The Day I Met Him

 “Is there anything you can do to make God love you less than He does now? Is there anything you can do to make God love you more than He does now?” the pastor asked me, as I looked at him with a blank look, so much like a little boy asked about the fifth syllogistic rule. It was one of the many questions asked in our long discussion “of things eternal.” At that time I was a man two years away from being ordained, and for me it was just one of those apologetic sessions we always have with people “outside of the faith.”

It was a little more than twenty years ago, that I heard those words and they still have the same effect it had on me when I first heard them. We were debating on various topics and doctrinal issues. It was for me purely intellectual callisthenics, or more like an argumentation and debate exercise. Until we came into the topic of God’s Grace. And I defended my position on good works like a man of God is supposed to do.  “There’s nothing you can do that will make Him love you more,” the Pastor said those words without a room for a slightest doubt in his mind. It was an understatement considering we were in a room too cramped to fit two chairs and a small desk he called an office. And all of a sudden I have no rebuttal. I had to agree and concede defeat. What can I say? And the discussion went on as my confidence in “defending my faith” turned into a pure search for what is the truth. But those words help me understand the true meaning of God’s grace. And it ended up with the pastor asking me if I wanted to pray the sinner’s prayer.

It was when he stopped praying that I started crying. After all I was two years away from being ordained a Catholic priest, and there I was with my mind and heart opening up for Christ. It was then that I felt His love for me, and the reality of it brought shivers into my stricken soul. And I couldn’t stop myself from crying. I met Him!

As I held my head with my both hands, my elbows resting on my shaking knees, I recalled the eight years I spent inside the seminary. Those were good years spent studying Philosophy, Theology, Greek, Latin, Canon Law and all those things I need to prepare me for the priesthood. I did well in all my classes (or I thought I did) and was absorbing all those lessons like a sponge. I was in the top three of my class, and I was on my way to be the second priest in our clan and the third in our small town. In between semesters, I taught catechism in schools, if I was not in parishes delivering sermons during the mass. I was always invited to dinners in homes of families whose parents wanted their sons to be priests. They never missed telling their sons how good I looked in my immaculate white “sotana,” and the boys never missed asking about sports inside the seminary (sometimes they asked about girls). And I always encouraged those young boys to dedicate their lives in serving the Lord. Like my family and everybody else in my town, I looked forward to my ordination with eager anticipation. Life was exhilaratingly beautiful.

It was like heaven…until my father died and things just got a little more difficult for my mother to support all her four children in school. I started missing exams, my brother started drugs (without my dad watching over him in a shared rented room in the city). Being the eldest of the four siblings, I felt the responsibility of taking over the role as dad, and I had to be with them to do that. Not inside the seminary. So I decided to set aside my dreams of being a priest. And it was a rocky road, to say the least. The things I had to go through were far from being a walk in the park. I thought of the day when I was made a “persona non grata” in our town, after I announced to my clan that I decided to serve the Lord, but not as a priest. They told me not to come back to our hometown for at least two years, because I brought shame (or did they say a curse?) to my clan.

My journey started with some lessons on humility. I had to work as a waiter in a hotel restaurant, all the time praying that no friends or relatives would find me there balancing those trays with glasses and bottles on them as I served the patrons. I even sold discount cards to small establishments, like beauty salons, bakeries, movie houses, and practically to everybody who’s willing to listen for just two minutes. Outside the seminary, I was left on my own to survive, too unprepared for the dark reality of the real world. I felt like I was hatched from a world of theories to a world too practical for one who is used to intellectual exercises. My career was like a duck who can only wish to soar above the skies. I was not making progress like my friends who seem to find it easy making lots of money. And I thought I was better than them – a lot better. And that thing called success had forever eluded me. But I kept telling myself that everything will be fine.

“Everything will be fine, God loves you,” I heard the Pastor’s soft voice as he placed his comforting hand on my shoulder. For all those years, I always thought I need to do something to earn His love, just the song that goes, “What do I do to make you love me? What do I do to make you care?” And the Pastor helped me break through that wall by making me understand that it’s not what I could do, but what He did. It’s all about Him. At that moment, inside my thick skull, my mind started making connections with my heart. All of a sudden it made sense. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith–and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God–“ Ephesians 2:8 (NIV).

