. A tug of war has been playing inside me and I’ve been trying to draw the line, trying to find my safe spot, tugging my security blanket closer. But at the same time, I realize that it’s making me more fearful and causing me more distraction than I can afford. It generates paranoia and peters out faith. It doesn’t help in any way.
Then God reminded me of something. If there are moments when I actually revel in my vulnerability, it’s those alone times with Him. Those times when I can unload every burden, present my heart in whatever state it may be in, and just feel stripped of every piece of me, yet feel peace and calm and acceptance, are the most priceless ever. With Him, I desire to be most intimate to a point of losing myself and finding it again. Again and again and again, I feel like I would never tire of being pierced through, of being infiltrated. It’s purification in its highest form, shamelessness in its most humbling.
I can be most vulnerable before my Creator because I share a special relationship with Him. With people, He told me it’s almost the same. You have to allow yourself to be seen, to be shared if you want others to come in, if you want others to also shake off the reluctance around you, and ironically, if you want others to be less judgmental of you. But this is not always the case in every context. At some point and situation, it’s also wise to withhold some part of yourself before you decide to take the plunge. You just have to rely on something, someone greater to cover you when your defenses are down, and to protect you when your heart needs the shield.
So what’s real? That hey, I’m not always okay, but I always know that I will be. That there are times I flounder and fall. That I’m not always as strong as I appear to be – it’s just that in my weakest, the strongest in God takes over in me. That I have my share of woes and sorrows but that I believe His mercies are fresh every morning. That I make a lot of mistakes, but He disciplines ingenuously. That I struggle, but I overcome. That I can only be as good as the grace who died for me. That when I am in my most vulnerable, God works best in covering me. That I can be vulnerable to the pains of this life and not lose to it because when God was at His most vulnerable in the Cross of Calvary, He won over death to bring back my identity.
What can I say? It’s good to finally be unloading here, for this almost hypothetical world to serve its purpose. Who would’ve thought it’d come to this. :)
Because I feel a sense of ownership of February, I'm posting the highlights of my birth month. The past month felt loooooong for a supposedly short month. Lots of surprises, ministerial prayers fulfilled supernaturally (couldn't think of a more fitting adverb), character stretching and molding, dreams coming to pass, sporadic episodes of heartaches, perky moods, uncalled for moodswings, and whatnots. 'Nuff of the words for now, I'll let the images do most of the talking.
Bannoffee Pie and carrot cake for my birthday. Friends from church dropped by the dormitory just about half an hour before my day officially ended and brought me carrot cake, which surprisingly (since I'm not a fan of carrots) was really good. And I mean really. My beloved seatmate gave me this yummy yummy yummy pie (not the original pie on the photo though 'coz I wasn't able to take a picture). I think I could live on Bannoffee for a week and not feel sick. This is the ultimate upper, I tell you.
So it's a wrap, then! February '11 is nothing short of an adventure, as what I pray the rest of my year would be. I'm definitely looking forward to the coming months. 'Til next time! Ciao for now! :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
