hating winter, learning trust

Life is unpredictable. Sometimes the best gifts come in the unlikeliest packages. The best lessons, from the unlikeliest teachers. For instance, who would have thought I’d relearn something as central to my faith as trust from three little boys?

For the past few weeks, I have been feeling that the chilly air is freezing my faith too. The prayers have been short and shallow while the doubts and fears, lingering and deep. I could almost touch with my hand the nagging sense of wrongness about what I have been feeling. I hate winter—not what’s outside the window but what’s inside my heart.

And then, it hit me. This word, trust. How much do I really trust God? Is my trust in Him strong enough to withstand the cold winds of life’s uncertainties? Enough to keep me feeling safe and secure when I am not sure which roads to follow, or if, in fact, there are still other roads to take?

And then, it hit me. This childlike kind of trust, theirs. Ian, who sometimes is jolted awake by bad dreams, can be hushed back to sleep by a simple stroke on his back. I should know, I have been sleeping next to him for the past few weeks. I tell him everything’s going to be alright with me by his side. And no monster, make-believe or otherwise, can harm him. Noah, when we are out at the mall or some other place, holds my hand and lets me take him wherever I lead him. He isn’t worried that I don’t exactly know if we should be turning left or right. With me walking with him, even without his parents in sight, he doesn’t panic. His hand is firmly grasped in mine. Ethan, the two-year old toddler, of my sister Rae, lets me bring him up in the air with my feet. No fear can be traced on his face as he lets go of a hearty giggle. He doesn’t care, even for one second, that I might drop him or break any of his fragile bones with one wrong move from me. He knows I wouldn't just let him go. Such trust. Unbelievable, yet real.

And so last night, I prayed.

Give me a faith like theirs, Lord. I want to trust You like they trust me. If they, in love, could trust a finite, limited, and faltering mortal like me, how much more should I be able to trust an infinite, powerful and faithful God like You?

I see the snow thawing. Winter—mine—will soon be over.


He (Jesus) said to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as there. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." And He took the children in His arms, put His hands on them and blessed them. (Mark 10:14-16)

Season's greetings

and a Happy New Year!
We, Ian and Noah, greet you on behalf of Tita Beng. She wishes that you experience that true meaning of Christmas with the Celebrant Himself, Jesus Christ.

Another day in NY

I could pitch a tent here. Here is a 42nd street bookstore, Coliseum Books, with an in-house cafe serving Kobricks coffee. Waiting for the clock to strike 11, when the New York Public Library across the street opens, I browse through its extensive collection of books. The sign which reads "Limit 2 books in the cafe" is hard to be missed so I find two interesting titles by the counter. With my medium-sized house blends coffee, time whizzed by me as I grew more and more comfortable in my spot. I could have stayed here the whole morning except that outside there was so much happening.
Ancient. This word best describes the glass-encased books being displayed at the New York Splendor of the Word: Medieval and Renaissance Illuminated Manuscripts, baits bibliophiles to marvel at a collection of pages dating back between the 10th and 16th century. Impressive is the next best word. Now if I could only find the room with a fireplace I saw in The Day After Tomorrow.
Times Square is easily the busiest area in NY. Even in the brightness of the day, blinking lights and tickers flash and command attention. Gigantic billboards and signs dwarf even the tallest of New Yorkers. While waiting for the NJ-bound bus, I notice the traffic. A massive transport strike cripples New York. No city buses, no subways. I didn't feel its effect; I was walking the whole time. My feet temporarily expanded one size bigger to accomodate the stress they were taking. As for my keeping warm, extra layers of fabric helped me cope better with the chill this time. And they say it's just another NY day.

My temporary career shift

After many years of editing books, I’m trying my hand in a different career. It’s a short-term employment and I get paid in hugs and kisses: being a nanny. Of Ian and Noah, six and four, respectively. Last night, their parents and grandma had to leave for somewhere and I volunteered to stay behind and watch over them. I assure their mother that the kids will be fine with me. My sister’s eyes betray her doubt that I had to remind her that I once was left with them last year. For two hours. Well, this time, I’ll be logging in five.

Two hours since they've left, the phone rings. My sister Nang greets, “O kamusta na (So how are things)?” I answer, “Buhay pa sila (They’re still alive).” She laughs and retorts, “At buhay ka pa din (And you’re still alive too).” My turn to laugh out loud.

