Celez. Not Celeste.

Back when I was a kid, I met another “kid” named Celez who became a very good friend of mine.

Whoa. It just dawned on me that we’ve known each other for about 19 years. Whaaat? Are we really old enough to say things like that?
I remember getting her name totally wrong. She had to correct me about four times before I finally got it right. I kept saying everything from Celeste (which she hates) to Celeeez. It's a miracle I didn't call her Celery.

It still amazes me that though we’ve lead very different lives as the years went by, don’t live near each other, etc., we can still connect as if things haven’t changed from that day in 7th grade when we were trying out for our school's colorguard. (why we ever thought it was cool to twirl a flag in the air, much less get bonked in the face as it came furiously crashing down on us, is beyond me)

Distance has not become a permanent fixture in our friendship--we still connect and laugh about everything. She's seen me through a lot--dumb boys, breakups, family bickerings, a lonely year in another state for college and later on, celebrating with me in the joys of being there for my wedding. And thankfully, she’s remained as wacky as she was the day I met her, and graciously volunteered herself for a photoshoot one Saturday afternoon. Glamour shots, we called them. Her and her pup Coco, the four-legged cotton ball, made excellent subjects and were extremely patient as I adjusted my camera settings for each photo shot and simultaneously tried to make the best of the fading daylight.

Everyone, meet a very good friend of mine, Celez.

Not Celeste. =)










 

those profound quotes

“Just because you accept help from someone, doesn't mean you have failed. It just means you're not in it alone.” – Eric Messer, Life As We Know It

Justin. 2011.

It was a beautiful afternoon and one well spent as my dear hubby allowed me to do a photoshoot of him. He will always be my favorite subject.

Prayer- more than a Band-Aid

Prayer. You say that word and some folks think connection to a God they believe exist — 50% of the time.

Others, the word translates to overbearing religion. And still others, a confusing word of instruction that is given to them by perhaps well-intentioned people…but is still interpreted as weak as a Band-Aid that’s lost its stick.

I can’t speak for others. I never can. But I can speak for me. And for me, prayer has been taking on a whole new meaning, as recent as a few days ago.

My mind knows that prayer is meaningful. But my heart doesn’t believe it until I am suddenly finding myself desperate, mentally spent, and just very much at the end of my rope with no room to tie a knot and hang on, so to speak.

My God doesn’t want a well-rehearsed prayer, a speech of perfectly chosen words, free of the um’s and ah’s that plague my hesitant conversation with others. I’m being reminded that He wants an honest conversation of all that burdens my thoughts and my heart. Even if what pours from my mouth is tainted of melancholy and frustrated anger at life or with people.

I also am reminded that silence is ok in His presence. In God’s love letter to me, He reminds me that His Holy Spirit prays for me when I don’t know what to say: Romans 8:26 “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

You know what that means? It means that I forget that sitting in silence with Him is ok…He prays on my behalf because He knows what I can’t say or what my words might jumble up.

Prayer defined to me? It’s a lifeline. One that I know I don’t use as often as I probably need it. Everytime I have summed up the nerve to call on that lifelime, no matter what state I am in, He never tricks me into thinking I’ve run out of lifelines with him. I find it interesting and kind of sad that a lot of the world believes “There are bigger things in this world, God doesn’t care about my stupid little problems.” or even the lie that God is tired of hearing your voice and that His answering machine comes on when He sees it’s you calling…. again. That’s a lie and if you’re one of those who believe this, it’s my prayer that you’re freed from the ties of that lie, from whomever told you that. Take it from me, because I used to believe that same lie, too.

On the way to work, I heard a song on the radio that I’ve come to really like, not necessarily because of the artist or the melody of the actual music, but because of what the words say. It’s a song by Amy Grant called “Better than a Hallelujah”. It outlines what I have come to believe prayer, true prayer, really is. That sometimes a desperate, angry, or frustrated cry resulting from the trials, frustrations, and hardships of life are just as much a prayer He hears as a choir singing in perfect tune, with polished words.

He sees and hears me upset over the mess of various areas of my life, venting my fumbling, stumbling, jumbled prayer to Him..and He hears a song? Doesn’t make sense, does it? But that’s the truth. He loves a praise song as much as He does hearing someone calling out to Him in the not-perfect state their life is in.

