The Sea's Mountain

You know me/

You don't mind waiting/

You just can't show me, but God I'm praying/

That you'll find me/

and that you'll see me/

That you run and/

never tire/

--- lyrics to Desire, written and performed by Ryan Adams


This certainly is proving to be a life of contrasts. Tita-Tati, whose been like a second mother to me, recently blessed me with a terrific book by Joel Osteen, titled Your Best Life Now. She absolutely insisted on buying it for me. And despite all my hesistant-thinking-of-you first-themed protests, I’m grateful she didn’t listen to me. Normally, I frown on self-help books, no matter how credible the New York Times bestseller list purports it to be. But this book is different. It’s about the power of perspectives. And how the tiny sacrifice of the wrong perspective can reshape the world you know.

I can’t stop reading it, but I’m forcing myself to pace the chapters. A good book you can breeze through. A great book you want to digest over time, like a good meal. As I was reading it, I suddenly became concerned over my fish. He wasn’t in his usual place, at the center of the kitchen table. He was missing. A quick search of the house, and a casual inquiry directed at my brother, and I found out he wasn’t missing at all. He was placed atop the cupboard behind the door.

I was relieved. Then suddenly, a small spot of sadness overcame me. The fish still had no name. He was cooped up in a bauble that was no bigger than a fat man’s fist. It may have been the container he came with, sure. But if that was the only world he knew, it was getting old pretty quickly.

Here I am, reading a mind-blowing book about the power of perspectives. Yet, my un-named fighting fish continues to languish day-in, and day-out, in a mundane bubble-world where he can barely circle around.

So much for a life of contrasts. At the end of this week, I’m buying the little bugger a tank. A small one, but with a little more room than he has now. And I’m giving him a name.

I’m believing God is going to change my world through this book. Why can’t I do the same for someone else?

Okay, so it’s for a fish with no name.

It's a start.

*

*

The words ‘thank you’ just seem so small’

Ever since I graduated from college, I’ve hated myself for managing to fall into dead-end jobs that had no benefits, medical coverage, or decent compensation. Sure, the people were great, and I’d loved working with them, but I could never keep up: there was no training. It’s one thing to learn on the job, and it’s another thing to be thrown out to sea when you barely know how to swim. I’m not knocking down those who can learn and learn well and fast to the job, that’s to be commended. But a professional practice like that, a lot of details and people, slip through the cracks, and that’s unfair.

But god has been challenging the way I think and believe; lately. I remembered thinking to myself how nice it would be to have a new bible, even if I couldn’t afford one. Two weeks later, a friend gifted me with the perfect bible. Last Sunday, I remember praying; Lord; please give me the chance to share the gospel with someone. Barely two days later, a lost person shows up at my small group, and I practically share the gospel with him. It reminded me of something an old friend said.

There are no coincidences in life. Just accidents with a personal sub-text from God.

Yesterday, my best job option resurrected itself, and I was told to show up for an interview today. I did. It turns out that the company was considering me for weeks since I was last there. They’d weighed their internal options against me, and lo and behold, I came out on top. Why? Is it because I gave good answers, or had an extensively promising background? I had potential at the most. But better than anything that I could have, I had God’s favor working in my absence. And it’s because of His goodness that I can kiss the old rat-race goodbye. And start training to be the leader and champion people always told me I was at heart.

It’s finally happened. No more small-time operations luring me in under the pretense of legitimacy. No more mentally existing every thing changed today. Because God, in his great amazing love, has brought me a new job. One tailor-made and rife with possibilities. From the people to the office to what I’m going to be doing. It’s just like Kevin J. Conner shared, “God is working at both ends, bringing it all together.

It’s funny for so long, I dreaded that I would never break out of my dead-end corporate labyrinth. I always ended up in a job with no training, no immediate goals or future to aspire to. I was always the silent, untaught wingman trying to keep up with the eagles. There were days I mentally whipped myself for falling, time and time again, for the bait

Whenever we think God isn’t moving, or that He listens with deaf ears, we couldn’t possibly be more wrong or ignorant. He’s already at work, in and around us. Rolling back tombstones, or peppering the sky with rain clouds. He brings our dead hopes back to life, and lets his goodness buoy up the stranded ark we’ve toiled for years to build.

Just because we don’t se what He’s doing, it doesn’t mean He isn’t up to something. And I can’t thank Him enough for doing this great thing, for me, for bringing me here.

