Me, Spelunking?

Three hours jeepney ride away from Banaue is the quiet and mysterious Sagada. Matagtag(Pilipino naman ang mga nagbabasa nito eh, walang dating ang “Bumpy.” Parang isa sa mga dwarves ni Snowhite.) took on a new meaning for me. Maalikabok din(Dusty? See explanation in previous sentence) but I learned the meaning of that word last month in Mindanao.

Sagada has now become a memorable place for me because of one big cave: Sumaging.

The tour guides asked us to fall into a single file and walk down the cave from the main road where our jeepneys were parked and other officemates who didn’t feel adventurous that day stayed. One long line of people, walking, blindly following orders from several men reminded me of a historical event: The death march. Oh no. This is not the time for me to have an overactive imagination.

I was number 15 in a line of 42 people. Probably the 15th too, among those wondering what made them enter this cold, dark, wet cave. Now, I am not really the adventurous type. Go figure, I don’t even eat the unhatched duck in balut. Going back to the cave, I pulled up my loose jogging pants to my knees and determined, “I’m going to go through this. Too late to back out now.”

It was a grand cave with sharp stones, lime formations, stalactites, and resident bats who, thankfully, were anti-social. The path was treacherous. Every step must be firmly planted lest I slip. If I did slip, I’d lose more than my dignity. I’d probably lose my consciousness too. And so we walked. No, make that stretched, climbed, struggled. Halfway through, I wondered out loud, “Wala bang patag?” I heard laughter. So does that mean no?

Giving me an extra dose of courage is seeing those ahead of me successfully completing each stage of our exploration. There was a portion in which we had only a nylon rope to hold on to, ice cold basin of I-don't-know-how-deep water behind us. I couldn't find a protruding rock to land my feet on so, with feet suspended, I had to pull myself, using sheer upper body strength. We waded through almost chest-high deep water while stepping on rocks and soft sand I couldn't see (I thought of quicksands and the movie Anaconda). We had to cling tenaciously to rocks especially in tight, narrow spaces as if our lives depended on it (It did). Another thought entered my mind: Mahirap palang maging kuhol.

Oh, before I forget, we saw beautiful limestone formations inside: The Elephant, The King's Curtain. On our way back outside the cave, I thought we've had enough of the challenges. That is, until I saw this long blue rope suspended approximately 15-foot against a limestone rock. Rapelling with no harness and safety net? The sight of it almost turned my knees into jelly. This time my logic whispered: Walang ambulansiya sa labas. Kayanin mo ito. So with the remaining willpower left in me, I held on to the rope superglue tight and walked the 45 degree incline. I could hear my officemates and tour guides shouting: "Kahit anong mangyari, huwag kang bibitaw!" Got that loud and clear!

After rapelling, the rest of the way back was relatively easy. No more death-defying stunts for me. After several more minutes, we were standing by the mouth of the cave. I've never been so happy to see sunlight in my entire life!

And so I made it. It helped too that my officemate Arnold kindly lent his services as my designated guide and counselor, coaxing me to take the next step. I owe him two hours of my life, that is, our time inside the cave. (I thanked him with a well-deserved Sumaging postcard the next day.)

That's enough adventure for me, at least for this year. I'll be walking on paved, leveled roads for now, thank you very much. But it was one great experience I'll be looking back on--will be talking about it, writing about it, thanking God for it.

So I don't eat balut. But hey, I have one big, scary cave to brag about*.

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*Pagbigyan n'yo na ako. Pinaghirapan ko talaga siya.:p

Breathtaking

(Hungduan) Banaue Rice Terraces at midday on April 19, 2005


The eighth wonder of the world deserves its title. Tall rice stalks dancing in the wind, terraces carved on mountains forming stairways to the sky. What once were just images on postcards and travel books got closer. For a day, I walked on narrow--some only eight inches wide--footpaths atop stonewalls separating the terraces.

Banaue Rice Terraces: figuratively and literally breathtaking. Figuratively, its beauty blew my mind and took my breath away. And literally too as I found myself catching my breath more than once. A little out of fatigue. A lot out of fear of falling the ten-foot drop on one side.

I and fifteen others gingerly took hundreds of steps, equivalent to a 75-minute hike, to reach the river and hot springs unusually located somewhere in the middle of Hapao (majority of my officemates went to the more gruelling Batad). When we got there, twelve of my companions took a dip. As for me, I found a shady spot overlooking the river and flipped through the pages of my latest book buy. I savored the unhurried block of eternity as the calming splashes of water against the boulders provide music. Once in a while, I close my book, just take in the sight and quietly say a prayer.

The grandeur of nature makes me feel both insignificant and significant. As I am dwarfed by the huge picture-perfect mountains, lullabyed by the sound of rivers, I am at the same time awed by the One whose Hands fashioned these wonderful works of nature. Yes, God made the rivers and the mountains but it is me--and all of us--whom He loves. The shades of His grace in my life is infinitely more vibrant and alive than the colors and shapes of nature I see with my eyes.