It’s amazing how many things can happen in the span of five hours—my longest five hours ever. I cook and feed them. Wrestle and play with them. Clean up after them, and at one point, stand as a referee in their toy feud. Some moments stand out in particular:

I ask Ian if he’d like me to sing for him. His song of choice: Feliz Navidad. And so I sing. “...I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heaaaaart...”

Was he satisfied? I ask, “So Ian, did you like my song?” He answers, “Umm…a little bit.” What? I complain, “Just a little bit?” He thinks again and says, “O—kay! When you sang ‘heart,’ it was good.” He gets up from the couch where we were lying and comes back a couple of seconds later. Written on bond paper: 100. He tells me, “This is your score, Tita Beng. But only for the ‘heart.’” O—kay. I’ll take it.

Meanwhile, Noah is up and about, running around, doing his puzzles. I load the Jollibee VCD and he joyfully dances and sings, “Jolly, jolly, Jollibee, jolly, jolly.” Just when I thought everything is fine, he comes to me, takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. Now, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to decipher what needs to be done. And so I did it—assist him in doing his “thing.” Twice, in a thirty-minute interval. My baptism of fire. Quite appropriate because “baptism” and what I did required water.

I think I’ve managed quite well. There were no dirty dishes left on the sink. No toys were lying around. No blood, no broken bones. As I tucked myself to bed, I felt a heightened sense of respect for mothers and guardians who do 24/7 what I did for five hours.

Seeing royalty

Today I’ve seen royalty—the kings and queens of Narnia: Peter and Edward, Susan and Lucy. And of course, the real king of Narnia before the children of Adam arrived, Aslan. My “royal” experience coincided with the first time I’ve set foot on a Stateside movie theater.

So what was it like? The grandest thing about my moviewatching experience was the movie itself. The moviehouse this side of the world is not that different from the ones we have back in Manila. In fact, many of the Ayala cinemas are bigger than this one I entered. Only one-sixth of the approximately 150-seater moviehouse was occupied. It was a small community cinema, housed inside a one-floor building. The low ticket sales could probably be attributed to the fact that the movie was already running for a week now.

I won’t go into the details of the movie. Many of you who’ve read the book know how the story’s going to turn out anyway. But let me just say that there’s always something magical about letting your imagination run loose: You wouldn’t know where it would take you. I say that for C.S. Lewis and the creative people behind The Chronicles of Narnia, the movie.

Mrs. Beaver asks the fox who has seen Aslan, “So what is he like?”
“Like everything we’ve ever heard.”

A Day in NY

Wearing layers of clothing to brave a day out walking the streets of New York, I thought, "This should be enough to keep me warm." I was the epitome of confidence, posing for the camera for a minute while waiting for the Coach bus to take us to NY. Now, I think I'm as accurate in my prediction as the local weatherman with an accuracy rating of negative ten.

It was to be my first day during this 2005 visit to the Big Apple. Destination: Broadway. My sister Nang graciously treats me to a musical which bested others in the Best Musical category. With eight Tony awards, this should be good. Hairspray is a fun, entertaining visual and auditory spectacle about a plus-size protagonist Tracy Turnblad, a teen who dreams of making it to the Corny Collins show and be noticed by the singer/dancer dreamboat Link. It was 1962, in Baltimore, when towering hairdos rule the world. And what better else to help the beauty-conscious women than a can of hairspray? And so there were lots of singing, dancing and yep, cans and cans of hairspray. In fact, near the end of the show a giant hairspray figured in the center of the stage which turned out to be a trojan horse carrying the hard-to-be-missed Mrs. Turnblad (actually played by a man, John Pinette). And what started out as a teen romance story turned out to be a tale of the fight against segregation, during a time when "coloreds" were separated from the "whites." The company of players, after delivering a seamless performance, was honored by the audience as it rose to its feet for a standing ovation and non-stop applause.

It was nearly five pm when we got out of the Neil Simon theater but it could have been eight--it was already dark. As we walked briskly, my face started to feel numb. My nose could freeze and fall off and I wouldn't even notice. And it wasn't just me, a non-New Yorker, who thought so. Even my sister who has gone through countless winters already quipped, "Oh man! It's cold--and I live here!"

I'll be back to New York. But next time, I'll be as tightly wrapped as a lumpiang sariwa from Goldilocks. With that thought, why am I suddenly missing the Philippines?

