Where is Home in the Convent?

I know no one here but You, Lord.

You've been with me even before my mother conceived me in her womb.

You saw me grow my limbs and teeth, heard my first words, 

and witnessed how I slowly let go of the things that support me 

so I can walk on my own.

And I'm glad to see You here, where I am.

Where even my mother cannot be,

or my father, and my sisters,

or my friends.

I wake up each day to walls I'm not familiar with,

eat my meals on a bigger table,

and live with people I met just a month ago.

But Lord, whenever I face the heavens,

and watch the clouds in the sky,

I feel home.

Whenever I look at You

through the San Damiano cross,

I feel a comforting presence,

I feel home.

During dark nights,

while I lie in my bed,

confused, lonely, and afraid,

I hold on to my rosary,

and I feel home.

I wonder, Lord, if

by the time the world mars

the beauty of the sky,

termites eat the wooden cross,

and my rosary wears and tears,

will I still feel home?

"And remember, I am with you always, 

to the end of the age." - Matthew 28:20

Blossom

My first ever attempt to coffee painting resulted in this imperfect work of art. It isn't done yet. I need to add more details, refine some edges, and put more shades. But I decide, I like it this way. I like that it still has space for improvement. As you look at it, I want your imagination to finish it or do the revamps. Let the possibility of perfection of imperfection be limitless.

Blossom. That's how I entitled it. It's my word for 2016. The day I walked into January, I told God that I want to blossom this year - just like a plant extending its roots deeper in the soil, and its flower outstretching its petals as if arms embracing the sunlight. And God heard me.

I'll be entering the convent this May. I have two months left to prepare everything. I'm enjoying this phase. I like the anxiety - that fear for the unknown. It strengthens my faith. I like the fear of loss - that uncomfortable feeling of letting things fall from my grasp. I now see more of what matters. It is but thrilling to empty myself of the temporary and fill myself in with lasting things. I have to learn my lessons. I'm starting to blossom.

This imperfect painting is now pasted on my calendar, reminding me each day that I need to blossom. And as I journey on, I fix my eyes to heaven. I know I'll be treading a path full of thorny branches, cliffs and traps, but from afar, I can see a beauty beyond me. This painting says that the possibility of perfection of imperfection is limitless. This painting says that someday, I can blossom fully into someone like Jesus.

My friend, how do you want to blossom?

Good bye, Mr. Right

I'm giving up that one fine morning

of waking up in bed with the guy

my heart would willingly

fall in love with and die for.

I'm giving up the sumptuous breakfast

we’d peacefully have on our dining table,

those sandwiches, fruits and milk

beneath a meaningful conversation.

I'm giving up that great company,

those hearty laughs, hugs and kisses,

those books we'd read in comfort and silence,
and our exchange of wise words.

I'm giving up those ecstatic Sundays

of lifting up our hands together in worship,

of uttering prayers, singing praises

and giving warm embraces.

I’m giving up that wedding ring,

that sacred promise at the altar,

those tears of overwhelming gratitude

and that loving and tender kiss.

I’m giving him up, Lord.

I’m letting go of “Mr. Right”

if he really does exist.

I surrender my romantic dreams to You.

I'm choosing You, Lord.

I'm choosing to have fine days, meals

and promises with You!

I'm choosing the cross and the habit.

Lord, You are my One True Love.