rush hour ennui

new blog

2010-05-22T14:18:00.001-05:00

I will no longer be posting here. Please visit my new blog, Nurse Jef, instead. Thanks.

change of shift

2009-04-11T07:54:00.003-05:00

Nothing quite compares to the wondrous, sweet relief that consumes every sinew of my being at six thirty in the morning.

The twelve long hours of the night shift are over -- almost -- and the prospect of a good day's sleep galvanizes my caffeine-weary mind into action.

My patient assessments are all charted, vitals recorded, I and O's (fluid intake and output) tallied, and the last thing left for me to do is a final round among all my patients to flush their IV lines and give their insulin shots.

And then they arrive, one by one, trudging out of the dinging elevator doors, ready to take our places. Clutching their clipboards, the day shifters wait patiently in the break room, like ducklings waiting for a good day's breakfast.

I don't know about my fellow night nurses, but the experience of changing shifts refreshes me just as much as a tall glass of iced water in a hot Texas summer day.

So as I mindlessly go on with my work, passing medications, turning patients, cleaning wounds, starting IVs, checking charts, writing telephone orders, there's a part of my subconscious that greedily counts down every second, every minute, until the clock strikes thirty minutes before seven.

Surely this must be what the psalmist is describing when he writes, "My soul waits for the Lord, more than the watchmen for the morning, indeed, more than the watchmen for the morning." (Psalm 130:6)

Isn't there a thought that dissolves the darkly brooding clouds of the stress of daily life more quickly, than the vision of the End of Ages?

When our God will wipe away every tear from the eyes of His people, when He will once for all vanquish suffering and evil and death into the lake of fire, when heaven and earth are renewed with life invincible, when we will see and know our Love, face to face?

absence makes the heart grow fonder

2008-06-06T03:06:00.003-05:00

The silence is unnerving. The room across my own has been uninhabited for the past three days, with the bed unusually neatly made. For the past three nights only three people have sat down at the dinner table, with an extra seat gaping like an empty tooth socket.

As of the moment, my brother is five hundred miles away in Houston, sleeping with three other teenagers in their own dormitory room. He and fifteen other classmates from Science Academy are attending a science camp of some sort, wherein they get to immerse themselves in actual research laboratories in Rice University.

Before he left, I half-seriously told him that the next two weeks will be bliss for both of us: he gets to travel, I get to enjoy him gone.

After a mere three days' worth of nobody to squabble with while driving home, of nobody incessantly chanting "Fatty" and "Pimpleface" into my ears, of nobody shoving me away from the computer to play Eve Online, I'm beginning to think that the peace and quiet that I so earnestly wished for when my brother was here wasn't a good idea after all.

before the jump

2008-05-31T01:02:00.007-05:00

Clad in nothing but a pair of blue shorts, I stood there, awkward and apprehensive, watching the chlorine-green water lick the glossy tiles of the pool side.

It was almost empty, except for a handful of white-haired seniors performing water exercises (which relieves their arthritic joints, apparently). And yet I felt so uneasy, so uncomfortable, so... naked. So I half-tried to tuck in my enormous belly and looked down. It still bulged out like a baby bump, so I hastily crossed my arms and retreated to the seats close to the exit.

Just the day before, I mustered enough willpower to drag myself into a sports club in McAllen to enroll for membership. My weight, apparently, had ballooned to a hundred and seventy pounds because of three-night-stand with Lady Gluttony in Houston. Ohhh.. my legs still get shaky when I think of those Vietnamese noodles.

Upon arriving home after my, erm, affair, it took less than a moment for me to hear the singular, screeching, jeering condemnation from my mother's weighing scale and all my nursing textbooks: "YOU'RE A BIG FAT WHALE!"

Maybe what drove me was the unhappy realization of my own sheer hypocrisy. Here I was, supposedly a health-educator/advocate, being trained to save the vast herd of hypertensive and heart-attack prone patients that will be under my care in the next few years, from the evils of those irresistibly yummy and oil-drenched burgers and fries from McDonald's, only to realize that I was slowly becoming one of them.

Or maybe it was the growing discomfort I have when I wear my blue jeans. Four years ago (yes, I've been wearing the same pair all this time and I'm still glowingly happy with it, thank you very much) I had to wear a belt to keep it from falling to my feet. Now, every time, just to keep the button from popping off, I have to do the tummy-tuck maneuver that I so gracefully performed as I described above and then wiggle myself into my increasingly tight pants.

I don't know. Whatever it was, it was enough to convince me sign a contract that entailed me shelling out 45 dollars a month for the next school year.

After warily scanning their wrinkled faces, I realized that the aquatic seniors weren't looking at me. Heck, I thought, they don't even know that I'm here. Throwing all inhibitions aside, I breathed and sighed -- with the air going out of me like a deflating old tire -- and leaped into the shimmering hope that flapping my legs and feet in smelly pool-water for enough number of times would make me physically fit.

funny

2008-05-31T00:52:00.003-05:00

It's funny. I didn't have the slightest idea that this blog is one entry short of a measly two hundred. Considering that I started writing because of my intractable tendency to copy from my best friends -- monkey see, monkey do -- I'm going at an arm-dragging snail's pace. So, here's my two hundredth. And here's hoping that something of Lazarus-like proportions would happen to the feeble, stinkingly unproductive green-gray corpse that's my brain.

oh and by the way

2008-05-30T22:14:00.000-05:00

This is like so overdue.

Thank you so much to all the people who greeted me in my anticlimactic entry into adulthood twenty-some days ago.

I have yet to reply to each of you, some of whom I literally haven't written in years. I'm really sorry. I guess I'm just at a loss at how I could compress four years' worth of stories into a mere thank-you note.

I'll write, I promise.

just done

2008-03-23T13:08:00.000-06:00

I just finished uploading my Blogger posts here. I'm particularly impressed by how much easier it is to edit the web site elements here in Multiply, as compared to my previous host. Who knows, I might decide to move everything here for good.

an empty tomb

2008-03-23T07:38:00.002-06:00

Anybody could imagine the wide-eyed surprise on the disciples' faces when they heard the news: Jesus's body was gone. The first thought that probably flitted through their minds was that somebody might have stolen it in an attempt to vandalize and add insult to injury to their Master's tragic death. But it was not so. He who had been hanging limply on a wooden pole just two days before, impaled and tied down like a common criminal, was alive.

alive and kicking

2007-12-06T13:01:00.000-06:00

So I made up my mind to start writing again. It might take a while to resurrect this stinking blue and white cadaver of a blog, but it could be worth all the effort.

Yes, worth something for you, and me, both of us, dear reader. For you, because this post and the ones that will succeed it are all that connect (albeit tenuously) your conception of me, to the reality of me -- yes, I still am alive and kicking.

For me, because the word-churning machine that is my brain has long laid rusting and rotting under inches of virtual dust due to utter disuse, and I will be needing its trusty cogs and wheels in a little less than a month for my (dreaded) SATs.

Stay tuned.

the night before

2007-10-23T19:36:00.000-05:00

Nothing can be more stressful to me than a 65-question final exam that looms like a gigantic crocodile on my horizon, ready to devour me, eyeglasses and all. Especially when I'm only half a night and a hundred textbook pages away from the dread event itself.

Plainly speaking, I'm a grade-conscious control freak. Although I may not seem to be one in light of my irrepressible predilection to take 5-minute power naps while in class, I am a perfectionist to the core. Every week I spend countless hours planning my daily to-do list in my organizer and jotting down the most minute and mundane tasks I need to do. while dreaming and fantasizing of the prospect of getting a perfect column of A's on my transcript at the end of the semester, all at the same time.

And when the going gets tough, I get anxious. Terribly anxious. My palms begin to sweat so much that I can almost see the drops of sweat dripping on my handouts while I hastily leaf through them. Sometimes my stomach gets really queasy that I throw up what's left of the last meal I ate.

There's something definitely wrong with me.

"But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?" Matthew 6.30

Why, oh, why can't and don't I trust You? In spite of my filthy wretchedness, Lord, give me the will to toss my puny hand-made idols into the fire and the heart to treasure Your name above all else, instead of myself. Please, let me rest. In You.

free writing

2007-10-23T19:06:00.000-05:00

let's start this surreal exercise your mind let it flow like a bubbling mountain stream let go of your inhibitions think think think aaaaagh i can't do this it feels like pulling a huge molar from the gaping mouth of a live bear what's keeping you i don't know i just think that my sentences have to be ought to be need to be impeccable flawless shimmering silk-white pearls strung together in a masterpiece of a necklace my OC-ness is showing how long does it take for me to write a whole paragraph you're slowly becoming as mental as your psychiatric patients watch out oh God what am i doing i should be reading the Book right now hollow empty eye sockets the wasteland dry and withered desert heart what am i doing nothing important idol writing death

mabuti pa

2007-09-07T23:54:00.000-05:00

Mabuti pa
ang palaka,
hindi nagkakasala
sa kanyang
Lumikha.

PDL and a rediscovery

2007-08-25T08:12:00.001-05:00

It's amazing how much treasure can be left untouched and undiscovered in the dusty reaches of a small church library. It's even more amazing to find it in the leaves of a book that's been widely acclaimed and embraced by popular Christian-lite culture, and yet lambasted and cast aspersions at by hard-core conservatives.

This morning I felt drier and emptier and more wasted than I've been in months. I've long broken my habit of morning Bible reading, I haven't prayed for anything or anyone, I haven't prayed AT ALL, and I've been lashing my acerbic razor-sharp tongue out like a cantankerous curmudgeon to everyone who comes near me. Especially my brother. And, most certainly not the least in this list of woes, (to save you, dear reader, from the chore of dirtying your mind, I'd have to use a special, custom-made figure of speech so I can hide my shame) this week I went back, a mud-loving hog, to my mire, not just once, but several times.

So I picked up the Purpose Driven Life I borrowed from my church's library last Wednesday. (Steve Urbina had started a 40-Days-of-Purpose-DVD-study kind of thing long long ago, even before we went to the family camp. I was supposed to read it along with everybody in our Sunday school class, but I, not unexpectedly, neglected to do it, and managed to put it off until the study series was almost finished.)

For the usual Pharisaical log-impaled me, at first it was not hard to notice what was wrong with the book. Despite Rick Warren's denials that this was a non-self-help book, it was obvious to me that he carefully chose his words to woo the reader into believing that reading it will "reduce your [the reader's] stress, simplify your decisions, increase your satisfaction, and, most important, prepare you for eternity." Sounds too sweet and cheesy for something substantial, I murmured. And it pampers the reader too much by catering entirely to his own desires -- his decisions, his satisfaction, etc.

But then I realized that God Himself used the very same sweetness and "cheesiness," if you will, to woo His unfaithful wife into coming back to Him despite her gross adulteries. In Isaiah 1:18 He beckons,

Come now, and let us reason together... though your sins are as scarlet, they will be as white as snow, though they are red like crimson, they will be like wool.

And in Hosea, He says,

I will allure her, and speak kindly to her... I will betroth you to Me forever... then you will know the Lord.

And in the New Testament too, did Jesus not use the multitude's innate desire to be happy in His Beatitudes, for the sole purpose of leading them into God's embrace? Did He not say, "Ask and you will receive, that your joy may be made full?" John 16:24.

This isn't too bad, I thought. I continued reading.

My doubts gradually chipped away as I read the first few chapters. Although there was one which I did not particularly like -- the one about not being an accident and being made in God's image -- for the writhing, backslidden sinner, being called a "precious and perfect unique design" offers little comfort, if any, in view of his self-inflicted pain due to sin -- most of them I liked and definitely agreed with.

The first dealt with setting one's perspective straight and basing it on the Absolute, the fourth and fifth dealt with how eternity matters more than this one parenthesis of a life, and how seeing from God's perspective makes all the difference. All that he said about the impermanence of the world's riches and the unsatisfying thrills they offered to the weary soul, made me shift in my seat a bit. Rick Warren, I thought, your words are close to hitting home!

And then I came to chapter 7. The Reason For Everything. What the entire Universe is for, with the trillion blinding mind-bogglingly massive galaxies contained in it, he says, "It's all for Him." My jaw almost dropped at what I read next. I'll quote it here at length for your benefit, dear reader.

The ultimate goal of the universe is to show the glory of God. It is the reason for everything that exists, including you. God made it all for His glory. Without God's glory, there would be nothing.

What is the glory of God? It is who God is. It is the essence of His nature, the weight of His importance, the radiance of His splendor, the demonstration of His power, the atmosphere of His presence. God's glory is the expression of His goodness and all His other intrinsic, eternal qualities.

He continued to describe how everything in redemptive history -- the fall of man, the Exodus through Moses, the tabernacle and the temple of Solomon -- was orchestrated to demonstrate and reveal "the Creator's glory." And he also described how God's glory shines most brightly in Jesus Christ, His Son. "He, the Light of the World, illuminates God's nature." And then Warren wrote how we humans failed our responsibility to cherish and worship and delight in this magnificent, perfect, glorious God.

When I came to page 55 I practically jumped from my seat and almost yelled with relief and exuberance and joy at having rediscovered a treasure long-lost: Warren says of worship, which he considers our primary purpose in life, "We worship God by enjoying Him."

What? I thought. Is this for real? Did you just say that, Rick Warren of seeker-friendly infamy? On the very next sentence he quotes CS Lewis. "In commanding us to glorify Him, God is inviting us to enjoy Him." Then came the ultimate shocker for me.

He quotes John Piper.

John Piper, of all people! Who else but John Piper can anybody more appropriately quote on this matter! And most importantly, he quotes the sentence that summarizes all that Piper's taught and preached: "God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him."

Then everything came rushing back to me like a flood.

God asks us to worship Him not because He is like a vain woman looking for compliments, but because he wants us to consummate our enjoyment of Him by expressing our emotions of delight in Him.

God has given us His glory, Himself, as a gift to be enjoyed, marveled at, and seen by us! And as unparalleled love and admiration for Him rise in our souls, nothing is more natural and more fitting than to express what we feel to Him! This is why we worship! This is our chief end! To delight in God and display His glories to the world, and finally, to Himself.

And then --

Guess what happens next.

I wrote this blog entry. Hihi.

Stay tuned for more good stuff from good ol' PDL.

How will my life end?

2007-08-19T23:38:00.001-05:00

I was lazily surfing the Net, looking for nothing in particular, when a thought struck me like a lightning bolt. I suddenly realized how apathetic and oblivious I am to the horrific suffering this world undergoes day after day.

There's that Andes-rocking earthquake in Peru which entombed hundreds of people under tons of rubble in a span of minutes. And there's the Darfur conflict, whose death toll has been reduced to a mere statistic in the minds of the populace by excessive publicity.

And of course there's that category 5 hurricane (translated: weather monstrosity) which, having just pounded the sandy beaches of Jaimaica a few hours earlier, is about to hit the western coast of Mexico in a few days. (The latter I haven't shaken off my shoulder that easily because there's a slim chance of us getting hit too. :-X)

The point is, every time I draw a breath in, hundreds of people breathe their last, some with a grim death-rattle, others with a quiet sigh. And yet I treat the preciousness of my existence like oxygen -- it's in the air, I desperately need it, yet I don't give much less a thought of gratitude for it.

You know, realizing now that my life is as tenuous as spiderweb thread and can be cut and torn and whisked away from me when I least expect it, makes me ~~a bit~~ nervous. Even though I am a Christian, and have been one for three years already, the uncertainty and fragility of it all still causes a substantial measure of discomfort and unease to well up my bowels.

So I thought about it for a while. The poem below is a half-baked result of my musings.

How will my life end?

Will it be like
the inglorious white-hair fuzz
of a balding dandelion clock,
scattered into the wind by
the soft, steady puffs of old age
with the memories of years long-gone?

Will it be like
a gleaming crystal goblet,
lofty and proud amidst a shelf of medals --
that suddenly shatters in an instant,
amidst choking grunts
and an urgent call for 911 --
due to a tiny blood clot
fatally out-of-place?

Will it be like
an unwitting and docile heifer
about to be slaughtered
in a hell-house of rusted steel blades,
out of whose butcher-stabbed neck
warm blood spurts out and collects
into a bucket of nickels?

Will it be like
a languid morning mist
that slowly vaporizes,
basking under the warm rays
of a rising egg-yolk Sun,
while it humbly whispers,
"You must increase,
and I must decrease?"

Will it be like
a rickety closet door
that opens into a Narnia
of unimaginable and blinding splendor,
ruled by a Lion-King
who welcomes me,
weak-kneed and trembling,
to rest my head on His glorious mane?

I'll never know for sure,
But this I do: that it will end
in the tender hands
of One who promised
"I will never leave you,
I will never forsake you."

camp photos

2007-08-16T01:45:00.000-05:00

UPDATE!! The links are not working. I have to retype them again, but I really have to sleep. It's half past two in the morning, and I need to wake up at 6:30 tomorrow. So, sorry guys, you'll have to wait. ]

...

The following pictures are yet another proof of my incredible stupidity. How could I NOT realize that my camera's resolution was at the lowest setting for the past few days?

ARGH:K:LKJ:Lkja.,mn/z.c,vm:"LK!!KLJ!!LJ!:LK!J:LK!J!:LKjna;soiejf

(deep and heavy panting)

Hoo, boy. That was good. I need a regular dose of this kind of catharsis.

...

Anyway. Here are the ill-fated, tiny and almost worthless photos of the past weekend. Don't rub it in, you can't make them larger. Grrr.

This is a plant tucked between the roots of an oak tree beside the river. I was naively taking a stab at photographic artistry. Crappy, I know.

The nasty, treasure-hunting pirates in the play, Crook and Ed. I'm Ed. I look hideous. No, UTTERLY APPALLING is more appropriate. Look at my moles. MOLEMOLEMOLE. (If you haven't watched Austin Powers: Goldmember yet, you won't get the joke) And my teeth, too. Oh, my, ~~grandma~~ Ed sure has big (and ugly!) teeth!