Not Narnia

"I stepped into this wardrobe and was surprised to see this from the other end."

That's me wishfully thinking that I'm cast in the C.S. Lewis's masterpiece-inspired movie and Narnia is where I found myself in. You won't find the White Witch from where I am but from the previews of Narnia movie, this almost looks like it. It's winter--when the landscape is covered in a cold white blanket.

Snowflakes, when they fall from the sky, feel like cold specks of powder. But snow, when it has settled after a few days, feels like the accumulated ice on the sides of the freezer. I'm mighty glad that it doesn't snow in the Philippines. Many of our countrymen would freeze to death, not just because of lack of heating but lack of houses.

*This picture taken a few minutes ago is the view from the back of the house where I am staying in New Jersey.

Jetlagged Thoughts*

Zero.
That was the amount of sleep I had before boarding the first of the three planes that took me here in the US. While still at the NAIA, I had to run on pure adrenaline during the whole, almost complicated process, of checking in for my flight. At 5:45 am, while queing to get my boarding passes, I suddenly wished to be the president of the Philippines. With the kind of privilege PGMA's position affords, she doesn't have to face this airport nightmare. But then again, with the state our country is in, she's probably got enough nightmares to keep her awake every night. And so I take back my wish. One-time stress versus six years' worth of it: nah. I'll take being an ordinary mortal anytime.

Buy it. Read it. Return it. And get a 50% refund.
An airport bookstore in Detroit (where I took my connecting flight to New Jersey), Heritage Borders, makes this offer. Coming from the book business, I knew it was a great deal. No wonder people in the US have become booklovers; they're spoiled! I see people in the airport lounges reading while waiting for their flights. Reading, with a sandwich on one hand and a paperback on the other. I did my own share of reading, while up in the air and down at the terminal: Fearfully and Wonderfully Made by Dr. Paul Brand with Philip Yancey (which I highly recommend). Another book tucked in my luggage somewhere is an ancient copy of Elisabeth Elliot's Shadow of the Almighty.

Like earning a masteral degree in self-denial.
That is how parents must be feeling while taking care of their kids. I'm not in the program yet but I can already imagine its demands. My nephews gladly tell me this, and in non-verbal terms too. Case in point: I catch some precious sleep on the couch while watching Madagascar with them (this was probably about an hour of my arrival). While in the REM cycle of my sleep, I suddenly hear a loud voice reverberate in my ear, "Tita Beng, wake up. Wake up! The movie's over. Let's play." I had to remind myself that in my dictionary, the word "they"-- these thousands of kilojoules of energy contained in tiny bodies--comes before "me." And that they're the primary reason why I've willingly allowed myself to be sleepless.

*These 3:30 am thoughts canned after my body couldn't tell if it was day or night and prodded me to write instead of sleep. I'm hoping to recover from this confusion-slash-jetlag soon. :-)

Feels like my day

I was running late coming to work. As the clock ticked away, I was already thinking of tasks which needed to be done today—my last day at work for 2005. I gasped for breath and pictured the day’s challenges. Ready to be stressed. Bring it on.

But on my last step up the stairway leading to our room, I wondered: “Is everybody late? Why are the lights still not on?”

As I turned the door knob, another question entered my mind: “And why is the door locked?” After a couple more seconds, I discovered why.

And oh, what a discovery! A dark room greeted me, illuminated only by the light from candles atop a Red Ribbon mocha cake. My teammates offered me a heartfelt rendition of the Happy Birthday song while I grinned from ear to ear as a bottle-ful of exhilaration was spritzed on me.

The Publications team didn’t miss the chance of celebrating my birthday before I left for the US. Nobody seemed to have minded, well, especially not me, that we are celebrating my birthday sixteen days early. My boss, Ate Yna, thoughtfully bought a cake the night before. The same thing Ian, an editor, did who handed me a bouquet of pink roses. The cake tasted sweet but the euphoria I felt over the pleasant surprise was infinitely sweeter. The flowers were beautiful but do not compare to the beauty of kindred spirit we share.

It’s not everyday when I feel like it’s my day. Today is one of those days. Wow.

PS: Before the day ended, another friend, Gracia, handed me a slice of cake and a can of coffee. For the coffee time we couldn't share anymore, she gave them to me instead. Now, who needs coffee when you've got great friends like these to perk you up?! :-)