I’ve never felt so lost in my life, and yet there was peace in my heart that I knew did not come from my own being. It was something I can only attribute to a being far too great to comprehend. I continued to meet the Pastor who patiently guided me in my struggle with the intricacies of apologetics and exegesis, always going through the biblical verses and never going out of its context. The pain of working in order to survive was always superseded by the joy of knowing more about Him. The struggle of life with all its difficulties was always made easier to go through with the knowledge of what He had to go through Himself – for me. I started to comprehend how inconsequential my deeds are compared to what He did for me. And I thought, how I could ever think that I could work my way to earn my salvation. “… while we were still sinners, Jesus died for us.” Romans 5:8 (NIV).

Then things took a different course in my life and my career. I rose in the corporate ladder and my abilities were honed like never before. I became an executive of a huge corporation.  I travel all over Asia and in some parts of Europe for business trips. It was the peak of my career, and I was soaking in my elements like success has become my middle name.  I felt invincible. There seemed to be no end to the opportunities ahead. Dreams grew even bigger than those previous once I thought I achieved. The cards were piling up higher than I could ever imagine. And it was too high that it was bound to collapse one way or another.

Until one Saturday morning I found my 4 year old daughter sitting on the stairs, sobbing ever so softly for fear of disturbing me in my work (as I was working at home even on weekends). I went to her ready to castigate her mercilessly. And before I could utter a word, she said with tears in her eyes, “Dad, why don’t you want to play with me anymore?” It was like a lightning that cracked in the sky on a dark night, very quickly revealing the surroundings. And I was hit! I scooped her and carried her in my arms, and we cried together. (She told me a few days later that when she woke up early that Saturday morning and saw me in my desk she wanted to sit on my lap, but I shoved her away.) That very moment, I promised not to ignore her again. I almost lost my family as I pursued relentlessly my dreams and my career. And I lost sight of the gift that God has given me. But God, in His grace, still delivered me from the evil one.

“Pizza delivery, Pizza delivery!!!” we were both shocked from the persistent shouts of the delivery guy – me from the painful reveries of the past, and the Pastor from a long but fruitful conversation which ended in a prayer. I will never forget that day when I met Him – Jesus Christ, my Lord and my Saviour.

Nota Bene: My meeting with my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ would not have happened had my wife not introduced me to the pastor who patiently guided me in finding the truth. I will forever be grateful to the Lord for giving me a life and a wife.

Christmas 2008: "… if only in my dreams"

I’ll Be Home For Christmas, is a song that triggers so much lonely emotions exploding in my heart, especially this Christmas, when we are far far far away from home.

But then again, that’s what this is all about - Hope, that which keeps us going, wishing, dreaming, hoping, that someday we will be able to spend Christmas with our family.

So, I;ll be home for Christmas, You can count on me… If only in my dreams.

My family wishes you a very blessed Christmas.

Danny, Jia & Danika

When Left is Right

I carpool with a couple of friends from one side of the North Shore bridge to the other, and travelling has never been so exciting. I’m not sure whether the excitement comes from the topics we have or from the traffic jam that we may or may not encounter.

But during one of those exciting trips was one of the exciting topics which is "making a life or a living". Dudu, who comes from South Africa, looks forward to retiring and not having to come to work everyday. Probably enjoying life in his boat or travelling (if he must) in his Mercedes S edition. Sunil, who said he can be contented with just riding with Dudu in his beautiful car or in my X series BMW or a Grand Cherokee. 

Our discussion drifted to the idea of working. Sunil said we should retire everyday, agreeing with me when I said that after 5:00pm I leave the office and forget about work. But Dudu defined the word further to distinguish chores at home as not work, and said that we should define our terms so we can all understand each other.

At that particular time, Dudu, who was driving asked which way to go, as he was not familiar with the route that Sunil chose. 

"Turn right" said Sunil.  

"I thought we should go left," Dudu said, to which Sunil answered, "That’s right." And Dudu turned left.

Really, in New Zealand when driving, one should keep left. Right is wrong. It is when you drive left that you are right, and when you drive right that you are wrong. To top it off, they call the cars right-hand drive. 

Well, maybe when we get this right we will get our Mercedes and BMW.

New Year, New Beginnings

It has been a good year for us, our first year in New Zealand. There were challenges, trials, but there were lots of blessings as well. All throughout, the Lord has been with us (as He promised), carrying us when times get rough, inspiring us when everything seems hopeless, leading us when the road becomes confusing; but always with us, never leaving us.

