The Battlefield of the Pacifists

There’s a battle raging through my head,

So much that it knocked me off my bed.

There’s a war raging through the thoughts;

Diverse and dismayed neither I can sort.

Haste is the time that spent wasting

Entertained by such pacifistic maiming.

Ideating the norm and realizing the storm

had just started as I shut the squirm.

Conscience speaks the threat at hand,

the head does not agree the time it spanned.

Where there are more things on heaven and earth;

there are more dreadforth than my brain sports.

The enemy lurks the darkness in me,

passing by the realm of my inability.

I had to open eyes wide to invite the Light

while at the same time shut from plain sight.

Recall the Words spoken to me,

realize there is much for me to see.

The villain emerge from the dark of the moon -

the cerebral crater dormant from the day’s form

“You – are not – real.

You are just a figment;

an imagination, a fantasy,

one that I let you haunt me.”

The One I know died for,

Lived and loved me through the core.

Lies no longer seem redemptive nor elegant nor sped;

Flee not the grace and flee the grave though instead.

Jolt to wake myself up,

admonition that all along I was held at a stop.

The battle becomes the sleep yet decided;

settled more for the Love had invited.

Identity Crisis[?]

Well, it took me more than a year to write again something out from my heart. With the past few months of rollercoaster faith and trials the last resort would be me pouring out on digital paper all my thoughts.

 

I could write about the condition of my heart, how God had made my vision clear or the promises that He is in store for me. I can have the liberty to break down such into writing as writing itself is one of my fortes if not neglected by the subtle qualms of vision; that said, I can say is that writing is not my identity.

 

You see, given the time that I reflect back what I missed and things to ponder on. What caught more attention than my misgivings in life and the focuses that I need to heed is my identity. To which, to whom and to what am I identifiable?

 

What is an identity? Webster tells us that it is the distinguishing character or personality of an individual. If so, then I a identifiable with a lot of things!

 

I can be identifiable with writing, sure it shaped my college life through campus journalism but I’ll admit it is not my identity. Drawing, CAD, layouts, graphics, multimedia… you name it, computers and gadgets… yes, some of you may know me with that but it’s not my identity.

 

People used to call me, ‘Makoy’ the nickname I wanted people to call me when I was on the third year of High School. Other nicknames that stuck too were Maki, Mak and just plain, Mark Allen. But for the name Makoy, our youth pastor suggested that I halted such name usage and opted to the more simpler, Mark. Such justification was that people would not take me seriously as it is a tad homonym to kenkoy and synonymous in forms as well. Before I finish this paragraph; I strongly disagree that you reader would call me in that name. EVER. It may seem that I was trying to change an identity (a matter of fact, some profess that the name does not carry the destiny of the person – I beg to differ), let’s just leave it at that… and guess what, my name is just a piece of my identity — for identication. It’s not my identity.

 

While we are at the subject of names, surely the last names have a massive presence of identity in it. Think of a prominent name in the country and you’ll associate them with wealth, prestige and success. While being proud in carrying my father’s name and thankful to God with such wonderful parents, society in general emphasizes the weight of every surname given to any child. It will matter to anyone no matter how short or long, confusing or simple surnames we have. I carry a decent surname in society’s eyes and is proud of jotting it down on forms but that too is not my identity.

 

Lastly, I too am identifiable with the people I know. “Ah, ikaw yung anak ni ganito di ba?” “Ahhh… so kaopisina mo pala si ganyan…”  ”Oooh, ayan yung ex ni ano di ba?”

 

 

 Yes, I am identified with the relationships I have now, past or present and the coming handshakes and referrals. It’s easy to brandish “identity” with another person. I’d notice people refer to others“Ay si ano, sila ni ano di ba?”

Stereotypes pop in here and there because people impose identity, change their personality to suit a good identity… a good name. Identity crisis.

 

As I seem to diverge to the inherent pangs of society, on how some have lost the grasp of reality into stirring a chastised view of misidentity. Let me conclude with one thing that I quite know of the past 7 years and that He reminded me of recently; that my identity is in Christ Jesus.

 

Yes, people may identify me, “ex ka ni ganito”… “ah, dati ka nang ganyan eh”, “oh, yun trabaho mo?”. People can identify me with the tone of my voice, my age, the way I decide, the way I walk, … but I know, in me… It’s not with the people I hang out with nor my achievements… It’s not by what I have done… but on what Jesus did (Romans 8:1)… it’s all about Jesus, that is my identity.

 

And part of it is the promise of being a new creation. (2 Cor 5:17) The change that is inside flourishing out.

 

I cannot post every verse to ellaborate my identity in Christ. But here’s a helpful link: http://crossinglouisville.com/2009/05/03/our-identity-in-christ/

I wish I never knew you…

…so it wouldn’t be this painful to let you go.