This truth is more breathtaking than all the wonders of the world combined. No contest.

Ethan (aka Baby Santa Claus!) Turns One

Nang with Noah and Ian, Rae and Ethan, Me

Ethan is the latest delight of my life. My number 5 nephew (only according to the order of birth; they're all number 1 in my heart), he is celebrating his birthday today. My sister Rae and her husband Ronnel waited seven long years for this bundle of joy. So is he worth the wait? I think so(Of course, I'm biased).

- - - - - - - - - - -

To you Ethan, how I wish I could hop on a plane, be in Indiana for even just a day, and see you celebrate your first birthday. But in my small way, I hope I could span the miles with this entry as I say, "Happy Birthday!Don't grow up too fast, okay?"

Martha Moments

I’ve always been a Martha—busy in the kitchen rather than busy with the Guest. Perpetually distracted by all the preparations that have to be made. I painstakingly take all the efforts to serve the most sumptuous meal to please Him who I thought to be hungry, when in reality, I am the one who is in need of feeding by Him.

I am aware of my tendency for overactivity, and aware that I need to pause every so often. There was a period when I deliberately withdrew from almost every ministry-related work—did not attend the fellowships I enjoyed so much, stopped singing in the choir, excused myself from serving in the core group of our professionals’ ministry. Longing to go back to where I came from, I packed the basic necessities of my faith and walked alone. I returned to the roots of my redemption—studied the Scriptures more intensively, prayed more earnestly—in the hopes of rekindling my First Love. I decided that I was going to sit at the feet of my Master. And stay there until my heart was filled.

Now, years later, I tiptoe my way back to the kitchen. Upon seeing the pot simmering with stew, I instinctively reach for the wooden spoon to stir it. The line “Do this and do that, Martha” echoes through my head again. Oh no, I didn’t realize how much work still needs to be done. Surely, God wouldn’t mind if I do all these. Surely, He wouldn’t mind if I miss a day or two of reading His Word. Wouldn’t mind if my prayers become more like telegraphic messages than honest pleas of my heart.

A tender Voice breaks through the cacophony of the clanging pots and pans. “You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed.”

Oh Lord, will You ever tire of calling me away from the kitchen and back at Your feet?

On Feeling Safe

Oh the comfort,
the inexpressible comfort,
Of feeling safe with a
person.
Having neither to weigh thoughts,
nor measure words--
But
pouring them
all right out,
Chaff and grain together.
Certain that a
faithful hand
will take and sift them,
Keep what is worth keeping
And with a breath of kindness,
Blow the rest away.

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

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Tonight, I spent time with Sherry, one of my closest friends. Conversations with her are events. I look forward to the thought of having uninterrupted time with her in the same way I anticipate a book launch featuring my favorite author.

When we talk, we let down our defenses and say things as they are. I, for instance, do not have to choose the best words. I don't worry if my grammar is right--if my subject agrees with my verb, or if my saying something will make me sound foolish or weak. In the same way, she feels as safe with me.

Tonight, for two and a half hours, over dinner, we catch up on each others' lives. We both share what's been keeping us busy and what's been eating our minds. Studies say that women speak 25,000 words a day. For less than three hours, I think we reached our quota--and used up tomorrow's supply as well.

What's Your Kite?

This question was posed by Alan, another blogger, in one of his recent entries where he inserts a Peanuts strip. Charlie Brown flies a kite but it crashes hard into the ground. His unsuccessful attempt doesn’t bother him one bit though. Or so it seemed. Charlie goes through the motions of the day, watches TV, but come bedtime, before he completely drifts off to sleep, he walks by the doorstep and shouts, “Stupid kite!”

The Charlie-Brown-loving blogger says, “I’d say that each of us has his own ‘kite.’ To some, it may be a relationship, a career; to others, a dream or life itself! If you get my drift, what’s yours?”

So what’s my kite? What have I been trying to keep up in the sky? What have I been pining on to supply me exhilaration, just as what the boy with a homemade kite has been doing?

This question got me thinking hard. I couldn't say my career (I'm happy doing what I do now) or life (I thank God for a good life). Dreams? Not really.

For now, let me say love, and the hope of a lifetime of conversations with someone. I’ve unwound the kite string a few times before but the wind hushed before it made my kite really soar. After a brief moment in the air, my kite would dive pathetically into the ground. How my kite has survived those crashes, I never can tell.

My kite is safe in my closet now. From time to time, I run my fingers through it and wonder if it is sturdy enough. The next time I stare out my window and see the leaves swaying, maybe I’d decide it’s a good time to let my kite dance in the sky again. You see, kites are not made for keeping. It’s made for flying.