Strangers and Angels

Last Sunday, as I drove to church, I thought about my life as a leader. A friend. And as a man. I’d had some pretty terrific times, and the cast that comprises my life-story was nothing short of wonderful, but…how often had I really shared out what Jesus had done for me? How often did I live that out? Was I too caught up in my own problems and triumphs that I’d forgotten I was here to serve God’s purposes, too? It’s not that I saw myself as selfish. I know that God wanted me to have a great time on planet earth. But I also knew that my great time should also include imparting the same kind of life-changing love I’d found in Him. I wanted to tell people about Jesus. So in my room that Sunday afternoon, I prayed,” Lord, I don’t know when or how, but please bring me people to share the Gospel to’.

Come Tuesday, at my regular small group meeting, a young man my age shows up. He’s depressed and lost. A failed suicide attempter, he isn’t sure if he believes in God. An ex-seminarian, He’s heard it all. But then I asked him, how much of what he knows actually speaks to how he feels? And then it happened as it always does. God led me to the right words, and I spoke to him about Jesus. As I was sharing, a large man approached my from behind where I was sitting. He extends a hand, and in my surprise, I reach out and shake it.

‘Hey man, my name is Rando, and I just want to tell you that what you were just saying now really rocks, dude. It’s righteous, the kind of thing people need to hear these days. It’s the truth.

I was shocked. Here I was, answering my own prayer and at the same time, seeing that when God moves, He doesn’t just move an inch. He moves us miles and miles from what we were asking for.

What an amazing God!!

Eternally Finite

"He whose face gives no light will ever become a star" --- William Blake

It’s nice to know that when you finally set your mind to something, the universe suddenly makes it all

Originally, Shannyn * and I were considering Tagaytay as our Saturday agenda. I’ve grown to be so tired of the mall setting, perhaps more than usual. Every time I enter one, I feel like a drone in a consumer-driven ant farm. We’re all just mindlessly milling about trying to fixate some joy we won’t even remember when Monday finally rears its head. While completing work on the AVP at the Philippine Stock Exchange, Carlo R. got in touch with me.

Carlo: What are you doing tomorrow?

Me: Eh. Might go to Tagaytay tomorrow with Shannyn, not sure yet. What’s up?

Carlo: I’ve got a better idea. How about you guys come with me to the beach tomorrow? Tali beach. It’s one hour away from Tagaytay anyway. What do you say?

Although I still had to speak with Shannyn about it, it never crossed my mind to say no. Just thinking about seeing the sea again made every weary muscle and bone suddenly come alive. I’d just been stated earlier this week that I’d planned to finally make that elusive beach trip run-away. I was scheduled to go surfing with DC and Wanggs in two weeks, sure. But can you ever get enough of a good thing, especially when you never get it? It’d been one whole year since I’d seen the shore, and each day felt like a lifetime.

The city wears you down, slowly. Its lights tell you that this is the place to be, its streets, that this is where things happen. And they do, there’s no denying that. But all the hustle and flow can never compare with something as powerful and serene as the beach. We made the choice, the three of us. We had to sacrifice some sleep, an unimportant appointment and some cash here or there. But at the sea-line, what we gave up returned to us ten-fold.

It was worth it. Every bit of it.

We lost ourselves amidst corals and small fish, and regrouped our strength on anchored bamboo rafts near the shore. Music marked the moment, and with the fantastic Orosa selection, we let our minds wash over and over with the surf. We scaled a cliff and jumped to our seeming death 25 feet below. (I can feel the weight of my internal organs lift as I fall in voluntary horror). There were underwater caves along the cove, dimly lit and constantly foreboding. At the end of the day, we gathered amongst the huge boulders that comprised the bay, and watched the sun, sky and sea melt into a kaleidoscope of emotion, beauty and soul-stirring awe. Imagine that, how the winds brush the cloud into the eye of the dying sun, how it all works at every end to result in something breathe-takingly finite. The sun burned and sighed and rolled itself away into a pinkish-red stain on a sorrowful blue palette.

Leaving the three of us tenderly earmarked by what we saw.

The sunset is reborn and dies in-between it's heartbearts. It's forms are parallel to our lives.

Unique.

Finite.

