Forty Days: Day One

With Ash Wednesday comes the Lenten season. Aside from the usual fasting from coffee, chocolates, or Facebook, I have decided to also do more of prayer, pondering, and preparation.  It is a good time to do so because I am once more standing on the precipice, about to jump, to follow my heart, and start a new life.

I began the practical aspects of my journey a long time ago - planning for two years, working on it for the last two months.  But my inner journey is also ongoing, and I have a good spiritual director to walk with me.

Yesterday I was only supposed to give an update from our last session and also go to confession.  But perhaps to prepare for this season of grace, I was asked to open up for more, with kindness, compassion, and gentleness.

I have been asked to ponder on God's goodness and love for me.

For He has been good to me, even when I was unfaithful.  He never left my side.  He guided my steps.  He protected me from harm.  He answered my prayers.  He provided for all my needs, and more.

I have been asked to pick a Psalm to pray with.  I choose Psalm 43:5 this afternoon.

Why are you cast down, O my soul,

and why are you in turmoil within me?

Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,

my salvation and my God. (ESV)

Another version reads:

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?

Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God. (RSV)

And so goes the first day of the next 40 days.

Awed by the UP College of Music's Handel's Messiah: A Christmas Concert

When I was still a student at the University of the Philippines, I heard about the annual free Christmas concert organized by the UP College of Music and the country's most award-winning choral groups.  It featured excerpts from Handel's Messiah.  Somehow, even though I studied there for eight years, and then moved with my family to a house just 15 minutes away from campus, I never got to watch this special show.  The opportunity never came up as December is always a busy time.

This year, another one of my good friends is leaving the country for good very soon, and he asked me if I knew of any "Christmassy" concerts we could go to, specifically mentioning "Handel's Messiah."  I Googled it and found out that the annual Christmas concert I had been missing was again to be staged this year, but for the first time it was going to be held at the University Theater, after the beloved Abelardo Hall simply could not accommodate anymore the increasing number of people who came to watch this show every year.  I noted the date and the magic words "FREE ADMISSION" and planned to go with my friend.

December descended upon me with birthdays and baptisms along with reunions and shopping, and I only had time to check the show's details the night before the concert.  I saw that I should have obtained control tickets to the concert.  Panic set in...

On the day of the concert, I assured my friend we could get in, and proceeded to one of my favorite buildings in my favorite campus, the UP College of Music.  I just loved going there and listening to the sounds of different instruments being played by earnest music students. In college, I took piano lessons at the Extension Program and was asked by my teacher if I wanted to pursue a Minor in Piano.  I looked at my life then, recognized the crossroads, and made a decision.  I thought I could not afford to practice four hours a day on top of my senior year in the School of Economics, so I said No.  Besides, I knew I wanted to become a lawyer.

So I was almost in tears when I learned that they had run out of tickets two days before.  I asked where I could buy them, even though they were for free.  I was advised to try the University Theater.  I walked to the next building and was referred to someone they referred to as "the Professor."  I explained to the Professor my predicament, that I had an Australian friend who was leaving, that I loved music and UP and had always wanted to watch this particular concert, that had I learned about the need for tickets I would have secured them weeks ago, etc.  Prof. Ruben Defeo, the Artistic Director of the University Theater, said he would try his best to get me some tickets, and advised me to come early.

After a day of errands and traffic jams, my friend and I met at the theater steps.  As soon as the doors were opened, I looked for the Professor.  He was there, in red, smiling like my own personal Santa Claus.  People were elbowing their way to the theater but he stood there, waiting.  He nodded when he saw me and asked how many tickets I needed.  He then produced two from his pocket.  I greeted him my warmest "Merry Christmas!" and waved the precious pieces of paper to my friend who finally believed in my charm and resourcefulness (I think he was ready to kill me if we had not been able to get seats.)