Restoring (The Lion’s Heart 2)

A friend told me,

‘Silence replaces the roar,

like the wind blowing abhor.’

 

To declare such notion

he disregarded there hasted a faction

for which I was included.

 

A response came earlier,

“Tame the Lion,

Silence will replace the roar.”

 

I stopped to think,

Is this a procastination?

I shuddered a wink.

 

A heresy of a character borned,

An attack in subtlety had retorted..

Flesh and bone had gone torn.

 

I relegated the fact the once lost,

replaced by the firm hand that declared,

“Defeat is not the end of you, my son…”

 

“Wounds heal, scars remain but never

the dismay can keep you from Me.

For I have won it for your share…”

 

“Brought restoration in thy soul,

never should you back away nor cower in a hole.

Face thy forward for My promises are true.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Save as.”

I recently lost a draft post.

I can’t find it anywhere even in my computer where I recalled copying it in Word for editing.

A reminder: it is important to make back-ups of files that are important…clicking the ‘save as’ button should be a habit be kept.

I shall remind myself of that.

Leftovers?

I had arrived late again.

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Though just in time for the closing prayer and the final stretch of Worship Night at Victory Pioneer when I arrived past eight. Missing out much of the hour earlier left me seeking context and definitely the part when praying within a group about points given out by our pastors.

Catching up on a weekday night event is nothing new for me having a nature of work that has a long story of revisionist history and work clocks out at 7pm, arriving on time seems uncommon. To further explain on this, I shall reserve it for another post. Thank you very much.

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Last quarter or not, I still get to experience God in that final stretch of the evening’s event. Ptr. Robert shared a verse from Psalm 34:8 (NIV), ‘Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.’

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“Taste and see.” He then asked how are we to taste and see the Lord’s goodness. Ptr. Robert made a follow-up connection when then and there it struck me. As he continued, I told Ryan Umaly jokingly, “Paano ‘yan late ako, does that mean I get leftovers?”  Then a grin ran across my face. I admit I thought differently about the verse than what Pastor Robert had explained, I thought of it as a feast whereas since I arrived late at the event…well, you’ll know what’s left over for me – pun intended.

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Within context or not, even if it is a humorous remark, it does not fail me to think that I would arrive to believe that I’d ‘just’ settle for leftovers; even far enough to accept it wholeheartedly. The scheme is simple as it is deceptive, when we tend to look at the circumstance we thus settle for what is ‘left’. In vernacular, “Ang makuntento sa tira-tira.” Also, the thought of expecting little less as the basis of which is of being late. A laughable thought as it is, though poignant as to remind us that we may fall into this lie.

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But God does not work that way, as far as I have known and read. Grace, as I recall is still a free gift that is constantly offered. I had to be prodded again to be reminded of the gift He alone offers.

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Pastor Robert continued explaining the latter part of the verse, “…blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him.” and a couple more verses after that of which we’ll save for another post.

For me, it clearly summed up my questions that night. I held silence and grasped the notion of that promise. Pastor Robert further elaborated that it’s not the refuge who dare seeks us but instead we seek refuge in which is with God itself – and with that you are called, ‘blessed.’

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Think about it; God would most likely not hand over leftovers to latecomers as to discipline or correct those He loves. His grace overflows and gives out whole-heartedly. Our part would be our response, how we respond despite how long it takes for us to correspond – God waits intently, patiently and with an open heart.

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Go, taste and see that God is good – all the time.

Of Sandwiches and Coffee

Merienda has its highlights; aside from sipping a cup of coffee, munching on a sandwich with mayo in-between had a tangy feel in it.

Pickle relish made the spread sourer that it has been and quite thought-provoking as it is, what came out of my mind was the adjective, tangy.

Tangy [\ˈtaŋ-ē\] is defined as having a taste characteristic of that produced by acids. This prickly feel inside my mouth made the bland taste of bread more interesting as well as an aftertaste after I munched pre-digested pieces of the food and gulped coffee afterwards.

Coffee is usually served by me, to me with quite a spoonful[s] of cream and some sugar. Most of the time, I can’t stand the bitter aftertaste. Inasmuch as I dislike black coffee variants. I’d prefer the sweet drink and get me hyped for a prolonged period of time.

Coffee and sandwiches – now that’s a likeness.

Quite a contrast I should say.

If spoken words are like flavours of foods that we eat, then most of the time we would have to choose what the appetite of our thoughts would ingest. If we speak in term with relationships, most of the time we would exchange spoken words of sweetness and of neutrality – however we choose to speak them. This would be a pretty easy correlation (e.g. spicy as to harsh words, bitter to…well, bitter and tangy? We’ll get there in a moment) and as a take home assignment from me: write down the flavours you know and how we draw a parallel with what we say.