Mandy and Joshua the boy puppet (who was voiced by Mandy's husband, Jerry). The kids had a grand time listening to Joshua's antics. He was quite mean to Sara Lee, the girl puppet, and called her a boogerhead. So the kids told him to apologize and say sorry. He did. :-)

This is Taylor, our former pastor's eldest son. He said I looked like a paralyzed, emaciated Gollum in the play. I showed him this photo and said, "You look like an earless, cross-eyed, bucktoothed rabbit yourself!" He cracked up.

El Rio Frio, when translated in English is "The Cold River." It does stand up to its name. It was just so jaw-droppingly beautiful! I just wish I took a better photo of it... ARGHHH-- somebody please stop me from bashing my head on the wall.

Me. with a twisted grimace on my face, 5 minutes before the show started. Mandy did an awesome job as a makeup artist, didn't she? Several kids actually cried because they were so terrified of us. The creepy, menacing Darth Vader theme we used for the background music whenever we pirates entered the stage made it even worse. Poor things.

This photo's a bit larger, thank goodness. They're playing with water guns and a bubble-making device outside the building. It's among of the roster of activities that we had to make sure they do.

For some reason I unwittingly took a couple of larger photos. At least, it's a small consolation. Huhu. :-( This is Steve in his usual animated self, teaching the kids about Paul and the vision of blinding light he saw on the road to Damascus.

Some of the children doing crafts. They're making butterflies and moths out of coffee filters and pipe cleaners. Nice, no?

random thoughts

2007-08-14T22:22:00.000-05:00

Two more weeks before the fall semester starts. Man, I feel as though I've achieved absolutely nothing for the past three months of summer. Right after we got off school a day before my birthday, I jotted down a long list of things I wanted to accomplish during the summer break. It looked something like this:

learn to play the guitar
prepare lessons for Cru meetings next semester
read nursing textbooks in advance
walk and jog
lose 15 pounds!
re-read The Unity of The Bible, The Practice of Godliness, etc.
rent out how-to-speak-Spanish videos from the public library

all of which barely entered my mind (and, consequently, were all left undone) as the stifling hot summer days whisked past a hapless and distracted me.

ARGH! AasdfSasdfasdfa;lkdsjfgam,zcvaw'eop:LDKJLKD!

...

Why do we most often avoid our brothers and sisters in Christ when we need their encouragement, or reproof, even, the most?

...

I just got back from our church's family camp. The six-hour drive to Leakey, a secluded town in the Texas hill country that barely looks like a dot in the map, was really worth it. What could beat free (and not to mention scrumptious) breakfasts and lunches, a crystal clear mountain stream flowing through towering pine trees and teaching five-year old kids their memory verses?

Pictures to follow. I'm busy right now.

...

Food. I need food. Lord, I'm hungry for You.

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.
Psalm 42.11

pagsisisi

2007-08-04T03:42:00.000-05:00

Ba't kaya laging nasa huli ang pagsisisi?

Nakausap ko ang guro namin sa Espanyol iilang araw pa lang ang nakakalipas. Wala akong ibang tunguhin kundi tanungin siya tungkol sa mga marka ko. Sabi ko sa kanya, gamit ang boses na may kaunting nginig at pangamba, "Sir, may I know what my tentative average is, as of now?"

"Oh, I don't have your averages yet, but from what I see now, you're doing fine, Jose. I could say your grade's between a high A and a low B. It's because you have a couple of quizzes with extremely low scores. Just do your best on the last two chapters. Your marks in the following quizzes will make the difference."

Yun ay bago ko dinanas ang hirap ng apat na pagsusulit, tatlong "maikli" at isang pang-kabanata -- lahat sa isang araw -- nitong nakaraang Lunes. Nabanggit ko na ba na muntik na akong mahimatay sa hirap ng mga tanong? Nagtataka pa rin ako hanggang ngayon ba't kailangan ng guro kong magsinungaling sa pagngangalan ng mga exam -- dalawa dun sa short quiz, lampas ng sandaan ang bilang ng tanong, na kailangan namin matapos sa tagal ng isa't kalahating oras. "Sino ba naman ang hindi mauulol ng ganon? O baka ako lang yun," sa isip-isip ko.

Sa sumunod na araw, nagkatotoo nga ang kinatatakutan ko. Mga marka? 58, 69, 73 sa "short" quizzes. medyo mataas naman ang nakuha ko sa huling examen; pinapadali talaga niya iyon, kadalasan may pagpipilian yung mga tanong, di kagaya ng mga quizzes, na ang karamihan ay kailangang sumagot kami ng buong mga pangungusap. Kaya 50-50 ako ngayon -- nakasalalay ang kapalaran ng final grade ko sa resulta ng mga examen ng huling kabanata na itatalakay namin.

Inaamin ko, kasalanan kong lahat kung bakit nagkaganito ako sa Espanyol. Kung binasa ko sana yung aklat ng mas maigi, kung nagsulat ako ng mas matinong notes, kung inulit-ulit ko yung mga bidyo kung pano isalin sa nakaraang kapanahunan ang mga pandiwang Espanyol, kung nagpaturo ako sa mga kaibigan kong Hispaniko, sana... Sana.

Kaya kaninang umaga yung hitsura ng mukha ko ay tila namatayan ako ng kapamilya. Mahaba ang nguso, nakakunot ang mga kilay, nakayukod na balikat -- bad trip, ika nga. Sa inis ko ay muntik ko na ngang murahin yung kaharap ko sa salamin dahil sa sobrang katangahan ko niya.

Hayun ako, nakahilata sa cubicle sa aklatan ng UTPA, habang inaantay ko matapos yung klase ng kapatid ko. Dahil wala akong magawa, at dahil wala na akong ibang maisip na tunguhan para mabigyan ng kahit kaunting ginhawa ang kaluluwa ko, inabot ko yung luma ngunit mapagkakatiwalaang Bibliya ko (sa tita ko siya, sa tutuusin, pero hindi na niya ginagamit, kaya akin na siya. Diba, tita? Hehe). Medyo nagaalanganin ako, kasi bahaging inaasahan ko na ang tanging payo na maibibigay ng Diyos sa akin ay, "Yan ang napala mo, magdusa ka!"

Ngunit hindi yun, sa laking gulat at tuwa ko, ang narinig kong binulong ng boses Niya. Pasalamat sa Kanyang pagtitiis sa akin kahit sa matinding pagkukulang ng tiwala ko sa Kanya, ay tinuro sa akin ng Espiritu ang mga susunod na taludtod:

Romano 8:28 -- Alam natin na ang lahat ng mga bagay ay magkakalakip-lakip na gumagawa para sa kabutihan nila na mga umiibig sa Diyos, sa kanila na mga tinawag ng Diyos ayon sa kaniyang layunin.

Genesis 50:20 -- Binanta niyong saktan ako, pero binalak ito ng Diyos para sa kabutihan ng marami, ang pagligtas ng maraming buhay na isinasagawa na ngayon.

Mateo 6:8 -- Alam ng Ama niyo ang mga kailangan niyo, bago pa man hingin niyo sa Kanya ang mga ito.

Una, natutunan ko galing sa mga bersong ito na hindi nasa labas ng kapangyarihan ng Diyos na ipigil ang katamaran ko. Kung nabago niya ang puso ni Pablo, isang kriminal na nagpatapon at nagpapatay ng mga Kristiyano, at ng ipinakong magnanakaw, ay mababago niya din ako.

Pangalawa, alam (at hindi lang iyon! itinakda Niya rin, sa tingin ko) ng Diyos ang lahat ng mga pangyayaring magaganap sa buong buhay ko, at sigurado akong kasama dito ang mga bagsak na markang nakuho ka sa Espanyol.

Pero bakit, ang tanong niyo, Niya hinayaan akong maging tamad sa klase kong ito? Sa tingin ko, isa lang ito sa libu-libong liksiyon (na kahit mahirap) na kailangan kong matutunan upang maging mas tulad ang pagkatao ko sa Kanya. Siguro, gusto Niyang matutunan ko ang halaga ng tamang pagpaplano ng oras at walang tigil na kasipagan. O siguro, gusto Niyang matutunan kong talikuran ang sarili kong kakayahan at kahusayan at magtiwalang buong-puso sa Kanya. Maaaring mas mainam para sa kalinangan ng kaluluwa ko ang matuto ng mga aral na ito, kaysa makuha ang isang A sa aking transcript.

Pangatlo, gaya ng sinabi sa Romano 8:28, "lahat ng mga bagay" -- kabilang ang dinanas ko nung dumaang Lunes -- ay "gumagawa para sa kabutihan" ng sinumang tumiwala sa Kanya. Ang pilit na pagbibili kay Jose (hindi ako, yung Jose na anak ni Jacob. hehe) ay tumungo sa kaligtasan ng mga kapamilya niya sa mga araw nga tag-gutom. At dahil sa paghihirap ni Jose sa ilalim ng kanyang amo, ay nabuo ang bansang Israel, na kung saan nanggaling ang ating Panginoong si Jesus.

Kaya purihin ang Diyos dahil sa Kanyang kapangyarihan at kaalaman! Purihin Siya dahil sa Kanyang kabanalan at katarungan! At higit sa lahat, purihin siya dahil sa Kanyang pagmamahal, awa at pagtitiis sa ating mga makakasalanan.

thank you

2007-07-29T15:27:00.000-05:00

To my brother who welcomed me with his open, forgiving arms in spite of the rotting stench of my filth, I cannot thank you enough. Let us remember the precious words of His promises.

Remember my affliction and my wanderings,
the wormwood and the gall!
My soul continually remembers it
and is bowed down within me.
But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”

The Lord is good to those who wait for him,
to the soul who seeks him.
It is good that one should wait quietly
for the salvation of the Lord.
It is good for a man that he bear
the yoke in his youth.

Let him sit alone in silence
when it is laid on him;
let him put his mouth in the dust—
there may yet be hope;
let him give his cheek to the one who strikes,
and let him be filled with insults.

For the Lord will not cast off forever,
but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion
according to the abundance of his steadfast love;
for he does not willingly afflict
or grieve the children of men.
Lamentations 3:19-33

"For a brief moment I deserted you,
but with great compassion I will gather you.
In overflowing anger for a moment
I hid my face from you,
but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you,”
says the Lord, your Redeemer.
Isaiah 54.7-8

To Him who endured the whips and blows and the mangled stripes of a Roman scourging, the six-inch nails and a crown of thorns on that Friday, for my sake, to Him "who loved me and gave His life for me," be all the glory.

Worthy is the Lamb for He was slain...
and by His blood He ransomed people for God
from every tribe and language and people and nation,
and He has made them a kingdom and priests to our God
and they shall reign on the earth.
Worthy is the Lamb who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom
and might and honor and glory and blessing!
Revelation 5 (paraphrased)

priming

2007-07-13T10:21:00.000-05:00

A long, long time ago, when my pimple-marred face was a smooth gradeschooler's, my grandmother showed me how to prime a water pump. As she cranked the squeaking handle up and down she would pour several dipper-fuls of "priming" water into the hole on top of the contraption. Soon enough, after a round of grunting and heaving, the water would bubble up from the unimposing fountain, ready to relieve our parched throats and wash the dirt off from the week's laundry.

Where am I getting at?

Right now, my mind is just like that water pump -- creaky, run-down and rusted all over from disuse. And thinking of what I could possibly share to the world is just as onerous and back-breaking (well, metaphorically speaking) as priming. I am at a loss for words, as always. I could only wish my heart out that they would come back to me in a sparkling blue rush. I'll be waiting.

shriveled

2007-07-05T18:38:00.000-05:00

I know.

I know that no excuse for not posting anything at all in six long weeks could get lousier and more dishonest than "I'm too busy." Or "I can't think of anything worth writing about." It's just that every time I'm distraught over my demented self I practically clam up and get tongue-tied.

The truth is, my sins have gotten in the way and clogged my brain-pipes with their unspeakable filth. My soul is numb and cold and shriveled and dead. My longing for Him who lives has long been extinguished to something I can hardly feel. I don't even know if it's still there or not. (Oh God I hope it still is)

And so my relationships with my friends who are half-way around the world have suffered because of my unwillingness to write and be accountable. Someone very dear to me wrote two heartfelt letters several weeks ago and I haven't even responded with a single sentence assuring her that I will be replying. I couldn't even write a short letter! (sigh) It's not hard for you to see how much more difficult it is for me to keep this blog from becoming as woebegone as it is now.

I'm really sorry, friends.

of green cards and Mt. Everest

2007-05-16T01:54:00.000-05:00

This morning I woke up to the sound of my father bellowing in his usual on-full-volume voice at his cellphone.

"Totoo? June 2005 na yung pinaprocess? Sige, thanks, thanks..."

One of his friends had called and told him that the USCIS just updated the visa bulletin for employee-based immigrant applicants. I'll spare you the drudgery of trying to understand immigration terms, but it all boils down to this: there's a very good chance that before school starts this fall my family and I will be granted permanent residency -- those highly coveted green cards that would grant us Social Security numbers and qualify us for federal and state financial aid and permit us to be gainfully employed.

Doubtful of hearsay as I often am, I discreetly sat down in front of the computer as my father and brother were leaving for school and checked the website for myself. And on the screen was displayed the small white table containing the priority dates.

It was true indeed.

Strangely enough, I didn't suddenly erupt with eager excitement. Two years before, the prospect of being able to work for myself and not depending on my parents for income would have left me giddy, nervous and elated at the same time. It's not that I, being a mature 19-year old, now take lightly the possibility of me receiving a fat monthly paycheck. Nor because I've latched my sights tight on the City of God that I've ceased to care for my family's immigration issues, or anything worldly, for that matter. No.

It was just probably a good dose of His medicine the night before that restrained me from being my usual self.

Last night I crossed off Luke 12 on my daily Bible reading plan and read the whole chapter. Though the words of King Jesus barely stood out on the faded pages of my Aunt's NASB, they seared my heart with such sweet delight that lifted me, albeit temporarily, from the cares of this world.

In Luke's version of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tries to quiet the anxious hearts of his listeners (including mine):

Fear not, little flock; it is the Father's good pleasure to give you the Kingdom. Luke 12.32

Now I clearly remember encountering this verse in dear Pastor Piper's book, the Pleasures of God, and verbalizing my thoughts about it in this blog some time ago, but it wasn't until last night that the true meaning of His words dawned on me with such full-force again. I guess this particular verse must have been buried under an enormous dune of medical terms in the desert of my mind. But praise God for blowing the sand all away!

That God will do me good by granting me His kingdom is a magnificent revelation in itself. But that He would actually enjoy and take delight in adopting me as His son, unworthy wretch as I am, was just so great a thought that it dwarfed and overshadowed all worldly thoughts that were clinging to my mind then -- it was like placing Mount Everest and a molehill side by side. There simply wasn't any comparison.

And so when I woke up this morning I was still overcome with so much awe and gratitude and wonder at His abundant grace that the news of being one step closer to receiving my green card didn't tick my heart's ticker as fast as it did before.

But as the hours of today plodded by, the vision faded. All that's left in me, once again, are faint reverberations of the glorious thought. Which is why, dear reader, we need to graze on the pastures of His Word as often as we can and feed our souls with His promises.

thank you

2007-05-12T05:07:00.000-05:00

To all who greeted me with a cheery Happy Birthday, thank you so much. I really appreciate it.

i give up

2007-05-12T04:29:00.000-05:00

Because I finally lost my patience to squint my eyes and tweak HTML code for hours I'm settling myself with this template. Whether everybody thinks it's plain or kitschy or passe, I don't care. :D

a rediscovery

2007-04-22T01:49:00.000-05:00

How great is God's desire to do you good?
(an excerpt from a John Piper sermon)

Behold, I will gather them out of all the lands to which I have driven them in My anger, in My wrath, and in great indignation; and I will bring them back to this place and make them dwell in safety.

And they shall be My people, and I will be their God; and I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear Me always, for their own good, and for the good of their children after them.

And I will make an everlasting covenant with them that I will not turn away from them, to do them good; and I will put the fear of Me in their hearts so that they will not turn away from Me. And I will rejoice over them to do them good, and I will faithfully plant them in this land with all My heart and with all My soul.

Jeremiah 32:37-41

He rejoices to sustain you and he rejoices with all his heart and with all his soul. Now I ask you, not with any sermonic exaggeration or rhetorical flourish or with any sense of overstatement at all—I ask you, I challenge you, can you conceive of an intensity of desire that is greater than a desire empowered by "All God's heart and All God's soul"?

Suppose you took all the desire for food and sex and money and fame and power and meaning and friends and security in the hearts and souls of all the human beings on the earth—say about six billion—and you put all that desire, multiplied by all those six billion hearts and souls into a container. How would it compare to the desire of God to do you good implied in the words, "with all his heart and with all his soul"?

It would compare like a thimble to the Pacific Ocean. Because the heart and soul of God are infinite. And the hearts and souls of man are finite. There is no intensity greater than the intensity of ... the joy he has in sustaining you with sovereign grace: "I will rejoice over them to do them good . . . with all my heart and all my soul."

It's almost good to be true. But it is: God loves me!

It's amazing enough that God would pardon me, a perverted criminal, and send His only Son to suffer a wretched death in my place. But that He would desire to lavish me the greatest gift He could ever give, the gift of Himself, that He would engage every bit of His being to ravish and enrapture me with the manifold perfections of His glory for all eternity!

It's ---

I run out of words.

The Heart

2007-04-18T06:30:00.000-05:00

by Stephen Crane

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

resolved

2007-04-18T06:28:00.000-05:00

I'm quitting my life-long habit of procrastinating. Starting tomorrow.

