Eusef

I love to say, I'm a student of the Bible. I read it and respect it as God's Holy Word, and by God’s grace, try to live it although I am fully aware that it’s only by God’s sustaining love and grace that I can follow (i honestly fall short most of the time :'{ ) and obey.. And one of the things I Love about my Bible is that it takes me to places I’ve never been and introduces me to people I’ve ever met in person--until of course, the great roll call day :} .

I’ve learned to love each character I’ve encountered in every reading. Their success, trials, the drama and every epiphany in each situation is always astounding! And one of those people is Joseph. He was a man whom I considered a “hoper” (hhmm the dreamer is overused, eh :p).. ; that is to say, someone “who hopes against hope'. Simply put, he’s an institution when it comes to “hoping”. :}

Humanly speaking, there are times our hope is not enough. There are those who have lost their hope and stopped living e.g. those who committed suicide. There are those who have hoped, and died hoping. And there are also those who are hoping for something and striving to live.  Yet for hope to manifest we have to do more than merely live..
They say 'desperate situations demand desperate measures'. Joseph is an example of someone who was in a situation that was critical. It looked as if the odds were stacked against his life..He needed a miracle. He had to go deeper!
Thank God he did. He hoped against hope by trusting in God.. And to hope against hope is to hope beyond hope. It's a supernatural kind of hope (yep supernatural)..  It's the kind of hope God has called us to. It's the kind of hope that manifests dreams and helps make people endure to the end. It's the kind of hope that comes from God, and we must and should have it..
To hope against hope is to still be expectant against all odds that God will come through for you.
To hope against hope is to understand that God is seldom early, but He is never late.

The times we are in difficulty are the best times are times to know his/her purpose. Since we live in times when it's very easy to be disillusioned; times where even very established individuals are struggling and established institutions collapsing, we must know where we should stand and the scripture tells us that the Lord is our Solid Rock.  Let’s not take God for granted. He wants to be the strong foundation of everything we dare to build. May we all like Joseph, remember God not just in tough times but in every moment of our lives.. :} Have a hopeful day.. :} :} :}

Chaff

I watched the chaffs slid through her fingers and wondered how anyone could have imagined using wind to separate them from full grains. How had a person know that a moving air could drive the useless grains away –grains-- useless--like wasted moments that pass coolly and detach through the spaces of one's hands?

She grabbed another handful and lifted her arms and let the grains streamed as they escaped her wrinkled palms. That was easier to understand. I'd watched her life slipped away, seeped from the top to the bottom, noiselessly and barely noticed..something so opposite of how people had come to know her.

The last grains trickled through her fingers and she became aware that the sun had begun to set, slid downward into the fields. It made its exit more slowly than the chaffs in her hands. The sun, the rice grains, in the vast rice field—were as silent as the stars in the immeasurable universe that died without our notice, left as quietly as I thought the years had done in our lives.

It was almost more than a decade since I left home—No. they sent me away for education... I remembered the same field, sun, cattle, trees and mountains, the goodbyes...but I remembered a sense of hope, a promise of life and accomplishments  which they promised me--so profound yet so meaningless to me.
"May I disturb you?" She was startled as I stood beside her "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you,” I said as I wondered how she got the rice before me just that quickly. “Do you want me to go away?" she asked.
"No, please don't, I'm afraid I was lost in thought. Go ahead and may I help?" I looked around the field but didn't see anyone else. My hands trembled, my eyes misty. There was that excitement within...so--indescribable."Why did you go away?"

She looked confused. "I'm here with you."

"Yes, but I mean... I don't live here now. I left a month after you left. I've just arrived." I wanted to reach out for her but my hands were freezing. Why I've never talked to her that way before. It has always been with hesitation that I might say the wrong words. "Where have you been?"  (All those time—when people were strict and stiff.) 

She shrugged as if the question wasn't relevant. "Just here. Waiting all this time. What are you doing out here by yourself?" she questioned back and continued. "Hmmnn , thinking about things, life, I guess. Take my advice, do everything you want to do. At least give it a try,I believe you can--or your life will be over and you'll have done nothing."

"What did you do with your life?"

"Me?" she said, incredulously. "Someday, you'll understand. besides, it's not important what i did. It’s what you will do that matters."

Bravely, i took her hand and pressed it gently. I let the fluid flow freely. "Come with me. please." Was it pleading? Perhaps, but if I was trembling I couldn’t tell.

"I live here. I'm not going anywhere. I am watching you, though." Her firm statement almost shocked me. I was also surprised at the way she rejected my pleading and it pierced something deep within.

"Someday, I told myself, I’d ask you when you’re a little nicer...when you're a little softer...when I can stand on my two feet… you’re still the proud woman you are."

"What do you want to do with your life?" I was taken aback. She didn't mind my statement.