He hears a soldier pleading for his life, a drunkard’s raging cry, a mother’s tears, the depression of a teenager, and even me, a 30 year old questioning God in the midst of the stress of life and search for meaning. He hears all of that and it is, indeed, better than a hallelujah sometimes.


“We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes.” – A. Grant

Grandpops

Walking into work today, my grandfather from my dad’s side crossed my mind. I don’t know why. Today is not his death anniversary, his birthday, or anything like that. But again, for some reason this image of him crossed my mind as I pulled back the doors to the building I work in, the start of a new workday.

My grandfather died when I was in my early twenties. Unfortunately, because he lived overseas, I didn’t see him as often as I could have. There are pictures of me with him, my sisters with him, etc. when he and my grandmother came for visits or when I went to visit them overseas as a kid.

I know my grandfather was smart. I know he was highly respected in his community. I know he was from the old, old school where hard work and discipline translated itself into what made your identity. I don’t know that I necessarily agree with this now, but I do have to give him credit for the good intentions I know these principles were founded on.

My grandfather was an immigration attorney. Because some folks were too poor in his area to pay for his help, they’d give him their crops, their vegetables, etc. as payment. And he accepted them. I think it drove my grandmother crazy.

One of the more vivid stories I recall my dad telling me about was the story about the Japanese flying overhead and my grandfather taking my grandmother, my two uncles when they were kids, and his law books with him as they hid out in the jungle. I guess I like that story because well, it happened in a moment that is only in history books for my generation, and that maybe that moment defined the important stuff in my grandfather’s life: his family and his work. I look back and wish I had connected with him more. History books are great, but when the stories are told from the person who lived through it, the story is more complete, more whole, with none of the important elements missing that make it a story worth telling.

Brian and Michelle. 2010.

A day with my bubby and some of our bestest friends, Michelle and Brian. Great music. Fun photography. The Oakland/Emeryville sunset. Caught trespassing by a cop. Ah, I wouldn't have it any other way. Awesome times.

Words of Inspiration

An inspiring word from National Geographic Photographer, Annie Griffiths Belt. Her book, A Camera, Two Kids and a Camel truly speaks volumes to a photographer at any level. I know it did for me.

"The great lesson of light, I learned, is that it is more beautiful when it is less perfect. The full and unforgiving light of high noon rarely inspires. But light that is mottled, broken, fractured, or incomplete takes your breath away. For a perfectionist like me to glory in perfect light was truly a revelation. There was no controlling the outcome, no plan, no magic formula for success. There were only surprises and revelations, accidents and miracles.

I learned that serendipitous, divine light can make anything beautiful--even something as ordinary as a golf course. My happiest moments are still like that: intensely focused and lost in the light before me."

A Far Reach Brought Close

It was one of those rare afternoons where my husband and I had the opportunity to visit a local art museum. I appreciate various forms of art, but as soon as the admission was paid and we were given the “enjoy the tour” smile from the cashier, my mind curiosity immediately made a beeline for the section that showcased its latest photography and their creators.

But for the sake of "slowing down and enjoying each piece of art, I did manage to muster enough patience to slowly pace through the floors of this museum and soak in paintings, colorful glass sculptures, and video art without anxiously tugging at my husband’s hand towards the floor that I knew would house the display of camera work by talented photographers.

As soon as we entered that section of the museum, I felt myself immediately giving in to the temptation to just stare, examine, and ogle like a nerd at each of the photos prominently displayed on the museum’s white walls. I’m not sure what it is, but the photography section of an art museum just makes me want to plant myself onto one of those benches that allow for the artistic and intellectual to ponder the work in front of them.

You know, those cushioned benches that face directly in front of some painting or sculpture where you can just sit and well, stare? Or at times throw in an occasional word of observation type-conversation to shape the silence between you and the person sitting next to you?

Yes. Those benches.

Anyway, as I slowly made my way past each photo, I realized that my eyes couldn’t seem to drink in enough of the color, the details, the shadows and shades that smiled at me from each photo. There were various artists showcasing their work , with stories to tell through their pictures. The stories these photos told were of various subjects, from the poverty in Ghana, to the complication and art of dating, to snapshots of various people in America.

As I stared into the eyes of the child in Ghana, as I followed the shadows and patterns that seem to intensify the story in black and white photo, the more I felt the renewal of inspiration taking over, washing over, pulling me into a wonderful vortex, in a moment I like to think is God sitting right next to me, looking at what I'm looking at, saying, "it's nice, isn't it?"