When the show started, I just said prayers of gratitude to Jesus, for letting me experience the gift of music.  There were no festive decorations, no garish lights and colorful trimmings.  The Professor turned out to be the one to give the Opening Remarks. On stage came performers of the highest caliber - the UP ARCO, UP Cherubim and Seraphim, UP Concert Chorus, UP Madrigal Singers, the UP Singing Ambassadors, and the magnificent soloists.  They sang to a packed theater, of Christ Jesus who had come, of the voice of one calling in the desert, of prophetic words from Isaiah and the Gospels.  Their golden voices lifted my spirits and planted a renewed hope in my heart.  I looked at my friend, and was grateful that he would carry the gift of the Filipino musicians in his heart wherever he went.

There were no dances, no speeches, no special effects. Words cannot describe how majestic the concert was, for me, sitting in the middle row, slightly leaning to the right because of the tall man in front of me.  I felt assured of God's PROMISE to all of us, of His faithfulness throughout the ages, of His constant love.  I saw how universal His love is, through words, through music. 

The orchestra and their conductor were the real stars of the show for me.  Prof. Edna Marcil M. Martinez skillfully guided the singers, the orchestra, and the audience in a symphony that could excite the saddest heart. After my addiction to the Nodame Cantabile anime and live action series, I had much more respect for orchestra members and conductors.  I saw their grueling practices and immense talents.  The University Orchestra played superbly to my amateur ears. 

After each choir and orchestra had played, part II of the concert came.  Handel's Messiah.  It drove me to the heights of worship, starting with the prophecies about Jesus, and exclaiming the glory of God who fulfilled His promises. The tenor, counter tenor, soprano and baritone all sang from the heart.  I had goosebumps when the grand choir sang "For unto us a child is born", and when they reached the Hallelujah chorus, the whole audience was up on its feet.

The concert ended with community singing of Filipino Christmas songs, which was like a duet between the grand choir and the audience.

What a memorable experience, one that prepared my heart even more for the coming Christmas season. 

Today's Post is Brought to You by the Number 12

It is 12:03 a.m. on December 12, 2012.

It is a nice date, 12/12/12.  It feels complete.  Perfect. Not lacking in anything.

In the biblical sense, the number 12 is significant because it stands for:

12:  months per year, tribes of Israel, apostles of Jesus; human completion

That is according to a Catholic resource site that I consulted.

There are 12 months in our calendar.  We have all read about the 12 tribes of Israel.  We were made to memorize the names of the 12 apostles of Jesus.

We always buy a dozen eggs, all twelve of them.

At this time of the year, we sing about The Twelve Days of Christmas.  The famous song's real Catholic meaning is revealed in this article.

Another site is much more informative.  It says:

Twelve implies maturity or totality. there were Twelve Apostles, corresponding to the Twelve Tribes of Israel; and the Book of Revelation is filled with imagery built around this number. The heavenly Jerusalem will be twelve thousand furlongs on all sides, having twelve jeweled foundations, with twelve gates of twelve pearls. There are twelve fruits of the Holy Spirit.

I look forward to this day with faith, hope, and courage.  It is a very special date.  I am ready to be happily surprised.

Entering Advent

	Wishing you a Blessed Advent!
In these busy days before Christmas, take some time to let the Season of Advent bring some light, hope, freedom and peace to you and your family. I have found this Praying Advent site very helpful. I share it hoping that you will, too.

Being a Good Steward

Today was another reminder how 24 hours never seem to be enough to one who has overbooked herself.  I have tried to do one task after another, but there has been no letting up.  I am exhausted, tired, and cranky already.

I remembered one reason why my day went haywire: I forgot to have my prayer time this morning.  I rarely forget anymore, after learning the habit since 1993.  Forgotten prayer times mean incoherent mornings and disorganized days.