I looked at her and smiled. "I'd asked myself that question many times. "I wanted to be with you! I want to argue with you about life-- now that I have enough knowledge to reason. I wanted to embrace and kiss you and give you gift on my first salary. I wanted to cry on your shoulder when I was hurt and no one seemed to understand..." I saw her mouth opened and held up her hand. "I know what you're going to ask. circumstances had been our enemy; because stuff came up that I was- no we were left with no choice. I've gone too scared, there wasn't enough hope to stand on my own.. There wasn't enough courage, either."

"I do not have enough strength either. But you are strong. Stronger than I expected you to be." 

"But I'm tired. Could you at least stay and hug me?"

She looked at the Western sky. I know she's trying to say something but can't. Years had not stolen the loveliness in her face. Just the way I used to adore her. And it came upon me. "Well, writing doesn't cost anything. I'm sure I can always be with you in writings just so time wouldn't allow us." I shrugged and thought about her. I looked at her straightly in the eyes only to find that she hasn't anything within. She caught me, right. I had come up with excuses. I was afraid I'd fail her as well. I smiled "I always had reasons not to start, though. Writing the first lines left me broken-hearted everytime." She looked out. I followed her glance and saw the last of the sun dipping into the mountains. I'd not even noticed that the darkness began to overtake us. "We better go home. Come." I held her hand firmly-not wanting to let her go. 

"NO." She said softly but it seemed to be the loudest sound of twilight--louder that the 6-o'clock bell of town -when the Catholics are called to pray. She grabbed her hands from me, too. "Go home-where you live. To where you belong. I'll stay here. When you're sad, you are always free to come." she gently caressed my face—longingly; and it seemed that the world had stopped moving. My shoulders shuddered and there, I let those pended waters ran freely. I'd never forget that look on her face when she looked at me. It was joy, admiration--pride! It was as if she saw somebody there whom she'd expected, for whom she had waited, prayed. Dreamily I closed my eyes though painfully, and wondered if she were to come with me, whether she was thinking the same thoughts, breathing the same prayer--we'll be together again... “Come.” I said for the last time.

"Tita!” A voice howled far above me. "You can't sleep here all night. Dinner is set already. Or would you rather sleep here?"

It was my nephew. I realized I must have stayed long  beside the haystack  near the threshing ground.—I climbed to my feet, and brushed the dirt and hay stalks off my skirt. I still was confused. "Oh, ok, dear." I smiled at his joke. “I have to say yes to my impossible appetite, first. Second, I guess I have the  to stay at the house as well, since its dark already. Uh, I must have dozed off."  'Where did she go?' I asked myself as I looked around. She's gone. The house was as silent as death as I looked at it; the little village seemed deserted at night time , saved the flickering lights from the open windows of the houses. Again I looked at the threshing ground, but it was getting chilly and I must go inside the house to keep warm.

"Something wrong?" he asked worriedly. 

"No, I thought…." I paused and looked around yet didn't see anybody. As we followed the beam of his flashlight, I saw a set of chaff-hills along the edge of the threshing ground. The wind blew unusually chilly and it felt like total coldness.  I shook my head and wondered if it had been a dream. 'When you're sad, you are always free to come.'  "Did you hear that?" I asked my nephew.

"The wind?" he asked back."

 "Nevermind."

"You sure you're okay?" He asked as he moved the wooden gate. It creaked and I bit my lips to stifle a wild cry there. The gate opened. Then again, tears came freely. What happened fifteen years ago? What I did  and didn't? What she did and didn't? Should I blame time when I was too young to say no when she said goodbye?  Should I blame me that I was too weak to help when she needed me?  Or should I blame others that they were not there when my cousin and I cried for help? No. there was no one no blame. Not even---she who refused to fight for her own life and refused to live... 

There's no one now to cure bruises when I fall from trees, and no one to howl and  carry me when I prick my feet from running barefooted in the forest. Tears came down unchecked and when I tried to brush them off with my bare hand, those salty water that fell down  my cheeks, left my face deathly, cold. And when it got into my mouth, it tasted awful. Life without her is really awful. But I have to move on. Slowly, painfully, I tried to put back my composure and as I did,  a sob escaped deep from my breast and  the bitter stuff escaped my being. In one bound I had reached the open door. The light wasn't too bright, ( or was my sight failing?) so I stumbled a little. It was when I raised my head that I saw a blur painting on the wall. Then, slowly it became clearer. She was smiling.  For the first time, she looked so alive and very happy. 'I love you, Mom. I wish I was this age when you needed me-- I miss you so much.' I said silently and turned back to my 15 year-old nephew. I blinked voluntarity. She was so alive fifteen years ago.

"Yes, I'm sure."

(this is just a part of a dream i used to dream about my mom. she died when i tuned 11)

..herstoy :}

“Our choices greatly influenced those who follow us.”

