Float Along

Float along the waves.

Beneath you is the ocean of grace

Trust that you'll get to the shore

of the land you will most adore.

Be amazed, be amazed!

Upon the expanse of the sky, hold your gaze.

See through the clouds and pray

to the God who won't lead you astray.

And if the water breaks its stillness,

and the sky becomes a vast darkness,

Just float along, float along!

You'll come to the shore faster and strong!

Oh, float along the waves,

you are on the ocean of His love and grace,

Trust that He will bring you to the shore

of the land where there is something more.

When nothing makes sense, God does.

You wake up to an arid day.

The sunrays are dull, the billowing clouds move slowly, and your sister lies feebly beside you 

with her limbs spread out on the bed.

You wonder why today, everything is meaningless. The tasks you once perceived productive are pointless. You want to be nice and loving, but every person just leaves you in a fit of pique. Not their fault. You know you can't blame anyone save yourself.

You feel empty today. And it's a surprise that you are. Actually, everything's perfect this time but instead of seeing yourself on cloud nine, you're walking in a scorched land with no water to drink, wishing you will come to the end of the desert sooner.

It's okay. I tell you, it's okay that you're feeling this way. Probably, this is God's way of reminding you that there's something more, of redirecting you as the world blurs your way to ever after, and of telling you that He exists - that He wants to be sought after. By you.

Today, God whispers to you through the gentle wind, in the rustle of leaves, or through the soft chirps of birds. He teaches you how to see Him in the ordinary days, or in your worst - when nothing seems to be happening. It is today that He prefers to work quietly and imperceptibly, lovingly molding you in His hands. 

Today, you feel empty, but live anyway.

Trust. 

When nothing makes sense, God does.

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

Let Her Come to Life

I do not want to be wasted.

Whenever I step into my inner world,

I see my potential greatness.

I see my ideal self slowly forming,

an image that's full and whole in the offing.

And I want her to come to life.
I want to know how she'll move her hands,

turn her head, walk and talk.

I want to breathe the air she'll take,

taste the words she'll speak,

and feel everything that'll touch her skin.
 And as soon as I feel her heartbeat,
that first gush of her blood into my veins,

I'll know, I won't be wasted.

The Last Crumb

I am at the last stretch of my journey,

and I have no bread left to sustain me.

Last week, I trod a tough road, and

the last crumb helped me carry the load.

Now, my body's sick and weary.

my lips are dry and thirsty,

and my mind's away from the journey.

Now I rest, mulling over the sky,

feeling the breeze and watching doves fly.

I listen to the earth where I'm lying,

and wonder if this halt would be worthwhile.

But time is running, running, and running,

and I wasted my strength chasing.

Oh Lord of all graces,

Oh God of beauty, songs and phrases.

I pray that manna would fall from heaven,

I pray for bread or fish to keep me living.

Now that I am at this point of exhaustion,

Jesus, nourish me until the next season.

Empty Words

One day, I found my words dry,

lying wilted on the sun-drenched ground.

I held its thin leaves between my fingers.

They were empty.

No beat nor breath.

No movement.

My words were lifeless.

God keeps His promises

I dipped my hand in the basket and closed my eyes, "Please speak to me, Lord." 

I let my fingers run against the mound of scrolls then groped for one. I pulled it out and unrolled it.

"I don't get it, Lord."

We were at the Feast, and it was 2014. I was working as a freelance writer part-time and medical transcriptionist full-time. I wasn't so happy with my job.

"I think this is for you, Ate Nikki," I told my sister as we exchanged papers. She was a teacher.

March 2016, I saw the same paper scrolled up in a piece of straw on my desk. I unrolled it and read aloud, "Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it."

I was a preschool teacher. The school year was about to end, and I had 2 lengthy videos to create, portfolios to plan and write, narratives and checklists to accomplish, and a couple more of school works to finish for the next few weeks of class. My calendar was nothing but a throng of post-its. I was so stressed, I wanted a bit of inspiration. The verse gave me that. It reminded me of my purpose as a teacher. Then suddenly, everything made sense.

I realized that that piece of paper carried God's promise to me. On that day of 2014, He indeed spoke to me through that paper. He was actually asking me to have faith in Him. He was telling me to trust that, indeed, the best is yet to come! And He was assuring me that what didn't make sense that time will surely make sense soon.

Why doubt now? Truly, God keeps His promises.