It's amazing.

Many people say over and over again that pictures tell a story and everything in me agrees with that, more than I can explain. Photos can bring you to places around the world you've never seen before. They can take you into moments of time and history that happened long before your own birth, into the hearts and experiences of people you have never met. They can bring these things that seemed so far and out of reach, up close and truly personal.

I'm glad I didn't bring my camera on that trip to the museum with my husband. Why? Well, I'm slowly learning that there are times when a when a camera will just get in the way of a good dose of inspiration that's trying to make it's way into your heart.

And God knows, I love me some inspiration.

Clicking Cameras

Taking pictures has been this hobby of mine, something I have always liked doing ever since I possessed my first 35mm Vivitar film camera as a teenager. But now as an adult, I realize that what I have been tinkering with all these years was actually a wonderful form of art.



I am weirdly fascinated by that clicking sound a camera makes when you press the shutter release button to take a simple picture.

To some people, that sound is just the sound of a small tool functioning—but to me, that sound means a tiny detail was captured, it means a moment was stopped, it means someone slowed down to take a closer look.

To me, the idea of a sunset isn’t just the sun ending another day, but a rare chance to see gold infused light from heaven.

To me, a child’s giggle isn’t just a random sound in a crowd anymore, but a rare chance to photograph those funny dimples revealed only in their smile when laughter overcomes them.

And to me, my camera isn’t just my camera anymore, but my very own paintbrush, a generous gift from the artists of all artists, the Creator Himself.

As I “paint” these pictures for you through my photography, I hope it encourages you to see the art in the every day, to look deeper into the tiny details, and to fully embrace moments that come and go as quickly as the sound of a camera clicking away.

****
Please join us for a reception with live music at:
Paddy's Coffee House
www.paddyscoffee.com
Saturday, September 18th
6 p.m. – 8 p.m.

A portion of all proceeds from any sale of Maria Abelaye’s work will be donated to World Vision, an organization that serves to meet needs of exploited children, survivors of famine & natural disasters, and communities affected by AIDS in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.

Jesus: The Aloha God

I was on the beautiful islands of Kauai and the Big Island in Hawaii and stumbled upon this book at a gift shop off the road. The title eludes me at the moment but the message of it is as clear as day. It was book by a gentleman who wrote about the meaning of "Aloha". It really caught my attention because I did not realize the deeper meaning of the word "aloha" other than a polite hello and good-bye meaning in Hawaii.



Some of what I can recall was not only the beautiful photographs associated with each meaning but each "life" definition. The author talked about how aloha is doing the right thing in the midst of others who are doing wrong. It's about being kind-hearted to fellow man, taking care of the earth, being wise, loving, patient, and forgiving. To do right in the face of wrong.



As I stood amidst the racks of t-shirts, beach mats, and colorful souvenirs in that shop, I had to smile as I closed the book and placed it on it's own rickety shelf because I now believe that Aloha is another name for the ways of my Jesus.

Annoyingly Good Books That Ask You to Change Your Heart

“Preach the gospel always; when necessary use words.” - St. Francis of Assisi

“We have shrunk Jesus to the size where He can save our soul but now don’t believe He can change the world. – Anonymous

“Two thousand years ago, the world was changed forever by just twelve. It can happen again.” Richard Stearns, "The Hole in Our Gospel".



I hate when I read books that leave you no choice but to re-examine and probe at your own heart and intentions and everything that makes up the core of your very being.



I hate it even more when I find out that I'm not quite where I thought I was and that I have been sunken into complacency for longer than I realized. It sucks.

I just finished reading a book called "Crazy Love" by Frances Chan. This book got me thinking and actually did its job of cornering me with questions of where I stood in my own relationship with God. If what I have with God now has evolved into a habitual religion--the very thing I was trying to avoid. It's a bummer to be cornered with questions like that. It made me really appreciate the book and at the same time want to shut the book and hide it under something so it wouldn't come out and ask me those questions again.



A Jesus freak and close friend of mine, who has also read "Crazy Love" and liked it deeply, suggested that I read "The Hole in Our Gospel" by Richard Stearns, former CEO of Lennox. She basically told me that if "Crazy Love" made me feel a bit crappy, The Hole In Our Gospel would really might “lovingly” make it worse, i.e, would challenge me in a way that’s necessary, but uncomfortable. I am barely a few pages into Richard Stearns book and already I want to bury it along with "Crazy Love" so that it won't force me to look in the mirror and ask myself some tough questions.