…history is never a chronicle of kings and statesmen, of people who wielded power, but of ordinary women engaged in manifold yet godly tasks…

Godly women wrote their own history as well.. in those writings, their traits are revealed.. We can read them; study them in the pages of the Holy Writ. But can such traits of biblical women be seen nowadays? I should say yes. I met her through her own chronicle that she’s writing—not only on the pages of bound papers, but in the lives of those around her whom she loves and serves-- and most especially, in every corner of my heart—she’s writing it.. Exactly! She won my heart that way. She’s writing her story unknown by the world in the narrow circle of my home within. She labors for God and others, and God's eye is upon her--His hands moulding her.. One day, when her book of life was opened before my very eyes, I was awed. I was overwhelmingly blessed! God has showed me what I really want to be through her.

I praise God, that, for always, He places in an environment where women are tender-hearted, loving, motherly, efficient, and wise and above all, God fearing. And one of them is Ma’am Mara Marcos-Dizon. He allowed me to read her story. And I am spending tireless nights finishing reading what she’s writing. I’m learning that she, a woman is diligently striving to possess a God-like character. She’s showing me through her words that a woman, to become a real one, must have her heart turned wholly toward God. And that’s one of the things I love about her. She, through the gift of words given to her by God, is  always pointing me toward God. Her devotion is contagious and her faithfulness is inspiring. Yes. She’s an encouragement and more than just a blessing to me… she’s a sister who's inspiring other sisters to mind the things of God. Indeed, she is BLESSED; hence she’s a blessing (for you cannot effectively share something you’ve not personally experienced).

The bible says, “…but the woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.”  Our every action is seen by God. He weighs our motives. He knows our hearts, and the choice is ours to make. We can live out our lives with the attitude that we are "just a woman", or we can turn that perspective around and become "a just woman"... simply a woman who knows her own righteousness and goodness does not count--the Bible says, “...BUT BY MY SPIRIT saith the LORD of HOST.”

Thank you, Ma’am Mara. May I, like you, diligently seek to acquire and exhibit the attributes of godliness and live in His righteousness alone—so that my life as a woman of God can be a light that would point the younger ladies toward God.  Mahal kita sa Dios.. :}

..looking back before i set off.. :}

“The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.”
–Rabindranath Tagore

..today is january 18 and the year is 2012. what you’re reading right now is my first attempt at a blog.. :}  i’m really not into writing much these days but my creative juices are  really that overflowing (or im just trying to lift my own chair :p)… what i really long for right now is a lengthy sleep  and meaty conversation with Aidy, and not this task of typing down words as if i’m talking to the monitor (just kidding-truth is i'm very excited to start this one) so ehem.. i've been drafting my first post on this page and i can say that it is definitely hard to draw a line between being “artistic” and just simply portraying real life.. but i'll try to   :}  -------------------------> 

..there are so many memorable days in our lives-- most of them are simple events yet they remain in our hearts--and that i think what makes them memorable.. :} when i was much much younger, my father used to tell us bedtime stories.. stories that he learned from school but most of them (i just realized) were his own creations.. i can hardly forget the meaty word he left us every time he ended each stories.. and though i was sleepy enough to hear them, because he was convincing, i listened to the promises of protection and security he wanted to give us..

he said...

 

The \good warrior never forgets the old saying:

The good little goat doesn't bleat.

Injustices happen. Everyone finds themselves in situations they do not deserve, usually when they are unable to defend themselves. Defeat often knocks at the Warrior's door.

At such times, she remains silent. she does not waste energy on words, because they can do nothing. she knows it is best to use her strength to resist and have patience, knowing that Someone is watching, Someone who saw the unnecessary suffering and who will not accept it.

That Someone gives her what she most needs: time.

Sooner or later, everything will once more work in her favor..for her own good..

"a real warrior is wise; she does not talk about her defeats.. Leonardo  

 

I know i'm quite appreciative of my father.. i always tell heroic stuff about him. 

but what can i do, everywhere i turn, i see my fathers goodness and gentleness..

if an earthly father could be this great, how much more is our heavenly Father? 

the Scripture tells us God is sovereign.

this means that He is above all others in importance and rank. 

and because He is the sovereign God of the universe, His promises are certain.

There is no being or force in the universe that is able to keep Him from carrying out His plans.

If we can entrust or lives to human, we should all the more entrust them (our lives that is) to God..

..today is January and the year is 2012. what you’re reading right now is my first attempt at (what else but) a blog. i’m really into writing much these days but my creative juices are not really that overflowin--haha contrast is it? but that happens sometimes :} what i really long for right now is a lengthy and meaty conversation, and not this task of typing down words as if i’m talking to the monitor..

anyway, i’ll be going on a trip  tomorrow night at midnight and i’m going there alone. sounds so brave of me, huh? the thought of going there alone scares me a little bit, but the fact that i’m going to see one of the most beautiful places in the philippines for the first time excites me. expect that i’ll be talking a lot when i get back..

Journeys