And never to be seen again...

the earth beneath my feet

Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience. ~Ralph Waldo

After hitting the gym a little after lunch, I found my back to be throbbing a little more than usual. Whenever do heavy lifting to work out my shoulders and triceps, I do feel a little strained. But this time it felt like all my back muscles were knotted ropes bulging. It did make walking with a straight back easier but it wasn’t something I wanted to put up with any longer. Taking advantage my gyms’ discounted massage promo, I had myself scheduled for 5PM. I headed home, drank my protein formula, and pigged out on a late lunch, all the while watching ‘Rent’ for 14th ofr 19th time, go figure. Considering what a late bloomer I am on all things timelessly cool, I think you can count this as a life-long affair.

The massage was a much-needed respite. All those knots came undone, I have a feeling I’m going to have my best night of sleep in forever. Right after, I headed to Salcedo park. Even in the late afternoons, it teems with activity. Toddlers scampered around everywhere, a picturesque kaleidoscope of Koreans, British and Filipinos. Maids strolled by with a variety of dogs, from pit-bulls to Labradors, even a German sheperd in the background. Couple could be seen lazing on a bench here or there. I took a seat on a stone bench, and proceeded to finish reading the Jasper Fforde novel, The Eyre Affair. While reading, I made it a point to take off my sandals and just let my feet run through the grass and earth underneath.

It felt strangely good, as if my feet had waited years to do that. They probably did. You can walk barefoot on every kind of surface we use for floors in our homes. Wood. Plaster. Tiles. But the grass and the soil felt like … home. It’s good to turn off the TV set, and the radio And wander into a park teeming with the good things you don’t see everyday. It puts things in perspective.

I passed my audition for the AVP shoot this Friday. And it looks like I’ll be getting a call from one of the multinationals I’d been interviewed for months ago. Things are looking up. And I’m just enjoying the earth beneath my toes.

the Kansas son

'Sometimes it's the smallest places that nest the greatest stories ever told' -- something my friend Ces remarked to me back in college

Finally finished watching the whole Season 5 of Smallville last night with Timmy. It was a lazy day, really. One that you start with no agenda, just plodding your way through each moment, happy that there are no immediate deadlines to meet. When DC told me I had to give the show another chance, I told him that possibility had a snowball’s chance in hell. The pilot episode was great, but the series soon dropped the great potential it started with. What could have been a great character study into the formative years of a hero quickly degenerated into a Nancy-Drew meets the Scooby gang nightmare. Many of the plots felt more like filler material rather than actual stories. The incredible plot threads were often resolved without any lasting effects. These were incredible characters. Why weren’t we seeing any incredible stories? It seemed the writers were never going to take the risks they needed to make the characters interesting.

It’s sad, because the show’s creators, Miles Millar and Al Gough started out with a great premise. They based the show on Superman for All Seasons, one of my favorite books of all time. In the graphic novel, Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale approached told the story of an icon from the perspective of those around him. From his father, to his worst enemy, to his childhood sweet-heart and finally, his future wife, each chapter rounded out one unforgettable, bittersweet journey. It had a Rockwell-ian epic feel to it, a virtuous flavor Smallville embodied well in its first season. Like I said, great potential. But the show took too long to find its legs, and I was one of many who lost interest.

I gave my reasons for boycotting it. “DC,” I argued, ‘the lead character is a whiny loser.’ DC refused to relent until I finally gave in. And you know what? They finally got it right. They’ve stopped winking playfully at the mythology, and taken a pro-active stance in mining it for the treasury of stories it was always supposed to be. While there were still a few horrible episodes here and there, they were thankfully sparse.

The writers have slowly redeemed themselves this season. The father-son dynamic, a constantly strong theme in the show, took on a bittersweet yet powerful new level. Considering how media and entertainment often portrayed parents as idiotic, un-attentive, and ill-fit suited in raising their own children, the character of Jonathan Kent was an anachronism, sure. But he was also a much needed break from the modern stereotype. Here was a positive father figure, how despite his flaws, tried his best to instill moral values in his on. Now, Jonathan Kent has passed away, we know he has succeeded. But his death still leaves Clark no choice but to rise up as the man he was raised to be.

The Fortress has been created. The bond between Lex and Clark shattered into the fated stand-off it always was meant to be. Martha Kent now has to fill in the Senator’s seat her late husband has left. And Lana and Clark have found themselves in the revolving door limbo that first love experiences often lead to.

There were a few things I would have done differently for the show from the very start. Maybe I’ll talk about that another time. But for now, this is it. This is what a prequel odyssey was meant to be. It’s about damn time, and the viewing world is much better for it. Kudos to a show that has finally found its legs, and gotten back in the race!

