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Showing posts from October, 2008

Isabela

The trip to Isabela was 12 hours long, and I embarked on it with a bag loaded with clothes, a thick study Bible, and a pair of shoes. The goal I was part of the UP DCF Missions Team. The missions exposure trip is an annual event of the DCF to spread the gospel of Christ, and to equip the local churches, especially the youth. This was to be my second exposure to the mission field, after having gone to Sibalom, Antique last year. Pastor Ollie and Ate Telling When we arrived on October 22 after a bus ride that seemed like eternity, we were hosted to delicious brunch at the house of Pastor Ollie and Ate Telling, his wife. We would live in their home for the next week or so. Pastor Ollie is the senior pastor of Sta. Maria Bible Community Church. Gifted in music, he has composed and translated Christian songs in Ibanag, the local language. His preaching is God-centered, and he's not hesitant to talk about Biblical truths, even those that are hard to understand and swallow.

Off to Isabela

At 10 pm tonight I’m leaving for Isabela. God has been so gracious as to give me an opportunity to be part of the DCF missions team this year. I’m excited to see how the Lord will do wonders there. He always has, and it has left us all amazed, our lips overflowing with praises. Please pray: 1. That the people there be responsive to the gospel. 2. That Christ’s name be ultimately exalted and lifted up. 3. That we in the missions team be filled with the Spirit as we speak God’s truth. 4. That we may not lack in anything, for the Lord will surely provide. My next update will be in, what, 10 or so days. Isabela, here we come!

Morning snapshots

Manong's law readings clutter much of the floor's surface area. Here's his trusted Macbook that I borrow once in a while, especially when I have presentations to do. Ate Pie Sobrepena is Renan Laruan's niece who regularly visits the apartment, usually with a meal idea in mind. Here she's reviewing for the board exam this Thursday. Kuya John Dasmarinas is on his way to an art exhibit in UP. Later in the day, he's buying a kiwi drink. It's a weekly ritual. My brother. You won't miss the nose. This break I plan to finish these books: 1. The Journals of Jim Elliot, given to me by Kuya Caloy. I've started reading the first few pages, and it's already been a blessing. What an encouragement Mr. Elliot is. Each page is just soaked with God's truth reflected in man's thoughts and prayers. 2. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. I have no idea what it's about, but I hear it's really good.

A time to rest

It’s the stillness after the storm. As far as I know, yesterday marked the end of my sem. A lot of friends, especially in MBB, think this has been the hardest. And it’s been hard, considering our academic load, lab internships, and org responsibilities. I’m just relieved that, at least for the moment, I won’t be thinking much of them. Right now there are awkward moments when I feel I should be doing something but in reality there isn’t. All these sleepless months have conditioned my body to a state of unrest, so imagine the weird-ness of it all when I found myself alone last night in my brother’s apartment, without an exam or a meeting or a deadline in mind. Rest is a precious gift. Thank you, Lord, for the chance to get hold of that.

The troubles of losing something

To declare someone (or something) is missing, 24 hours should've passed since the time that person (or object) was last seen. The last time I saw my personal journal was Sunday afternoon . It doesn't take a genius to understand that it's been more than 24 hours. I remember leaving it on my desk beside my mug when I went out of the dorm. I didn't bother bringing it—it was a matter of great importance. Private things should remain in their private places. Now I'm having second thoughts if I'm remembering things rightly. Memory—at least mine—has its way of messing things up. I've looked at my bed and under it, I've asked my roommates, I've created a mental movie of what I did that Sunday afternoon. It's still missing. Otherwise, I wouldn't be so desperate writing this. What if someone reads my journal? Well, it's personal, for one—and it shouldn't be read. At least, not by everyone. There are many things I've written there

Death

Two days ago Shean texted me the news that Herman's father is dead. Herman was our high school classmate who's now teaching part-time at Ateneo de Davao while taking up his Law degree. I called him this morning to express my condolences, but I was at a loss for words. This was history repeating itself. Reinier's father died last year, too, and I had nothing else to say, except for a text message telling him I would be praying for their family in the time of grief. Why do words desert us when we need them most?

Jogging reminded me of my heavenly home

Today was the first time I jogged in a long time. It felt good—the first few hours after my first and last round—and right now I'm not too sure if, with all the lactic fermentation going on, I'd still be able to walk tomorrow. Jason knocked at my door at 6 am. Coming from Yakal, we (Jason, Jaylord, Remrick, and myself) walked to the Grandstand where we met Luther and Arnold. Rashel and Steffi arrived soon after. We warmed up—not with stretching, as Rem so vehemently insisted against—but with taho and a good dose of laughter. Then we ran. O, it was fanstastic: seeing all those people in jogging pants, sweat pouring down their faces. At the last quarter of the distance before finish line, I had a panoramic view of the crowd, running, never looking back. And then I remembered what Paul said in Philippians 3:13b-14 , “But one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead; I press toward the goal for the prize of the