This year, God led us to a church where we felt His presence as soon as we entered the door at Eastgate Christian Centre. In fact, today, we just came from a nice lunch fellowship with the Filipino families of Eastgate. Immediately we feel like we are in a family, especially with a Filipino Pastor to be a shepherd to all. Meeting new people, new friends, but with the same old faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

I have never been good in the kitchen (that being not one of my forte, if there is any at all), but it didn’t stop me from helping with the barbecue. The fellowship was so great that it is not difficult to be just yourself, without inhibitions, without any qualms at all. We might have done a good job with the barbecue because everybody survived (without having to call the paramedics).

I still don’t know where we are going, neither am I sure of what’s going to happen, but there is something I am very certain about - that the Lord is with us, and He will never leave us.

Christmas 2007

Christmas is forever, not for just one day,
for loving, sharing, giving, are not to put away
like bells and lights and tinsel, in some box upon a shelf.
The good you do for others is good you do yourself…

~Norman Wesley Brooks, "Let Every Day Be Christmas," 1976

  MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL !!!

NZ STUFF EXCHANGE

When one decides to embark on a journey to a foreign land, like New Zealand, one usually leaves everything behind, and start all over again. Not only because freight charges are outrageously expensive, but also because we need the cash and stay as liquid as possible. Well, that is if there is cash to start with. So, we come here with almost nothing but our dreams and whatever is left of our dignity.

"Sanay na tayo sa hirap, kaya okey lang maski walang plato o kutsara,"  are words we normally say to comfort each other during the first few days in New Zealand. It is not uncommon for first time migrants (especially when friends are hard to find) that one eats on the floor (because there is no dining table yet) where one sleeps later at night (because there is no bed much less a couch to lie down to).

Yet, so many of those who have been here for years, and are able to establish a more stable life here, have to parkl their cars outside because their garages are full of stuff they are not using anymore. Garage sales here and there speak for themselves. Yet, these are the things that could have made a lot of difference to a newcomer in New Zealand.

This is where NZ Stuff Exchange comes in - 

to help new migrants to Auckland by making available to them items and goods that they can own or use while adjusting to the new life of New Zealand. Giving up so much and starting all over again in a foreign place is difficult enough. Having nothing to start with will even make things tougher. Our mission is to make it a little less painful, and a little more bearable for those who are starting here in New Zealand

If you want to know more about NZ Stuff Exchange, or want to know how it works and how you can help, visit our blogsite at http://nzstuffexchange.i.ph or email us your enquiries at nzstuffexchange@gmail.com. Thank you. 

Give Us Today Our Daily Bread

"But Mommy, I don't like the taste of it…" protested my eight year old daughter, as she looked at the vegetables served at the table. (My apologies to the vegetarians, but I too do not like veggies). But that particular evening, it was the only food served for dinner, and my wife continued saying (glancing at me more often than necessary, as if telling me "this is for you, too"), "…you need it. It's good for you." My daughter, with tears in her eyes, ate her dinner as I swallowed mine.

Then that evening, in our family devotion, we came upon this verse in Luke 11:3, "Give us each day our daily bread." And then it hit me right there and then, even as I think about the carrots, cabbages, and cauliflowers I've had to swallow earlier.

God provides us for everything that we need in life - sometimes with good things, and then some. Yes, sometimes, the plates overflow. God keeps bringing out more "food" than we can swallow, and we keep loosening our belts. It could be a successful career, a salary increase, a privilege, a friendship, a gift. 

And then there are those days when we have to eat the "vegetables" in life, those things we do not like. Our daily bread could be trials, tears, temptations. It seems like all of life's difficulties follow you like a creepy shadow. Our portion may include adversities and those "bad things" in life.

But then we pray, "Give us today our daily bread" and when God serves the food, indeed it can be so distasteful, at times dreadful. But doesn't He know what is best for us? If He, who gave us His only Son because of His great love for us, offers us these vegetables in our life, then maybe we should take it, albeit with some tears in our eyes. Should we only receive the good things in life? Are we not supposed to embrace even those "seemingly bad things" too?

God, in His sovereignty and love, knows what is best for us. And therefore, if we need to go through those difficult things in life, then with Paul we should welcome it and say…

"when I have enough to eat and when I go hungry, when I have more than I need and when I do not have enough, I can do all things through Christ, because He gives me strength." (Phil. 4:12-13).

The Choking

When I saw it, I was blown away like a sudden gust of wind hit me from nowhere. If it were not for the fact that it was in her folder, I wouldn't have suspected that she made it herself. My daughter, Danika, showed me what she called her first "official drawing" (I didn't exactly knew why she called it "official"). She entitled it "The Choking".

There are many things that amazed me in this drawing. 

First, my daughter is only 8 years old, and she was able to express her concepts and ideas already on the drawing board.

Second, she was able to create her own folder in our computer and saved all her sketches there, complete with their captions and tags. (is that scary, or what).

Finally, the simplicity of it all, embodied in the title "The Choking" (which sounds like a Stephen King movie). But immediately, you will see why.

I am proud of my daughter, and I better be ready for this responsibility of developing this great talent that was given to her by God. 

The Twisters of Life

Life can be full of twists and turns, and like tornadoes, they can be very damaging (to the soul as much as it destroys the spirit).

And last Thursday, the 4th of July, Auckland was hit by one. The Fire Service has had eight call outs to the Botany Downs and Golflands areas since the strong gusts just before 4pm. Reports said that "Montecito Pl is the worst affected street, where nine homes with roof damage, mostly with tiles being lifted off the rooves."

This is not as bad as the twister that hit our lives, when immigration declined our application for a Permanent Resident visa. The sad news from the Immigration Officer crashed our spirits and if it were not for a strong network of families and friends, our hopes would have been totally gone.

Witnesses described the sound of the oncoming tornado as similar to that of an approaching train. A couple of hours earlier, a tornado has swept through three kilometers of New Plymouth's CBD, ripping off a roof, squashing cars, smashing windows and throwing debris around the city centre. Eyewitnesses reported hearing a rumbling, then said the sky went dark as the tornado swept in from the sea.

But life goes on, as they say. In fact, the New Plymouth District Council and emergency services had swung into action very swiftly. Already, less than two hours after the tornado, the streets were mostly clear. The Fire Service was doing all it could to help with the cleanup, all available police were on the streets diverting traffic around affected areas and ambulance staff were put on standby.

Indeed, we cannot afford to let these twists in our lives to dampen our spirits. Life must go on. After all, God is in control of everything, and His sovereignty ensures our safety and well-being. So, just as emergency services swung into action, we too, gather all our strength to cushion the impact of the sad news from NZIS (New Zealand Immigration Services). Their suggestion for an appeal, which would cost us $700 without a guarantee of approval, is not much of a relief, either. But God was even more efficient than the Fire Service and the District Council. He has provided us with people who help us out recover from the disastrous disapproval of our visa. Friends come to help and extend their support, be it financial or moral support.

Then at the end of the day, we say, God is so good. He provides us with all these twisters in our life, either to remind us of His sovereignty and that He is in control of everything, or to strengthen us for even more difficult trials ahead, and make us more and more like His Son, Jesus Christ.

I join James in saying

  ²Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, ³because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. ⁴Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 

James1:2-4

Of Family and Friends

A migrant's life can be very exciting indeed!

When me, my wife and our daughter made that bold move of moving to a land I called "the ends of the earth," we were not as scared as the others because my wife's siblings are there and they have already been established in Auckland (having been in NZ for about 7 years already). They just bought their own house, got a car and a van for transport, have stable jobs, and have a strong network of friends.

And indeed, Joy and Jerry (my wife's brother) have helped us a lot to make our stay not at all traumatic. We felt at home immediately. And indeed if you have a support system as strong as that, you won't really be scared. Our first two months in Auckland was full of excitement, adventure, and everything new (even how you cross the street in Queens St, is exciting).

It was made more exciting when we transferred to our newly rented house. We were like newly married couples starting our new life, in a very new environment. We look at the rooms which looked even more spacious because there was nothing in it (not even a bed or a dresser or a side table). It was good that my sister in law gave us the necessary things to start with, otherwise we would have taken our meals with our bare hands (now isn't that exciting).