Please hear me when I say this, especially if you don't consider yourself Christian or a God-believer or into that "religious stuff". When I say that that these books made me feel crappy I say it with a bit of a laugh because it's actually a good thing that I have this realization of just how flawed I am and how much deeper I could get with God. I don't think God, let alone these authors, are intending to make people believe there is no hope for them and that it’s your fault the world is the way it is. Rather, I think what they're saying and even begging the world is to take the time to shake up their belief and see if the foundation strength is where it should be. Especially if you've claimed the label "Christian".

As I turned the pages of Crazy Love and now am turning the pages of The Hole in Our Gospel, I am reminded that sadly, I've become lukewarm for a God who has a burning and passionate love for me from the moment I was a mere thought to Him. A Holy God that deserves no less than everything from me. It's a humbling type of unconditional love that I've barely understood a fraction of. It's like I want to say "Wow, God. You're so, so awesome. And I can't believe I actually suck this much! But wow, you still want me near you? Really?"

Again, I can't describe it. Pick up Crazy Love and The Hole in Our Gospel. This is a shameless plug for these books but I promise you it'll give you more than just a good heart tug. It'll actually make you want to do something with what you've read.

Missing Teeth and Peanuts

My niece is super polite. And it’s amazing how an overflow of manners and gratitude can really make you feel like someone special. I think feeling special and valued is such a rare feeling these days that one feeds off of the feeling if it’s given. Even if the giver is a 7 year old.
She seriously thanked me for every tiny thing I did that she asked for when I spent an afternoon baby-sitting her. She was hanging out with me in the hours before I was to take her over to her grammy’s for the evening and part of the hangout time required that I give her her evening bath. My niece has this full head of crazy hair that, if wet, can weigh down and make it just a bit hard to clean and shampoo on her own. Hence, she asked that I help her and thanked me immediately after I’d helped her rinse the last of the bubbly suds down the drain.

I write about my niece a lot because I think that kids are the funniest but most accurate window view of humanity. And before inhibition stepped in and created a curtain to this honest view, we all were once kids without holding anything back, flaws and all. I’ve laughed many times over the things my niece has innocently said and many times marveled at her observations of the world around her.

Really, when did we lose this freedom? Sometimes I sit and wonder that, truthfully. Was it around the time I entered kindergarten? How about middle school? High school, even? Wasn’t there such a joy in being able to exercise such an innocent honesty? When something stunk, a kid says “it stunk”. Versus an adult who would hem and haw about the answer and say “it doesn’t smell that bad” when it clearly is a situation that needs a whiff of fresh air. Catch my drift?



There is an incessant longing in me for times of old, when things were a little simpler, people were a little more honest, and the world was viewed a little more accurately. A time of milk and cookies, bright colors that don’t match but were ok anyway, a moment in youth where it was ok to stop and enjoy the sights and smells around you, using the gifts/your sense of smell, sight and touch the Almighty gave you so that you could enjoy what He’s created. Maybe it’ll slow us down a bit, but who said I had to race through life and ignore the God-infused beauty that surrounds me constantly? Sadly and oddly enough, no one told me that. I made that sad decision on my own.

While I can’t reverse time or go back to a season in my life where it was ok to be missing your front teeth and grinning proudly in pictures or be rushed to the doctor’s with my mommy because I jammed a peanut up my nose out of sheer curiosity, I’m thankful to have a 7 year old reminder of fun, innocence, and honesty running around in my life, a kid that makes me feel special and appreciated simply because I helped her shampoo her hair.

Only One Thought...

It's late right now. But it's never too late in the evening to just say that God is so good.

I am in pure awe of that idea right now and never get tired of the surprise blessings he sends my way. Or rather, I'm simply in awe of God's ways and how he always writes a story better than any author I know.

Good night, Lord. I love You.

My Reason for the Whole Jesus Thing

I sometimes wonder if anyone who isn't a believer in Christ ever wonder how hard it is for the folks who do choose to follow Jesus. Now, I don't say this in any way that tries to provoke confrontation or anything like that. I think I'm merely expressing this because as a believer, I've been having a hard time lately with this fight/struggle/walk/process, etc...whatever you want to call it.