Crucified

2007-04-08T23:21:00.000-05:00

The hands that healed a leper's rotting sores
with a gentle caress now bleed, impaled
on wood by rusted nails; scarlet drops pour
down the dust from him, once Messiah hailed.
The voice that hushed storms with a single word
now quivers like a shaking reed, his groan
of wretched agony ignored, unheard
by the jeering crowd he once called his own.
The gaze that thawed a harlot's frigid soul
with a love all-consuming, now stoops down
beneath the curse of wrath divine, the cold
wind whips his wounded face, his thorned crown.
His sacrifice, as of a spotless lamb,
shines forth, the living hope of sinners damned.

two poems... and another in progress

2007-04-07T15:25:00.000-05:00

my literature instructor gave us a couple of extra credit assignments sometime ago. after reading out loud margie piercy's "barbie doll" to the whole class he gave us half of the period to compose a fifteen-line poem about a childhood experience with a toy. i came up with this. in retrospect, i think i was being sick and perverted and utterly delusional to come up with something like this. but anyway here it is. it's fictional poetry, okay?

A Barbie for Bobby

Bobby ran his stubby eight-year-old fingers
through the doll's trademark corn silk yellow hair
-- his sister got it for Christmas --
(why didn't they buy me one too?)
and stared, with eyes wide as the moon,
at those two round bumps on her chest.
Slowly, gingerly, he tore off the fairy-sized shirt
like a Snickers wrapper, until nothing remained
to shield from his hungry eyes
on those creamy brown plastic scoops of ice cream.
(yummy oh so yummy they look so much like Mama's)
He mopped with his sleeves
the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead
and locked his bedroom door
with a soft click.

the following one is too cheesy and cliched, i think. he tasked us to compose a love song patterned after ts eliot's "the love song of alfred j. prufrock." the speaker, he says, could be anybody: ourselves, another person, etc. being a greek mythology buff that i am, the first thing that came to my mind was tithonus, the ill-fated trojan prince and lover of aurora, the goddess of the dawn. she asked zeus to bestow on him immortality, but forgot to ask for eternal youth. as a result, he lived forever but grew more ancient each passing day. aurora left him afterwards, of course.

The Love Song of Tithonus

Like the gnarled limbs of an ancient tree
my wide open arms await for thee,
Aurora of the fickle red dawn.
The lacy veils of your mists drape
the innocent morn in a sultry embrace
and turn my forsaken crown
to a barren raisin-head
flecked with the snow white strands of age.
Once bright ablaze, my heart forlorn
lies a sodden pile of darkened soot,
extinguished by the tiny breeze
of a careless half-wish.
O death, sweet death, engulf me
with your dreamless sleep
and quench my raging thirst
for her fiery golden kisses
and blind my milk-white eyes
from the eternal, ethereal vision of
my Aurora of the fickle red dawn.

last week he said he would automatically give us a hundred in one of our quizzes if we turn in a shakespearean sonnet, provided that we do it perfectly: ten syllables per line, a flawless rhyming scheme of ababcdcdefefgg, and only one sentence per quatrain. it's proved to be a challenge for me. i'm done halfway but i still have to figure out my last six lines. i'll post it here when i complete it.

ramblings

2007-04-07T14:48:00.000-05:00

thanks to a not-so-explicit reminder from my dear friend Glenda i now see my blog in a totally new light, with all its dust and cobwebs. now i can't help but avert my eyes in shame when i catch a glimpse of the date of my latest post. march 18. three weeks ago. no posts, no updates, nothing, since then.

so what have i been up to?

a lot, actually. i can't tell you how many hours i spend every week flipping the pages of my nursing textbooks and parsing to myself the eleven steps to follow in inserting a nasogastric tube to a bedridden client. it's nauseating, tiring and endlessly repetitive. "check the patient's medical record... verify MD order..." blahblahblah. i just console myself with the hope that i pass the NCLEX immediately after i leave the halls of STC in my toga a little more than a year from now. so close, yet so far.

---

yesterday at three in the afternoon people from all over the world bowed down their heads in remembrance of an enigmatic preacher-prophet executed two millenia ago by the political and religious status quo. it's amazing that the death of a carpenter native of a ragtag village from whence nothing good came out would be cherished and celebrated by millions. nobody expected it. but the truth is, the tragedy of good friday would not have been forever etched in our memories if it were not for the triumph of the empty tomb of easter.

in dying, he destroyed our death.
in rising, he restored our life.
lord jesus, come in glory.

Repentance

2007-03-18T14:43:00.000-06:00

My God, I cry out to You
        in the midst of all my pain.
Hear my voice, incline Your ears
        to my pleas unrestrained.

My heart is weak and weary
        from the burdens of my sin,
Pierced with pangs aplenty
        and bleeding deep within.

Once more I lift my tear-dimmed gaze
        to that old wooden pole,
Where Jesus shed His precious blood
        to save my wretched soul.

Washed spotless from my guilt-black stains
        -- oh can it truly be? --
From the iron chains of darkness
        undying Love has set me free.

Though often on the rocks I trip,
        headlong I will not fall.
The Lord lifts me with His strong hands
        -- "Fear not!" -- He stills my call.

Now, Jesus, quench my raging thirst
        with the beauty of Your face,
Holy Spirit, inundate me
        with your presence all my days.

For that moment I wait, in hope,
        when like You I will become --
and so, with all the saints I sing,
        Come, Lord Jesus, come.

I wrote this poem before daybreak today. I couldn't sleep the whole night so I just stayed up doodling on my journal. It was five in the morning when I penned the last few lines. I thought of writing some doublets while I was scanning through the Psalms -- but yeah, I admit, I did borrow a substantial portion of my ideas from the Psalmists.

I know that my words above may sound too simple and trite and sophomoric to some. But I hope that whoever reads them would get a sense of the grace of God, no matter how little, a sense of the unspeakable majesty of God's justice and mercy in Christ on the cross.

forgotten

2007-03-17T02:15:00.000-06:00

Three short days before spring break oh-seven draws to a close, yet I've barely achieved anything of importance. Well, if you could consider a once-in-a-blue-moon dust wiping and carpet vacuuming of one's bedroom a significant and worthwhile task, there's one, at least. Even then, the thick pile of paperwork for my Clinicals class that's waiting for me to fill out remains untouched on my table.

Right now I feel like a tortoise basking under the hot sun. A warm uncomfortable tingling feeling radiates from my shoulders up to my head, and it's making me dizzy and lazy and sluggish enough that I couldn't even lift myself up from this chair.

Maybe it's just because I slept too much. Or ate too much. We bought two giant packs of Fritos from Sam's just a few days ago and now my family's enormous appetite has reduced it to a flimsy, half-opened plastic bag.

Whatever the cause, I don't feel like doing anything, at all. The cogs in my mind have jolted to a halt, and it doesn't feel very good. A verse from the Psalms comes to my mind.

When my soul was embittered,
when I was pricked in heart,
I was brutish and ignorant;
I was like a beast toward you.
Psalm 73.26

And then I realize that in the midst of the steaming bowls of microwaved Fritos with cheese, and Blockbuster movies and Youtube-recorded TV show episodes, I've forgotten what really matters most to me -- my life, my sustenance, the everlasting fountain of sparkling water that soothes my parched lips: the Word of God.

God does not exist because...

2007-03-15T20:02:00.000-06:00

These "proofs" against God's existence really cracked me up so bad I can't let myself pass from posting this.

ARGUMENT FROM TINKERBELL

1. I really want God to be fake.
2. If you wish for something really hard, it'll come true.
3. Therefore, God doesn’t exist.

ARGUMENT FROM ABSURDITY (aka THE MOST COMMON ATHEIST ARGUMENT)

1. B---s---!
2. Therefore, God doesn’t exist.

ARGUMENT FROM ECONOMY

1. God doesn’t exist, you bastards!
2. Therefore, God doesn’t exist.

BOATWRIGHT'S ARGUMENT

1. Ha ha ha.
2. Therefore, God doesn’t exist.

ARGUMENT FROM INSANITY

1. I forgot to take my meds.
2. Therefore, THERE IS NO GOD!!
3. Therefore, God doesn’t exist.

ARGUMENT FROM SMUGNESS

1. God doesn’t exist.
2. I don't give a crap whether you believe it or not; I have better things to do than to try to convince you morons.
3. Therefore, God doesn’t exist.

ARGUMENT FROM META-SMUGNESS

1. F--- you.
2. Therefore, God doesn’t exist.

Click here for more.

psalm 130

2007-02-24T00:30:00.000-06:00

My Soul Waits for the Lord

A Song of Ascents.

1 Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord!
2 O Lord, hear my voice!
Let your ears be attentive
to the voice of my pleas for mercy!

3 If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities,
O Lord, who could stand?
4 But with you there is forgiveness,
that you may be feared.

5 I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
and in his word I hope;
6 my soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen for the morning,
more than watchmen for the morning.

7 O Israel, hope in the Lord!
For with the Lord there is steadfast love,
and with him is plentiful redemption.
8 And he will redeem Israel
from all his iniquities.

This psalm has been on the front burner of my head for the past several weeks. I liked it so much that I even tried to memorize it -- not that I wasn't able to, but it took me more than half an hour to have it imprinted on my memory.

I like it mainly because:

1. It reminds us that, apart from Him, we are helplessly and hopelessly enslaved to our own evil desires. "If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand?" (v. 3)

No man, no, not even one, not even the Pope or Mother Teresa, could stand in and of himself righteous and be justified before God. We are all instigators and participants in a rebellion of cosmic proportions against the Creator, and thus deserve to be convicted and thrown into eternal fire and darkness.

2. It highlights the hard truth that even though we Christians are already washed in His blood and saved by His grace, we still are sinners, and will always be until our last breath on this earth. The Apostle John affirms this, writing, "If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us." (1 John 1:8)

The Christian life, therefore, is a continuing cutthroat battle against the old self within us, in which the stakes are infinite -- an eternity of knowing and enjoying God, or an eternity of separation from Him.

3. It comforts us that in spite our utter wretchedness, the Lord, out of pure grace, is willing to lavish us his "forgiveness... steadfast love... and redemption." (v4, 7) For some incomprehensible, unfathomable reason, it is God's desire to do us fornicators and blasphemers good.

And He really means it! He says through His prophet that "He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will exult over you with loud singing," (Zephaniah 3:17b) "you" being you, dear reader, and me, and the countless thousands of people whose souls completely despair of themselves but instead, "wait [and hope] on the Lord more than the watchmen for the morning." (v. 6)

4. It suggests that God does is not being unjust by doing good to His enemies. When you come to think of it, there's a disturbing, resonating inconsistency in the mind of God, as He lavishes His overflowing mercy towards sinners and sweeps their sins under some spiritual rug. Whatever happened to His justice and holiness? It appears that God would cease to be righteous the instant He acquits a sinner without Him carrying out punitive measures.

When the psalmist says that God will "redeem Israel from his iniquities," it is as though God will provide a way that will save His people from damnation while at the same time, preserve and exalt His holiness and righteousness. John Piper writes,

The wisdom of God has ordained a way for the love of God to deliver us from the wrath of God without compromising the justice of God."

And this way could be nothing else but the death of His Son on the splintered cross.

In the last verse, the Psalmist points to that watershed event in which God Himself, in the person of the Son, bore on His humble back the horrendous burden of His Father's righteous wrath. When God "put forward [His own Son] as a propitiation by His blood," (Rom. 3:25) He does two things: He proclaims His righteousness in passing over the sins of Israel during the past, and His absolute freedom to forgive and redeem the sinful and the unclean to Himself.

And now He welcomes with wide open arms anyone and everyone, "from every tongue and tribe and people and nation," (Rev 14:5) who repents of their sins and looks in faith to Him and Him alone. He beckons you, dear reader, to put your trust not on the fleeting pleasures in this fallen world, but on His own heart.

"...hope in the Lord!
For with the Lord there is steadfast love,
and with him is plentiful redemption."

spiritual schizophrenia

2007-02-23T21:33:00.000-06:00

What do you call a person with two entirely different, opposite, clashing selves that are trying to kill each other? Whatever the word for it, it's far worse off than your normal medically-treatable schizophrenia, and unfortunately, it's an illness that will plague us Christians for the rest of our lives. Check this out.

1. This is you. Or us--a human made in God’s image. Ladies, sorry you have to identify with a little guy...and I’m not sure why he doesn’t have a shirt.

2. This is the flesh. He’s kind of a Jabba the Hut meets WWF wrestler. The Flesh represents the sinful, corrupted desires of our heart. It’s not a reference to our bodies--our bodies are created by God and are good. The flesh represents our sinful cravings to live for ourselves and disobey God’s laws and commands.

Intrigued? The pastor of Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, MY, the same guy who wrote "Boy Meets Girl" and "I Kissed Dating Goodbye," yes, the famous Josh Harris, came up with these perky cartoons to illustrate the old self and the new self.

Check out his entire post here. You might also want to read his more recent series on holiness here, here and here.

forgiving and forbearing... and not forgetting

2007-02-23T21:17:00.000-06:00

I've lost count of the words that have come out of my mouth -- and my typing fingers too -- that I now deeply regret saying and writing. My most recent post is one of them.

While it seemed to me a few nights ago that I had victoriously realized some important spiritual truth, I was deeply mistaken in what I wrote. But don't get me wrong -- it was important -- God does command us to forgive and forbear the sins of others. But it wasn't I who was in the right place to forgive or forbear. It was my parents. And God. And that wasn't right.

By describing them in such a caricatured humor-inducing way, I was, unwittingly, putting my parents in a bad light. Yes, my father does "imperiously command me" to do stuff I don't want to do occasionally. But that is not all he is. He isn't Hitler. During those cold rainy nights when the power was out due to some typhoon, he was there to enclose me in his warm arms, when I would squeak in my tiny voice, "Pa, natakot tabi ako, kupu tabi." Kupu is "hug" and tabi is "please" in Oasnon.

Ma and Pa, I'm sorry. I've taken for granted everything what you've done for me -- the buckets of sweat and tears you've shed to raise me into who I am right now. I am an ungrateful hypocrite -- blind to my own shortcomings, yet oversensitive to those of who care for me. Now I realize how kind and loving you were in to me spite of all the unspoken rebellious thoughts I've held against you. I love you so much. Please forgive me, and please let this be one of those cow pies that will be thrown into our compost pile.

And God, most of all, I'm sorry. I have not honored my parents as You have commanded me. And if I would bear a grudge against my own parents for mere trifles, how much more against You, my Father and Creator? And bear a grudge I did, especially when you uprooted me from UP against my will. Please forgive me.

Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin!
For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
Psalm 51:1-3

February 19, 2007
8:20 pm

An hour ago I was wearing an enormous snout-like frown on my face. I was exhausted, nauseated, sleepy and really annoyed.

I was doing the dishes. My head was buried in a sizeable pile of greasy cups and dishes, each of which I was vigorously scrubbing, one by one. And while I was being smothered by a mountain of soap-grease lather, my mother and father were watching a Filipino movie on the computer. They were snorting out loud, tickled pink by Babalu and Dolphy's acerbic witticisms.

Intrigued by what I was hearing, I rinsed my hands and went to the living room for a tiny peek. And then, even before my gaze reached the LCD screen, in an almost instantaneous change of demeanor, my father imperiously commanded me, as though I were his slave, "Tapusin mo nga muna yang ginagawa mo." Heck, I was just taking a break for a few seconds! How could they be so... Ewan.

That really topped my day. I'd spent the last three nights in mindless stupor as I ransacked my mental word-bank for all the ideas I could get for my essay. And tonight I still have to study a whole chapter for the physical assessment checkoffs tomorrow. Oh, I just wanted to pull whatever remained of my hair off my head -- I'm sporting a crew cut right now -- and scream at my parents and the world and scream some more.

Then I checked my mailbox. I had a new message. It was the most recent sermon from Desiring God, and by an ironic twist of providence, it was entitled, "Forgiving and Forbearing." Those mere two words pierced my wicked heart like a juicy olive on a toothpick. Here I was, seething and frowning and grumbling like hell at my parents, who nursed me and fed my tiny brown mouth eighteen years ago, because of something as small as that. And yet, the God of the Universe, who had every right to squash me under His heels like an ant because of my rebellion against my parents and Him, was supplying me with oxygen and ATP. What incomprehensible mercy!

So I read. The following paragraphs, which are Dr. Piper's last words, really struck me. Although his sermon was mainly about the significance of marriage in our relationship with God, his message could apply to almost any other human relationship. Forgive and forbear, just as the Lord Jesus did.
Picture your marriage [or friendship, son/brother-ship for that matter] as a grassy field... You see beautiful flowers and trees and rolling hills. But before long, you begin to step in cow pies. Some seasons of your marriage they may seem to be everywhere. Late at night they are especially prevalent. These are the sins and flaws and idiosyncrasies and weaknesses and annoying habits in you and your spouse. You try to forgive them and endure them with grace.

But they have a way of dominating the relationship. It may not even be true, but it feels like that’s all there is—cow pies. I think the combination of forbearance and forgiveness leads to the creation of a compost pile. And here you begin to shovel the cow pies. You both look at each other and simply admit that there are a lot of cow pies. But you say to each other: You know, there is more to this relationship than cow pies. And we are losing sight of that because we keep focusing on these cow pies. Let’s throw them all in the compost pile. When we have to, we will go there and smell it and feel bad and deal with it the best we can. And then, we are going to walk away from that pile and set our eyes on the rest of field. We will pick some favorite paths and hills that we know are not strewn with cow pies. And we will be thankful for the part of field that is sweet.

Our hands may be dirty. And our backs make ache from all the shoveling. But one thing we know: We will not pitch our tent by the compost pile. We will only go there when we must. This is the gift of grace that we will give each other again and again and again—because we are chosen and holy and loved.

jumping on the bandwagon

2007-02-16T23:25:00.000-06:00

You should check out Lance's recently revamped site. Earlier tonight I did, and now I'm tempted to spend the next few hours scouring the Net for a template that catches my eye.

But... I... need... to resist... (heaving like a tired dog) My first paper for Intro to Lit, which is supposed to be a critical analysis of one of the short stories in our textbook, is due on Monday. Yes, three short days from now. I'm doing mine on the wickedly funny but seriously disturbing "A Good Man is Hard to Find" by Flannery O'Connor.

