“Therefore I, a prisoner for serving the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of your calling, for you have been called by God.”
One day, during morning devotion in the ARMS mission trip to Tacloban, we woke up to find memory verses on the table. I found Ephesians 4:1 on my side of the table and upon seeing it, I realized that it defines my life’s mission.
Old but not quite
A song plays and it paints a familiar air of ominous tunes in the still air.
Old but not quite.
Surely does not feel likew thirty-six…
Especially with the shackles tight around my hands and feet. I am a prisoner and I drag painstakingly along, creating screeching sounds that deafen in the silence of the night.
In the Bible, Genesis opens with a hopeful “In the beginning” and it ends in Revelation, with a fulfilling “Amen”. The start and finish of most things is definitive. Our lives are the same, because it starts and ends, but in the middle… that is where you make a difference.
Mission Life Entry #2. Monday, 17th April 2017, Departure Area Legazpi Airport.
10:55am. My flight back to Manila is delayed. I am heading back from a mission with Team Jesus and I hope to rush home so I could rest, recuperate and finish packing for Tacloban. When I said “yes” to the holy week mission, I wasn’t thinking straight. But I thought, the clinic will be closed anyway, so I might as well–and I’m glad I made that decision.
Not that I feel old because I don’t. Yes, I feel old(er) and that’s different. I feel like wine–and I’ve aged to some level of perfection, but not quite yet. If you know what I mean. And I think that’s what matters, that we age with grace. That we age, somehow? That we can look back from where we’ve been and say… “Good thing I’m not there anymore”.
I write because while my voice is loud enough I know that the volume does not give me the strength to tell the truth. My pen is more powerful than my tongue and sharper than my teeth, so it can bite and give necessary pain when in reality I cant even hurt a fly
I write because my head often spins with a cocktail of words that dont make sense unless I translate it onto paper. In dreams over clouds I’m often too drunk in the deluge of emotions that cascade in my heart in poetic phrases that pile up and it suffocates me…
I write because in this battle I am a soldier and I’d die if I wont fight with the ammo I know.
I write because otherwise Ill choke in my own words for the overload is heavy and the baggage is infected.