Or maybe I just need a whine fest?

In any case, I just want to express how freakin' hard it is to grow in God. But how, at the same time, it's a process that I have grown more in than any other process before in my life.

The more and more I actually put effort into my faith walk, the more and more I believe God reveals to me a lot that are continuing works in process in my own heart. The more I ask God to help me to love others the way He loves me, the more I find myself in situations where I'm criticized more, provoked more, annoyed more, you name it. In short, I bug God to make me more like Him and He presents me with situations He goes through, yet still loves the people who put Him through it. I'm laughing a little right now as I type this because I'm reminded of the times where I have found myself a bit prideful that I'm one who posses an unselfish heart, yet I'm learning more and more just how selfish I can be.

Try this experiment. Make note of every situation you were in that you thought you were acting on behalf of the other, whether it's your spouse, your friend, a family member, co-worker, etc. Dig a big further and examine your motives behind it. I don't know about you, but when I took on this experienment even just for a few days, I was apalled and pretty butt-hurt about what I found out. I do things that seem generous, but secretly wanting to receive some recognition for it. I do something but in the back of my mind, a part of me wants to have a right at bragging about it later on. Pretty sick, isn't it? I couldn't believe it.

I've heard many times that if you want to get real with God, take a good look at yourself first. It's speechless at what you'll see. I found that my own self-seeking ways are so deeply ingrained it me that it's disguised in what I thought was genuine generosity, genuine care, and mostly, genuinely self-less.

So what, you ask? Maybe some of you are even muttering "then what's the point? Why try if you're just going to feel like crap about yourself trying to be this good person?"

Well, I asked myself that, too. And what I'm finding from this is not "what's the point? (though I won't lie, I have asked myself that before many times and probably will down the road again), but rather, it's making me realize, "Wow. I really am in need of someone to save me from myself." I don't think God places me, you or I, in these situations to berate ourselves, but rather to lovingly sand away the rough edges of a heart that is born self-serving.

I'm not going to lie. This process downright sucks at times. It's gut-wrenchingly hard even. I can't tell you how hard it was, how many times I've been so upset the few times I chose to do what Jesus would do and want to cry and lash out instead to the person who "wronged" me. These situations hurt, but it's an odd feeling when you realize that you can be just as selfish, wrong, and hurtful as they are. And I think it's in that very moment of realization that Jesus gently says "I went through that, too. I know it hurts."

The major difference between Jesus and me is that He was genuine through and through, especially in the face of opposition, betrayal, unjust and unfair treatment.

I am a work in process believer of Jesus. I make mistakes and am pretty horrible at times. The battle between the desires of myself versus the better desires that come from God are constantly at war with each other. I mean, WAR. Every second my thoughts are in constant "me or them, others or self" battles. It's tiring. It makes me mad at God at times that this process of change, of growth is so hard and painful at times. It's angering, it's humbling, it's saddening. But at the same time, the victories are great and many, if I let Him take over me, if I run with Him. I've experienced those, too. It makes me continue to believe that this whole following Jesus is worth it and in a way that I still can't explain, extremely painful and joyful all at the same. time.

He Knows My Name, Not Just My Job Title

I finished an intersting book that I'd highly recommend to anyone of any race, age, or background. I think anyone should read it whether or not they think it applies to them. An artist of the writing world by the name of Margaret Feinberg wrote a book called "What The Heck Am I Going to Do With My Life?" The reason why I think anyone can read it is because it addresses the age old question of...you guessed it..."What the heck am I going to do with my life?" And, as Feinberg, eloquently summarizes within the first pages, this is a question that does not go away, no matter how old you are, no matter what job you have, and especially no matter how "far along" you think you've come.

My husband picked up this book for me when I was asking myself that very same question. I was in between jobs, having a lot of things tested, not just financially, but emotionally as well.

I titled this particular blog entry "He Knows My Name, Not Just My Job Title", primarily because I was suddenly reminded of that song that states "He knows my name, he knows my every thought...." (some of you might know it)

I struggle with a lot of questions about who I am at times. And I think it's such a struggle because I immediately equate that to "what" I do and bottom line, God doesn't see it that way and never did from the moment He created me. Before I started adding all the stuff after my name such as Rona the college student, Rona who got good grades, Rona who works here, there, has gone there and will go here, and even the bad things such as Rona who failed at this, Rona who should have done this instead of that, God knew me differently, in a way that was simple and enough for Him.