Yeah, I started on it last Thursday -- which is so not like me -- and already have three/four pages of neatly lined, double-spaced text, but after some serious thinking I decided to chuck all of it into the trash. Why? Never you mind, I don't want to bog you down with the details. But I'll post the shining, squeaky clean, copyread and grammar-error proofed essay here before I turn it in.

And besides, I thought, it's not that this old ET template looks dull and uninteresting. It looks exactly the same way it did when I switched to it from the one I made myself -- well, not really, I just tinkered with one of the pioneer Blogger templates until it reeked "original." but I digress -- so what really generates the wide yawns among you and me and everyone who visits this blog these days? I asked myself.

I spent a few minutes staring at the blinking cursor on the LCD screen when it came to me. It's so darn obvious. It's the insufferable and irritating lack of activity and updates. I've just been too ~~busy~~ lazy. And now I'm feeling a bit foolish about myself. I kill me.

taxing

2007-01-29T11:43:00.000-06:00

The first few days of my foray into the nursing program has left me breathless.

I didn't expect our classwork to be this taxing. Eleven credit hours, I thought, was loads lighter than the seventeen I had last semester. I was so confident of breezing through my classes and was even disappointed by how "light" the load on my back was. So I registered for Introduction to Literature at Weslaco a few days before the semester started.

I was wrong. I don't regret taking Lit -- I'm enjoying it immensely, in fact -- but yes, I should have heeded my father's warnings that I will be doing so much ~~back~~ brain-breaking work once I get into the program.

Every week is a non-stop flurry of hundred-page readings, short quizzes, and practical tests on nursing skills, i.e., bed making, vital signs, physical assessment and so on. On top of that are two short stories for my Literature class that I have to read closely and annotate so I don't get C's on the quizzes. And they say it's more than twice as hard in the following semesters.

One drowsy morning, I stared at myself in the bathroom with wrinkled brows and wondered: with all this activity, would I still be able to reserve half an hour of quiet every morning so I could sit by my frayed but trusty Bible and listen to what He has to teach me?

I waited for an answer. (from myself? from God? I don't know, but I just stood there in hopeful silence for a reply) None. So I left our house that morning with nary a look at Matthew nor Genesis.

Two weeks passed. No quiet time, no praying, no Godward thoughts, nothing.

And so here I am now, drained and wasted like a chewed up piece of sugar cane.

So what's the point of all this ranting? Don't make the same mistake that I did, dear reader. The Bible is our life. Do not take it for granted. Shunning and treating it as if it were a useless burden on your back is dumber than jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

Search yourself. Is your deepest heart-cry the same as the psalmist's: "Whom have I in heaven but You? Besides You I have nothing in this earth. My flesh and my heart fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Ps 73:24-26

If not, ask Him for forgiveness. Repent. Look at your cold indifference towards God long and hard enough until you truly feel the gravity of your sin against Him. And believe, believe in Him, that through His death on the cross your sins are cast into the depths of the sea.

Rejoice not over me, O my enemy;
when I fall, I shall rise;
when I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be a light to me.

I will bear the indignation of the Lord
because I have sinned against him,
until he pleads my cause
and executes judgment for me.

He will bring me out to the light;
I shall look upon his vindication.

a song

2007-01-20T02:00:00.000-06:00

I thought I'd want to share to you this song I heard in church one Sunday. As we sat down for the offertory, a pretty lady went up the sanctuary and stood in front of one of the microphones. A little later she was joined by a lanky brown-haired guy carrying a guitar, who then sat by her side. (They happened to be a newly married couple, our pastor announced afterwards. "How sweet! ..." I mused.)

After he strummed a melodious succession of broken chords -- which happened to be the song's introduction -- she started singing. As her soft but sweet voice swirled through the hall, I fell silent and listened to her words. And then when he began accompanying her with the second voice, I just couldn't help but longingly wonder when I, one with the Bride, completely free from all impure desire, could sing in a like manner to Him while I behold Him as He is.

The song is entitled, "Captivate Us."

Your face is beautiful And Your eyes are like the stars
Your gentle hands have healing there inside the scars
Your loving arms they draw me near
And Your smile it brings me peace
Draw me closer oh my Lord, Draw me closer Lord To Thee

Captivate us, Lord Jesus Set our eyes on You
Devastate us with Your presence Falling down
And rushing river, draw nearer
Holy fountain consume us with You
Captivate us Lord Jesus, with You

Your voice is powerful And Your words are radiant bright
In Your breath and shadow I will come close and abide
You whisper love and life divine And Your fellowship is free
Draw me closer O my Lord, Draw me closer Lord to Thee

Let everything be lost In the shadows of the light of Your face
Let every chain be broken from me As I’m bound in Your grace
For Your yoke is easy, Your burden is light
You’re full of wisdom, power and might
And every eye will see You

the greatest commandment

2007-01-20T01:22:00.000-06:00

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength." Mark 12:30

I get a cold, uncomfortable, sinking sensation of inadequacy whenever my wandering mind comes across this verse. It'd be as though a God-sent angel swooped down from on high and splashed a bucket of ice water right onto my drowsy face.

Why? A patently obvious observation that strangely escapes me all the time suddenly confronts the ordinary day-to-day me (with all my pimples and idiosyncrasies) like a steam-snorting bull that's seen red.

Apart from the Lord Jesus, everything else -- which really includes everything else -- is secondary.

And then I slowly, painfully, come to grips with the undeniable truth that I've been doing it wrong all along. On the pedestal of my heart lay broken cisterns, self-made idols, instead of Him -- the God of my life.

school woes

2007-01-17T03:03:00.000-06:00

I've lost count of how many times I've come like this -- stuttering and red-faced and sweaty -- before you, dear reader, but please, let me get this done as fast as I can.

... (pin-drop silence)

On second thought, since I'm really bad at apologies, let's try something new.

You and I are theoretical physicists. We've discovered that the past several months of humdrum activity in this unkempt mishmash of HTML code that's my blog has been a time-dilation illusion caused by a freak localized wormhole in a small Texas town along the Rio Grande.

So the truth is, a few minutes have just passed since my last update, and now you're terribly excited to hear what I have to say next. (wink-wink)

Unlike most of my friends on the other side of the globe, I will start with my second semester this school year tomorrow. And this time, unlike the past semesters, I'll be donning sky-blue scrubs complete with a hospital badge when I go to my classes.

I've already been accepted into the nursing program. I received a two-page acceptance letter a few days before Christmas. The fact that I was the highest-ranked among the three hundred plus students who applied last semester, I should be beaming and thrilled and leaping above and beyond cloud nine. But I'm not. Really, I'm not.

The prospect of spending entire days roaming hospital floors while tending several patients at a time makes my nose wrinkle. This usually happens when I'm forced to do something I don't want to. Like washing off smelly brown stuff from my cousin's rump.

I try not to think about it more because it'll just make me even more anxious. Two years to go. Four semesters' worth of injecting catheters, cleaning pus-spouting wounds and wiping spit off the mouths of mental patients. Breathe in, breathe out. You can do this, Jef, I tell myself in the same way a husband comforts his laboring wife in vain.

My father, who got into the program a semester earlier, says that the clinicals class will be a bit challenging. He only got a B. Every meeting, he says, the nursing instructor will assign each of us a patient, whom we will be taking care of the whole day.

It is harder than it sounds -- not only will we nursing students be responsible for providing him medical aid, but for maintaining his entire well-being. So we have to ensure the patient feels comfortable, dignified, yadayada.

I'm not a people-person, so it makes me really uneasy when I imagine myself in that situation. Will I get the conversation right? What happens if I suddenly run out of words? Here's what I could think of right now. I'd blurt, "How are you, Mr. Smith? Ahh, OK, Buhbye!" and I'd scurry out of the room as fast as my stubby legs could carry me.

Far more important than the emotional rapport that we have to build with the patients are the medical procedures themselves that we have to perform. Intra-muscular injections, spinal taps, wound care, rectal suppository placement, IV therapy.

But neeedles and my clumsy hands don't go together very well. If I myself ever so often cut my own fingers while chopping carrots, how much more misfortunes would I cause my patients while I try to insert a thick needle into their wrists?

AhhHH-- Wait, wait, I caution myself. The other me suddenly surges out of its shell and grabs the microphone from the anxious me. (This schizophrenic mono-dialogue goes on in my head much more often than people think) Before I sink down in despair as I worry about what the next few months hold in store for me, I am suddenly reminded of this proverb which my wise grandmother had me memorized when I was seven:

Cross the bridge when you reach it.

And then I slowly realize how foolish I am to wring my sweaty hands over the unknown paths that lie ahead, over which I have absolutely no control. I cannot predict the future, much less mold it into what I want it to be.

But God is there. The God who deemed it wise to sell Joseph into slavery to rescue his family from the famine, to send His only Son to suffer a horrible death in the hands of bloodthirsty sinners, to make me fail the interviews for Intarmed so I could live in a run-down dormitory across the UP Coop and thereby gain a saving knowledge of Him through some priceless friends, also deemed it wise for me to go to nursing school.

He is sovereign, and He is good. He has a plan -- one that stretches far back into the darkest reaches of time into the end, the consummation of His second coming. A plan that weaves the magnificent panorama of human history into the manifold perfections of His glory. This, He assures me, you, us, that His timeless promise -- that He will, in time, lavish on those who trust Him the greatest gift of all, Himself -- still stands.

God causes all things to work for the good of those who love Him. Rom 8:28

2006-12-23T23:50:00.000-06:00

This blog is dead.

My heart is too.

Oh God.

confession

2006-11-28T09:25:00.000-06:00

To be completely honest, nothing knots my eyebrows and disappoints me more than repeatedly clicking the links to my blogger friends and finding out that they haven't updated for what seems like a hundred centuries, that they've basically abandoned their own websites.

It strangely escaped the notice of my 4x4-wooden-plank-impaled eye that I've done the same thing. Hehe. Sorry, friends. I'll try to update more often after this week.

bad news and worse news... and a question

2006-11-28T08:27:00.000-06:00

I just had a stunning realization last night. It hit me like a gigantic subway train zooming at a hundred miles an hour and left me utterly dazed and speechless.

God does not need me. Or you, dear reader. Or the entire Universe, with its quasars and black holes and galaxies and all its magnificent wonders. Or the innumerable legions of glorious angels populating the courts of heaven.

Because He is God, He is perfect. Which means, He does not lack anything. He does not need anything.To put in more positive terms, He is complete in and of Himself.

What gives Him the greatest enjoyment and deepest delight is Himself. Far, far back in time, to the endless ages when even time itself did not exist yet, God was, as He is and will be. And what truly captivated His affections then, and until now, were the unfathomable riches of His glory in His Son and in His Spirit.

He does not need me. He did not create me, the Jef Sala (as I am so prone to think of myself this narcissistically) , for who I am or anything intrinsically good in me, out of some sort of insufficiency on His part. He does not need my mind, the insight and creativity of which I have always prided on. He does not need my words and my mouth to proclaim His glory to the world. He could have easily created a thousand angelic beings, undefiled by sin unlike me, with a single whisper, to bear His image and reflect His radiance.

Rather, I need Him. I am entirely contingent on His sovereign will. I owe every passing tick on the clock to His sustaining power.

What I just mentioned above is already horrifying news to me, the haughty sinner that I am. But what makes it so much worse, is that I, forgetting that I am secondary and superfluous, have raised my puny pygmy-arms in rebellion to my Creator, blasphemed His holy name, defiled the gifts of my mind and body, and rejected Him as my God.

Then why do I even exist? Why does He keep me alive, breathing and kicking? Why does He allow me, despite my abominations and idolatries, to live a few more seconds to enjoy that absolutely scrumptious machacado con huevo-stuffed breakfast taco at the cafeteria? Why does He let me live when I deserve to rot in the deepest pits of the outer darkness?

The answer, dear reader, friend, bloghopper, whoever you are, still sounds too good to be true for me that I don't even believe it as of the moment. Thus I shall continue this on Thursday.

a song

2006-11-14T10:57:00.000-06:00

Every Sunday afternoon, right after Pastor Jon pronounces his usual "Church, you are dismissed" to the congregation, I go down to the choir room and practice my favorite hymns.

I jostle my way through the bustling crowd of churchgoers towards the nearest exit, descend down the East Wing stairs, close the basement's sliding doors, and position myself snugly in front of an old run-down piano. When I hear the frantic and hurried pad-pad-pad of hundreds of feet all anxious to get out of church slow down to a few muffled steps, I crack my knuckles and start gliding my fingers through those ivory keys.

I've just started learning how to play full length songs without notes and just with the chords last week, but I'm still having a hard time mastering the rhythm of more contemporary songs, because I'm used to old hymns with regular beats. The following song deeply moved me when I tried to sing and play it myself.

---

Untitled Hymn
by Chris Rice

Weak and wounded sinner
Lost and left to die
O, raise your head, for love is passing by
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus and live!

Now your burden's lifted
And carried far away
And precious blood has washed away the stain, so
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus and live!

And like a newborn baby
Don't be afraid to crawl
And remember when you walk
Sometimes we fall...so
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus and live!

Sometimes the way is lonely
And steep and filled with pain
So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus and live!

O, and when the love spills over
And music fills the night
And when you can't contain your joy inside, then
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus and live!

And with your final heartbeat
Kiss the world goodbye
Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory's side, and
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus and live!

disaster management

2006-11-03T01:26:00.000-06:00

I was lumbering towards the library one afternoon two weeks ago when my phone suddenly rang.

"Hello, Kuya!"

It was my mother. Her voice sounded strangely hushed, as if she were about to spill me the beans on some momentous secret. That stoked my curiosity.

"Bakit, what's the matter?" I inquired.

Ninang, my mother's only sister and my only aunt, was offering me a modest part-time babysitting job. Earlier that day, her bosses asked her -- apparently, she was the only teacher who had the free time and the willpower to rake more dough -- to teach extended day classes at Donna High for 35 dollars an hour, which translates to about two grand a month on top of her salary.

We tried to convince her not to take it, because she needed to spend more mother-daughter quality bonding time with Faith. (I know that just sounded like advice straight from a pop psychology book, but I doubt if any sane person would disagree with that statement) And besides, with all the household chores that I'm obligated to undertake everyday, I wouldn't have the energy to keep up with my cousin's needs.

Take for instance these sentences, which she usually blurts out with such assertiveness one might think she were a Spanish infanta and I were a mere slave:

"Ball play out!" No translation needed. If you still don't understand what it means after an hour's worth of hard thinking, you might want to consult a psychopathologist.

"AB-AB!" This needs a bit more explanation. Like most kids these days, she's become addicted to staring at the computer monitor for hours on end. This was her favorite website before somebody introduced her to PBS Kids. (Ninang, I presume. who else would?) Which, by the way, is another website. Sheesh. And believe it or not, she already knows how to click and drag the mouse! At two and a half years, she's even more computer-literate than my seventy-six year old grandmother.

"Dance-Hippo!" This refers to this not-so-funny animated video of an anthropomorphized purple hippo dancing in thongs, which I can't stand. I detest it with a fervent passion. It is not cute.

Anyhow. I know you've had enough of my tangential thoughts, so let me continue. Despite our attempts to dissuade her, Ninang was still doggedly determined to take it. "Andami ko nang utang," she lamented. "Sayang naman yung two thousand, pwede na yun pambayad."

We gave up, and finally agreed. "Why not?" my brother and I told her aloud, amidst our cheek-to-cheek grins. With a measly allowance of just 32 dollars a month -- my mother, ever the tightwad -- who wouldn't want some extra cash? Believe me, I had much more personal money when I was back there in UP than now.

And thus began this laborious experience of being yayo to the most high-maintenance kid I've taken care of.

A few days ago, I was reclining on the sofa, boring myself to death with Phil's antics on Disney channel, when she suddenly spouted, "Wiwi!" It didn't bother me a bit, because I just changed her diapers several minutes before that.

All of a sudden, I heard a faint gurgle that sounded like the sputter of a partially-clogged faucet coming from her. Dim-witted as I usually am, it took me more than a few moments to realize the obvious.

"Hindi yan wiwi! Poopoo!" I shrieked. Apparently unaware of my consternation, she just stared at me quizzically with her puppy-dog eyes, nodded, and pointed to her now-reeking-of-poopoo rump.

I grabbed her by the armpits and hauled her to the bathroom as fast as my stubby legs could carry me to avoid some more trouble. Trouble, as in, stinking smudges of brown on the carpet that would only come off with a pail of water and Lysol.

Unfortunately for me, I forgot to bring an empty plastic bag where I could dispose of her soiled diapers. I had to go to the kitchen. "Huwag kang gagalaw, ha? Stay put!" I commanded her. Moments later, I returned, and with the plastic bag in hand, I pulled down her pyjamas.

Ugh! What awaited me was a most awfully disgusting sight. Tucked between her legs was a steaming pile of yellowish and dark brown mucus-streaked blobs. No one had to do this but me. Ma was already snoring, and I wouldn't dare wake her up and rouse the Smaug in her.

While holding my breath, I told her to crouch on the still-too-big toilet bowl and grab on to my thigh. She did. And as she looked up to my contorted face, she smiled at me.

I was stricken. There I was, vexed and hot-headed at such a simple matter, while consoling myself with the far-off smell of newly-minted hundred dollar bills, when right in front of me, my only cousin, my own flesh and blood, needed my help. Would I be such an ass to begrudge doing my aunt a huge favor, my aunt who did the very same for me sixteen years ago? And wouldn't the simple delights of my cousin's toothy smiles and wet kisses and childish babble be far more satisfying a reward for taking care of her?

Shaking my head at my own silliness, I closed my eyes and started washing.

sin is...

2006-11-02T23:48:00.000-06:00

Sin is being content
to stuff my grumbling stomach
with limp slices of Spam,
when right in front of me
is a thick, juicy steak --
courtesy of a free coupon
from the Celestial Grillhouse.