So, here we are, barely able to adjust to the new life in Auckland, with our new jobs, and our new house. I am not certain if I was excited because there were so many things to buy, or because we have no idea where we would get the money to buy it. Our preacher this morning told us that we have a great inheritance, but we must move to claim it and enjoy our possessions. We are rich, or so he says. But I cannot seem to reconcile that with the nothingness that our empty house aptly symbolizes.. That emptiness is even greater in our pockets and bank accounts. Rich, duh.

So I was neither emotionally nor psychologically, not even philosophically ready when one of our newfound friends called us up. I was never prepared for the excitement of my life, when a member of our homegroup called and offered with so much humility, "I'm moving to a new flat and I won't be bringing most of my things. Why don't you come and take the things you need, like washing machine, bed, lounge, even the TV." 

Just like that! And with my voice quivering with shame and excitement I asked the most stupid question one can ask in a situation such as that…"How much?" And even before I have finished, I already regretted I've even uttered them. What a way to respond to such generosity! But then again, I really don't know how to respond to situations like that. 

Indeed, a migrant's life can be so exciting. But it is made much more exciting by those people who are always there to offer a helping hand. And then I realize, yes, we are rich, indeed, because we have them - our family and friends.

The Migrants’ Migraine - Part I

We have given up so many things back home, even the comfort of being with our family and loved ones, just to be here and be lured by the “greener pasture” presented to us as the so-called great shortage of skilled workers in the place. I know this is too early to doubt that our decisions were driven not so much by the hopelessness of our country’s situation but by the overflowing opportunities that only New Zealand can offer. Either way, I believe that this would not have been a cause for alarm had there not been a programme called “Work to Residence” visa.

The WTR, as it is, would probably be one of those examples or templates of a successful program that a growing country like New Zealand needs. But the headache starts when the period given to find a job is only 6 months. These pains that migrants have to suffer become even more intense and disabling when companies or employers, even government agencies do not recognize the WTR as a permit to work. It is a painful condition, when after being given a permit to work given by the government who sells the place (and it is doing a very good job on it), a migrant is not accepted because he does not have a Permanent Resident Visa nor a NZ citizenship. And he cannot be given a Permanent Resident Visa because he cannot get a job offer.

It is ironical that the root word of the word “migraine” comes from the Greek “hemicrania,” as does the Old English term “megrim,” which literally means “only half the head.”

I am sure the analogy ends there, that only half of the government is actually “bringing in” the much-needed skilled workers, while the other half is in reality driving them away. But as I am a holder of a 6-month WTR myself, although I got a job on my second week in Auckland, others are not that lucky (as if landing a job in NZ is really  a matter of luck), and even my job is not related to my skill category. 

At the end of the day, I realize that after having given up so much back home, one has to swallow that humility pill; do things that we could not imagine ourselves doing back home, if only to find that elusive blessing called a “job offer.” I pray that even after all these bouts of painful realities, we Filipinos would not forget that there is something in us that we can be proud of - the ability to thrive in the most difficult times. Even a migraine we can take, because we believe that opportunities abound, in a place called New Zealand.

And this is where I learned that lesson of Complete Trust in Him who gives me everything I need. With Paul I say, in Philippians 4:12-13

“…when I have enough to eat and when I go hungry, when I have more than I need and when I do not have enough. I can do all things through Christ, because He gives me strength.”

Happy Notes for 2007

Welcome 2007!!!

Let us greet the new year with music in our hearts, and with happy notes in our minds. What a beautiful world this would be if we look at life with gladness in our souls! But then again, music should be the expression of what is deep within us, devoid of masks and pretenses, or of pride and prejudices.

Happy New Year! 

 (click here to listen to Diana Krall)

Of All Things New

NEW BEGINNINGS.  As we enter 2007, and as usual we look at things with everything new. But for us, having moved to New Zealand, it's not only the land that is new, but things seem to come from a Restart (if this were a "Click" world). New beginnings, looking for a new job and starting it all over again. Going through an interview and feeling like a new graduate entering into the corporate world, a world so huge and too much to conquer. New beginnings, looking for a new house to call our home. Looking at houses for sale or for rent, and praying that we will end up in a house that we often live in our dreams. 

NEW PERSPECTIVE. As we enter 2007, with all the New Year's Resolutions, and with the ever present wish to be with the family and our loved ones, we look at things from a totally different point of view - and what a view indeed (literally and otherwise). As I look at the views Auckland has to offer, I cannot help but praise God for his creation. It's something I wish to capture both in my heart and in my digital files. The horizon seems to be so far yet so reachable. Something like a par-5 hole, without those intimidating sand traps on the side, and with a brand new driver in my hand. 