When I finally sat down to quietly come before God, I was delighted to read the reflection from Sabbath today, written by Fr. Chito Dimaranan, SDB.  This is apt for me now as I juggle so many activities and struggle with my priorities:

Responsible people care even for things that are not their own, and even for stuff they would no longer benefit from. Responsible stewards go beyond what is expected of them and dedicate themselves to pursuits that would redound to the future generations. Reprehensible, instead, are those who worry about nothing else but amassing wealth for themselves.

Today’s liturgy would have us think beyond responsibility as far as stewardship is concerned. The Lord expects more. He wants us, His stewards, to be faithful and prudent, in addition to being responsible. Fidelity  and prudence in stewardship have to do with watchfulness and dedication to duty, even when no one is looking. It has to do with being about our business, even when there is no deadline to meet. And it means applying oneself to duty in view of the future, even if the future is uncertain.

Yes, I will go back to my tasks with love, thinking about what will benefit future generations.  I will be a good steward of my time and talents.  If only I had read this before I started this hectic day.

Lifting Weights

I used to go to the gym regularly (yes, back in the day) and at one point even hired a personal trainer.

I don't remember if I wrote about this already. The analogy hit me again today, about my secret life as a (light)weight lifter.

Sometime in 2008, I signed up for thirty sessions with the PT just so I'd have someone reminding me of my workout sessions, assisting me during warmup, and directing me during the actual calorie-burning chores.  She did a good job, for before that I had zero desire to sweat like a pig.

I was, as expected, a major complainer.  I kept asking for lesser repetitions.  I made faces when she made me take heavier dumbbells.  I felt unglamorous as I sweated while my cute little PT just looked fresh-faced, all the time.  If she were not so fragile-looking, I would have hated her.  I preferred the dance classes but I had to go to them outside of actual PT sessions, which meant I had to spend more time at the gym than my lifestyle permitted. 

After less than a year of hitting the gym, I started to feel pain on my elbows.  I mentioned it to my PT and she said that she noticed a change in me as well.  That was when she told me that I had actually gained strength and was already able to obey her almost effortlessly, until that time.  I didn't know that I was particularly strong, or that I had improved.

It turned out that I overexerted myself during a business trip to a national lawyers' conference, as I had to bring heavy luggage containing CD Asia materials, and this resulted to a minor injury.  I experienced pain whenever I tried to lift heavy objects.  I had to stop going to the gym (and forego my remaining prepaid sessions), and instead went to a physical therapist.

Now, my spiritual direction sessions are starting to feel like work.  I want to make faces at my SD when he assigns me to look more closely at certain situations and feelings that I tell him about.  He said I had to endure the discomfort so I could deal with my emotions and let them point me to what they mean.

I just hope that I am gaining strength even  if I do not see it. That I am lifting incrementally heavier weights with less sweat and aches.  And I hope that I do not overexert myself outside of my SD sessions so that I don't get injured again.

I can't stand another injury.

New Stop in The Journey

The good news is, I have a new spiritual director. I researched his background after a friend recommended that I seek out this gifted priest. I knew he would be a helpful companion in my journey.

It took me six months to gather the courage to approach him, though. I tried the Filipino thing and asked common friends to endorse me, as if that was necessary.  Brothers and sisters kept telling me to just ask him if he would be my SD. How hard was that?

Turned out I was too scared and shy to ask for help, because I knew it was going to be difficult. I had accumulated baggage that needed sorting, and they were weighing me down.  They had become familiar, and I was reluctant to let go of my spiritual band-aids and deal with the festering wound underneath.  This was not a new revelation to me for I had previously entered this cycle of ignoring warnings and then dealing with snowballed problems.

Finally, one morning, as I was praying, I ran out of excuses. I needed to talk to someone, to be guided in looking at life in the eyes of faith once more. And I knew I could trust this priest with my innermost struggles.

He did not disappoint.  I was not as transparent as I used to be, so it took me a while to explain the predicaments that brought me to him.  I knew he understood me and got me when he said that I needed to be kinder to myself and not be harsh in judging my behavior. I told him how tired I was of pretending.  As he was probing, I did not feel rejected.  I felt accepted.