Sin is scuttling away from
the Farmer's running hose
of sparkling water,
to dive and wallow instead,
amid my hoggish grunts,
into the stinking cesspool
of my own filth and excrement.

Sin is spreading my whore's legs
before a gang of hoodlums --
whose services I pay for
with my Husband's money --
even though I know full well
that He stands behind the ajar door,
watching, watching
with a broken heart.

some haikus

2006-10-26T12:27:00.000-05:00

World-weary sinner,
fall down to your knees before
the Cross and be saved!

His sin-cleansing blood
flows free from His side. Draw near,
rejoice in His love!

Turn back from the gold
that rots like mold, and look up to
Life everlasting.

something to think about

2006-10-19T15:41:00.000-05:00

I was taken aback by this passage from one of the featured sermons at Desiring God.

...There is a difference between feeling miserable because sin has made our life miserable and feeling broken because our sin has offended the holiness of God and brought reproach on His name... The issue is not admitting that we have made our life miserable. The issue is admitting that there is something much worse than our misery, namely the offended holiness and glory of God.

We all know how unbearable the agonizing emptiness of pursuing the idols of the heart is. Sinning is trying to fit the square of the world's pleasures into the immeasurably round hole in our soul.

And when we ram it in too hard, the jagged edges rip our own flesh into bloody chunks. Then we just break down to our knees and bawl like babies because our self-inflicted wounds hurt like hell.

But John Piper challenges us to further examine this heart-issue ourselves; shouldn't we feel far greater remorse for turning away from the perfectly fit Circle who offers all of Himself for our delight and satisfaction, for rejecting and insulting the sovereign and perfect God who loves us?

Be appalled, O heavens, at this; be shocked, be utterly desolate, declares the Lord, for My people have committed two evils: they have forsaken Me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water.
Jeremiah 2:12-13

moving

2006-10-12T23:54:00.000-05:00

Woohoo! This is fun. I just moved to Blogger beta a few minutes ago. I've been dying to know how to since I noticed that Lance did. I didn't expect that it would take a mere two clicks to upgrade my account. The rate at which technology outruns itself simply astonishes me!

The new interface looks much sleeker. Plus, the label function for the posts appears to be a pretty nifty addition. As an aside, have you heard that Google, the very same company who owns Blogger, bought Youtube for $1.65 billion? Are you thinking what I'm thinking? [cough]world domination[cough]

I won't have any qualms about the Google triumvirate -- Sergey Brin, Larry Page and Eric Schmidt -- reigning over the globe, as long as they provide me their services for free. As if that would happen even in my dreams.

some hymn verses

2006-10-12T23:29:00.000-05:00

Dear friends and devoted fans, (or to whichever category you fall into, you who are reading this)

After much indecisive contemplation, I have finally opted to end this two-week long blogging hiatus. As of the moment, my creative synapses are too feeble to zap out anything substantial, let alone interesting, so I will reserve my thoughtless rantings to my next post. (Now isn't that a relief? Hehe)

To top off this very short update, here are excerpts from the hymns that have been playing in my mental soundtrack for the past few days. Look closely at the lyrics and try to understand what makes the hymn writer exult with such passion and break into sweet song.

And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Savior’s blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain—
For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

"And Can It Be?"
Charles Wesley

All fairest beauty, heavenly and earthly,
Wondrously, Jesus, is found in Thee;
None can be nearer, fairer or dearer,
Than Thou, my Savior, art to me.

"Fairest Lord Jesus"
an anonymous German Jesuit

The Bride eyes not her garment, but her dear Bridegroom’s face;
I will not gaze at glory but on my King of grace.
Not at the crown He giveth but on His pierced hand;
The Lamb is all the glory of Immanuel’s land.

"The Sands of Time Are Sinking"
Anne R. Cousin

courtesy of the Cyberhymnal

a Christian: then and now

2006-09-27T23:58:00.000-05:00

I've been feeling particularly weak and worn out these past few days. Whether you call it a spiritual trough, "the dumps," backsliding, or by any other name, no words can fully express the dreadful emptiness of turning away from God.

I guess it's inevitable that all of us Christians experience this one time or another in this narrow path to Life. But, oh, what I would give up not to be in this wretched predicament ever again!

After washing down my woes with warm shower water for half an hour, I pulled out Desiring God from my bookshelf. From the very long list of books I've read since second grade (which, jfytk,* includes almost all of Stephen King's novels) it stands out with the select few that have profoundly influenced and radically changed my thought life and world view.

With a brief but heartfelt prayer that God would moisten this hard rock of my heart with His life-giving dew, I leafed through the well-thumbed pages and started to read.

Let me now share to you this passage -- one of the most underlined sections in my copy of the book (I always use a number 2 pencil instead of a neon highlighter. The intense green, pink, or any other color, for that matter, overwhelms my eyes. Plus, I can erase pencil marks with ease) -- which time and again has moved my heart to shout with joy at the abundance of His grace.

Once we had no delight in God, and Christ was just a vague historical figure. What we enjoyed was food and friendships and productivity and investments and vacations and hobbies and games and reading and shopping and sex and sports and art and TV and travel ... but not God. He was an idea -- even a good one -- and a topic for discussion; but he was not a treasure of delight.

Then something miraculous happened. It was like the opening of the eyes of the blind during the golden dawn. First the stunned silence before the unspeakable beauty of holiness. Then a shock and terror that we had actually loved the darkness. Then the settling stillness of joy that this is the soul's end. The quest is over. We would give anything if we might be granted to live in the presence of this glory forever and ever.

And then faith -- the confidence that Christ has made a way for me, a sinner, to live in his glorious fellowship forever, the confidence that if I come to God with Christ, he will give me the desire of my heart to share his holiness and behold His glory.

Nice, ano? It makes me want to sing.
________

* Pastor Bob, the preacher at Higher Rock, used this really amusing way of introducing a digression in one of his sermons. It means "just for you to know," and is pronounced just as it's spelled: "J-F-Y-T-K." Hehe.

a morning meditation

2006-09-27T08:38:00.000-05:00

"Just as the Father loves Me, I also love You." John 15:9

The Son of God, Who is God Himself, loves us with such intensity and intimacy as His Father's love for Him.

The inexpressible delight He enjoys in fellowship with the Father and the Spirit, He longs to share with us forever. With the very same bloodthirsty criminals who howled, "Crucify Him! Crucify Him! His blood be on us and upon our children." And because of this great love He endured the cruel thorns and nails of the cross.

Doesn't that take your breath away?

the Word in Oasnon

2006-09-14T11:48:00.000-05:00

This article from Christianity Today describes the immediate need to translate the Bible into every dialect and language possible. Less than ten percent of the world's languages, it says, have a translation of the Old Testament.

I know that there's a PBS-published Bible in standard Bicol, but the latter, the lingua franca in our region, is still hard to understand for the folks who live in the most secluded barangays of my hometown, Oas. Indeed, if we are to fulfill our mission to preach the Gospel to the nations, we need to translate the Word into a form could be understood by everyone. So here's my shot at it:

"Sa kapinu'nan, ginibo ning Diyos kan langit ni kina'ban." (Genesis 1:1)

Believe it or not, it took me more than a minute of racking my brains to find the most appropriate translation for "earth." (kina'ban). I knew it started with "k" and ended with "an" but I didn't quite get it until after a while. I practically grew up in Daraga and in neighboring Legazpi City, and I spoke Oasnon only at home. Hence this tragic ignorance of my native dialect.

But come to think of it, Hebrew was virtually a dead language a hundred years ago. Now the national language of the state of Israel, it's used by more than fifteen million Jews all over the world. If He could resurrect the language of His chosen people from the ashes of the centuries, couldn't He enable me to re-learn Oasnon? Who knows, maybe Bible translation really is my calling. Hehe. Only time will tell.

incomparable love and mercy

2006-09-14T02:10:00.000-05:00

The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.

He will not always accuse, nor harbor His anger forever.
He does deal with us according to our sins,
nor repay according to our iniquities.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is His steadfast love toward those who fear Him;

As far as the east is from the west,
so far does He remove our transgressions from us.

Psalm 103:8-12

a letter from an atheist

2006-09-14T01:44:00.000-05:00

"You are really convinced that you've got all the answers. You've really got yourself tricked into believing that you're 100% right. Well, let me tell you just one thing. Do you consider yourself to be compassionate of other humans? If you're right, as you say you are, and you believe that, then how can you sleep at night? When you speak with me, you are speaking with someone who you believe is walking directly into eternal damnation, into an endless onslaught of horrendous pain which your 'loving' god created, yet you stand by and do nothing.

If you believed one bit that thousands every day were falling into an eternal and unchangeable fate, you should be running the streets mad with rage at their blindness. That's equivalent to standing on a street corner and watching every person that passes you walk blindly directly into the path of a bus and die, yet you stand idly by and do nothing. You're just twiddling your thumbs, happy in the knowledge that one day that 'walk' signal will shine your way across the road.

Think about it. Imagine the horrors Hell must have in store if the Bible is true. You're just going to allow that to happen and not care about saving anyone but yourself? If you're right then you're an uncaring, unemotional and purely selfish (expletive) that has no right to talk about subjects such as love and caring."

This quote is a portion of a letter from James Franz, a professing atheist, to an itinerant apologist named Ray Comfort.

Sure, James Franz is one of "them." Sure, he's a blasphemous God-hater. Sure, he's a deluded naturalist. Sure, his arguments against the existence of God are rooted in nothing but a deep-seated love for the lusts of this world. But you know what? He's absolutely right.

Aren't we Christians being too complacent to the terrible truth of Hell? How many people have each of us shared the Gospel to? What about that girl who sits beside you in your Psychology class? What about Manong Juan, that security guard who mans the information desk at your dorm? What about dear old Auntie Bik and Uncle 'Tog, and all your relatives who live back at your hometown?

Since we first believed, to how many of our unbelieving friends did we evangelize in the same way the Gospel was presented to us? Do we shine as His lights to this fallen world as we were commissioned to do?

I am afraid of answering these questions myself, because it shows how far I fall short of what He has commanded me. What about you, dear reader? May this letter stab us broad awake to the reality of God's wrath and man's hopeless depravity. May the great business of our lives be this: to be bold witnesses of the cross of Christ to those in darkness.

I pray that when we ask ourselves these questions again, a day, a month, even a year from now, we won't turn to Him red-faced with shame, and confess, "I buried Your talent in the ground. Here, what You have is Yours."

one man's faith

2006-09-14T00:12:00.000-05:00

There he sat beneath the shade of an acacia tree, squatting on a gnarled root that jutted out of the dry grass. He was a revolting sight. Besides that he was naked except for a tattered piece of loincloth, every square inch of his body was dotted by clusters of bulbous, pulsating boils that glistened under the light of noonday.

His name was Job. Less than two weeks ago, he was the richest man in Uz, father to ten beautiful lads and ladies, lord of a thousand flocks of sheep and camels, master of a whole caravan of servants. Now, he was a pathetic boil-infested beggar on the road, left for dead by his wife ("Curse God and die!" she jeered, and left him in a huff) and ostracized by the very city he himself built.

One day, while the hot desert sun dragged itself across the cloudless sky, a young traveler, perhaps moved to pity by Job's plight, ventured to drop a copper coin on his begging bowl, and observed what the poor old man might do.

But Job never looked up. He was bent over, trying to reach a huge carbuncle on the middle of his back with a claypot shard. And then it broke. Blood and pus oozed out of the freshly opened wound, attracting a cloud of buzzing horseflies. And yet, beneath the searing pain on his back there remained that maddening itch.

"Oh God!" He sobbed, his agonized groans echoing through the rocky hills.

The boy stood still, biting his lip. Finally, with a look of anguished pity and revulsion on his face, he whispered, almost imperceptibly, "God bless you, Job." And then he scurried back to his family's camels and joined his parents.

Oh, how I wish that, in the face of the darkest trials, when everything dear and precious to me is stripped away and cast into the merciless flames of time, I could still honestly shout with all my heart Job's unforgettable words.

Though He slay me, yet I will hope in Him.

on humility again

2006-09-13T12:55:00.000-05:00

Humility is not so much a matter of putting oneself down and trampling on one's self esteem. Nor is it pretending to be deaf when a friend approaches you and tells you how much he admires your writing style.

It is owning up to the fact that God is the Sovereign Lord of the earth, and that one is a mere finite creature. It is an admission of complete dependence on His will, that one's entire existence is nothing but an undeserved gift from Him.

Humility is the most admirable of all virtues because it ascribes glory not to its possessor, but to God.

dead-tired

2006-09-06T23:51:00.000-05:00

After walking down the aisles at HEB in McAllen for half an hour and finishing a towering pile of greasy Tupperware containers with a flimsy sponge upon arriving home, I'm too sleepy and tired to write something substantial.

Let me direct you instead to the newly re-designed Desiring God website. To those who don't know me well, John Piper is my favorite pastor, counselor and writer all rolled into one -- even though he never has spoken a word to me, nor even thought that I ever existed.

Suffice it to say that I have greatly benefited from Pastor John's sermons and writings, which you may freely access at the said website. Enjoy!

for a change

2006-08-30T13:42:00.000-05:00

Most of you, I know, are as tired of my whining as I am.

So, to celebrate the slow death of the ever-snotty and sulk-prone Jef (Oh, how I wish he'd drop dead today. But then again, I'd be strumming my harp to the tune of "Crown Him With Many Crowns" far above the stratosphere when that happens. Haha) and also the start of a new semester, I junked this template I've been tweaking since time immemorial (it was formerly known as "Jellyfish" in the original list of Blogger templates) for something a bit more visually appealing.

ta da!

... (crickets chirping)

Watcha think?

Thanks to Razel who gave me the idea (indirectly, that is. I'm such a copycat. Haha) and kudos to Gecko and Fly for open-sourcing this template and to Google for providing the world with an excellent search engine.

ramblings

2006-08-21T08:14:00.000-05:00

I will not pretend that I am unaware of this blog's pathetic plight. In fact, I've been trying to avoid dropping by my own site, because the slightest sight of its decrepit layout and long-overdue posts and unanswered comments makes me shudder with stomach-churning revulsion.

I have been writing only in sporadic outbursts -- which is not a very good way of imparting one's daily thoughts to his friends, to say the least. Truth be told, I'm still sick. Weak. Empty.

And when I am, I stop thinking. Instead of captivating my senses with the manifold glories of Him in the world He created, I withdraw myself like a hermit crab into the dark and filthy shell-hole that is me -- the other me. And then I squat in that cramped corner, hug my knees with sweaty hands, and listen in utter dejection to everything the other Jef says.

What's more shocking is the almost absolute submission I have to everything he asks me to think and do. To think that I've been a Christian two years already, and yet I still stumble over the very same sins that enslaved me.

In the last chapter of his most famous book, Mere Christianity, CS Lewis wrote: "When you look for yourself (and into yourself, I'd like to add), you will find in the long run (even in the short run) hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay."

Mr. Lewis, you are so right.

-------------------
"The heart is deceitful above all things,
and desperately sick;
who can understand it?"
Jeremiah 17:9
-------------------

Thank you, my dear friends, for remembering. No, I didn't forget.

a request

2006-08-13T08:29:00.000-05:00

Dear friend,

Please pray for me.

For the past several weeks, yet again, I've been wallowing in the filthy pigsty of this sinful world instead of feasting with our Father at His table. Just as that fatal bite of Adam was a regrettable mistake, my decision to wander from the path of faith in His grace into the wilderness of sin is too.

In a few minutes, I will have gone to church. Please pray that His Spirit may quicken my heart and douse the smoldering embers of what's left of my faith with the gasoline of His truth.

your brother,
Jef

on looking

2006-08-08T17:55:00.000-05:00

For every one look at your sins, take ten looks at Christ.

-- Robert Murray McCheyne

a summer shower

2006-07-26T09:57:00.000-05:00

Eight thousand five hundred miles across the globe, Typhoon Glenda -- which for some weird reason is a namesake of a good friend of mine -- pounded the coasts of Luzon with bullet-sized raindrops and 170 kph winds.

Tired perhaps of the striking ironies of life in that vast archipelago I still call home, she headed for China, and left in her wake two dead, several thousands homeless, and a hundred or so UP students ecstatic.

Meanwhile, here in South Texas, the weather was exactly the opposite. The sun had become a monstrous yellow fireball that mercilessly beat down on our tired brown faces. The hot air hung like a curse, and tormented us with breezes that stung the skin.

But yesterday was different. The sun, nowhere to be seen, lay hidden behind a patch of gloom. A pillar of grey and brooding clouds cast a veil-like shadow on the landscape. For a long time it stood still there on the horizon, waiting, seemingly reluctant to release its precious cargo.

I was loading the laundry-filled hamper onto the car when little wet brown circles started mushrooming on the dusty asphalt. Halfway towards the laundry shop, the slow drizzle matured into a hearty rain. Rain!

Like a delighted child I peered through the car window and watched those thin silver streaks whisk past the car window. I closed my eyes and listened to the ceaseless pattering on the windshield, imagining those cold and rainy afternoons when I snuggled into the warm comforts of my grandmother's embrace and slept and slept.

When I got out to pick up the laundry at the trunk of the car, that distinctively musky and earthy after-rain smell flooded my nostrils. Sadly, I am not one of those who rank petrichor as their favorite smell. On the contrary, I find it -- which comes from the oily secretions of some plants and the spores of a certain kind of bacteria named actinomycetes -- horribly nauseating, like a cross between a Mideastern man's armpit and a musty cellar. So does my brother, by the way. Maybe it runs in the family. Hehe.

So I held my breath, quickly fled into the welcoming doors of Maytag -- the "homestyle" laundry shop, bragged the sign outside -- and watched as those airborne molecules from the Gulf of Mexico once again underwent that stage of the timeless water cycle called precipitation.

Ten minutes later, as quickly as it came, the rain was gone.

And then I remembered a verse each from the Psalms and the Gospel of Matthew. The first I picked up from one of John Piper's meditations on "the Pleasures of God" (Chapter 2, I think). The second I had underlined on my Bible during one of my quiet times before, hoping that it would stick to my mind much longer than a Post-it would to the smooth surface of a refrigerator door.