He knew my name. Nothing coming after it, no labels/job titles/stereotypes/accomplishments/degrees/shortcomings,etc. He knew my name first before anything else.

As I read the words of Feinberg, I'm reminded of that simple and pure truth. That while the question of "What the heck am I going to do with my life?" won't go away and I'm still searching for the answer with hope, I can rest in the truth of how my God saw me first. Simply as Rona. Because bottom line, He knew my name first and that is enough for Him.

No Regrets

It was a normal day at work. Busy, good type of busy. I think I may have written about my co-worker in prior blog postings, but if I haven't, I probably should do that a little here before going off on a story that makes absolutely no sense.

One of my colleagues, a fundraiser I am an assistant to, is in the stages of cancer that apparently is the "bad" stage. Stage 4, mestastisie? I'm probably not spelling that right, but basically, as I was told, it's the stage in which any treatment that's given at this level is primarily done to contain it. Meaning, it's spread in a really bad way.

I don't know much about cancer. Thankfully, I don't have any close family or friends that have gone through it. But for some reason, upon hearing the transalation of medical terms that would explain where my colleague's health stood in her fight against this disease, all I was aware of at that moment was a sinking feeling in my gut that said this wasn't good news.

It's been said before that the prayer of faith can heal. And I believe that it has and still believe that it can. But in all honesty, this morning all I thought was "You can't be serious. Is my co-worker going to die? Do I really know someone that could be gone next year?" The idea seemed unreal.

Later on in the day another colleague of mine commented on how there are certain things that you could never regret. And a part of my mind started to think about the saying "Don't do anything you'll regret". What about flipping or twisting it around to instead say "Do everything that you won't regret."

"Do everything that you won't regret." I wonder if this thought is running through the mind of my co worker who is going through her cancer treatments. Someone made the observation that when you're time is suddenly limited, your "to-do" list is shorter. I'd imagine it is very much tied into the concept of doing everything and anything that you won't regret, and doing it today, not as a task for tomorrow.

I wonder if I look at life in such a way that sounds as cautious as "don't do anything you'll regret" or in a way that seems to give you the right kind of joyful freedom--Do EVERYTHING today that you won't regret. My co-worker's situation was a stark reminder to me that I don't often remind myself enough of that very concept.

Do EVERYTHING and anything today that you won't regret.

I Finally Accepted My Filipino Roots

I don't mind being Filipino. I don't mind having a tan. Pasty has never been a good look for me, anyway. Maybe it's because I grew up in the melting pot of California. The good ol' Bay Area. I like it here.



I don't mind Filipino food...but I like Italian and Japanese better. Though I've felt like this, I went through a period of change when I started to resent certain Filipino cultural habits. There really isn't an emphasis on working out, exercising to be healthy, doing things other than the weekend family gatherings where you eat, eat, eat, and later leave the party with the perfume of fried food mercilessly clinging to your clothes. And exercising? Come on now. Oily pork and constant cardio work don't exactly get along.

As I grew older, I also started to grow disenchanted with the Filipino cultural obligations of demanded respect for elders no matter how screwed up they acted, how much I disagreed with them, for endless bouts of favoritism, nepotism, admiration based on material wealth that was apprent in Filipino social circles, etc.

I mean, I like big houses and all...somewhat. But big impressive houses that still had the lingering scent of fried pork stuck to the beautiful furniture? (As you can tell, I have an aversion to fried piggy anything)

But somewhere in the clouds of my cynicism, did these opinions of my Filipino kinfolk start to chage. Maybe it was the couple of missions trips I took to the Philippines. Maybe it was finally breaking out and getting to know other people other than the Filipinos I grew up with.



Maybe it was starting to get to know other Filipinos who weren't so typical in my negative stereotype. I don't know. All I know is that again, somewhere down the line, I went back home to my roots with a little more of an understanding heart.

A few weeks ago, I had to stop into an Asian grocery store. (mostly Filipino influenced) I think it was to pick up a few items that are ridiculously expensive in American supermarkets and super cheap at non-American stores such as this one I found myself in that afternoon.

I distinctly remember the scent of the cooking rice and baked goods coming from the adjoining restaurant& bakery. This scent happily danced past the radar of my own, rounded, Filipino nose. In that brief encounter, I remember smiling to myself because it reminded me of the warm feeling that the scent of dinner and warm rice could bring when I walked into my own home growing up.