Coffee beans are not the only stuff that you’ll taste bitterly. In the same effect, bitterness lies within our midst and we choose more often to swallow them like a cup or two on a busy afternoon. A grudge taken by your co-worker because you spoke out of turn, a child ingests bitter lies and grows up with him, or me harvesting small amounts of bitter beans till it fills my cup of hate. I could site more examples yet the borderline point is we have the capacity to swallow more bitterness than we could ever ingest. Just like coffee, the aftertaste is too strong as to forget the flavours that went before it.

“See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.” Hebrews 12:15 (NIV)

I know what you’re thinking, “If that is so. Then I’d rather choose sweet words than bitter ones.” That would be a likely choice. But if we so to choose carefully our words then we would not be openly tempted to flattery, and flattery is a dangerous thing: “Whoever flatters his neighbor is spreading a net for his feet.” Proverbs 28:25 (NIV)

Flattery recognizes something that is nice, and in turn uses it to bring on pride. Then when the pride comes, so does the fall. If you flatter someone don’t over do it.*

I had deemed my stomach to be quite acidic, and developed a notion that having an intake of more sour foods would result in a breakdown of my digestive system. I enjoyed quite a lot of sour stuff like cry baby gum balls, yakee, kamias, champoy, vinegar… the list goes on and on.

Sour stuff also has a correlation to speech just like with what I had shared earlier. Conversely, we would connect a sour conversation onto a bitter one. Most of the time, it would fall in how each individual’s manner of reacting. Does he/she have a sour face? (e.g. “Umasim ang mukha”) or a sour disposition? The likelihood of the response would generally result into a bitter angst. However, I can be proven wrong as in any case differs with what I would normally observe. But for me, a bitter conversation is bitter. It is plain rage, grief and angst translated to another person however the level of hurt can be delivered. To me, there may be mild bitterness or strong bitterness, but it’s still bitterness! – I write in the context of hurting as we can tolerate the amount of hurt, if we won’t let go of the hurt then the aftertaste is there until it is so much bitter to devour that we will soon vomit all the rage – and that is not a pretty sight.

Rebuke is somewhat like sour words spoken. I may write that sourness pricks the soul, mild or strong, leave the face somewhat beleaguered then relief comes afterwards. No matter how it pierces the heart, the healing comes with it, if we do so to embrace change. Some sour stuff we know are ancient antiseptics.^ Sour stuff is most of the time in small quantities, as a sauce or sometimes taken in as soup. Vomiting due to ingesting too much sour stuff may cause an acidic stomach so we are told to watch what we eat. As do all foods we consume, too much of them are for the health. Likewise, too much spoken of the same thing hurts more than it can resolve.

“An open rebuke is better than hidden love.” (Proverbs 27:5)

“He who rebukes a man will in the end gain more favor than he who has a flattering tongue.” Proverbs 28:23 (NIV)

Our response with such conversation matters. Just like how I gulped a piece of sandwich is how we also ingest a rebuke from a fellow believer and savor the change our Maker is longing for us. A rebuke comes in many forms, but truthfully it comes from God. Prov 3:11-12 (NIV) says, “My son, do not despise the Lord’s discipline and do not resent his rebuke, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in.” We are to consume the Word spoken by our Lord, for His joy is our strength and times of refreshing may come.

Merienda indeed has its highlights.

* Source: http://www.theseason.org/proverbs/proverbs29.htm

^ Vinegar as Antiseptic: http://www.discoveriesinmedicine.com/A-An/Antisepsis.html

Every Day I Die

Every day, I die upon a lingering sin,

Choice that I made, consequence there has been.

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Every day I die for a promise to spare

Me from the moment that I held despair.

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Every day I die; both confused and contrite,

Settled on Truth that spoke that of life.

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Every day I die – not another should I miss,

A day less of You is not the entirety of bliss.

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Every day, I die for the seed to grow

A seed of hope for me was bestowed.

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Every day I die; that Christ may live

In every way I try, His grace fell sieved.

Do Hard Things. Period.

Just reading the phrase would have made me cringe back then as I entered the second decade of my life. Hard things for me equates to working double-time for double pay and double the stress. Those words translate to me that I have to do twice the effort of my time, energy and ability to receive just what I had worked on, more or less. Negative as it seems, that is what I had in mind growing up, not that I was born with a silver spoon on my mouth but rather just ‘get by’ the life I have and not live up from low expectations. I thought of myself not just once but a couple of times, ‘what do you expect? I’m just a kid.’

