Why we can't see through His eyes

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord,

especially now that things are unfathomable,

and my suffering feels interminable.

What will tomorrow bring?

Is it something better, wonderful, beautiful?

What is ahead of me that I cannot see?

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord

because all I could see now is a huge boulder.

Should I cross over? It could be too steep.

Should I crush it? It could take me years.

Should I change my path? I could be wrong.

Would whatever lies behind be worth it?

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord,

for I see nothing now but thick fog and black smoke.

Everything seems like a chaotic blur.

Truly, whatever's painful to behold, the eyes distort.

How vivid things are for You, Lord?

What is it that I fail to see?

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord.

Bring me hope. Give me light!

Tell me what's on the other side.

Tell me how the story ends.

And then what? Would I be happier?

No, the question is, would it make me wiser?

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord,

but if I could, what would be there to believe in?

If I could, would I be stronger?

If I could, would I still strive to become better?

If I could, would my love for You get deeper?
If I could, would I realize what matters most?

Rock Bottom

That night, I was crying my heart out. 

All there was was darkness, and cold rocks, and dead ends. For the first time in my life, I was sure I had hit the rock bottom. It felt like life was slowly being pulled out of me. Pain was brimming in my heart. It was akin to dying.

I grieved until my eyes went swollen, my cheeks wet, and my lips salty. Exhausting. I shook my head. I didn't want to stop. No. I didn't want to, until I turned my head and saw Him. 

I saw Jesus. He, who had a crown of thorns. He, who was almost drowned by the pool of his own blood. Jesus was defaced inside and out.

I looked closely. Jesus' face was a taut mask of pain, yet when his eyes met mine I felt the warmth of His love in my heart. Then I saw his dried lips parting, then muttering, "Elaine, I am with you in this suffering."

He, who truly loves

Oh, how I wish I could caress Your cheeks,

and look lovingly on You,

- straight in Your eyes!

I want You to feel how much I love You

and how I love loving You.

You are utterly beautiful, Lord.

Your presence feels warm in my soul.

Because of You, I feel like

I have too much love to give

that sometimes,

my heart's like bursting!

But give me strength, Lord.

A whole lot of it!

For I know that this brings pain

just as much.

Fill me with wisdom,

calm my spirit,

appease my soul!

Prepare me, my Lord,

for a long purpose-driven journey

for now, I can see myself

treading this world

with a loving heart,
but with You, Lord.
Yes, with you!
You, who truly loves.

Walking on Thin Ice

You once told me you're walking on thin ice,

but actually we both are.

Not on the same thin ice, though.

Yours, you know, I can do nothing about.

Helpless you are, but mine is you.

You are my thin ice.

Each day, I must be careful not to make a crack.

As much as possible, I should put so light a weight

that must, sometimes, be even lighter than my body weight.

It's exhausting to fight with gravity,

and even more, to walk on your thin ice

when I can actually see the nearby solid ground.

So for several times, I've stumbled.

I've faltered.

I have not just made cracks;

I've made huge holes.

For many times, I've fallen,
submerged in your ice cold river.

I almost died,

caught by your coldness that chilled not just my skin

but everything that's deep beneath it.

It froze my whole being, nearly to death.

Yet for the umpteenth time, I've fought it all

and have swam back to that light.

That light which never failed to assure me

that someday I will again feel

the warmth I've been longing for.

Have faith, my friend

Have faith, my friend 

Even when your prayers seem unanswered,

and you can't get what you want.

Even when you're in need of help and comfort,

and nobody seems to be there for you.

Even when the one you love can't love you back.

Even when people hate you, mock you and insult you.

Even when you lose someone/something

who/which you know is irreplaceable.

Even when waiting seems endless

and becomes utterly painful.

Even when your job gets harder . . . 

and harder and harder.

Even when you barely see hope.

Even amid hunger and thirst.

Even amid natural disaster and war.

Even when in physical pain.

Even when the world isn't being fair.

Have faith, my friend. 

Just hold on.

The world may abandon you,

but God never will.

Give Me Up

She dusted off her skirt and sat on a bench under a tree. That day, the wind was blowing fast and heavy. Looking up, she saw the sun shining brightly behind a couple of huge clouds. Oh goodness. It was past lunch, and she hadn't eaten anything yet. With a sigh, she slipped her feet out of her heeled black shoes.

"Oh, blisters." She uttered dryly.

Few people were passing by her, but she didn't care how she looked anymore - oily face, sweaty armpits and all scrunched up clothing. Her long raven hair was disheveled, dancing with the wind in strands. She pulled her bag close to her body . . . tightly, and thought she needed a hug.

"I'm tired." She admitted to herself.

It wasn't a declaration of retreat but of reality. It had been several months now and still without a success. Time seemed to be testing her grit, she thought. She stared blankly on the green scenic view toward her. It helped her rest her eyes and her body . . . and mind . . . and soul. For the first time, she forgot about her plans, goals, worries, frustration and disappointment. For the first time, it was emptiness which reigned within her. It wasn't a good feeling, though. It made her languid and feel lifeless. That sense of emptiness deepened quickly and piqued her vulnerable self. 

"Why?" She broke the silence and teared up a bit.

Suddenly, she realized that she'd been running away from something she knew she deeply wanted. For the sake of her loved ones, she tried living in a world where she did not seem to belong. She wanted to be happy, but couldn't afford to be the cause of someone's heartache. Moreover, not living her dream seemed to be a pain too great to bear. It was a bewildering tug of war between her dream and others' need of her. T'was a war between two different forms of love and suffering.

She zipped open her bag and clutched the rosary inside it. Desperately, she pulled out a pen and a piece of paper. On top of it, she wrote:

"Give Me Up"