Shortly before this interesting encounter at the market, I had just returned from a trip to the Philippines...the island of Mindanao to be exact. It was for a missions trip through my church.

I remember the offensive smell of diesel fuel, the sometimes irritable and patient-testing crowds of people I had to get past in a crowded town market, the malnourished dogs that often graced all the non-existent sidewalks in the streets of this island's poorest towns.

Want to talk public transportation? If you've ever been to the Philippines, you know the value of a vibrant and colorful, half jeep/half bus mutant of a vehicle called a jeepney. It's your best friend when trying to get from point A to point B with a team of people in the "crazy-driver" streets of the Philippines. Intersection stop lights shining red are not a rule but rather a mere suggestion to all who dare to take on the driving challenges of this country that make the traffic of New York seem like a cake-walk...er, cake drive?

But I also remember that in the midst of this poverty, the crazy traffic, etc., there were people there who loved God more than I did. This love showed boldly through their actions, their servant-driven hearts, and their willingness to greet you as an honored guest no matter what pricky, self-serving attitude you may have dragged in through their country's front door. Am I revealing a little bit too much of what I myself dragged in when I went on this trip? (as a "Christian" missionary, no less?) Oh well. I concur, sadly, that this wasn't the best side of me coming out.

Anyway, I digress. At the market, a month or so after returning from the trip, a sudden flood of memories drown my thoughts in a split second. And for a moment, as I'm standing in this Filipino market, I miss the Philippines. In the middle of that market here in the U.S., I miss the noise of the country, the heart and innocence of the poor, yet God-fearing people. I even miss the heckling market folks that sold everything from knock-off purses, bootleg movies (some of which I didn't even know were out of the theaters yet!), the best accessories at the cheapest price, (I love my earrings!), and every imaginable color of Jesus statues you could think of. (yes, really!)

As I continue on the with the purchase of my few items in this market, loading my items carefully onto the checkout stand, I suddenly find myself at peace with being Filipino and coming from a background that has greatness, interesting and often humorous characteristics, and yes, even it's negative quirks. But what culture doesn't?

Let's hear it for fried pork! Mabuhay!

Thoughts on Relationships...Well, mine anyway...

I am engaged to marry a great guy. (hi, Justin! Never thought I'd write that would you?)

No, seriously. I really do have a great guy. A godly guy. For you girls out there young, matured, who know what I'm talking about can I please get an "AMEN" to the blessings a godly man can bring? Really. There's nothing in Hollywood that can match the greatness of being in such a relationship.

A book I recommend outside the Bible that I believe helped me turn my heart back over to God? The Secrets of an Irresistible Woman by Michelle McKinney Hammond. Ms. Hammond, thank God for your gift of insight. Thank you for writing what you wrote and for having the guts to tell it like it is. Did I tell you that I am one of your biggest fans?

Can I have your autograph?

I remember the first time I read this book, I was in a relationship that was not Godly at all. Oh, don't get me wrong, I wasn't an atheist, or anything, just a girl who grew up with religion and no Jesus relationship.


I am by no means a perfect woman now. But I would like to say that quite a few things have changed in my life because the God that I barely gave a second glance at, kept His entire focus, attention, love,k and mercy upon me as I ran around dragging my mess everywhere. Let me just say that years of garbage dragged around starts to leave a noticeable stench in the places I chose to stop and rest at before I finally dumped the trash bag and headed back home to God.

The walk was not and is still not easy to this day, but as each day passes, I am grateful that at the very least, as I walk, my steps are a bit lighter without the weight of the trash bag. Much lighter.

I was single for two years, just enjoying life, kinda poking around at a Christian church my mom took the entire family to. I re-met my soon-to-be husband at a 20 Somethings ministry he lead for his church. Started to date. Now we are planning for our wedding coming up very soon. Time truly flies.

Never knew a Godly relationship until him. Haven't been as happy, as struggling, as wrestling with God, as growing as much as I have experienced in this relationship.

I look back on who I was before God and what it caused me to carelessly do with my heart. And I am thankful that I serve a God that loves me enough gently turn my eyes forward towards "a hope and a future". (Jeremiah 29:11)

Breathing

I breathe everyday. It means my body is living, existing in the physical sense. It comes natural to me and I don't think about it 99.9% of the time. Except for that time an undercurrent took me by surprised and I ended up eating the sand of the beautiful Hawaiian beach.

