Last week I was reading through the sixth book of The Old Testament, and was struck with chapter 4, Joshua’s account when God prescribed the elders of Israel to take twelve stones out of the midst of Jordan, so that when their children ask their fathers in time to come what these stones mean, the elders might reminisce on the faithfulness of the Lord bringing them safely across the river. I wondered how many times did the elders have to explain to their children the meaning of these stones. Or what about Rebekah? I have often wondered what evocative thoughts came flooding into her mind every time she drew water from a well after she met Abraham’s servant. Did Rebekah rejoice at the remembrance of that occasion which ultimately led to her marriage with Isaac? Or what about Moses? After God appeared to him at the burning bush that wasn’t consumed, did this great prophet pause with joyful memories every time he saw a similar bush? Or, what about Peter? Would this impulsive apostle remembered his denial of Christ afresh every time he heard a cock crow throughout the rest of his life? Did he break down in tears on each of these successive occasions? Or, what about Paul? Having persecuted the church of God prior to his conversion, what type of emotions stirred in his soul as a servant of Christ whenever he looked at the marks of the Lord Jesus he bore in his body? Were these scars in his own flesh a reminder of the scars he was responsible for inflicting upon many believers? Continue reading “From Ten to Twenty Eight”
With the recent passing of my 95 year-old aunt, I decided to share my diary entry dated 26 Sept 2009. On this particular day, typhoon Ondoy brought massive rainfall and caused severe flooding, death and suffering to thousands of people in Manila and neighbouring provinces. I happened to be in the Philippines at the time taking care of my mother on her deathbed. My cousin, Manay Susan, and I, along with my mother’s caretaker, and with the help of other family members, we’d take turns keeping an eye on her. There’s always someone watching her 24/7 making sure she’s alright. She passed away three weeks after I wrote this.
As I am writing this, the wind is screaming, the rain falls in torrents, thunder is rumbling, lightning is flickering in succession in the distance but seems to be moving closer. The heavy downpour, what seems like buckets of water, is pelting the windows relentlessly. When I was a little child growing up in Samar, there were thunderstorms, similar to typhoon Ondoy, that visited my hometown. In memory, there was more thunder and lightning, and I used to be so frightened of them.
I’ve been particularly nostalgic about the good old days . . . it’s my father’s birthday and the overwhelming sense of loss of his early passing dominated my thoughts. He died quite young and he would have turned 85 if he’s still around. I’ve been pondering about it all, and found my diary from my last visit to Palapag, my hometown. I wrote down these thoughts, entry dated 28 November 2010, and wanna share it here. Too personal but please indulge me . . . 🙂
I’ve come here to visit my family home. It is a wonderful place. It’s been a long time since my last visit. Since my mother’s death, I had a deep longing to reconnect with the people in a community where I grew up. As soon as I arrived, my first instinct was to go straight to the nearest beach, Talolora, and on my way there I dropped by at the old cemetery where my ancestors were laid to rest. Continue reading “Nostalgic Memories of my Childhood Home”