He it is who makes the clouds rise at the end of the earth, who makes lightnings for the rain and brings forth the wind from his storehouses. -- Psalm 135:7

He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. -- Matthew 5:45

I stared through the raindrop-spattered windows, past the steel wire fence in front of Maytag, past those scraggly mesquite trees and rusting roofs, into the pink and orange horizon and wondered.

Why would the sovereign and holy God of the Universe care to lavish such a precious gift as rain into rotting corpses such as we? Why would He even suffer His only Son to die a criminal's death on a wooden cross, for a race of puny beings who have so long lifted their hands against their Maker in rebellion?

How incomprehensible, but how wondrous, is that thing we call grace.

a memory unearthed

2006-07-24T09:02:00.000-05:00

I knew it.

I knew something was amiss these past few days. A vague, hazy feeling of something like nostalgia had been lingering over my wretched mind since Saturday, the 21st.

But I wasn't sure why I felt like that, or where that feeling came from. Trying to remember felt like groping and futilely waving my arms into an impalpable fog.

Then I saw a long-haired and much fatter version of myself amidst a throng of beloved friends. And read a short (but oh-so-long-awaited) word from a brother.

I remembered. Thanks, Paul.

a reminder

2006-07-20T07:44:00.000-05:00

All flesh is grass,
and all its beauty
is like the flower of the field.

The grass withers,
the flower fades,
but the Word of our God
will stand forever.

-- the prophet Isaiah

long time no blog

2006-06-21T09:30:00.000-05:00

I've been endlessly scratching my head and wringing my hands over this every time I try to write something -- a letter, a blog post, a position paper, or whatever:

Is it a mortal sin to consult my thesaurus when I write? Will a continual use of that massive word-filled tome gradually transform me into a weak-kneed synonym junkie? Or is it a perfectly acceptable tool [=crutch] for struggling amateurs like me that will, in the end, improve my writing?

To fellow writers and bloggers out there -- board-certified or not -- please, I need your two cents. Thanks.

one Sunday morning

2006-05-22T04:30:00.000-05:00

BEEP BEEP BEEP BE--thwack.

It's Sunday morning. With my face still buried under my pillows, I fumble for the shrieking alarm and swat the snooze button. I rub the sleep off my eyes and stare at the red digits of the clock. 7:30, it reads.

"Lord, forgive my laziness. Rouse this wretched body of mine with your Spirit. Cleanse my lips from presumptuous sins, that I may be worthy to sing you praises today. I am yours, Lord." I pray silently, while I muster enough willpower to lift myself out of the bed.

I get up, stretch my aching limbs and yawn like a hibernating grizzly. I'm awake. Still a tad drowsy, but awake. The rest of my family continue to doze. I hear my father's trademark snores resound through the thin wooden walls of our apartment. They won't be waking up until three hours later.

Thirty minutes later, after a quick shower and a breakfast of a small bowl of milk and cereal, I walk out of the house. I silently close the door, twisting the doorknob again to make sure that I locked it properly. I reach for my cellphone and call Pastor Guillermo.

"Good morning, Pastor Guillermo! How are you today? Can I hitch with you again?" Sure, he says. He'll be at my place in seven minutes. I tell him that I'm ready, and I'll just be meeting him outside.

It's still early. The morning Texas sun peeks from a clump of feathery clouds, and bathes my face with cool rays of light. A breeze wafts from the rugged mesquite trees nearby, where some sparrows twitter and flit from branch to branch. I inhale deeply, and smell the earthy fragrance of summer grass.

A black pick-up truck stops in front of our apartment. I run to it and open the car door. Pastor Guillermo's friendly face greets me. "Where are your kids?" I ask. Omar and the other guys are still at home, he replies. They had attended a quinceanera the previous night, and they got back home really late. They'll be going to the eleven o'clock service instead with their mother.

In a short while, we lurch to a stop in front of an ancient red-bricked building: our church, First Baptist Church Weslaco. After thanking Pastor Guillermo profusely for the ride, I head to the library.

I stay there for fifteen minutes, while waiting for the first service to start. I thumb through titles like, "Church History" and "The Cost of Discipleship." The latter catches my attention. It's by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the young German theologian who was martyred during the Third Reich. I take out the borrower's card, fill it out, and drop it into the box. After stashing the book into my backpack, I go up the stairs to the main hall.

I gingerly walk through the aisle and settle myself on the second pew from the front. The choir, largely composed of elderly people, enters through the back doors and position themselves on the sanctuary. Bobbi and James, my friends from Sunday school, and the youngest members of the choir, wave at me. I wave and grin back.

Melodious strains of background piano music slowly fill the hall. The choir stands up, opens their song folders, and starts to sing "To God Be the Glory."

Immediately I am on my feet. I close my eyes. And I see Him.

I love you, Lord, for you loved me first,
you fill my gaps and quench my thirst.

reality check

2006-05-19T13:41:00.000-05:00

For those who have been waiting wearily for my post on the interview for two weeks already and still are, this update is for you. My blogging instincts have repeatedly urged me that I need to update as soon as possible. So I came up with this mixed bag of a post about several things:

1. There's nothing like feasting on free sumptuous hospital food at the Rio Grande Regional Hospital. I am not joking -- "sumptuous hospital food" is not a contradiction in terms. The entrees at Rio Grande's cafeteria are an exception to the definition, really! To prove it to you, I'll take some pictures next time. Hehe.

This week, my father and I have volunteered for three days straight since Wednesday. With virtually nothing to do at home, we decided to work thrice a week to complete the 150 hours before the fall semester starts. We've already accumulated a little more than fifty hours since we started last March. There's still a hundred more to go before both of us could qualify for the scholarship, but I'm not really worried about it, because the fall semester at UTPA and STC won't begin until late August.

I'm immensely enjoying it. Upon arriving at the hospital around 4 in the afternoon, I would lazily splay myself on the very comfortable office chair (with wheels) at the information desk. And every time a visitor would approach me I'd chant, "Hello, how may I help you?" while I sport a toothy and sheepish grin on my face.

It's a no-brainer, but at least I get to practice my enunciation. In English, that is. "Perdon, no hablo Espanol," I would tell the Mexican visitors. I would summon the security guard, who would then translate for them. The shift lasts for four hours, and we stop giving out visitor passes at eight.

2. The good news is, I had been accepted to the Ambassadors program. The interview was OK. A panel of three friendly women asked me questions like, "Can you give us examples where you took on personal responsibility upon yourself?" -- to which I answered, "For five years, I lived in a dormitory, away from my family, while I went to school. I guess that's a very good example, because I learned to live and take care of myself," and so on.

The bad news is, the $6/hour "stipend" is considered employment, and I won't be receiving any cash for my service. But thank God for not leaving me without a consolation. Ms. Broshears, the officer-in-charge, assured me that they'll be giving a stipend of 200 dollars to each Ambassador for the leadership and freshmen camps, and they won't be withholding that from me.

3. The Office of Student Development approved our application for office space next year! We're entitled to a spacious and professional-looking cubicle at the second floor, complete with four chairs and a table. May tambayan na kami, yey! I'll be spending much more time with my fellow Crusaders (that's what we call ourselves), whom I've only seen once a week last year.

4. My mother convinced me a few nights ago to try staying behind the steering wheel. It's indispensable to know how to drive here in the States -- you'd get nowhere if you didn't. My father will be having his clinicals this fall if he gets admitted into the program. His schedule will be incompatible with mine, and I will have to drive from UTPA to STC to pick him up.

To avoid any accidents, we went to an uninhabited subdivision five minutes from our apartment. As usual, I was nervous, even though I drove only at 20 mph. I clutched the steering wheel with clammy hands and put my trembling right foot on the accelerator. Vroom! The car jerked forward as if being pulled by a giant magnet. "Dahan-dahan lang," my mother warned. Apparently, our car's pedals are very sensitive -- even the slightest increment in my foot's push spelled a 5 mph difference.

Fortunately, I wasn't my clumsy and destructive self that night. I didn't crash into a garage -- which I almost did the first time I drove last August -- but I had to endure quite a few exasperated shouts of "Mali, hindi mo pa rin nakukuha, ay ewan!" from my mother.

5. Lastly, and most important of all, I met with Him two days ago. It was three in the morning. I was awake and alone, waiting for my God to descend on this crooked heart. He did. And, oh, how great and terrible is the God of the Universe, the Holy One of Israel who reigns on high! But how tender and sweet are His caresses! I will write about what I learned from Him in another post.

excursus

2006-05-18T17:33:00.000-05:00

I wrote this on my notebook a few days ago. But it's not about the Ambassadors program, nor about the first few days of my summer vacation. It's about a far more pressing matter that I need you to be informed about. After all, said one good friend, Christianity is inevitably corporate.

I'm having chest pains.

My heart, ever the desire factory, has been churning out nothing but putrid sludge for the past few weeks. What's worse, there's nothing that I can do about it. I watch helplessly while my own filth threatens to drown me. My heart is hidden in a crevice too deep that's out of reach from my mind's prying hands.

It is impossible to force my fickle heart to love what it despises and despise what it loves. What a tragic discovery this is! I just can't make myself like what I loathe. Desire, hatred, rage, delight -- they are all unpredictably spontaneous. They are the tide on the shores of my psyche.

And so it is with my feelings for Him. I don't desire God right now.

I'd rather be a post-doctoral research fellow in Johns Hopkins, studying cellular and molecular immunology, than be with God. Let alone be a missionary in the steaming jungles of New Guinea, sharing the "Good News" ("What's so good about it anyway?" I ask myself derisively) to a posse of natives who are about to butcher me for dinner.

I don't desire God.

I'd rather enjoy a good laugh watching Raven's antics on Disney channel than sit down and have my quiet time. All those tiny meaningless words on those fragile brown pages of my Bible put me to sleep faster than a handful of Ambien pills.

I hate God. I hate the Light because He reveals my darkness.

I know I deserve to be cast into the deepest pits of hellfire for forsaking Him, the most beautiful and perfect Person that ever was or will be, for something as cheap as a temporary A on my college transcript. Or a three-second high. Or a few extra dollars on my allowance.

And yet, I don't feel remorse, even though I'm still helplessly groping in this dark chasm. Oh, how dead and blind I am not to realize my plight! How wretched, weak and sinfully guilty! Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!

faux pas

2006-05-13T14:24:00.000-05:00

Wondering why I withdrew my birthday post for a while? It's certainly not because I was overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment at being so boringly unoriginal. Come to think of it, is there really such a thing as pure originality? Hehe. Naah, I'm kidding you, Lance.

It's because of this: in a sneaky attempt to make my birthday post appear perfectly congruous and well-timed, I decided to cheat -- a little bit -- and made a few, erm, adjustments. I backtracked my post date by two days.

It was only a few hours later, while I was washing my drowsiness off with a stream of warm shower water, that I realized my gigantic mistake. It wouldn't take a historian to realize the very obvious chronological inconsistency in my post. How in the world would I know the people who would greet me the following day?

So I withdrew it yesterday, before we left for the hospital. I got to change it just now. Hehe. Sorry.

There will be more posts to come. Yes, including that about the interview. Hehe. But before doing those, I'll be writing the cheesiest replies to my friends' letters. Thanks for writing, friends!

Adiós. Para ahora.

sem-ender b-day

2006-05-12T16:27:00.000-05:00

There couldn't be a happier ending for me to the semester -- much more, the whole school year -- than having it on the tenth of May.

Yes, I turned 18 ~~today~~ two days ago.

It still amazes me that God, in His overflowing grace, would give another year to a scoundrel such as I. Oh, that I may use my new-found freedom wisely. That I may turn back from the fruitless joys of this fallen world, and seek the River of delights Himself.

Thank you so much for remembering, friends. It comforts me to know that 8,000 miles away on the other side of the world, there live people who still care for me and remember me in their prayers.

It is my pleasure to honor you in this post. (It's a blogger thing. Or tradition. wink-wink. Hehe. In any case, I got it from Lance. So blame him for the corniness. Hehe.) In no particular order,

Neil Rufo. MM Taverner. Justine Recierdo. Paul Balite. Macky Agarrado. Vanessa Gumban. Lance Catedral. Ate April Abesamis. Carol Eduarte. Ate Jhoanna Isla. Glenda Garcia. Jac Libatique. Kuya Butch Pang. Sabrina Par. Pauline Alvarado. Venice Buagnin. Krizelle Distor. Kristine Distor. Acielle Garcera. Babelyn Dimabayao. Jaifred Lopez. Nikki Realubit. Karen Hermoso.

I apologize to the people I did not list.

snapping on a bait of $6/hr

2006-05-04T23:28:00.000-05:00

One sweltering afternoon, about a month and a half ago, I stopped by the pathway outside our apartment and opened that rusty metal locker that was marked 15.

To my pleasant surprise, in there, amidst a pile of junk mail, sat an envelope that was addressed to a certain "Mr. Jose Faustino Sala." (Just so that you'll know, dear reader, that's me. I know, my name's strangely archaic. Blame it on my parents.)

I rarely get mail -- unlike my mother, who receives print ads and credit card offers almost every day, not to mention phone and electricity bills. And, boy, when I do get mail, I'd be as excited as when I'm greeted on the computer screen by a long-awaited letter from a dear friend.

It was from the UTPA Ambassadors Office. They were looking for thirty well-qualified students who were willing to mentor talented freshmen and represent the school in various social events next school year. (Guess what they're called? University Ambassadors. Took you a year to figure that out, huh? Haha.)

Because of my "academic achievements," as the letter put it, they were inviting me to apply to the "highly prestigious program." I had to submit a completed information sheet, a recommendation letter from a professor, a copy of my transcript, and an essay that answered the question, "What's the most important advice about college life would you give to an incoming freshman?"

It was not the prestige of being an Ambassador, nor the prospect of meeting new friends that caught my rapt attention. What did, and fully convinced me to apply, was that the Student Ambassadors will be awarded a stipend of 6 dollars for every hour of service in the program. I get paid! (!!!) In the barren pond of H4 visa unemployment, it was a rare and juicy treat for a starving carp like me. And I swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker. After all, I thought, the stipends are scholarship money, and won't be considered as wages.

So I really prepared for my application, and submitted the requirements on time. Dr. Materon, my Microbiology professor, gladly agreed to write me a very affirming letter. I managed to whip up the application esssay the night before the deadline. (It was quite substantial, but so-so. I'll spare myself the embarrassment, and I won't post it here. Haha.)

After two weeks of mild anticipation, I received a voice message from the Office. I was told to contact the Ambassadors Office ASAP to schedule my interview. Out of the hundred students who applied, I was apparently among the forty who qualified. (I'm almost sure you'd imagine me shrieking with delight when I got the news. But I assure you, I didn't. I merely smiled. I don't really know why. Maybe I was expecting it. Hehe. Shoot me for my arrogance, now, quick!)

I immediately went to the office, and talked to Kristina, the student-in-charge. I reluctantly agreed to have it on the fourth of May, because my last Org. Chem. long test was on the same day. (which is, by the way, six days before ehrm ehrm. Don't you dare forget! Haha.)

I arrived at UTPA fifteen minutes before nine today. The campus was markedly devoid of students. The Student Union, which was usually jam-packed with herds of chattering students, was almost empty. I headed towards the University Center, where I was going to be interviewed.

The office was still locked when I got there. After a few minutes of twiddling my fingers on the glass table, and anxiously looking around for an approaching person, I was greeted by Kristina's friendly face and a cheery "Hi! Are you ready for the interview?"

Being a man of few words in times of distress, I just grinned and muttered, "I am." And feeling much like a lamb about to be shorn of its fur, I quietly followed in her wake.

That was long. That's yet another reason why I should update my blog regularly: I wouldn't have to write treatises as long as this every time I want to share you something interesting.

But my eyebags are hanging out on my cheeks like lead weights. I've incurred enough sleep debt to declare bankruptcy. But tomorrow's another day. A dead day, which means no classes for me! I'll finish this tomorrow. I hope. Hehe.

one week to go

2006-05-04T23:15:00.000-05:00

before the semester ends.

Three final exams to ~~over~~prepare for before I quit roaming the wide and pigeon-poop-reeking walkways of UTPA for three long months.

So, dear reader, until then.

random thoughts... again

2006-04-27T16:58:00.000-05:00

I haven't been able to update my blog regularly these days. (Forgive me for stating the obvious. Hehe) I know, it's a terrible pity. My visitors and friends don't know a thing about me and my life here in Texas. I haven't replied to their emails, nor answered their YM messages.

It's probably because I do such a sleazy job in managing my time. When the deadlines for unwritten lab reports and online quizzes loom ever so near, it's almost impossible for me to think of anything interesting to write about.

And so, in the few moments I could spare from the hustle and bustle of each day, the most I could do while surfing the Net is posting very brief comments on my friends' blogs.

On second thought, maybe I'm just being too lazy. When there's nothing left to do, snoozing, for me, is and always will be a more delightful recreation than writing. Haha.

But fortunately, the semester will be over in two weeks. No more pre-labs on nucleophiles and IR spectra, or midterm papers about the Mexican American War. Plus, I won't be taking summer classes, so I'll be free to do as I please for three long months!

Cancel that thought. I still can't drive. Here in the vast expanse of South Texas, it's either I drive a car, or I'm stranded where I'm at (unless a kind stranger offers me a ride.) Forget about walking -- after a few minutes outside, I'd be withering under the sizzling rays of the summer sun like straw in the furnace. It's hot here. As in, hot-hot.

And besides, the restaurants and supermarkets and whatnot are so far apart that it'd take me 15 minutes to trudge from one place to another. Without one of my parents driving the car, I'd be stuck in our crummy apartment for the rest of my vacation.