NEW LIFE. As we enter 2007, with my daughter going to school in a totally different land with a totally different system of education, we try to keep our excitement at bay and in control. As for me, doing the dishes may not necessarily be one that I dreamt of doing, but is becoming an excitement, as I do the chores in the house with my wife and my daughter. A life without a househelp to clean the house, wash the clothes, vacuum the floor, and even get a cup of coffee - would have been a life unthinkable of way back home.  But here, in Auckland, we have to do everything ourselves, and it is something that is just as exciting as it is new.

NEW FRIENDS. As we enter 2007, in a place where the weather is cold but the people are warm, it amazes me no end, when we just end up with people who become our new friends. The excitement of knowing more people whose names we can add to our memories, as much as we can add to our contact list to send emails to. But what a blessing it is to know that, indeed,  our life transcends beyond country borderlines, and time zones.

NEW PERSON. As I enter 2007, as I always do in New Year's eve, I look at the past and ask, "What have I done to glorify the Lord," then look at the present and say, "I am doing it for the greater glory of God," and look at the future and commit myself to Him and say, "Whatever it is  You want me to do, wherever it is You want me to go, here I am, send me…" With Christ in our hearts, we become a new person, and have a new life, with a new perspective, and not only new beginnings, but a heavenly end.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

I’ll Be Home For Christmas

Lyrics of songs like "I'll be home for Christmas…if only in my dreams," or "Pasko Na,  Sinta ko," have never touched me as it did last night, when we celebrated our first Christmas outside the Philippines. We were singing "Kasadya N'ing Takna-a" with so much vigor that my music teacher would have given me an A+ for vocalization.

Christmas songs have their own unique and special way of  stimulating all kinds of emotions in our hearts.  When the program started with Mauel and Izzai singing a song, I was certain I saw real pride and admiration from their parents, Joy and Jerry (my wife's brother). I knew it was pure admiration because it was how I felt when I saw my daughter, Danika, dancing gracefully, in front of all the friends and family around the living room, in the later part of the program.

When I sang "The Christmas Song" with the twins, Jerry and Jon, I knew the "tiny tots, with their eyes all aglow, will find it hard to sleep tonight." Especially when the most awaited part was announced, and the gifts were distributed, and everybody started unwrapping their gifts, you can see the kids really with eyes all aglow!  Nemai was all smiles when his self-declared parents, Jon and Grace, gave him a gift and he jumped with joy when he got his "baby rocket launcher", Danika beamed with thankful heart when she received the gift that she really prayed for, "The Baby Alive" doll. Izzai and Mauel would need a whole room to stock their gifts on. They are almost covered by the pile of the gifts they received from Mama and Papa, uncles and aunties, and friends. 

And yes, indeed, Christmas breaks all boundaries of space and time. I really wish I was home but then realize that home is where your heart is, and no matter where it would take you, you've got to take the chances for those you care about.

Merry Christmas to all. 

Auckland, here we come!

Mixed with so much emotions, I could easily be described as a     special halo-halo when we landed in Auckland, New Zealand. It was special because this new chapter of our life as a family is a bold move to a country which is as beautiful as it is intriguing.

It was also a mixed feeling, a tinge of sadness as we think of our loved ones back in the Philippines; with a little apprehension when we think of the so many unknowns in this life; a feeling of excitement as we start all over again (and hopefully not committing the mistakes of the past); lots of joy also for being united again with some of the members of the family (the twins and their family). and a lot of other feelings. all inside you, stirred (but not shaken), almost becoming like a concoction we call back home as "special halo-halo."

We can only be grateful for God who made all these things possible through the help of Joy and Jerry, who generously welcome us to their home.

We are now in a job hunting frenzy, and it puts another mixture of emotions (one of anticipation, apprehension, anxiety, humility, etc). But whatever we are facing now, we all believe that God in His sovereignty will never leave us. He will not give us trials beyond our capacities and therefore, if we will just put our trust in Him, all our trust in Him, this will be a beautiful world to live in.

God bless. 