I saw the love of Jesus flowing through him, and said it out loud, that it took me years before getting a spiritual director again after the previous ones left the country because I thought nobody should worry about my little worries except myself.  And then, sitting there, I remembered:  Jesus cared.  He cared for my guilt, He cared for my happiness, He cared for my sacrifices, He cared for my healing.  I was running away, once more, from the Lord.  The very love I needed, I hid from.

Many times I do not get what I want.  But what I need, I always get, at the right time. God knew when and how to pursue me. This is a welcome rest for the weary.

I Am The Worrier

Wake up, wake up, wake up.  September has ended.  (Green Day must be having a party right now.)

In the Philippines, Christmas shopping has started.  Holiday decorations have started selling like hotcakes.  Balikbayan boxes have been shipped on their way home.

My family will have a reunion this December and I have trips to plan!  But no time for that now.

Time, and sleep.  If only I could have both.  These days they are both elusive.  I may have overbooked myself.  I may have bitten off more than I could chew.

I have a day job, and I teach. I am exhausted because I chose this schedule. I wish I cared less, but I don't.  I can't.  It's not in my nature.

Instead, I worry and am less productive because of it.

I know.

Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? (Luke 12:25, NIV) 

Knowing has never been my problem.  I know everything - how to lose weight.  How to clean my room.  How to be happy.  How to be productive.  How to be efficient.  I just don't do it.

Instead, I worry.

Time to change strategies.

Words and Music

Ugh. Major post-blog regret.  Oh, well.  Sorry for the hormone-induced drama last time.  I will try to tone down the diva in the future.

I am still here, waiting. Despondent; at times, desperate. I was inspired to write by Shakespeare tonight, and moved by the music of the Phantom of the Opera. Will such masterpieces move me to create my own?

Shakespeare I encountered through the movie "Anonymous", which should have a better title.  I am not a good student of history, so I cannot contest its plot.  But I once more saw the importance of Shakespeare's work and how it shaped the English language.  Words, coming from a man, remembered for centuries.  The pen is mightier than the sword indeed.

The Phantom, which I am not a fan of, I decided to listen to because everyone in Manila is talking about it.  I had seen it before, famously slept through it to the chagrin of my friend who had to pinch me and remind me that I was in Las Vegas and wasting my discounted ticket to one of the world's most beloved musicals. I was exhausted from working all week and did not particularly like the music.  I know.  I am weird.

Music.  I conducted choir practice the other night, and felt like a dismal failure.  I could not play the keyboards the way I wanted to.  Not anymore.  I had to do it for a good friend, though.  Last night, I visited another choir practice, but only as an observer.  I did not sing.  I did not teach a note.  I did not play the piano.  Being so detached, I did not seem to be myself anymore.

Much has changed, but I hope that I have not lost what had been given to me: the gift of words and the gift of music.  And if I have, that it is not too late for me to recover them.

When Life Seems Like a Disaster Movie

There are times when I feel like I am the star of my own film; only it is a disaster movie and not a romantic comedy.

The rains, the floods, the traffic jams, the failures, the rejections, the losses, the misses - they all seem so real and so persistent. And God seems silent, probably busy with someone else's perfect life, where they have all the sunshine and laughter that are so absent in mine.

And nobody will rescue me.  I mean, no human being will physically throw a rope or carry me.  I have to figure out how to get away from the erupting volcano, the flowing lava, the enveloping tsunami.  I need super powers: invisibility, invincibility. I need to fly safely to a land flowing with milk and honey.

Maybe help was sent already, but I didn't see it.  I tried to wait and look.

I am waiting for another storm to pass. It is a bumpy ride right now. Closing my eyes won't help me out of my vertigo.  I need to open them and to look around me.

I need a better scriptwriter.  The old words do not stick anymore.