Oh, I forgot to tell ya, my father and I will be volunteering at the Rio Grande Regional Hospital in McAllen. After we'll have completed a hundred and fifty hours of volunteer service, we'll be eligible for a thousand-dollar scholarship apiece. And it's very easy to qualify for it, they said. Astig, 'no? Volunteer na nga, may bayad pa. Haha.

hope for us fallen

2006-04-12T03:10:00.000-05:00

"Rejoice not over me, O my enemy,
when I fall, I shall rise.
When I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be a light to me.

I will bear the indignation of the Lord
because I have sinned against him,
until he pleads my cause
and executes judgment for me.
He will bring me out to the light."

Micah 7:8-9

backslider no. 2

2006-04-03T02:04:00.000-05:00

There is a vast difference between a backslider who refuses to realize his folly and continues in his sin, and yet utters words of praise, and a backslider, who, after repenting and crying out to his God and Father for help, praises Him for opening his eyes and restoring him to the road to holiness.

The first one is a double-talking hypocrite. He could either be an especially sin-hardened Christian, or worse, a wolf in sheep's clothing. The second one is the prodigal son (Lk. 15:11).

Though his face is streaked with dirt and mud, though he is still clad in filthy rags that reek of pig refuse, he runs down the hill to meet his Father's welcoming arms, and weeps tears of sorrow and joy on his father's bosom. There is sorrow over his waywardness and stupidity, but there is joy over his Father's great love for him.

I am he. I am the second backslider. But, I confess, there are times when I act like the first. If you catch me with such an abominable attitude, please pray for me. And whack me on the head several times with a 2-by-4. Hehehe. Naah. Please, reprove me in the way Jesus would have done.

It is so wonderful that there would be exceeding joy and gladness in heaven because of me (Lk 15:7)-- well, not entirely because of me -- because God restored and reconciled to Himself a sinner so wretched and undeserving and hopeless. God is so good!

You're right, Paul. I cannot write words of exhortation when I backslide -- much less write about anything. He takes away my words, my writing, when I sin. The faucet of my creative juice sputters and runs dry when I try to use it to impress others.

It is His way, I think, of reminding me that there is nothing I possess which He has not given to me out of His abundant grace, and, just as Lance has written me, that He has the full right and power to take away from me whatever He wants to.

praise from the mouth of a backslider

2006-03-30T23:51:00.000-06:00

It has been more than two weeks (16 days, to be exact) since my last update. And to my visitors' disappointment (and mine too), they've been seeing nothing but an ancient post on a moth-eaten blog – and also, a picture of me wearing a sickeningly wide-mouthed smile, which I've been wanting to replace since last December.

I've been through so much these past days. I fell two Sundays ago, and I fell hard. My sin ravaged my soul to pieces, and kept me from my daily meditations on His Word. Until now, I'm still reeling from the after-effects of toying with the enemy's fiery darts. "For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing." (Rom 7:19)

While His sheep grazed in the verdant pastures where the Sheperd led them, I chose to wander into a barren wasteland. The cataracts of my sin blocked my eyes, and I lost sight of Him. And instead of seeking what is infinitely desirable, I settled for what is empty. And ephemeral. But, by "the richness of His kindness and forbeareance," (Rom 2:4) He did not let me go that easily. How painful, but so very precious, is His chastisement!

God in math

2006-03-14T14:10:00.000-06:00

Euler's Identity

Who would have thought that mere numbers would testify for the Great Architect?

Read this excellent article from Christianity Today Online.

Though sword and fire and persecution and death may temporarily extinguish the fires of Christian testimony, the Universe cannot be silenced. God exists! =D

God and heroin

2006-03-10T11:47:00.000-06:00

Christians are divine heroin addicts. (Say what??) Don't worry, you read me right. You're not having eye problems. We are divine heroin addicts. Let me explain why this metaphor, bizarre as it may sound, actually is appropriate.

One snort of even the tiniest amount of heroin can get a man hooked for life. It can enslave any man, from the filthy rich celebrities in Hollywood, to the vagrants who listlessly wander the streets of Los Angeles.

On the other hand, a single beam of the Light God sheds on the man whom He chooses can miraculously take his dead heart captive -- not only in this life, but in the next. More so, this God-Light, like heroin, ignores age, tongue, culture or color.

As time goes by, a junkie will crave for ever-increasing doses of heroin to "get high," to experience the euphoria of heroin coursing through his brain. His neural receptors, having been blocked by diacetylmorphine molecules, will signal the brain to drastically reduce the production of natural endorphins, or pain-killers. This causes the junkie an irresistible physical dependence to heroin.

And just like a drug-dependent junkie needing larger doses, a growing Christian will slowly be dissatisfied, little by little, with the fleeting glimpses of God in Isaiah 6 and Daniel 4. He will want so much more than that. He will long to see God -- to actually see Him, to feel His awesome radiance overwhelm the depths of his soul.

A junkie can't live another day without snorting or injecting heroin. If he doesn't, he suffers withdrawal, an agonizing set of symptoms that include cold sweat and goosebumps and body itches -- hence the colloquial term, "cold turkey." In some extreme cases, an addict trying to quit suffers unimaginable pain (even in the absence of physical trauma) that can only be relieved by another large dose of heroin.

A Christian can't live even a minute without God. He humbly recognizes that his entire existence -- everything in him -- is dependent on Him. Though he may run away from Him countless times and plunge into the stinking quagmire of sin he was rescued from, he will inevitably retrace his steps back to His fold. Because he knows, he knows deep inside that He alone satisfies.

The great tragedy with heroin addiction is it can lead a junkie to take a step too far, one irrevocable step into his pitiful habit: he can die of drug overdose. If he takes a milligram more than heroin's LD50 (50% lethal dose), that odious snort could be the final nail on his coffin.

But unlike heroin junkies, a Christian can never be OD'd with God. Though his thirst for the Living Water is unquenchable, the fountain of Living Water is inexhaustible as well. It will take eternities for God to reveal His hidden glories to the Christian, and for the Christian to scale in awe and wonder the breathtaking mountain peaks of the glory of God.

humility

2006-03-03T01:15:00.000-06:00

What is it with humility that makes it the most elusive of all virtues? One who thinks he is humble actually isn't, my pastor once said in a sermon. By experience, I know this is true. But it's still a mind-boggling paradox.

Of course there's an exception. Jesus Himself said He was meek and humble of heart. Matt. 11:29 Anything less than that, I think, would be utter blasphemy.

But anyway. Thinking that I'm humble makes me feel very uneasy, especially when I feel that I'm victorious against my own proud spirit. I know something's wrong with the picture. I just can't say exactly what it is.

m&m's

2006-03-01T13:24:00.000-06:00

I tear open the bag
and pop those small balls
of yellow, green and red
into my mouth
I sink my teeth
into the sweet candy coating
and enjoy the velvety feel
of melting chocolate
Suddenly I stop chewing
and wonder
how many Calories
I just gained

freedom

2006-02-25T11:07:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, the battle between the two warring persons inside of me -- the wretched sin-besotted old Jef, and the new immortal Spirit-made Jef -- wearies me so much that I weakly lay down my hands in surrender, completely vulnerable.

And during those times when I'm caught off-guard, the adversary comes in his full array of sugar-coated wiles -- those hateful (but oh-so-irresistible!) things. Then I feel as if my heart's being torn into two. "Wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from this body of death?" Rom 7:24

I should remember that I, by myself, am sinful, and cannot resist temptation without the Spirit's supernatural guidance. Fighting temptation through one's own righteousness is surely a lost cause. "For apart from Me, you can do nothing." John 15:5 Without His work of regeneration, I am a child of wrath, just as the rest of mankind. Eph. 2:3 I like how Manong Ralph put it in a comment on his blog: "Apart from His saving work, we remain a putrefying corpse."

But God, in His sovereign grace, always provides a way out of those seemingly insurmountable predicaments. 1 Cor. 10:12-13 The secret to overcoming temptation is trusting in God's complete ability to prevent you from sinning, and believing that lying down at His feet in humbled wonder will give so much more joy than the fleeting pleasures of sin.

Here's an exhortation from one of Dr. Piper's sermons on fighting temptation, a sure faith builder for the fallen Christian. He quotes it from The Freedom of A Christian, an essay by Martin Luther.

Although I am an unworthy and condemned man, my God has given me in Christ all the riches of righteousness and salvation without any merit on my part, out of pure, free mercy, so that from now on I need nothing except faith which believes that this is true. Why should I not therefore freely, joyfully, with all my heart, and with an eager will do all things which I know are pleasing and acceptable to such a Father who has overwhelmed me with his inestimable riches?

unbelief

2006-02-24T12:11:00.000-06:00

This will be the last time I will write about the mercury incident. My continual whining over such a petty incident annoys even myself, of all people.

The thermometer was busted. According to it, the air in our drawer was as hot as steam venting out of a whistling kettle -- it read 100 degrees. But the nerve endings on my hands, nor on Jessie's, didn't feel any heat. It was really busted. No wonder the melting point I got last week was so skewed, I thought.

So, I scooted over to the stockroom to get a replacement, and went on to finish our dyeing. (One thing I like about studying here in the States is that I won't have to raid my own pocket to pay for my clumsiness) And that's basically the end of this silly story.

So far, my sweaty hands haven't been ticcing, nor my hair falling out in thick clumps. I guess that's a good sign. Hehe. But you're right, Bambi, I really am paranoid, though I try my best not to be. Worrying too much about the slightest things is a sure sign of unbelief.

Can't He, who stretches out the heavens and the earth by Himself, and sustains the Universe's existence by His almighty command, who silences the wisest of men, and does whatever He wills, prevent me from a mere lab accident? Of course He can. If He wills me to be mercury-poisoned, I will be. But I am assured of one thing: if it does happen, it will redound to His greater glory, and with that I should be satisfied.

Oh, about the secret. I need quite some time to gather my thoughts about it. Of course I can blurt it out right now (_______ ____!) but that would simply not suffice. You'd be left open-mouthed and wondering why such a "horrible" (or so I thought) thing would happen to me.

I'll write about it over the weekend. I've gotten over the mind-numbing shock and disappointment of it all, but I want to share you some very important lessons He taught me as I brooded over my sin.

I'm sorry, my friends. It was originally my intention to prick your curious noses with my past post, but I now realize it was not too beneficial for both you and me. But please don't entertain fanciful speculations on what this "secret" could be. It's futile -- a little patience would do, you know.

secret

2006-02-23T12:45:00.000-06:00

I've been withholding a shocking secret from you since two weeks ago, dear reader, which you have the right to know. The cat has been yowling loud enough to drive me insane. And I think it's time for me to let it out of the bag.

...

On second thought, huwag muna. My Organic Chem lab class will start in 10 minutes. I have more than enough to worry about right now. Did I tell you about the mercury?

priorities

2006-02-21T03:19:00.000-06:00

Have you ever felt like your mind was about to explode, with a horde of words whirling inside, clumping into unformed sentences, while you nervously think that it's either you sit down and write and let all of it out right there and then, or you'll drop dead in an instant?

Well, I feel like that right now. Kind of.

It's not that I suddenly found the secret to all my writing woes by memorizing my copy of Roget's thesaurus that's reclining on my bookshelf, and now I'm trying to strut my newfound talent off in front of you. (Although I admit that I reallyfeel doing that sometimes. Shame on me, again)

I just want to tell you about some very interesting things that happened to me for the past few days. I want to recount what came to my deranged mind as I lay on my bed with cold sweat on my palms and feet, worrying about my blood stream's mercury levels. I want to tell you what I shared to my friends in Sunday School about God's sovereignty and man's free will, and what they felt -- or what I think they felt -- after hearing what I said.

Unfortunately, time does not permit. A lab report is waiting on the taskbar for a bit more polishing. My notes in psychology, which I have left untouched for the past few days are almost screaming out, READ ME! The lab rep is due later, and the exams on Mbio and Psych are on Wednesday.

I feel that He would be more pleased if I put off blogging until Thursday, and prepare for my exams instead. So there. No updates till then. In the meantime, to keep your spiritual cogs and wheels from sticking, I want you to ask yourselves:

Why does God love you? Why do we love God? What is the ultimate reason behind our love for Him and His love for us?

We'll compare answers next time. Or, if you want, you can answer right now and leave a comment on this post. Got it?

forgetfulness

2006-02-20T23:52:00.000-06:00

I am so forgetful.

I forget that everything in my life, my breath, my thoughts, my sight -- my entire existence -- I owe to Him. I forget that awesome thrill and deep joy I felt, when I beheld His glory in His Word, and, instead, settle for fleeting and illicit pleasures that do not satisfy. I forget that by myself, I am a wretched sinner, worse than the filthiest cockroach lurking through the sewers of New York.

But what a brokenhearted joy it is that despite my shortcomings, He will never forget me!

For the sake of His great Name He will not abandon me, nor turn me away. He Himself bore the stripes I deserved, and shed His own precious blood to wash me clean. He loves me, oh, He loves me even to the end, and He will carry me Home.

Let us all love Him, we whom He redeemed!

on mercury

2006-02-17T02:23:00.001-06:00

I just had the scare of a lifetime yesterday.

Because we were not able to do the vacuum-filtration and the melting point determination of the products for Experiments 2 and 3 last meeting, the deadline for the post labs for both exercises was moved one week later, on the 16th of February. So, right at the start of the lab, I told Jessie, my lab partner, that I was going to finish the said experiments first before proceeding to the next.

I was about to measure the melting point of the product from Experiment No. 2. The machine didn't have a thermometer, so I pulled out ours from our drawer. I found out that one end was broken, and closely examined it, hoping that it wasn't end with the mercury bulb.

And then, with dread mounting up the pits of my stomach, I saw the air bubbles in the mercury column.

"AAAAAGH!!" I silently screamed to myself. Mercury, I had been taught since grade school, is a very toxic metal, and can debilitate the central nervous system, the lungs. I knew children who died after ingesting the mercury from a broken thermometer.

I told Jessie about it, who, in turn, reported it to Carlos, our TA (teaching assistant). Disappointingly, Carlos merely shook his head, and told us to get another one from the stock room. I was honestly expecting the news would alarm him, and the whole area to be quarantined. The spilled mercury must have vaporized, because we didn't see any liquid mercury beads in our drawer. (Mercury vapor, FYI, is more dangerous than liquid mercury, because it causes pulmonary edema.)

Jessie assured me not to worry, because the people at the stockroom said the thermometer must have already been broken when we checked it in. Relieved, and armed with a brand-new thermometer, I set on to complete my task.

But that wasn't all.

Much later, I realized that I forgot to remove our thermometer from the machine. It was still there, and, apparently, was still very hot -- it read 230 degrees Celsius. Then I did two things that were so infernally stupid you'd never expect someone like me, a PSHS graduate, a UP student, would do.

First thing: I dipped the thermometer in the ice-water bath to cool it quickly. At first I was amazed at my innate ingenuity, because the mercury level dropped 20-30 degrees in an instant. Than, a few seconds later, I heard a faint but unmistakable chink of breaking glass. It broke.

I quickly removed it, and frantically thumbed the bulb to see what happened. I didn't spill any mercury, but there was at least a visible crack on the side. After several minutes of worried inspection, I concluded that it was still OK. So I put the thermometer down, and kept quiet.

The second stupid thing I did, which was far worse than the first, was that I didn't tell Carlos or Jessie about it, because I was too embarrassed to tell them about my scientific misjudgment. Shame on me.

Anyway. I still had to measure the melting point of the acetaminophen sample from Experiment 3, and used the same thermometer. I was, at that time, quite sure that it still worked.

But at 230 degrees, the sample, which was expected to melt at 169 to 172 degrees, still wasn't melting. It was either the sample, or the thermometer, that caused the discrepancy. Unfortunately, I could not tell at that time, and truthfully recorded it in my post lab, as I had no other data to report. Even now, after scrutinizing the procedures we did, I still can't.

So, if ever I am indeed fatally poisoned by mercury, my dear friend, I will have posted my Last Will and Testament one week from now, which you may check out yourself. Who knows, you might just inherit something from me.

dear reader,

2006-02-07T14:40:00.000-06:00

I have to be honest with you. I will not have the time to post full-length articles, much more to fix my template, for the next few months.

Because there's always some undone chore at home my parents would command me to do (like cooking dinnner and doing the dishes and vacuuming the whole house), and because having someone like my brother shoo me from the computer every 10 minutes is so not conducive for writing a post, it's only here at the library I can enjoy free and undisturbed moments of solitude in front of a monitor.

But an hour-long break is woefully insufficient for me to comb through the clutter in my mind for a noteworthy idea or two. And I still need to eat.

So, instead of rushing up here at the second floor of the library every day just to post, I've decided to record my thoughts in a more old-fashioned way: I'm keeping a journal.

Of course I am keenly aware of its corniness, mind you. But it works for me, really. Well, that's because I'm jotting down not just what happens to me in a schoolday's work. Nor every random thought I find particularly interesting.

I'm keeping a spiritual journal, as John Piper (my favorite author) advised his reader in "When I Don't Desire God." I jot down what I learn from Scripture and my devotional every morning. I also copy verses I come across with that bless me or convict me, so that I can remember them more easily.

I haven't written about this, but I told Paul and Lance about this precious realization that came to me at the start of the year -- that our quiet times with Him in His Word are tremendously important in our path to Christ-likeness.

It's been only recently that I had actually reserved a time in my daily routines to meet Him in prayer and in the study of Scripture. And, oh, what a fool I was to limit myself from the deep joy of communion with God every morning!

Psalm 1:1-2 rings so true: How blessed is the man whose delight is in the law of the LORD, in whose Law he meditates day and night.

But anyway.

I'll still try my best to update now and then -- even though my posts won't make any sense. I know it's unfair on my part to shut up and not tell you about what's going on in my life. If I don't do anything about it, these long bouts of silence between you and me will evolve into a permanent separation of our ways.

And if ever that happens, when you meet me at SM North a few years from now, all you'll see is a familiar face from a forgotten past. You won't even remember my name. You'll just nod your head with a soft "Hi!" and turn your back from me.