A New Life In New Zealand

Finally, we received our visas that would allow us to work for New Zealand and eventually secure a Permanent Resident Visa.  We are leaving on Thursday, 02 November 2006 at 12:45 pm via Cathay Pacific. After a 6-hour stopover, we shall embark on a 12-hour non-stop flight to Auckland, New Zealand. Our ETA in Auckland is 1:00 pm on Friday, 03 November 2006.

I would like to thank the people who helped me and my family throughout this time - 

Yol and Sona Bracero - for adopting us into their home for about 4 months while we were waiting for our visas;

Pat and Lorna Ninal - for their hospitality in welcoming us into their home; Yaya, Angging, Ivan, and Babok;

Central Evangelical Free Church - for a very beautiful time of re-bonding;

Evangelical Free Church of the Philippines - Pastor Ronald and Pastor Chris, Romulo Saavedra, and the VRCC;

Crossroads Fellowship EFC - for preparing me and my family for this magnanimous task ahead, and whose encouragement kept our hearts burning;

Loyola Plans Consolidated, Inc. - for the encouragement and prayers; 

Close friends - Orlan and Cathy Dalguntas,  Renan and Gingging Barcenas, and many other people who have helped us out in one way or another.

Thank you all. God bless.

Danny, Jia and Danika 

Can You Handle The Truth? - A Sermon on John 6:63-65

"It is the Spirit that quickeneth, the flesh profiteth nothing…(John 6:63 KJV).

I like to imagine this word "quickens" like a heartbeat.

Do you know the meaning of "ARRYTHMIA?"

No, she is not the sister of Arithmetic. An "arrhythmia" is a change in the rhythm of your heartbeat. When the heart beats too fast, it's called "tachycardia" and when it beats too slow, it's called bradycardia. An arrhythmia can also mean that your heart beats irregularly (or skips a beat or has an extra beat). To treat this abnormal rhythm and restore the heartbeat to a normal one, doctors sometimes use a short electrical shock. Then when it is restored you can hear the heartbeat back to its beautiful sound of beep beep beep… It quickens life.

And during those times, the patient can do nothing. Yes, likewise, in our text it means simply that…we are dead in sin and we cannot do anything about that, but the Spirit quickens our heartbeat and It gives life.

Please email me if you want the full transcript of the sermon. (sorry. i cannot restore the links) God bless you.

Nicko’s Coup, a short story by Lorenzo Ninal

The little space I am renting is as bisdak as any space can get. Max Surban and Yoyoy Villame CDs lay on top of each other next to yellowing Visayan dictionaries and torn issues of Bisaya Magazine. A typical Sunday with some relatives and friends is not complete without inun-unang bansikol, tinunoang monggos, and mais. Even my favorite music stations sound like they've strayed from the AM to the FM band, playing songs perfect for a night of tuba under a full moon back in the province. (Did anybody just say 'bisrock?')

This is life, comfortably trapped in familiar promdi surroundings.

Imagine my horror when this smart and sweet little four-year-old Americanized nephew moved in for a long vacation here, carrying toys and trinkets so high-tech no kid in our neighborhood can ever own.

His toys are actually the least of my concerns. I can never figure out  how those tiny plastic and metal contraptions could move like intelligent machines from outer space. This boy and I can co-exist in peace as long as he doesn't run to me crying with a broken Martian soldier.

It's when he started opening his mouth that I realized the horror I had to deal with for the next month of so. He seldom talks, the silent type. But when he does, he devastates me with his accent.

You see, I wasn't joking when monhts ago I wrote about how I stammer when I speak in English. I trip on my verbs and nouns. My tongue twists in search of the right preposition. My idea of hell is a room full of English idioms neck deep and I can't breathe. And this boy complicates my handicap by insisting that Spongebob is a cartoon character, not a kartun karaktir. what's my carabao English compared to this little boy's twang?

To my relief, he cries just like any local boy from Cebu's squatter areas. When his toy-computer ran out of battery, it's the same waaaahh, nyaaaaaaeeeeiiiii and eeeeek a hungry boy from Pasil emits. From him, I learned for the first time that the sound of weeping is universal and has no accent. It's a very …ahm…profound realization to me.

I conceded. Nicko (that's his name) has more things to teach me than I have to teach nephews and nieces about grammar and the history of speech. He was watching his favorite kartun karaktir on TV when I switched the cahnnel for updates of the coup threats hounding Malacanang last week. "Noooooooo," he screamed like a rallyist in Edsa. I told him "Niku, I'm watching something important here."