It's at times like that that you do nothing but thank God for giving you a second chance at oxygen instead of life as a fish.

But I digress.

The reason I mention breathing is because I've started to read 1 Corinthians. Up to about Chapter 6 is where I stopped, I think.

The Apostle Paul talks about some pretty good stuff in this book, in my opinion. I'm still mulling it over in my mind as we speak. So be forwarned, my own words do no justice for the depth and heart tugs this book in the Bible communicates. He talks about the church getting along with each other, how it's a shame that it's us on the "Jesus-side" who are living less than ideally and how it's an embarassment that the "outsiders" are actually seeing such behavior of so-called Christians. (1 Coritnthians 3)

Paul goes on to talk about other great things such as "(our) faith not resting on human wisdom, but on God's power." (1 Corithians 5) and how "(The) foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength." (1 Corithians 25) To be honest , I read this and thought, wow. God's that wise that even if He had a weakness, His "weakness" would still be stronger than our strength. Think about that for a second. So this is what is meant when we say Almighty and Indescribable. Incredible.

As I'm reading all of this, I'm suddenly reminded of a small comment I heard from one of my dear colleagues. This wasn't a snide comment by any means, but one that, this evening, got me thinking to how it related to what I'm reading right now in the first few chapters of Corinthians.

My colleague and I were chatting about the fact that I would be in Arizona a few weeks ago with my fiance to visit with our pastor, the Yoda Pastor Mike. (Just kidding, P. Mike) Really, P. Mike is like Yoda, wise and all in the teachings of Jesus. But less green and a little taller.

Anyway, as I mentioned this to my colleague she joked around and said that my fiance and I would have to behave and be good in front of the priest. Well, besides the fact that P. Mike isn't a priest, I got to thinking about how that comment reflected much of how a majority of the world, even those "within" the church view a relationship with God. And many times, though I hope I'm changing, I too get caught up in that whole idea that when I'm in front of God, I have to put effort into an act because He's looking at me.

I don't want that life anymore. I want a life, a whole life, a holy life, a full life, where my words to myself and to others, my actions, my thoughts, every second one foot steps out in front of the other to even walk is purely motivated, saturated, and drowned in nothing but a Jesus-like covering.

I'm naturally a sinner. I was physically born a sinner into this world. But now that I know Jesus, I want to naturally be Jesus-motivated, so much that His very Spirit takes up my physical body and spritual body. So much that Jesus comes out as naturally from me as if I'm breathing Jesus. Just as I breathe air with almost no thought throughout every day that I live on this earth--that's how much I want Jesus to be so engrained into my bones that He is naturally a part of me.

Don't get me wrong. There are days when it seems effortless to be Jesus-like and still others when the percentage of Jesus in me is miniscule in comparison to the percentage that's Rona. And I've accepted the fact that it will be up and down like this until the day I get to go Home. So for the time being, I desire to keep walking with Jesus until my walk picks up and I'm running freely in stride with His every step, in line with His very way, in tune to His great music, and moving faster than I ever thought I could.

I don't want the life any more of putting an effort to be good because God's in front of me. Who wants to live in that type of prison, a prison that isn't real and doesn't take full advantage of the new life He's given us? I want to communicate to outsiders a great representation of Jesus. A great representation of His church reflected by the new life I have been given. (1 Corinthians 11)

I want to get to a point where that effort to be "good in front of the Holy Priest" is re-directed in keeping up keeping pace with wonderful stride of God's greatness and love. And in that running I will do with the Lord, He will be a part of the very depths of my life as naturally as the air I breathe with each stride.

Middle of the Day

These past few weeks as I've pushed on with my Christian faith, I have started to become more and more aware of things that show just how much sin, big and small (is there such a thing), is such a natural part of my existence it's scary. It's pretty mind blowing what God reveals to you about yourself if you ask.

Even if what's revealed to you isn't exactly perfection, asking God to show you something about yourself, all the good and yes, all the areas that need his loving touch to heal and change, (I like to sometimes think I'm a good and sweet Christian...and who doesn't?), it's a question worth asking.

I don't know why I want to blog about that at this moment. A brief ramble in the middle of a day that is just a bit too monotonous for my liking.