Uggh, I shudder at the mere thought of it. I really don't want that to happen to our friendship. But, thank God, it's just a hypothetical scenario. And even if it does happen, God is still the God "who causes all things to work together for those who love Him" (Rom. 8:28), and you will still be my brothers and sisters in Him. And when we breathe our last, I know we'll see each other there. :-) Let us all trust Him with all our hearts.

your friend,
Jef

school starts

2006-01-16T01:53:00.000-06:00

It's an hour and a half past midnight. And it's been four full days since my last update.

But as much as I want to recount my thoughts over the weekend, and share them to you, I cannot.

I'm going back to school on Tuesday. I have to adjust my sleeping hours so I won't be groggy while my professors discuss our class syllabi. You got that right, I am trying to wake up early. But it's going to be difficult, resisting my pillows -- those oh-so-soft pillows -- that beckon me to snooze some more. Five minutes pa, they whisper hypnotically.

Also, I won't be able to update as frequently as I did the past weeks. But if I find breaks between my classes that are long enough for me to gather my words, I will.

a thought

2006-01-12T05:34:00.000-06:00

If there were no God, if men were merely a race of naked apes, a product of hundreds of millions of years of random selection of the fittest traits by random factors in the environment, if life were just a slight anomaly on a tiny speck of a planet in the expanse of an enormous Universe,

Why should I live? Why should I do anything? Is there any purpose which the inevitable death that awaits me does not undo or destroy?

It's funny how my psychology book quotes Leo Tolstoy, and leaves his (and our) deepest questions of existence unanswered, but still assures its reader that he would still find psychology "fascinating and useful." The same gnawing question goes for all other fields of human knowledge. Why bother study organic reactions and the molecular dynamics of the cell, or Peter Paul Rubens' paintings or the Mahabharata, or the law of marginal utility, or computers?

This is as blunt as it gets: if all these "if's" were true, life would be nothing but an absurd heart-breaking tragedy.

But are they?

☺

how to blog

2006-01-11T01:12:00.000-06:00

for my God's glory

(update: I'm sorry I got confused. His name's Brett, not Jordan. teehee)

A few days ago, Alex and Brett Harris introduced their first 'Post(s) of the Week' -- a new feature on their site which shares a good blog they discover after a week's worth of blogsurfing -- and presented Bob Kauflin's Worship Matters.

Bob Kauflin is a pastor and worship leader at Covenant Life Church at Gaithersburg, MD -- the very same church which Alex and Brett's eldest sibling, Joshua Harris, leads. Kauflin says he started his blog because "We simply need to do it. Worship God, that is."

He correctly notes that far too many have misunderstood what worship really means, and tries to examine various issues concerning it. Some of these issues are quite interesting, even provocative -- he's written an 8-part series entitled "Idolatry on Sunday Mornings." It's a disturbing title, don't you think? Mr. Kauflin warns that there are ways of worshiping God in vain even today, just like the Pharisees did with their loud and lengthy prayers. But that's another story, so try to read that series yourself later.

Alex considers Mr. Kauflin's blog as one of the best in the Net -- probably because Mr. Kauflin tackles an oft-ignored but very important facet in our Christian lives. It's very sad that many people have succeeded in reducing worship to a few minutes of singing and jumping up and down, when, in fact, the only thing that can fully satisfy their souls is true and heartfelt worship of God -- when one beholds and delights in the perfections of His beauty, and bathes in the awesome light of His presence.

I heartily agree with what Alex observes:

...worship is so much more than music and lyrics; it's so much more than a Sunday morning activity. As Christians we are to worship God in all areas of life... Including blogging.

How exactly -- in what specific ways -- are we to worship God through what we write? But we should be crystal clear on this: merely following a list of allowed and banned topics for our posts, nor appending a tiny reference to Him at the end of every article we write, doing these is not true worship.

Genuine worship cannot be expressed by keeping "blog laws," just as loving Him with all our hearts and all our souls can never be equated to following the Ten Commandments. So we should rephrase our question and ask like this: What kind of attitudes and motives should we foster in our blog posts so that Christ's glory will shine most brightly?

So click on and read Mr. Kauflin's excellent takes on blogging: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3. And don't forget to add WorshipMatters to your favorites.

meanwhile,

2006-01-09T21:03:00.000-06:00

here's something funny.

I was bloghopping yesterday when I found this survey at Jamie's blog. It says that she, an IE major, should be taking up Journalism, because she was meant to be a journalist (92%), and not an engineer (33%) -- to her utter disdain, of course. Maybe two whole years of working with Sir Manaog got to her a bit too much. Hehe. I've heard enough horror stories from Neil and Reinzi, two of his best EngJourn 1 and 2 students. Actually Jamie's a very good writer herself, and I think she'll do great in a press room as much as in a chemical plant.

But I digress.

When the thought of taking it myself flicked past my head -- "Don't even think about it, Jef, it's just another useless and pathetic gimmick that would take up 10 precious minutes of your time," I snapped back. And besides, I reasoned, mrafziuq, the quiz's creator, could be just about anyone -- a high school student, or even a bum-- and wouldn't know better than our guidance counselor back in high school, or the people who designed the Career Advisement Test I took before applying to UP.

But itching with curiosity and bored to death, I tried it. So here is what I got:

You scored as English. You should be an English major!
Your passion lies in writing and expressing yourself creatively,
and you hate it when you are inhibited from doing so.
Pursue that interest of yours!

English

100%

Philosophy

100%

Chemistry

92%

Theater

83%

Mathematics

83%

Linguistics

83%

Journalism

83%

Engineering

83%

Sociology

83%

Psychology

75%

Anthropology

75%

Biology

75%

Art

42%

Dance

What is your Perfect Major? (RATE ME TOO!!)

created with QuizFarm.com

I was surprised. I was expecting the quiz to brand me as a Chem major, knowing myself that I find chemistry easier than any other subject. But voila! After assessing how I answered 42 not-very-discerning questions, the quiz concluded I should be majoring in English or Philosophy (and most certainly not in Dance. I'll spare you the torture of watching me do a clumsy otso-otso. I don't dance.)

It must be because I emphatically agreed with statements such as "I read extensively" and "I am passionate about expressing myself freely", among others, that the quiz pronounced "You should be an English major!"

But I'll tell you a secret. The truth is, I am no writer. No matter how much I want to express my ideas, I always have a hard time articulating myself. I spend painstaking hours raking the thesaurus for the appropriate word as I keep in mind what Samuel Clemens once said, "the difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug."

Okay, maybe I overdo it -- excessive self-criticism is another serious writing pain I have to deal with. Often, I get too critical of my articles that I abandon my writing projects once I feel too uncomfortable with my sentences.

("Now, stop ranting, Jef," I tell myself)

Despite these difficulties, despite the devastating drought of ideas that's ravaging me, I realize that I should not be discouraged. Who knows, maybe it's His will that I be a writer someday, to follow in John Piper's footsteps. I do not and cannot know for sure right now.

But He does. Even before the whole world banged into existence, my fate, the plans He has for me, He already laid clear and complete before His eyes. He will do what He pleases, and no one, no one can thwart His hand.

And because of that, I trust Him with all my life. Oh, how blessed it is to dwell in the shadow of the Almighty, to be carried in His wings, to be caressed by His firm but tender hand!

post-christmas meditations 3

2006-01-08T13:25:00.000-06:00

For those whom I left open-mouthed in puzzlement after my last post, I hope you're still wondering until now what exactly you're supposed to think about. Hang on.

I've already posted the last installment for this series. But because it could stand independent in itself of the previous two, and because what it says still goes true even though Christmas is now over, I decided to put a permanent grey link on it below my profile -- "what is the Gospel?"

I wanted to include my testimony too, and recount how Jesus Christ changed my life, but I still have to make some major revisions to it. Not that I'll have to edit its plot to make it more believable. No, I didn't make fanciful stories merely for your amusement -- I wouldn't dare.

All of what I've written is real, true and biographical, I assure you. Hehe. :-) I just have to smoothen the transitions between my paragraphs. I'll try to finish it, and the links list too, by this week.

And also, watch out for other upcoming posts. Bye.

a quote

2006-01-06T14:01:00.000-06:00

from my favorite pastor's favorite pastor, Jonathan Edwards:

God is the highest good the redeemed are brought to the possession of and enjoyment of by the redemption which Christ purchased.

God is the inheritance of the saints, the portion of their souls, their wealth and treasure, their food, their life, their dwelling place, their ornament and diadem, their everlasting honor and glory.

The saints have none in heaven but God. The LORD God is the light of heavenly Jerusalem, the river of water of life that runs, the tree of life that grows.

The glorious excellencies of the beauty of God will forever entertain the minds of the saints, and the love of God will be their everlasting feast.

post-christmas meditations 2

2006-01-03T02:38:00.000-06:00

And the answer to the questions I posed yesterday is this: Jesus Christ was a real and historical person whose life and ministry are accurately depicted in the Bible.

He was not a Zealot, a Jewish nationalist who tried rebelling against Roman rule. Nor was he just a hypnotist-illusionist who deceived his followers into thinking he rose from the dead. And most certainly he wasn't just a fictional and sentimental self-esteem booster imagined by wishful thinkers. He did exist.

He was a Jew who really lived and walked on the sands of Palestine. Born in Bethlehem of the virgin Mary around 4 BC, He stayed in Nazareth, and worked as a carpenter most of his life. But during His last three years, He preached, teached and performed many miracles among his countrymen -- He walked on water, fed thousands from a few fish and loaves of bread, cast away demons, and healed the sick. The Pharisees and Saducees, the conservative Jewish parties during those times, conspired against Him, and had him flogged and condemned to death by crucifixion by Pontius Pilate. And after three days, He rose from the dead.

But He was not just a man. He was --and is -- in some strange and ineffable way God, God incarnate, the God-man. The infinite and eternal God took on finite sinews of human flesh, and contained Himself in the space-time continuum He Himself designed. Jesus is the God to whom all Creation, from our DNA to stardust, owes its existence. He is the Son who is one with the Father (John 10:30), the Son in whom the fullness of Deity dwells (Col. 1:19), the Son through whom all things in heaven and earth were created (Col 1:16).

I can almost hear you snorting with laughter now, after reading a handful of Bible quotes on this article. What a fool, you scoff. Another arrogant, annoying, Bible-quoting and radically fanatical Jesus freak trying in vain to convince unsuspecting acquaintances. Of course you wouldn't believe my words as easily as that, especially after you've read what the fictional Professor Leigh Teabing carelessly said in Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code:

the Bible is a product of man. Not of God. It has evolved through countless translations, additions, and revisions...

and is, therefore, untrustworthy. I've met so many people who sincerely assented to Dr. Teabing's seemingly sophisticated beliefs without even researching whether what he said was true.

However, I, together with countless New Testament scholars, do not agree with him and those miserably biased people. I do not intend to make this post a lengthy rebuttal of his statement. Countless others have written books regarding the topic -- such as Lee Strobel and Craig Blomberg. For now, I will quote F.F. Bruce, an esteemed Biblical scholar at the University of Manchester, England:

There is no body of ancient literature in the world which enjoys such a wealth of good textual attestation as the New Testament.

(I have a list of numerous helpful sites on the Internet that discuss these things in more detail, but I still haven't finished organizing my list. Which is why my links sidebar is completely empty. My sincere apologies.)

But you do not need to believe what Dr. Bruce and other Bible historians have written about the historical and textual reliability of the Bible to be convinced that the Bible is true. There is a self-authenticating ring to the Bible's message which one will increasingly hear as he delves into its pages. Hearing it is like discovering that the Sun is hot, when you feel its radiant rays on your face, or that water is good for your body when you slake your thirst on a cupful after a 5-mile run.

What now? So what if the Bible is historically accurate? So what if Jesus is indeed God? So what if He rose from the dead three days after His crucifixion?

I don't care, you might reply. And then you'll brush off these annoying existential questions from your mind -- like what you'd do to a hapless ant that happened to crawl onto your arm.

Dear reader, the implications of these precious truths are more important, oh, so much more important than your lab report grades, or your 34-inch waistline. Come now, take a break from your busy little world, sit down and think about these things.

Think.

post-christmas meditations 1

2006-01-01T10:45:00.000-06:00

One balmy December afternoon, Ms. Casela, one of my English teachers in high school, shocked our class when she bluntly announced, "I don't celebrate Christmas." Or something like that. The comment caught us completely unaware, thrilled as we were about the holidays.

After several seconds of silence, one of us piped, "Talaga, Ma'am? Bakit naman?" ("Really, Ma'am? Why is that?")

She said that there are 364 other days when one could give gifts to the needy. "Why not be charitable all year?" she reasoned. Unlike most of my religious classmates then, I honestly agreed with her. After all, I thought, most of Christmas' traditions and customs are merely a hodgepodge of nostalgic legends repacked from various pagan mythologies -- the Christmas tree, for instance, sprung up from the Druids' practice of keeping evergreens to drive away evil spirits.

But I realize now that Miss Casela and I had completely missed the point.

Most church historians agree that Christmas was originally instituted by the early church around 350 AD to celebrate Jesus's birth. Despite the fact that the Romans and the Northern Europeans held orgies on what they called Saturnalia, or Yule, the reason for Christmas's celebration was very clear to the early Christians.

Tragically for us, the world has its lethally effective ways of twisting glorious truths into mundane and irrelevant traditions. As the years passed, Bishop Nicholas, once remembered for his good deeds, which were intended to mirror Jesus' perfect compassion to us sinners, morphed into chubby figure in a red suit, who promised toys and sweets to little children.

I couldn't have put it better in words than Lance, my good friend, did in his post, About Christ and Him Alone:

People have developed a wrong sense of the celebration and have perhaps forgotten the real reason for the rejoicing... Christmas is not about Santa Claus nor the gifts he gives to children. It is not about freezing water or the drowsy air from Siberia nor the existence of red-nosed reindeers in the North Pole. It is not about Ethel Booba making amends with another Gwen Garci in Startalk nor about Kris Aquino crying tears of joy after a 15-year old high school senior won the million in Game Ka Na Ba. It is not about going to mass and making sure that one's attendance is complete for the entire Simbang Gabi. It is not about the sky precipitating cool, white bits of ice. It is not even chiefly about giving, forgiveness, love, happiness, family, friends, and goodness...

My point is simple: Christmas is about Christ and nothing else.

But we need to go further, after realizing that these things are mere masks to the real purpose of Christmas: who exactly is this Christ? Who is Jesus? What is it with Him that is worthy of our rejoicing? Why don't we celebrate Buddha-mas, or Muhammad-mas?

new year

2006-01-01T05:05:00.000-06:00

When all three hands of my watch met at 12, amidst the shrieks of exploding gunpowder outside, I never felt the heart-pounding rush and thrill of a runner when he hears the pistol shot. I felt nothing, just nothing.

Maybe staring up and looking at the fireworks for too long grinded my brain's cogs to a halt -- as they usually and unexpectedly do. Or maybe they didn't -- maybe I was just asking myself, "What rhymes with 'dark'?" too hard I forgot that 2005 had passed me by in a flick of a finger.

Anyway. I dragged my mouse onto the taskbar clock a few minutes ago, the date popped up in a small yellow box, "January 1, 2006." New Year na nga talaga. A whole year lies ahead of me, like an acromantula wedged between tall green maze walls. Unlike Harry, I am wandless and sightless. I cannot see through the thick and impenetrable mist of time that veils the challenges I am about face. Nor can I overcome them, as I have nothing in myself, no weapon to wield, no strength to muster, no guts to work up.

But now I remember Him, how faithful and patient He had been with my stubbornness and sinful desires. I remember Him, how He was condemned for my sins, whipped, bloody and mangled, and nailed to a tree like a common criminal.

Oh, that I may delight in Him and long for Him, for His glory, and not the fleeting pleasures of this world,

that I may be soaked in His Word, in His promises, and that I learn to trust Him completely,

that I may silently sing "Whatever may come... it is well, it is well with my soul" when hard times come and mean it,

that I may faithfully share the Gospel to the people I meet, and be a mirror of His perfections to others who are in darkness,

that I may never boast in anything, except in the cross of Jesus Christ, my Savior, and that He, My God, be glorified and magnified in all I am!

rekindled

2006-01-01T03:53:00.000-06:00

Inside a black and crooked lamp
lay a tiny flickering flame,
a vision of the near Sunrise,
of pure and radiant rays of Light.

The shadows of the night blew in
a freezing wind of doubt and sin,
which almost quenched the fire within.

A Hand poured oil and cupped the wick
that smoldered in the secret dark.
The spark rekindled, glowed red and white
with hope, then blazed as clear and bright
as the Sun it sought to imitate.

blah

2005-12-31T02:10:00.000-06:00

It's been two weeks already into my Christmas vacation, and I'm all but productive.

I have two half-finished drafts on my notebook and Blogger dashboard, piles of unanswered emails and Friendster messages on my inboxes, unread textbooks in American Government and History, and a dusty bookshelf waiting for a hasty wipe.

So what have I been doing?

Snuggling on my bed, staring blankly on the ceiling, thinking senseless thoughts.

This doesn't bode well for 2006.

Enjoy the fireworks, everyone.

apology

2005-12-21T09:25:00.000-06:00

In the incident you hear my wretched mouth blurt out a foul word, a proud remark, or a stinging insult, I am so sorry. I am fully aware of my faults, and I acknowledge that I stumble frequently. "For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate." (Rom 7:15)

To you who witness me sin, please, don't ever think that Jesus approves of the countless blunders I commit. In fact, I deserve "the wine of God's wrath, poured full strength into the cup of His anger" (Rev 14:10) as much as Satan does. It is only by His great mercy that I am a Christian, and through Jesus' costly sacrifice at Golgotha that my sins are forgiven.

I earnestly pray that I grow out of my shortcomings in the near future. But I know this for sure, that in the day of His coming, He will transform the dull and rusty mirror that is me into a gleaming vessel of light reflecting His awesome radiance. Nothing else, apart from this everlasting union with my Maker, will make me happier.