When the Soul is Thirsty

   
     One of my goals for when I decided to re-enter the blogging world was to share things that inspire me, make me happy/sad, amaze me, challenge me, and make me think.

     This song is one of my favourite worship songs, led by one of my favourite worship leaders, Christy Nockels.

     It's one of those songs that i ca sing not just with my mouth, but it is the cry of my heart as well. 

Falling in love with His words... Psalm 119, an introduction

     It had been a particularly hard season. It had been a time when it felt like nothing was going right. Failure had become a close companion and would wrap his arms around me, whispering my list of faults over and over again.

     I was tired. My soul was dry and thirsty. I needed relief. I needed rest.

     During the month of July,  I took a break from social media. Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest... I walked away from it all. I needed to get away from the externals that were choking my soul like smog. I needed air.

    Freedom, really. The cry of my heart has been for freedom. There were some personal issues, heart issues that needed to be healed, or the process towards healing begun.

    I highly recommend this, by the way. If you are having heart issues or feeling distant, then identify what in your life is occupying your time and is not necessary.... And then walk away for a little while.

    During this time I retreated deeper into His words. It was there I found Psalms 119.

    Made up of 176 chapters, Psalms 119 is the longest chapter in the Bible. I had read it before in one of those "read through the Bible in a year" plans. Really, it was more like skimmed over it. At first I found it boring and repetitive. After all, the author repeats "the law" over and over again.

     But do you know that feeling... The feeling when maybe you read a book again after a long time or you revisit a movie you haven't seen in a long time. Or maybe you've lived in a city for years, and then one day you happen upon a new store or restaurant that suddenly becomes "your place". All of the sudden, you are seeing the world with new eyes.

     It began when I decided I would try to memorize as much of Psalms 119 as possible before my 25th birthday (make that my 26th). As I began to memorize the verses, they began to soak into my mind. I found myself reflecting upon them, asking questions and learning new things.

     In the movie National Treasure, the character Benjamin Gates (played by America's sweetheart Nicolas Cage), believes very deeply in the legend of a treasure that has been hidden for several centuries. He dedicates his life to the search, finding clue after clue that ultimately lead him to the treasure, but also open his heart and mind to the mysterious ways and beliefs of the men who hid the treasure.

      Ultimately, the journey itself was worth almost as much as the treasure.

      Digging into His Words has been a discovery of treasure... A soothing balm to open wounds and a journey deeper into His heart, His thoughts, His purposes. It is within these words that I have found life and a reawakening.

      I am still on this journey.

      In the coming weeks, I will be sharing what I have learned in these words, ways He has challenged me, things I never noticed before. I will be honest and gentle, a hopeful reflection of the ways He has taught me.

      I am not a theologian or a seminary student. I am simply a woman seeking Him, longing to be closer, and finding my freedom within the words He breathes.

      Come with me on this journey. I'll be Benjamin Gates and you can be Riley (or the dad, or Diane Kruger's character, or even Ian the villain if you wish).

A New Journey

Hello Everyone!

It's been a long time since  I have been blogging and posting to this page. It feels good. It feels like returning home.

There came a point when I would go to write something, and I just felt very... Uninspired .
I guess that would be the right word. A grey background can do that to you. Life was also busy with school, being the primary caregiver for a new baby boy, and the general work and busyness of life here in Manila.

So I walked away for a little while. I needed inspiration and  time to sort out what I really want out of this space.

And I think I have it figured out... Or at least, somewhat figured out.

If you'll notice, this space has been redone by Stephanie Gimlin, who has been amazing to work with, and I will highly recommend to anyone.

This is my space for thoughts and a little more about life here. I am excited to see how it develops.

So the wanderer story will now open another chapter for something new to begin.

I can't wait!

Falling in Love… A Little Bit of My Story

I have seen several posts around Facebook and the blogging world regarding singleness, marriage, “23 Things to Do Instead of Getting Married Before 23” and “A response to those 23 things by a married woman”, blah, blah, blah.

At 24, I’m a little over the age bracket, so if I didn’t accomplish everything on her list, then I guess I missed my window. And, I am also not married, so I guess I don’t qualify for that list either. Yet, the posts and comments after did inspire me to right my own response. However, I will not be criticizing or analyzing what other authors have said. I don't have the links here, but feel free to Google them if you're interested. 

Rather I will share my story. Why? Because if there is anything I have learned in my 24 unmarried years, it’s that our stories are formed by who we are, and you will understand my heart much better through my story than if I simply provide a bucket list or a counter critique. 

So this is part of my story, and maybe you can relate:

Being single at the age of 24 was never part of the plan. In my perfect world, I would have met someone in high school or college and received a wedding ring with my Bachelor’s degree. I grew up in a world of princesses and fairy tales, and I truly believed that one day my prince would come and sweep me off my feet, and that would be my happily ever after.

To be honest, sharing that, although I am sure most girls can relate, makes me feel a little dumb. It makes me feel like I lived in a dream world and needed a hard dose of reality. 

Which I did receive, by the way, pretty sure by the eighth grade when heart break first introduced itself.  

But something inside of me never gave up hoping and believing in love. After all, I witnessed friend after friend meet someone and fall in love and couldn’t help but wonder when it would be my turn.

Yet, as I watched friend after friend fall in love, I began to realize that my chances of getting married right after college was never going to be realized. That dream began to fade, and I would have to prepare myself for entering the real world alone. 

I remember realizing at some point during my time in college that I had two choices: I could sit around and wait for a man to enter my life and finally ask me on a date. I could even spend my time pursuing guys and making sure I was in the right places to be available. Or, I could embrace this time that I have as a single woman and do something else with my time. I didn’t want to be single. I wanted to be in love. But I made my choice.

 In the mean time, while I was waiting and hoping for love, I chose to live.

In high school, I caught the travel bug, and I have never been the same since. So I traveled… to Honduras, Peru, Seattle, New York City, Chicago, Dallas, the Philippines, Cambodia, and India.

And eventually, I did fall in love, but it wasn’t with a man. Rather, it was with the brown skin and dark eyes of Filipino children. It was with the bright saris and smiles of Indian women. It was over ice cream with a small handful of street children, and on a tuk tuk ride outside of a Buddhist temple. It was with a plate of deep dish pizza in a windy city, and a bus ride over the Brooklyn bridge.

And deep down, I think God knew that more than a love story with a man, this is what I needed. I have this burning desire to discover… to always discover something. Maybe that’s what comes with the territory of being an observer. I didn’t realize this about myself until this past year as my heart became filled more and more with the desire to explore.

I understand that for many people, travelling becomes more fun when you are married because you have a constant companion. I look forward to that one day.

But I think He knew that I needed to travel on my own. I needed to know that I can take care of myself. I needed to draw closer to Him, and there is no way I could have done that if I had been married.

If you are married, or you married young, that’s ok. And if you’re like me and still have your original name, that’s ok, too.

I’ve noticed in my own life when I spend too much time on Facebook or Pinterest looking at engagement pictures and someone else’s ideas for their wedding/home/baby/dinner then I start to feel discontented with who I am and the situation God has given me.

When I read these other blog posts about marriage and singleness, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feelings of bitterness I felt in their words… bitterness over their position, someone else’s position, or someone else’s criticism. So often we forget that while we may not agree with someone’s opinion, it’s still her story. While I may not agree with what you say, I can disagree well and still respect your story, your life experiences.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be filled with bitterness. I want to be filled with joy. When a friend makes a commitment to a man for the rest of her life, I want to rejoice. And when my dear friend calls me with news that she is finally travelling to Africa, I rejoiced with her as well. Because when I am filled with joy over my own life, I can be filled with joy for someone else’s happiness.

At 21, 22, and 23, I was not ready for marriage. At 24, I still feel like I am not ready, and honestly, I am not sure if I will ever be, but that’s a blog post for another day.

I am so grateful though that I serve a God who knew, and still knows, the desire of my heart. Yet, He has given me the most precious gift in providing what I need, rather than what I want.

While I wanted to fall in love with a man, He knew my heart needed to learn unconditional love in a home full of children.

While I wanted to wear a white dress, He knew my heart needed time wrapped in a sari, feet covered in dirt, and a lot of days in jeans and t shirts before I could learn to be comfortable in my own skin.

While I wanted romantic kisses and moonlit strolls on the beach, He knew that my heart needed water from a fresh coconut, near-death experiences in jeepney rides, and little hands to hold.

While I wanted to dance to love songs, He knew I needed to teach a ballet class, and to fall in love with dance all over again.

While I wanted to have my own family, He knew I needed a bigger one that expanded two continents.  

While I wanted to give my heart to one man, He knew that I needed to learn my heart belongs to Him first.

Now there are days, and these days come more frequently than they used to, when I want to be in love and get married and begin a life of adventures with someone instead of by myself. Yet, there are so many days when I really love my life, and I love the position in which God has placed me.

I would not trade this life for anything. I have been learning contentment, to trust, to say yes even when it’s hard, to be grateful in all situations, and to be flexible, flexible, flexible.

So whether you are married or single, 19, 35, or 76, my prayer and my hope or you is that you will be able to say the same about your life… that you would not trade it for the world.

I think, therein rests the secret.

At 24, I can honestly say I am in love… with this life I have been given, and the God who knows the way to my heart. 

And that’s my story.

And He Walked

It's been a month of consistently walking with them, sharing their smiles, singing songs, and meeting together. For four years I have known faces. For a few, I have known names. Now, I am learning their stories.

There is my best friend, the little one who has been close to me for about a year. We share hugs and smiles, a few phrases in Tagalog, and then we squeeze hands and stay close.

There is the sibling group with the sweetest smiles. They keep adding siblings to the mix, and I wonder how many there really are. Even as they stood in the hot sun, they still wore their smiles.

And this little one… the three year old with the small face and dark eyes. She came one day to our little group crying, so I picked her up and held her close. And she melted. She continues to snuggle close each time I hold her. If I could, I would take she and her brother in a heartbeat. I wonder how often she is snuggled.

I look at the mothers, lining up with the little ones to grab extra food and presents. While the little ones look with fresh faces and bright eyes, I see the tiredness and years of wear on the faces of their mothers.

I have learned in my time here not to judge… when the mom gets angry and snatches the child too hard, for the little one who needs to be held, for the crying that won’t be soothed.

The reality is that life is hard. Life has been hard. And when you live in a slum with few options for how to earn the next meal and safety is a luxury, it tends to stress.

I look around at the dirty feet and faces smudged in charcoal, the sores and runny noses that indicate deeper problems.

And I can’t help but remember… the Word that became Flesh, and lived among us.

The God who bent low… the God who wrapped himself in skin… our skin… this skin so prone to scratches, sores and bruising, this tired flesh that bears the weight of years and hardships.

The very Word himself decided to take our flesh and make it his own.

And he was humbled.

He humbled and bent low. And I can’t help but imagine that if I could have seen his flesh in this slum, then I would have seen him bending even lower.

Never mind, I am sure I saw his flesh. I saw reflections of him in their eyes.

And as the Word became flesh, he lived, breathed, walked among us.

And the company he kept? The little ones like my sweet friends, covered in garbage, they would have been his treasures. He would have stooped low to scoop into his arms and hold them tightly. He would have sat amongst their circles, laughing and sharing stories.

The tired mothers? His devoted ones who wrapped his body and welcomed his re-entry.

The fathers in the corner observing at a safe distance? His best friends.

He chose to walk among us, to experience the aches and the pains of this life so we could draw closer.

Maybe that’s what I needed this Christmas… to be reminded that real love became flesh and took on my skin. To be shown that ultimate sacrifice and perfect peace comes from the body of a newborn who would grow into a man, stretching his arms to welcome my sin.

Stretching his arms to welcome me.

Not only did he walk among us, but he considered the joy before him and endured the cross. The story never ends with a baby in a stable, but with a God who conquers death.

And I look at the little faces of the ones I have come to love so much, and I can’t help but be in awe of a God who made himself like us so we could be close to him.

Who else is there like him? What other deity would stoop so low to welcome the lowly?

My precious Jesus.

The one who leads the celebration in heaven when his little ones say yes to him. The arms once made small and weak, then broken, now stretched to welcome all who say yes.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.

                                                                                    John 1:14

For the Ache, The Wait, and The Joy to Come

Hunger...

I think that's the only way I can really describe this feeling. I think it's the only way I can accurately assess the feeling of urgency in my heart that presses me to search and search.

This will be my second Christmas away from home. My second Christmas away from what is familiar, what is comfortable. Once again, the presents were ordered online instead of handpicked, to be opened via Skype with smiles instead of hugs in exchange for what is given and received.

I have described this separation as akin to having a hole in my heart. Some days the hole is small. I am busy with the daily activities of life, and the hole doesn't really hurt. But other times, the hole feels larger... birthdays, weddings, holidays, and one more picture that no matter how much I search, I simply cannot find myself.

There are times I have been accused of being flippant... of not showing emotion when I say good bye or brushing off the desires of family members and friends to visit, to return.

It's self-preservation really. I say good bye a lot, and with that comes the need to shut down because if every loss was mourned, then I would never recover. Is it healthy? Maybe, maybe not, but it works.

Yet sometimes I simply cannot ignore the ache... especially when life gets harder than usual, and I find myself longing for what is familiar.

And it is this desire that has left me with a hunger... a hunger for something more this season, this Christmas. Maybe it's because Christmas is the representation of all that is familiar and routine... the traditions, the family, the decorations, the stories.

I find myself listening to, craving Christmas music, wishing for the bitter cold and an occasion for hot chocolate, watching every Christmas movie I can get my hands on.

I am not sure why I feel like I need this so much.

It could be homesickness. It could be the body and the mind hitting a cultural wall.

Maybe it is a combination of the two.

Or maybe, just maybe, my heart longs for something deeper. Because I know that there should be something deeper... Christmas is a time meant for something deeper. It is a time to remember magic. It is a time to remember there is a deeper beauty in this world than I could ever imagine... a deeper beauty that my soul is desperate to grasp.

It reminds me of the longing, the ache of the world before the first Christmas. Four hundred years of silence before He spoke again. A people living in oppression. A world in darkness.

And then, the longing fulfilled with the entrance of a child to peasants, welcomed by the lowly and wrapped in rags.

In one entrance, the darkness was lifted and "a people walking in darkness have seen a great light".

In the past, there are different aspects of the Christmas story I focus on... the light of the Savior in a world of night, the story of a young girl who said yes even if she may not have understood.

Maybe this year, He is reminding me of the longing... what was the world like before the arrival?

This ache, because yes, this life is meant for so much more than what I am settling for... this life finds itself in the story of a God who became a child, grew into a man, and through death from redemption for one such as me.

This heart was meant to bend at the edge of the lowly stable, to rejoice in the glory of what began that night.

And I realize that so often I choose to live like a manger never happened and the silence is still ongoing.

Because yes, there is pain and despair in this world, but there is hope. And Christmas was meant to remind me that no matter how great the darkness, there is always hope because there is a God who whose to wrap my injured flesh around himself, breathe this air, and walk this ground.

I feel it as my heart learns to take the unfamiliar and draw it close... to find my new normal... to rejoice in my adopted family, realizing that I have been blessed with a heart attached to more than one place.

There will always be an ache as long as the heart must wait... because this wait is just a shadow of the ache all creation still awaits for the ultimate grand entrance that is still to come.

So I wait. I live, knowing the joy that has come, the joy of the present, the joy still to come.

But the longing will be fulfilled because the fulfillment has come.

And for this, even an aching heart can rejoice. 

Light... A Short Story

 Light. 

That’s the first thing she noticed. At first, it was just a small strand, nothing to render a second glance. She had seen the pieces of light before, but they always faded away. Still, it was something new in the darkness that surrounded her. So she watched.

Light.

The small strand began to grow. This too was nothing new. She instinctively pulled back to the corner, the deepest blackness of her dungeon. The light always grew before it was extinguished, followed by her master.

The Master.

The mere thought of him sent shivers down her spine. Sweat broke out on her forehead in spite of the dungeon’s cold. Her arms and back began to ache in anticipation of the beating and humiliation to come.

“Not again”, she whispered, pleading to the darkness. Tears fell silently down her cheeks. She watched as the light grew and waited.

But the light never stopped.

Instead, it kept growing and growing until the room was almost flooded with it. It moved throughout the dark cell, replacing the darkness with its golden rays. It stopped just in front of her, in the deepest corner.

She almost reached out to touch it, but quickly thought better. What if it was a trick?

Nothing happened for a few moments. The light stayed where it was, and so did she.

And then she saw him.

At first she thought it was her master, and she froze, trying to become invisible in what darkness remained. If she had looked closer, she would have noticed he was at least a head taller than her master. The master was really a scrawny and gangly man, yet this one was powerful and impressive with strong arms and broad shoulders.

But she didn’t. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on the ground, trying to fight off hysteria.

He began to walk closer to her, slowly, as one would approach a frightened animal.

Her hands covered her face, but she could hear the thud of his boots as he approached her. Then he stopped, and she almost fainted from fear. She expected him to grab her by the hair or neck and drag her away for another beating.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he knelt to the ground in front of her.

“Little one”, he whispered gently. His voice startled her. She was expecting a bark or a yell, but it was so… soft. Not weak, definitely strong. But there was something so… comforting about the sound of his voice. She looked up.

His hand was extended, holding something. A bottle maybe?

“Water, little one”.

Water!

Her mind struggled to comprehend the word. It had been so long since she had tasted water. Her throat used to ache at the thought, but now she was just numb. Dry and numb.

Trembling, her weak hand reached out to take the bottle, but then she pulled away. What was she doing! This had to be a trick. She tried to look around him, expecting to see her master standing in the doorway, laughing at her, the glimmer in his eye that would signal her doom.

“He’s not here anymore, little one,” he said, knowing what she was thinking.

She wrinkled her eyebrows, looking at him in disbelief. Her mind did not even begin to try comprehending what that would mean.

“It’s true. I defeated him. This is his sword and shield, covered in his blood. He is gone, and he will never hurt you again.”

When she saw the sword, her mind almost began to believe it. Her fingertips stretched and traced the seal on the sword’s handle, a skeleton wrapped in chains. She smelled the blood on the shield… a mixture of smoke and sulfur. She knew it was his because once, when she was stronger, she hit him in the cheek and drew blood. She never forgot the smell… or the beating that followed.

He offered her the bottle again, and this time she snatched it, tore open the lid, and gulped the contents.

It was so sweet, cool. She felt her mouth and throat coming to life again, as if a fire inside were being extinguished. It came so quickly that she began to cough and choke.

He took the bottle from her. “That’s ok little one, there will be more”. He smiled at her.

Then he reached out and grabbed her hand. In shock, she let him do it. Had she been thinking, she would have pulled away. Her hand was so small in his.

She could hear cloth tearing, he took out another bottle and poured it on her hand.

“Ahh!” she screamed at the burning sensation and pulled the hand away.

“It’s ok little one. It’s just a balm, medicine for your wounds. They will feel better, I promise.”

She stared at him for a moment and then at her hand. It had already begun to feel better.

Giving it back, she gritted her teeth, waiting for it to sting again. Really, compared to everything else she had faced, this sting was nothing and normally would not make her even flinch. But her nerves were raw at the moment.

After pouring the balm, he wrapped her hand in the cloth. She offered him the other hand. He smiled and repeated the process.

After bandaging her hands, he reached for her face, cupping her chin in his hand before she had a chance to react.

She couldn’t look at him. She knew there would be revulsion in his eyes, disgust. Always ugly, with a crooked mouth and nose. In fact, the master called her the Crooked One. He would take a look at the crooked face, covered in scars and bruises, and walk away. Everyone else did.

He remained there for a few moments, her chin in his hand. Willing herself to look up, she saw his face, eyebrows wrinkled in… anger! He was angry! Why?

Perhaps he had been told she was beautiful, and he was angry someone had lied.

Perhaps she was the wrong one he had come for.

 Perhaps this was some mistake.

He lifted his other hand, and she braced for the blow.

But the hand didn’t form a fist, and it didn’t find her eyes or cheeks. Instead, it rested on the top of her head, gently brushing the hair back from her face. He looked down into her eyes, and his face softened.

The anger melted away.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you little one.”

His eyes… That’s what convinced her. He was genuine, really sorry she had been wounded. His eyes were so tender, so… there was something else in them she couldn’t place, but she liked it. His eyes were safe, offering no judgment or humiliation.

He smiled at her.

“Little one, I have defeated your master. You are free. But now you have a choice to make… You can either remain here in your dungeon, or,” he paused, “You may come with me.”

Somehow she knew, deep in her soul, this decision would change everything. Her mind could not comprehend it. Her soul could not grasp the fullness of this concept, what this would mean for her…

Freedom

The word had been offered to her before, dangling like jewel, only to be taken away, snatched by his mocking eyes and bruising fingers.

“You want freedom?” He would laugh at her, pulling the chains on her wrist tighter. He would toss her to the floor like a rag doll, hitting her head on the cold stone floor. And then, he would grab her hair in his hand and pull her up until his ice blue eyes met hers.

“Freedom only comes to the beautiful ones," he would hiss. "And you… stupid, ugly little whore, what would you do with it? Do you think the beautiful ones would let you join them? No… they would despise you. They would push you right back into my arms, if you hadn't run back to me already. Freedom is a price you cannot pay.”

And with that, he would release her, shaking his hands free of the pieces of hair he had pulled out. She would crawl back to her dungeon, back to the darkness, back to her pain. She would curl into a ball and wait for the blood to clot, the pain to subside, the thought of freedom to escape her mind.

She shook her head at the memory and looked around her dungeon.

The light had illuminated everything around her, and for the first time, she could see…the cobwebs and spiders along the ceiling and in the corners, the rats scurrying in and out of holes, puddles of mud and waste scattered about the floor, empty chains attached the wall, various bones here and there (how long had those been there?).

She could stay here. It was comfortable, safe. She knew the sounds and had grown numb to its scent. But did she want to? Was this freedom?

His hands had moved from her chin to her hands. He was still inspecting the bandages around her palms, studying the scars on her fingertips. She stared at him. Who was this man? Why did he want her?

He saw her filth, her rags, her wounds… what could possibly make him want to save her?

And what if she said yes? Would he now own her, have some sort of claim over her? How did she know she wasn’t just going from one dungeon to another?

Yet, in spite of the doubts that filled her mind, she knew, oh she knew, somehow, he was safe. She noticed that her breathing had slowed, become deeper. She was no longer gasping for air, trying to soothe a raw throat, panting in fear.

No, she was relaxed, her heart steady. And the hands did feel better. She wiggled her fingers, able to move without pain.

He looked up, looking into her eyes once more.

It was the eyes… they finally convinced her. There was no hint of cruelty in them, no hint of humiliation or malice. His eyes were so…protective, gentle, peaceful, safe. And she knew, he would never wound her, never destroy her, never try to break her.

In his eyes, she found home.

“Well?” he whispered.

She nodded her head.

“You must say it little one. Coming with me will be difficult for you. You will have to learn to live in freedom. But you must say it out loud.”

Taking a deep breath, she replied, “I want to be with you.”

He smiled. “Alright then, let’s go home.”

He lifted her to her feet. She stood for a moment and tried to take a step to follow… but she couldn’t and instead cried out in pain, crumpling to the floor.

This it is, she thought as she lay on the floor. He will leave. I can’t even walk out of here. And her eyes began to close, darkness looming in around her.

“Please, please”, she begged, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please don’t leave me.”

She felt him beside her, kneeling down.

“Oh little one, I will never leave you.”

He scooped her into his arms, cradling her like a small child. He was warm.

They left the dungeon, it’s darkness, the cold, and walked out into the sunlight.