A turning point in my life happened that changed all of that, not overnight but a gradual exposure with truths; and that I will forever regret the years wasted looking for a purpose but now boldly looking ahead and taking on life in a significant approach.

I grew up having a mindset that doing hard things was grown-up work, also for the buffed and gruff men. Moreover, admiring the top students of the class for them to earn such recognition and academic excellence, to me, required hard work; Doing hard things, that was the course of action I resolved to not to do and resorted to the trivial. At times, I am up to the challenge though, but just ‘challenges’ that interest me and not the things that I needed to be working on my favor, like solving math problems – even just the easy ones! Or learning to play a musical instrument, it never would have dawned on me to exert extra effort on such because excuses took the best of me.

I dreamt of big things too. My ambition when I was young at age was to become an air force or airline pilot, then a doctor, then a scientist, as an astronomer and even as a film-maker. However, circumstances eventually slain the ideas one by one and again settling on what I have and groaned about what I lack.

Having those mindsets of just focusing on what interests me, that is – art, drawing, writing, books, at times, going outdoors and yes, video games, computers and other gadgetry did not really make me an unsuccessful person, but it only limited me to what people can expect from me. I can show aptitude in writing as well as repairing and assembling computers but any other beyond what I can expound I shunned off. Did I try once? Yes. Tried again? Often, not. Try really harder? Hard work, hard stuff, hard thing. Not my league.

Evaluating myself, I’d say I do a certain hard task when I am in a group. Group effort seems to wield my ability to try hard, do hard. A group would compensate my rather slim build when it comes to carrying loads physically and mentally. I learn constantly from people and being in utmost support generally yields my understanding. However, when the task is finished, or left undone; the group sets off, disbands and no one else left as tasks or even objectives are complete – it all fades out. I seldom took hold of other groups just to keep the company, only to find that we would rather find trivial and menial appealing than our true potential that we saw having lackluster at that point.

It was only then I realized that I was never afraid of doing hard things, just the thought that it is ‘hard’ vexed me into thinking that I am unable to do it; and it laid a trap for me to be complacent with what I had for the moment and seriously regret the years that I should have worked on, at least, with what I really wanted; until I gave my life to Jesus. He is my perfecter, my strength and reason to continue. Jesus gave me the purpose in life based on what He is able to do and not just because of the choices I made in the past that shaped me, He made me completely new. And from that onset, my hope lies in He who gives me strength, peace and love.

“…we chose to do hard things because Jesus has done the hardest thing.” Do Hard Things, p. 229 by Brett and Alex Harris got that right. Experiencing the love of God in a personal matter shifts your perspective of doing hard things. That is the core of the book, to rise-up from low expectations imposed by the society, by our family and even amongst ourselves.

What is awe-inspiring about the book ‘Do Hard Things’ is not only a book for Christian youth or any Christian reader, the book also addresses to the youths like me, who are very much afraid to do hard things because they gave up, and gave in to complacency at any age. The book, though its by-word is ‘rebellion’ teaches that rising up against low expectations and that what instigates that is realizing truths about God as well as applying practical tips to young readers for them to enact. True to its objective, the book inflicts the society of today as a harbinger of mediocrity that in subtlety poisons the mind of the youth to nothing more than helpless young adults as they enter their formative years. I may not have experienced that much, but I now relate to such culture that OK is OK, and that there is no longer black or white.

The book conveys such relative information on how I as an adult correlate to the younger generation, on how they keep their fire for God and that the backfire would only be breaking mindsets that may as well tear them down. Such discretion from youth that upholds high standards and godly character is something to uphold to. How I long for our generation to have realized that, and how I pray and tell the next to grasp this principle.

The ability for us to do hard things can only be fueled by God, other than that we may all have wound up in frustration, from the book itself, I realized it is never too late to expect high from ourselves and do and do and try and never give up on doing hard things. Whether or not you have outgrown your teen years, or you are making the most of it, the underlying message for us is to ‘do hard things.’ Period.

Season of Showers

Ice pelted over the summer breeze,

Clouds run under the once blue fleece.

Air is heavy; gets harder to breathe,

You’re the thought over me like a planted seed.

da

For once I knew poems were just rhythms,

Empty messages when it all seems

Helpless as I wonder to make out of it,

Foreboding words stands out incomplete.

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Like the rain, prose comes out unnoticed,

Although both come in season and by promise.

The wind may have blown a cloud at my back,

Same as the thought of words that I had lacked.

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There might come a time for me pouring

All my thoughts to paper, recurring.

As the rain over the roof drizzling,

Everyone drenched rounded up scowling.

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And as I end this poem with none much the same

Just like the rain pouring all over again.

The seasons change – all but then they went,

When as my thought gone up, showered all I’d spent.