"It's Nicko, N-I-C-K-O, Nickow!"

"Ok, N-I-C-K-O, Niku. A coup. Kay-Yu, coup," I was already shouting.

Miraculously, the little boy stopped and stared at the TV screen, where policement were beating protesters to a pulp.

"That's a coup, Niku. You'll never get to see this happening back home, man," I told the little boy.

"It's Nicko," he whispered. 

One Of Those Days

This is one of those days when I just want to sit down and reminisce the past.

The chirping of my 7-year old daughter’s love birds woke me up. And I remember when I was her age, what usually started my day was the music of Sammy Kaye or Frank Sinatra. My father always played the big bands of the 60’s.

And I can never get away with it until now. The music of the past is just as beautiful as chirping of the birds. What a way to start a day!!!

So pure yet so beautiful.

My Mother, The Teacher

My mother was my teacher in grade four. It had nothing to do with grade school politics. I just grew up in a town where the sons and daughters of public school teachers automatically qualified for grade this-and-that section 1. And besides, my mother had been handling the class since before I was born.

Mother sometimes referred to it as "grade four section fast-learner," although a mispronounced 'f' could spell horror to a child with a keen sense of what it meant to be left behind in a supposedly future-oriented curriculum. 

She refused to use names of local fruits and trees - like "grade this-and-that section banaba" - for the simple reason that in the Philippines all trees are equal. And sampaloc tasted as sweet as any other fruit.

Not so with intelligence, mother said. With numbers or words like "fast" and "slow," accuracy in the clustering of students was assured. Hence the banter outside the classroom: "grade this-and-that section tamatis" (for whatever representation a rotten tomato had in the life of a ten-year-old boy.)

The grouping didn't apply to us children of public school teachers. A rare breed, we were though to be made of the same stuff as our parents., who treaded the august halls of Cebu Normal College in the 60's for their diploma (which they'd hand on the wall alongside General Milling calendars and Romeo Vasquez  posters).

If any good at all, my enrolment in mother's class added to my short list of English vocabulary the word "favoritism" in all its discomforting whiff. Mother had to assure me that if she weren't a teacher and there was grade four section lomboy, I'd still qualify for section apple because i was brayt.

"And like I said, you dork, I've been handling this class since before you were circumcised. So stop flattering yourself," she barked at me one morning when she had to drag my cute little arse to school.

We never planned how we were to carry ourselves inside the classroom. How would I address her: madam, ma'am, ma? What if in some unguarded moment I'd run to her begging for some loose change, just like at home? Or when if I'd fallen asleep on her lap with lunch still in my mouth, just like most of the times?

Mother wasn't as cautious. One time in the middle of a grammar class she asked me if I turned off the light in the kitchen. "And dodong, did you wash the dishes before we left? Pastilan ning bataa. Now as I was saying, linking verbs …"

To make up for the slip, she gave me the most number of assignments in that afternoon's gardening session. It's her way of telling the class that I ceased to be her son once she called the roll every after flag ceremony. All allusions of motherly care were purely unintentional and bore no resemblance to reality.

Back home, we didn't talk about how we fared in our teacher-pupil relationship. Now in her duster and with the laundry before her, she was quick in putting back on a mother's role at which she's perfect.

"I believe you are to submit tomorrow a report on Mrs. Marcos' green revolution movement. It might impress your teacher if you discuss something about crop rotation," she one said.

On the eve of an exam, she'd say: "You know how your teacher formulates questions. So better concentrate on thedefinition of terms."

I guess the only time she game our relationship a real hard thought was days prior to the school's graduation ceremonies.

Would she award me with first honors and risk being accused of favoritism? I qualified for the slot all right, but wouldn't that be a decision too reckless for prudence?

Her solution to the problem was a wise blend of a mother's love for her son and a teacher's observing delicadeza in the performance of her duty.

Meaning, I ended up sharing the award with a classmate whose brilliance in class wasn't simply acquired from being a daughter of a public school teacher.

For the first time in public, mother addressed me by my full name, complete with middle initial, as I went up the stage to receive my award.

And I swear by Job I heard her say "wash the dishes when you get home" as she winked at me and shook my hands.