Cheshire Windows

'...Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, that I might see my shadow, as I pass.' --- Shakespeare

After dinner, I watched Mirrormask, the new film written by one of my all-time favorite writers, Neil Gaiman. Featuring a first-time directorial debut by one of Gaiman’s frequent artist collaborators, Dave McKean, I found myself wondering if I would be awestruck or disappointed. Thankfully, it was the former. McKean's off-beat but brilliant sensibilities go hand in hand with Gaiman's terrific screenplay. The veteran-like synchronicity of these two artists is reflected in every frame, every quirky character, and bizaare landscape.

I just loved the movie. It’s a carousel of wonder, adventure, and mystery. On a strange new world built on dreams and art, young Helena (Stephanie Leonidas) must navigate every corner of madness and truth as she seeks the one thing that can save her world and this one: the mirror-mask. People unfamiliar with Gaiman's work would mistake this to be another run-of-the-mill fantasy flick, when it's so much more than that. The breathe-taking art is only the shiny cover to a story that tackles fear, love, responsibility and escapsim, and the perspectives of truth.

As the plot progressed, I actually thought I knew where the plot was going, but I'm glad I was proved wrong, time and again. That’s what makes Gaiman such a master storyteller: he lets things unfold perfectly, letting each act taking shape, bringing it closer to the poetic Origami that Gaiman is known for.

It’s a feast for the senses. Kudos to the Jim Henson studio for bringing Dave McKean’s art to life. I think this is one of those cinematic gems that will go on shining as the years cascade and roll by. Beautiful, whimsical, and worth every moment.

Come to My Window

Are you looking for answers to questions under the stars/

If along the way, you are growing weary/

You can rest with me until a brighter day, and you’re ok/

--- lyrics to Where are you going, performed by the Dave Matthews band

I made the horrible mistake of crashing into bed at 4m, instead of a little past midnight, as I usually do. What turned into a simple e-mail message became a full-blown Friendster tumbleweed session, --- spending hours combing through my friend’s profiles, seeing their new photos, finding out what job they’d landed, what corner of the world they were, pictures of kids and weddings and more. The result was me being sluggish and unproductive. After lunch, I made it a point to take a long nap. I woke up 15 mins. Before church service was set to begin. I wrestled with the thought of just skipping it altogether. When I opened my devotional, I came across the following words:

‘A long as Jesus is one of many options, he is no option. As long as you carry your burdens alone, you don’t need a burden bearer. As long as your situation brings no grief, you will receive no comfort. And as long as you can take him or leave him, you might as well leave him, because he won’t be taken half-heartedly.

But when you mourn, when you admit that you have no other option but to cast all your cares on him, and when there is truly no other name you can call, then cast all your cares on him, for he is waiting in the midst of the storm.’

I closed the book and said a short prayer. Max Lucado was right. I decided to go to church. And I‘m forever thankful that I did. We had a guest speaker, Kevin K. Connor, and the man was just brilliant. Here was this rather robust 72 year old man, with a voice like thunder and the sharp, blunt wit of a gifted comedian, talking about the Lordship of Christ. He was funny, brilliant and utterly relatable, despite the swings and lows of his Australian accent. He shared about how faith in Jesus means letting him in, letting Him teach us how to let go of the things that tie us down in the end. The point of lordship, he said, is that love makes a choice. Not just any choice, but the choice. You can have a thousand different gods, and get something from each one of them. It’s the same with lovers. But only one will carry you through the rest of your life, and Jesus does exactly that. When we choose to live under His care, trusting Him, it doesn’t mean we become the ultimate buzzkills and religious deadbeats. It means we get to taste how deep and how rich God’s love is, because his love takes us to new heights, all the while healing us where we are. He takes all our imperfections and pain, and makes all things new.

I was astonished and moved. I’m so glad I went to church, despite my weariness. Even when I’m well, I still don’t feel I’m worthy of being in church or praying to God. I remember my mistakes, the times I’ve hurt people, and I feel utterly beyond repair. But then I remember that church isn’t for perfect people. It’s for broken ones, who find that, with just that little mustard seed of faith, their hurting souls can find perfect love in a fearsome and loving God.

We’re all looking for God. In our talents, in the people who love and hurt us, in the angelic kindness of strangers, and in the cold, harsh rain that washes over us in our solitude. We’re all looking for the answers to who we are, and why we’re here. Even if we can’t admit it, we never stop searching for Him. And He’s never afraid to be found, even on the road to Damascus.

"Safe? Of course he isn't safe. But He's good. He's the King, I tell you." --- Mr. Beaver, from C.S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe