HOW DOES ONE SAY “THANK YOU”?

I am going and you can’t stop me!” I was 18 years old then. I stood in front of my Dad defiantly and repeated that I was going to EDSA with or without him. With that, I marched out of the house, with only one 5-peso bill tucked between the pages of a pocketbook I was reading at that time, a bottle of tap water, a towel and my school ID, just in case …

My mind was in turmoil, trying to figure out how I could get to Ortigas Avenue from Quezon City. I was halfway out of the gate when Daddy ran out after me and told me to wait for him. His concern for his headstrong daughter overcame whatever trepidation he may have had about going to EDSA on that day.

With public transport practically non-existent, we walked from our home all the way to Muñoz Market and hitched a ride to Cubao. Again we walked to Camp Aguinaldo and Camp Crame.

And glad that he went, Daddy was! Those days in EDSA proved to be the most triumphant days we’ve ever had. We survived on shared food and slept on the ground. We joined fellow Filipinos as we chanted the name of Cory until our voices became hoarse. We scampered for cover whenever helicopter gunships would come into view or when word about nearby loyalist troops would reach us. But stayed we did. In our minds at that time, if worse came to worst, we would stand our ground.

We were in EDSA when the first of those gunships landed in Camp Crame. Oh! The jubilation as we witnessed one land after another and we realized that they have come to “our” side. We shouted with joy and Daddy danced in the street! We laughed and hugged each other and together, we all prayed. Laban signs flashed all over.

We were in EDSA when news of the Marcoses’ flight reached the people. We were in EDSA when Corazon C. Aquino was sworn in as President of the Philippines.

Those were the heady days of EDSA, when after years of darkness, we finally saw the sun again.I have never been more proud of being a Filipino than in those days when we amazed the world … timid Filipinos finally rising up to topple a dictatorship in a way never before seen in history. I have never loved our country as much as I loved the Philippines then. All that love, that hope and optimism, all that pride of our accomplishment as a people, I directed them all to President Cory. How I loved and respected her. I hanged on to her every word, scanned the papers for the latest news about her, and had my heart almost bursting with pride each time she went abroad .. that little, bespectacled housewife in yellow, receiving the world’s accolade, standing shoulder to shoulder with its greatest leaders.

But reality soon caught up with us Filipinos. The President started getting criticized by people who expected too much, too soon. But I stayed by her side, my faith unwavering. I believed in her and knew that what the people had expected from her was too much for anybody to ever achieve. Twenty years of looting could not be undone in one or two years.

In the years that followed however, as President Cory faded from the national center stage, I became guilty of forgetting her. I became cynical again, weary of politics and blasphemous of anything nationalistic. To me, she eventually became simply the ever-supportive mother of Kris Aquino. I’d see her in the news occasionally, espousing one cause or another, and the most thought I’d spare her had been, “she’s too old to be doing that” or “she is better off staying home”.

News of her illness barely moved me as well. My reaction had been more of personal concern over the indiscriminate reach of cancer.

Then one day, as I was driving towards my daughter’s school, I caught a glimpse of a newspaper headline. It blared: “Cory fighting for her life!” I choked as if my entire heart just went up my throat and tears started falling. I could barely see the road. My beloved President Cory was dying! Everything that I ever felt for her came rushing back. I was beside myself with grief.

And now she is gone, that lone ray of hope that guided us Filipinos out of the darkness. She is gone, that shining example of how every Filipino, every person, every woman, every mother, and every leader should be. Bundled all together in her small frame was the purest form of integrity and humility, selfless service, strength of conviction, and indestructible faith in God. Now that she is gone, who else will show us how we should be?

And how do we say “Thank You” to President Cory for the person that she was? How do we say “Thank You” for giving herself so selflessly to us? How do we say “Thank You” for that hope that she inspired, for that fierce pride that she made us feel, for that intense love of country that she gave us?

How do we say thank you to a beloved? How do we say goodbye?

GOODBYE BELOVED PRESIDENT

CORAZON C. AQUINO
President
Republic of the Philippines
1933 - 2009

DIVINE

Love and tenderness ...
Frail man ...
The image of God's love in my mind.

WE LOVE YOU PRESIDENT CORY!

I never loved our country as fiercely as I did, when as a young girl, I went out into the streets to fight for our freedom with you as our leader President Cory. I have not felt that love for country nor that pride of being a Filipino since then. You can't leave us yet. We still need you. We need you to be our moral leader. Help us find that love again. Help us regain that fierce pride. Help us see that there is still some decency left among the people who lead us today. I see nothing but gloom in our future. Please be our light once again. Don't leave us President Cory. Your people need you.

We can leave messages for President Cory Aquino in this Facebook account:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/cory.aquino?ref=nf

T-Bone Steak

Borrowed this from my inbox again. It's a very poignant story and carries a very special message ... let us cherish every moment we have with our loved ones.

I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry.. The pain of losing my husband of 57 years was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories..

He often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands.

He knew I loved yellow roses. With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since he had passed on.

Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two.

Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how he had loved his steak.

Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blonde, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large package of T-bones, dropped them in her basket.. hesitated, and then put them back. She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks.

She saw me watching her and she smiled. 'My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know.'

I swallowed the emotion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes.

'My husband passed away eight days ago,' I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. 'Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together.'

She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away.

I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. A Quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone.

I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front. I saw first the green suit, then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package.. On her face was the brightest smile! I had ever seen.. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blonde hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine.

As she came closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes. 'These are for you,' she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. 'When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for.' She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again. I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision.

I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal.. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone.

Oh, you haven't forgotten me, have you? I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.

Thank You Teachers!!!

"Whose child is this?" I asked one day
Seeing a little one out at play
"Mine", said the parent with a tender smile
"Mine to keep a little while
To bathe his hands and comb his hair
To tell him what he is to wear
To prepare him that he may always be good
And each day do the things he should"

"Whose child is this?" I asked again
As the door opened and someone came in
"Mine", said the teacher with the same tender smile
"Mine, to keep just for a little while
To teach him how to be gentle and kind
To train and direct his dear little mind
To help him live by every rule
And get the best he can from school"

"Whose child is this?" I ask once more
Just as the little one entered the door
"Ours" said the parent and the teacher as they smiled
And each took the hand of the little child
"Ours to love and train together
Ours this blessed task forever.”
Author unknown)


Time and again, I wrote about how motherhood has brought me boundless joy. I also wrote of the depths and heights of rage and frustration that only our beloved children could make us go through.

Becoming a mother forced me to confront myself more often than I wanted to and made me face truths about myself I would have preferred not knowing … truths like frailties and limitations that I’m certain most of us would rather not have.

One is foremost in my mind right now … that I can’t be Abby’s mother and teacher at the same time. Sure, I’m her teacher about life’s basics, but I stop there.

Beyond that and it’s flying notebooks and pencil cases, broken rulers, stinging palms (mine from banging the table), hurt looks in the eyes and tears streaming all the way down to quivering lips.

I have close to zero tolerance for Abby come time to do assignments or prepare for quizzes and exams.

I lost no time seeking a tutor’s help to spare us both from this ordeal.
Realizing this, I discovered a newfound respect, profound admiration, and the deepest gratitude for everyone in the teaching profession.

If one child could drive me to the edge of sanity, I can’t even begin to imagine what thirty or so children could do to one teacher day in and day out.

And yet, day after day, they persevere. Morning after morning, they troop into our schools, as fresh as the day itself, ready to face once more, a day that only they could truly know.

William Arthur Ward once said, “Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.”

So as Catherina Cittadini (St. Louis) School celebrates Teachers’ Day on January 27, the feast day of St. Angela Merici, Patroness of Teachers, I join all Cittadine parents in saying … For taking their hand and walking along with us parents as our children journey towards their future … we can only say … thank you, THANK YOU!

To our Cittadine teachers …


Happy Teachers’ Day!

Truly Awesome!

I knew that I was fighting a losing battle but I still managed to put up a valiant struggle.

I knew that I was up against an overwhelming opponent but I still waged a war that could only be described as Olympian … but I still lost in the end.

Sleep claimed me and I snored the night away as rhythmic gymnasts danced their hearts out for the gold.

Did I lose you there? Yes, I was referring to the Beijing Olympics, the rhythmic gymnastics competition in particular. It was an awesome display of precision gymnastics combined with the grace and elegance of ballet. I had been looking forward to watching it, and woe of all woes … my eyes simply would not stay opened!

I’m not exaggerating my disappointment here. I feasted on the beauty and elegance of the performances while marveling, with something close to awe, at the single-minded dedication that each athlete must have poured into their craft to come up with such perfection. I would have wanted to watch all night …

The word awe pretty sums up how I feel about the Olympics. I was hooked from day one, when China opened with a ceremony that could only be described as SPECTACULAR!!!


And who wouldn’t be? Starting from that phenomenon in the Water Cube called Michael Phelps (whose broad shoulders that seem to stretch forever, by the way, not to mention those magnificent abs, are a definite pleasure to watch!) all the way down to Hong Kong where the equestrian competitions are being held … I can only say … absolutely fantastic!!!

Dressage and horse jumping in equestrian kept me glued to the TV. The poise and elegance of the world-class riders astride those breathtakingly gorgeous thoroughbreds kept me amazed at the many facets of beauty. (Note: A blog visitor kindly informed me that almost no good dressage horses are thoroughbreds - they are warmbloods. Although I do not know what warmbloods are, I deeply appreciate that information.) My friends can attest to my fascination with those horses and at how beautiful they are to my eyes! One commentator speculated that the best of them could fetch prices as high as two million euros!!! Now, that’s quality for you!

It’s amazing how those horses could dance to the beat of music in dressage! I thought that if their trainers could teach them those intricate moves, surely they could also teach me the cha-cha! But that’s only wishful thinking. I’m afraid I’m untrainable in dancing. Each of those horses has more talent than a dozen of me put together. Hello? As if that’s not obvious enough! That’s why people are willing to pay millions for them, remember?





But my fascination with the horses and Michael Phelps’ abs, notwithstanding, the one image that will stay in my mind for a long, long time is that of a muscle-bound, fully bearded athlete crying openly while pressing his silver medal to his face and lips.

The enormity of his triumph, and those of many others, hit me there and then. That medal meant the world to him. Encapsulated in that tiny piece of metal are all his dreams and aspirations, all the sacrifices that he had to make, all the pain and agony that he had to endure … everything that he had in him, he gave into winning that medal. And it was finally his! Tears flowed out freely, unashamedly. Watching him, I had to swallow a big lump in my throat.

And just as there was triumph, I witnessed the agony of defeat. Many a time I watched as tough looking, muscle-bound amazons fight back tears as their Olympic dreams slipped away from their grasps. A lifetime of preparation and training gone in a matter of seconds!

This drama could not be more apparent than in canoe and boat races. There, at one glance, you would see the deepest depths of agony and defeat in sharp contrast with sights of victorious celebrations. Shouts of victory, hugs, and fists pummeling the air in triumph as against men slumped on their seats in crushed silence, exhaustion and disappointment heavily permeating the air.


And that, my friends, is the Olympics for me. Beyond the pleasure of watching the athletes compete and dazzle with their raw power and strength, their speed and endurance, their grace and elegance, and their sheer ability to defy the rules of nature by pulling off those awe-inspiring feats … beyond the pleasure of watching men and women at the peak of the physical perfection … beyond the pomp and pageantry …

In the Olympics, I had the privilege of catching a glimpse of what is inside the heart of each and every Olympian … that burning fire at the very depths of their being, that hunger for excellence that keeps gnawing at their core, that drive to be the best, that hunger that kept them going, pushing their abilities to the limit and beyond, and rising above themselves to become larger than life. All that, plus the inner strength that drove many to rise up after a crushing failure or defeat, again and again and again, is the essence of the undefeatable Olympic Spirit.

And that’s what made me say … truly awesome!

Dumaguete Policewoman received COPS Award

SPO2 Josefa L. Lacandula, Chief of the Women and Children Concerns Desk of Dumaguete City Police, was honored with the Country’s Outstanding Policemen in Service (COPS) award for her unswerving commitment and dedication to her work along with her exemplary and laudable accomplishments.

She is one of ten men and women in the police force who were honored by President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo last August 1, 2008 during conferment rites held at the Malacanang Palace.

The nationwide search for outstanding police officers is a joint project of the Metrobank Foundation and the Rotary Club of New Manila East in partnership with PSBank and the Philippine National Police.

COPS aimed to identify police officers whose selfless service and dedication to duty have made a positive impact on the communities they vowed to serve and protect.

Following the nationwide selection process, 20 COPS finalists were pre-selected from 108 nominees from across the country. The judges poured over the 20 finalists’ documentation of achievement and answers to essay questions. In the interview phase, the judges rated the finalists based on validity and accuracy of accomplishments, attitude towards their profession, and responsible citizenship.

The Board of Judges was chaired by Rep. Juan Edgardo Angara and composed of Sandiganbayan Presiding Justice Diosdado Peralta, Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Pasig President Rosalinda Tirona, Manila Bulletin columnist Julie Yap-Daza and Galing Pook Foundation Executive Director Dr. Eddie Dorotan.

Finding Kindred Spirits

Today, I posted the following in the message board of The Baby Center dealing with the topic: First Pregnancy, Ending in Miscarriage.

Hello everyone, first of all, may I say how sorry I am for your loss and for the pain that all of you had to go through. I know exactly how you felt when you lost your baby because I had been through that myself.

Although my miscarriage was not my first pregnancy, I too lost my baby in my 8th week. I mourned my loss deeply because I wanted that baby very badly. You see, I have polycystic ovaries syndrome. I was able to have my first child only through the grace of God and the aid of this wonderful drug called gonal-f.

My husband and I tried to have another child last December 2005. This time, I had puregon. I went through two rounds of artificial insemination but both attempts failed. We soon gave up because of financial constraints. Here in the Philippines, fertility treatments are very expensive.

I gave up hope of ever conceiving by natural means. but unexpectedly, I found out that I was pregnant by April 2006. My joy cannot be described especially because it was a spontaneous pregnancy, a miracle that came into our lives when we least expected it!

I started spotting soon after my discovery. I was devastated. I did what I could to save my baby. I went into full bed rest and begged my doctor for whatever medicine there was that would somehow keep my baby alive in case I was losing it.

Several ultrasound examinations revealed no heartbeat. They could not even find the gestational sac. But I insisted that I was pregnant because my pregnancy tests said so!!! I think people thought I was crazy then ... but when you are somebody who wanted another child I much as I did, I think you would understand how I felt then. I even had a name in case my baby would be a girl, Maia.

I finally had my miscarriage May 9, 2006. As doctors would put it, the "product of conception" was "expelled". My pain was overwhelming. My husband was not with me then. He was abroad at that time. I had nobody to comfort me. And I was filled with guilt. Somehow, I could not help asking if somehow, it had been my fault that my baby died.

I took my little one to a clinical laboratory for examination, to try to determine what the cause of my loss was. My baby, whom they coldly referred to as "specimen", was placed in a plastic cup before it was taken from me.

The technician who was holding the cup then jokingly handed it to another lab worker and jokingly told him ... " here, you urinate in this". He said that right in my presence.

I cannot even begin to describe to you the pain and the hurt that i went through that day. Here I was mourning the loss of a child that I wanted to have with all my heart ... and hearing somebody callously make my dead baby the butt of his joke by having it urinated upon was excruciating. It was utterly cruel at its best.

The lab report stated I had an early pregnancy failure ... that only the placenta developed, but no baby. The general attitude I encountered here in my home city was like ... what was the big deal? There was never any baby after all, so why all this fuss?

I don't care whether a baby developed or not at all. In my mind and in my heart, I had a child that was not meant for me. Last December 2006, I had a chance to visit one of our hospital's nursery. I dropped by intending to enjoy the sight of beautiful babies only to end up crying my heart out because I could not help thinking that my own baby should have been there as well. If I had not lost my little one, I would have given birth on December 24. Today, I would have had bouncing and crawling 7-month old. I still ache. There are times when the pain is not as raw, but times like this, my pain is as great as on that unforgettable day.

I am glad that i stumbled into this site and read of your posts. I am glad that I have found kindred spirits in you. I dont feel so alone anymore. I've corresponded with other parents who have lost their children, but I could feel that they could not empathize with me totally because my loss is not an tangible as theirs. They had real babies they have held in their arms. I only have my failed expectations.

For a while, i thought that I should stop feeling this way because I did not lose a real baby anyway, as some have pointed out to me. But I continue to feel the pain. I am glad that there are others out there who feel the same way I do. thank you for sharing a bit of yourselves with the rest of us.

Hello everyone, first of all, may I say how sorry I am for your loss and for the pain that all of you had to go through. I know exactly how you felt when you lost your baby because I had been through that myself.

Although my miscarriage was not my first pregnancy, I too lost my baby in my 8th week. I mourned my loss deeply because I wanted that baby very badly. You see, I have polycystic ovaries syndrome. I was able to have my first child only through the grace of God and the aid of this wonderful drug called gonal-f.

My husband and I tried to have another child last December 2005. This time, I had puregon. I went through two rounds of artificial insemination but both attempts failed. We soon gave up because of financial constraints. Here in the Philippines, fertility treatments are very expensive.

I gave up hope of ever conceiving by natural means. but unexpectedly, I found out that I was pregnant by April 2006. My joy cannot be described especially because it was a spontaneous pregnancy, a miracle that came into our lives when we least expected it!

I started spotting soon after my discovery. I was devastated. I did what I could to save my baby. I went into full bed rest and begged my doctor for whatever medicine there was that would somehow keep my baby alive in case I was losing it.

Several ultrasound examinations revealed no heartbeat. They could not even find the gestational sac. But I insisted that I was pregnant because my pregnancy tests said so!!! I think people thought I was crazy then ... but when you are somebody who wanted another child I much as I did, I think you would understand how I felt then. I even had a name in case my baby would be a girl, Maia.

My finally had my miscarriage May 9, 2006. As doctors would put it, the "product of conception" was "expelled". My pain was overwhelming. My husband was not with me then. He was abroad at that time. I had nobody to comfort me. And I was filled with guilt. Somehow, I could not help asking if somehow, it had been my fault that my baby died.
I took my little one to a clinical laboratory for examination, to try to determine what the cause of my loss was. My baby, whom they coldly referred to as "specimen", was placed in a plastic cup before it was taken from me.

The technician who was holding the cup then jokingly handed it to another lab worker and jokingly told him ... " here, you urinate in this". He said that right in my presence.

I cannot even begin to describe to you the pain and the hurt that i went through that day. Here I was mourning the loss of a child that I wanted to have with all my heart ... and hearing somebody callously make my dead baby the butt of his joke by having it urinated upon was excruciating. It was utterly cruel at its best.

The lab report stated I had an early pregnancy failure ... that only the placenta developed, but no baby. The general attitude I encountered here in my home city was like ... what was the big deal? There was never any baby after all, so why all this fuss?

I don't care whether a baby developed or not at all. In my mind and in my heart, I had a child that was not meant for me. Last December 2006, I had a chance to visit one of our hospital's nursery. I dropped by intending to enjoy the sight of beautiful babies only to end up crying my heart out because I could not help thinking that my own baby should have been there as well. If I had not lost my little one, I would have given birth on December 24. Today, I would have had bouncing and crawling 7-month old. I still ache. There are times when the pain is not as raw, but times like this, my pain is as great as on that unforgettable day.

I am glad that i stumbled into this site and read of your posts. I am glad that I have found kindred spirits in you. I dont feel so alone anymore. I've corresponded with other parents who have lost their children, but I could feel that they could not empathize with me totally because my loss is not an tangible as theirs. They had real babies they have held in their arms. I only have my failed expectations.

For a while, i thought that I should stop feeling this way because I did not lose a real baby anyway, as some have pointed out to me. But I continue to feel the pain. I am glad that there are others out there who feel the same way I do. thank you for sharing a bit of yourselves with the rest of us.

Inspiring Thoughts from Rick Warren

Once again, I received an email that has touched and inspired me so much, I could not help but want to share it with anybody who might stumble on this blog. Here's the full text:

You will enjoy the new insights that Rick Warren has, with his wife now having cancer and him having "wealth" from the book sales. This is an absolutely incredible short interview with Rick Warren,"Purpose Driven Life " author and pastor ofSaddleback Church in California. In the interview by Paul Bradshaw with Rick Warren, Rick said:

People ask me, What is the purpose of life?

And I respond: In a nutshell, life is preparation for eternity. We were made to last forever, and God wants us to be with Him in Heaven. One day my heart is going to stop, and that will be the end of my body-- but not the end of me. I may live 60 to 100 years on earth, but I am going to spend trillions of years in eternity. This is the warm-up act - the dress rehearsal. God wants us to practice on earth what we will do forever in eternity.

We were made by God and for God, and until you figure that out, life isn't going to make sense. Life is a series of problems: Either you are in one now, you're just coming out of one, or you're getting ready to go into another one. The reason for this is that God is more interested in your character than your comfort. God is more interested in making your life holy than He is in making your life happy. We can be reasonably happy here on earth, but that's not the goal of life. The goal is to grow in character, in Christ likeness.

This past year has been the greatest year of my life but also the toughest, with my wife, Kay, getting cancer. I used to think that life was hills and valleys - you go through a dark time, then you go to the mountaintop, back and forth.

I don't believe that anymore. Rather than life being hills and valleys, I believe that it's kind of like two rails on a railroad track, and at all times you have something good and something bad in your life. No matter how good things are in your life, there is always something bad that needs to be worked on. And no matter how bad things are in your life, there is always something good you can thank God for. You can focus on your purposes, or you can focus on your problems. If you focus on your problems, you're going into self-centeredness,"which is my problem, my issues, my pain." But one of the easiest ways to get rid of pain is to get your focus off yourself and onto God and others.

We discovered quickly that in spite of the prayers of hundreds of thousands of people, God was not going to heal Kay or make it easy for her. It has been very difficult for her, and yet God has strengthened her character, given her a ministry of helping other people, given her a testimony, drawn her closer to Him and to people. You have to learn to deal with both the good and the bad of life.

Actually, sometimes learning to deal with the good is harder. For instance, this past year, all of a sudden, when the book sold 15 million copies, it made me instantly very wealthy. It also brought a lot of notoriety that I had never had to deal with before. I don't think God gives you money or notoriety for your own ego or for you to live a life of ease.

So I began to ask God what He wanted me to do with this money, notoriety and influence. He gave me two different passages that helped me decide what to do, II Corinthians 9 and Psalm 72:

First, in spite of all the money coming in, we would not change our lifestyle one bit. We made no major purchases.

Second, about midway through last year, I stopped taking a salary from the church.

Third, we set up foundations to fund an initiative we call The Peace Plan to plant churches, equip leaders, assist the poor , care for the sick, and educate the next generation.

Fourth, I added up all that the church had paid me in the 24 years since I started the church, and I gave it all back. It was liberating to be able to serve God for free.

We need to ask ourselves: Am I going to live for possessions? Popularity? Am I going to be driven by pressures? Guilt? Bitterness? Materialism? Or am I going to be driven by God's purposes (for my life)?

When I get up in the morning, I sit on the side of my bed and say, God, if I don't get anything else done today, I want to know You more and love You better. God didn't put me on earth just to fulfill a to-do list. He's more interested in what I am than what I do.That's why we're called human beings, not human doings.

Good Deeds Do Come Back

I remember watching a show in TV that featured a family living in a rectangular box that was no bigger than a coffin. A large plastic that hang over it served as its roof, the family’s sole protection from the harsh winds and biting cold brought on by the rains. Very sad. But what was even sadder was the sight of two very small children and a third on the way. The mother revealed that she gave birth to her second child in that box, and was most likely giving birth to her third in that very same place.

Flashback: Malate, Manila, 1997. Everyday, I’d see this family of four living along the bangketa, sharing one folding bed that has seen better days. Two grimy and unwashed young children ran around in the sidewalk stark naked. I remember watching the younger one amble towards the middle of the road to squat. Before I could start wondering what he was squatting for, he proceeded to defecate. There was no reaction from the parents. For them, it was part of the natural course of things.

It is a big enough tragedy that people have to live in these conditions, and knowing that there isn’t much that one can do except give the occasional dole-outs that really does nothing to improve their lot except fill their stomachs very briefly.

But the bigger tragedy is seeing children having to live and grow up in this way. It tears my guts out to see them living like animals and with all the ways of one. How would they ever develop self-value and -respect when they know only of a life that is no better than that of dogs that live by scavenging?

Indeed, it is very sad that poverty will always hound our country and people and that the end is nowhere in sight. Except perhaps for a lucky few who will manage to escape into a better life, these children are doomed to perpetuate this vicious cycle that started long before they were born.

I’m writing about this now hoping that maybe, each one of us in our own little way, could help even just one child struggle out of this quagmire of hopelessness. We need not expect any reward or recognition at the end. The satisfaction will come at knowing that we helped. At the end of the day, their triumph, whether spectacular or not, will also be our own. And who knows, that helping hand we’ve extended might just come back to us in most unexpected ways.

Take the story of one young doctor who worked in the slums of London a long time ago. I don’t really know if this story is true or not, and my recollection is kind of vague. But it generally went this way: the young doctor was summoned to assist in a very difficult delivery. He noticed how poor the family was, living in one dingy room with a dozen or so children. When the child was finally born, it was barely alive. To add to that, the baby had some sort of leg deformity that would make walking extremely difficult for him later in life. The doctor thought that he would be doing this baby a great favor if he’d simply leave it to die rather than let it enter a world that promised nothing but misery and hardship. But revive the baby he did.

That would have been the end of the story if not years later when his granddaughter had an accident requiring a delicate brain surgery. Only one surgeon could perform that specialized surgery, a deformed little man who bore the same name as that of the old doctor’s. This brilliant surgeon’s mother named him after the young doctor who gave him the life that he almost lost soon after his birth.

Tears filled the old doctor’s eyes. He remembered the scrawny little baby he almost gave up for dead years ago.

Yes, whether we expect it or not, good deeds do come back.

The Donkey

One day a farmer's donkey fell down into a well. The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do.

Finally, he decided the animal was old, and the well needed to be covered up anyway; it just wasn't worth it to retrieve the donkey. He invited all his neighbours to come over and help him. They all grabbed a shovel and began to shovel dirt into the well.

At first, the donkey realized what was happening and cried horribly. Then, to everyone's amazement he quieted down.

A few shovel loads later, the farmer finally looked down the well. He was astonished at what he saw. With each shovel of dirt that hit his back, the donkey was doing something amazing.

He would shake it off and take a step up. As the farmer's neighbours continued to shovel dirt on top of the animal, he would shake it off and take a step up.

Pretty soon, everyone was amazed as the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and happily trotted off!

MORAL :Life is going to shovel dirt on you, all kinds of dirt. The trick to getting out of the well is to shake it off and take a step up.

Each of our troubles is a steppingstone.

We can get out of the deepest wells just by not stopping, never giving up! Shake it off and take a step up.

Remember the five simple rules to be happy:

1. Free your heart from hatred - Forgive.
2. Free your mind from worries - Most never happen.
3. Live simply and appreciate what you have.
4. Give more.
5. Expect less


This story was forwarded to me by email. I was so inspired by it I decided to share it with everybody who would stumble into this blog. It tells of turning life's adversaries into one's own advantage, of rising above one's own difficulties ... Be inspired, as I was by the simple but profound lesson that it told.

Red Marbles (author unknown)

This was forwarded to me by an old high school classmate. It moved me deeply as it speaks of values and truths that we all strive to live by.

I forwarded the story of the Red Marbles to my own friends and received appreciative responses from almost everyone. I was inspired to post the story here to share with everyone who chances by this blog.

I just hope that I am not breaking any copyright laws here.

During the waning years of the depression in a small Idaho community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller's roadside stand for farm fresh produce as the season made it available. Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering was used extensively.

One day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas ... sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"

"Not zackley ... but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had the occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there I learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ... all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size ... they came to pay their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.


MORAL: We will not be remembered by our words... but by our kind deeds.

Today, I wish you a day of ordinary miracles...
A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself...
An unexpected phone call from an old friend...
Green traffic lights on your way to work...
The fastest line at the grocery store...
A good sing-along song on the radio...
Your keys right where you left them.

Life is not measured by the breaths we take,
but by the moments that take our breath away.

Courtesy of inspire21.com

A Prayer of Thanks

This prayer was forwarded to me a while ago. I'd like to share this with everyone out there!


DEAR GOD:

I want to thank You for what you have already done.
I am not going to wait until I see results or receive rewards;
I am thanking you right now.

I am not going to wait until I feel better or things look better;
I am thanking you right now.

I am not going to wait until people say they are sorry or until theystop talking about me;
I am thanking you right now.

I am not going to wait until the pain in my body disappears;
I am thanking you right now.

I am not going to wait until my financial situation improves;
I am going to thank you right now.

I am not going to wait until the children are asleep and the house is quiet;
I am going to thank you right now.

I am not going to wait until I get promoted at work or until I get the job;
I am going to thank you right now.

I am not going to wait until I understand every experience in my life that has caused me pain or grief;
I am thanking you right now.

I am not going to wait until the journey gets easier or the challenges are removed;
I am thanking you right now.

I am thanking you because I am alive.

I am thanking you because I made it through the day's difficulties.

I am thanking you because I have walked around the obstacles. I am thanking you because I have the ability and the opportunity to do more and do better.

I'm thanking You because FATHER,
YOU haven't given up on me

"I have a sister already ... she is an ANGEL now! And that makes me the most powerful girl in my school!"

This is Abby. She is six years old. She told me yesterday was the best day of her life because she became "Grade 1". When she entered her new classroom for the first time yesterday, she exclaimed ... "I love being in grade 1!"

Most of her classmates in preschool, including Abby, are firstborns. In their 3 years together, baby sisters or brothers were born to most of them ... almost everyone either became an "ate" (big sister) or "kuya" (big brother), except Abby. She kept lamenting, "I'll never be an ate ... ".

When we lost MAIA, Abby came to terms with our loss by explaining it away in her own simple, innocent way. She said, "maybe God really wanted me to have a baby sister, but He made a mistake and sent us a baby brother instead, that's why He took our baby back." I told her that God never makes mistakes. He sent us a baby girl, but then, He wanted her in heaven with Him, that's why she had to go back.

We think of Maia as an embryo. We do not have an image of her as a baby. But Abby and I believe that she will continue to grow up in heaven as time passes. She will have her first birthday there. She will also grow her first tooth in heaven. In her evening prayers, Abby keeps praying to Mama Mary... "please let Maia grow some teeth".

A few days ago, she said to me, "I am the most powerful ATE in my school."

I asked her why.

"I am the only girl with a sister who is an ANGEL IN HEAVEN."

"Say Sorry to Maia too."

"Dear Kuya Dexter. I think you should say you're sorry to Little Maia too. You hurt her feelings. From Abby Uy."


Abby wrote this a few days after we lost Maia. Dexter Dy, the medtech who uttered those hurtful words on our baby, sent a card asking me for forgiveness. I readily forgave him seeing how sincerely remorseful he was for adding to my pain.

Abby read the card. Her letter shows us exactly how she felt about his apology.

She has a book which shows a 6-week old embryo. Her drawing reflects that image, but she added the smile, the halo, and the angel wings.

Changes at SUMCFI ... am I seeing the beginnings of my "greater purpose"?

This was addressed to Noemi Lardizabal-Dado, Co-Founder of the Compassionate Friends Philippines, a grief support group for the newly-bereaved:



I was happy you mentioned the medical professionals' lack of training in handling grief during the interview. YOu were right, Cheche Lazaro was a great host. By the way, can we get Fallen Cradle from National Bookstore? I am sure we cannot find it in Dumaguete but if I should get the chance to visit Cebu, I will certainly drop by National to get a copy.

I saw my OB-Gyne yesterday. She's a formidable lady and she agrees with my observations regarding the lack of training of the employees of Silliman Medical Center. In her own way, she has helped a lot in promoting my cause. For instance, when I told her about how an intern came to the ER to see a patient (I was there at that time for another reason), she wanted to know which patient she was supposed to attend to. Instead of taking the chart and maybe asking, which bed is "Patient Uy" or "Patient Dado", for instance, she just asked a nurse, while pointing her thumb to a certain bed, "mao ni?" It's like saying in tagalog, "ito ba yon?" I remembered thinking at that time, how ill-mannered of her. My Abby (at 5 years then) has better manners, and to think that she is a doctor!!! Bastos siya. My OB told me she met with the doctor in charge of the interns right away and demanded he had another talk with his charges. And you know what? I was at the ultrasound room yesterday afternoon. An intern came, peeped at our cubicle and said to the sonologist, "excuse me, I'm looking for Patient ______." Hey! That's a great improvement! I would like to believe that the change for the better is part of the greater reason and meaning that I have been searching for.

I also told her about one incident when my uncle laid dead at the ER after a vehicular accident and while we milled around in tears, the nurses and other personnel at the ER carried on with their life as usual, laughing, loud chika, etc. I asked my doctor, are these employees not supposed to observed proper decorum in those situations? Like for example, when a mass is going on in church, everybody knows we're not supposed to converse loudly with our companions, right? or take calls from our phones? or even text? I asked if their employees were also briefed along these lines, especially along the giving of respect to the sensitivies of others. Dra. Go told me she took it up with the head nurse. I hope the latter is taking it seriously. As I said, Dra. Go is formidable. I expect the head nurse wont hear the end of it from this lady.

I also discovered that the employees of Silliman University Medical Center do not have an Employee Code of conduct or Ethics. There is a code of discipline, but proper and uniform set of guidelines as to how they should deal with their patients? That's presently non-existent. Briefings and orientations of new employees are left to the dept head, and obviously, their guidance along proper conduct is basically left to the discretion and subjective views of each dept head.

I am now working on that line. gather what materials I could, and submit suggestions to the board of Trustees, including suggest to them that patients should be given a handbook advising them of their rights so that the patients themselves can act as some sort of "police" for the employees.

I have a material from the US embassy, from their veterans outpatient dept. It is about Patients' Rights and Responsibilities. I'm going to look into DOH and maybe, WHO. maybe there is some universal declaration on that, like the one on Children's Rights.

PLEASE, IF THERE IS SOMEBODY OUT THERE WHO HAS THAT KIND OF MATERIAL, PLEASE!!! I WOULD APPRECIATE IT VERY MUCH IF YOU COULD SHARE THEM WITH ME. My email add is olgaluciauy@yahoo.com or maybe you can course them through NOEMI if she wont mind? IT WILL REALLY HELP ME BIG TIME! Thanks in advance. God bless you all. -olga-

When do you start loving a child?

My family suffered our own tragedy. I know our loss is trivial to most people, almost a non-issue. I have been told pasagdi na lang na. Binuang ra bitaw. Hasta kana ra. But I begged to disagree. It matters to us. This means the world to us.

All of you out there who are mothers and fathers to precious children ……. and even if you are not a parent yet, one way or another, there must be a little one whom you hold close to your heart, let me ask this question….

When do you start loving a child?

Will your love start only when you see your crying baby? Will that rush of tenderness flood your heart only when you hold that wriggling bundle for the first time? … when you can already see and feel its soft skin, smell its sweet breath, feel its warmth?

I learned I was pregnant on April 26. I had my miscarriage on May 9. How many days were that? Until now, I have not determined that yet. But it does not really matter, because during that very short time, the baby inside my womb was as real to me as my 6-year old daughter, Abby. I fell in love with that baby from the first moment I learned I had that little life growing in my womb. For some, my baby was merely a mass of dead tissue, not even human yet, much less a baby. But I already had a name for that “tissue”. Had my baby been born a girl, I would have called her Maria, in honor of our Holy Mother. Her nickname would have been MAIA. She would have been my little bird. But she never got her chance to fly. Her wings were broken too soon.

My faith in God is very simple. I believe that God has plans for all of us. I believe that there is meaning and purpose and reason for every little event in our lives. No matter how small, it is part of a grand plan engineered by our Great Creator. And even for the greatest pain, a reason and a purpose can be found. And somehow, someway, good will come out of it.

I cannot and will not accept that God will give and take away for nothing. I need to find the meaning and purpose behind my loss and my grief. I need that to ease my pain.

That’s why I need to ELEVATE our own personal tragedy to a higher plane. I am committed to turning my grief in an advocacy that will benefit not only my family but as many people as possible.

These are my requests from Silliman University Medical Center Foundation, Inc. (SUMCFI).

1. I am requesting Silliman Medical Center to publicly commit that they will implement a true and genuine VALUES DEVELOPMENT PROGRAM. Basically, I am challenging this institution TO TEACH THEIR EMPLOYEES BASIC GOOD MANNERS. I hope that from this will flow APPROPRIATE REGARD FOR THE SENSIBILITIES OF THOSE WHO COME TO THEM FOR SUCCOR.

2. Finally, IT WOULD MAKE ME VERY HAPPY AND WILL GIVE MEANING TO MY FAMILY’S LOSS, IF THE ADMINISTRATION OF SILLIMAN MEDICAL CENTER WILL AGREE TO POST PROMINENT SIGNS IN THE HOSPITAL PREMISES AND IN ALL THE HOSPITAL ROOMS, THAT PATIENTS AND THEIR RELATIVES AS WELL AS OTHER CLIENTS, MAY HAVE RECOURSE AND CAN REPORT TO A RESPONSIBLE PERSON, ANY INAPROPRIATE BEHAVIOUR THAT THEY MAY ENCOUNTER FROM ANY HOSPITAL PERSONNEL.

How hard can these be for a Christian institution such as Silliman Medical Center?

Please help me get them. It is within your power to help me get my simple requests. By myself, there is nothing much that I can do. I am just a small housewife from Dumaguete City. I am practically a non-entity here. I have no professional title or prominent lineage, no family name that spells power, wealth and influence.

But if you will join my cause, they might listen and pay attention. BOMBARD Silliman Medical Center with emails expressing your views. Please urge them to make those simple reforms. After all, I asked nothing for myself.

All that I ever want is find that meaning and purpose behind our loss, why God gave and took back too soon.

When I see those reforms, I know I will find closure. My pain will be eased. I will see the reason why God is making us go through all these. I will see the GOOD that will come out from my pain.

Thank you so much for your support.


You may e-mail:

MR. ROBERTO MONTEBON
President / Administrator
Silliman University Medical Center Foundation, Inc.
Dumaguete City, Negros Oriental
Philippines

e-mail address: sumcfi_99@yahoo.com

My dead baby was to be urinated upon ...

I have a condition known as Polycystic Ovaries Syndrome (PCOS). In other words, I have an infertility problem. I cannot become pregnant as easily as some other women do. But due to medical intervention, I had one successful pregnancy. I now have a 6-year old daughter.

In December of 2005 and January 2006, I went through another round of fertility treatment in the hope of having another child. This treatment was highly expensive. My husband and I spent hundreds of thousands of pesos in the pursuit of our desire for a baby sister or brother for our daughter. It drained our limited financial resources extensively. But the financial toll was nothing compared to the heavy toll on our emotions. Time and again, we had to go through the painful cycle of fervent hope, anxious anticipation, and crushing disappointment after all our efforts and sacrifices failed to produce a child.

Having ran out for funds for the treatment, my husband and I were resigned to the fact that another child was not part of God's plan for our family. But on April 26, I discovered that I was pregnant. Against all the odds and against all our expectations, I had a spontaneous pregnancy! What joy! Only people who are similarly situated can fully understand and empathize with me in the euphoric state I was in when I found out I was going to have another baby after all!

Then came my crushing blow when I miscarried and lost my baby in the morning of May 9, 2006. After that, all that I ever wanted to do was to find out what was wrong with the child that I carried. I wanted to know why I lost my little one.

Around eleven in the morning of May 9, I took my baby to the SILLIMAN UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER laboratory for biopsy. My little one was placed in a small plastic covered container. I handed it to the medical technician after he suggested that he would put formalin into it. As he left the reception area, he handed the cup over to the janitor and said to him “u, ihi-i ni” ("Here, you urinate on this."). I was aghast. I could hardly believe that somebody would treat my dead little one with such cruel mockery. I was outraged and infuriated over the insult hurled at my personal tragedy. I was completely crushed when an uncaring, callous, uncompassionate and cold member of the medical profession carelessly trampled over my grief and my loss.

My husband and I wanted that baby so much and losing our little one broke my heart. I am devastated and I am in great pain. My pain has now multiplied a hundred times after the treatment that my dead little one got. My poor baby. My little Christmas baby whom I believed was going to be God’s Christmas present to our family. It’s life has barely begun, and it hurt so much to see it’s life ended so soon. And to have my little one urinated upon, even in jest, magnified my pain.

How can people be so cold and uncaring? I am aware that for SOME people in the medical profession, the ideals have long vanished. It is just a job for them, a means to earn a living, and working in local hospitals is a mere stepping stone for juicier jobs abroad. Compassion has long vanished in their hearts. But is it too much to ask for a little respect for the sensibilities of the people who come to them for aid? If they cannot show genuine compassion, then the least that they should do is DISPLAY the APPEARANCE OF COMPASSION.

The ability to have a child is a gift and a privilege that has not been given to everyone. It is a gift from God and should be appreciated, treasured and be thankful for. Countless women like me are constantly tormented by our burning desire for children. Others who are more fortunate should be counting their blessings.

As my friend observed, MOST PEOPLE HAVE LOST THEIR AWE AND AMAZEMENT OVER GOD’S POWER TO GRANT THE MIRACLE OF LIFE. Maybe the death of my little one will be instrumental in bringing back that respect for God’s CREATION. And may it also be a reminder for people to respect THE CREATOR who is the giver of life.

Miscarriage: What's the big deal?

What's the big deal about a miscarriage when women all over the world are having it everyday, even deliberately?

It is a big deal to me. Losing Maia broke my heart.

So what does a mother do after she loses her much-prayed and -hoped for unborn child? She moves on ... by trying to find the greater meaning and purpose behind her loss.

This burning pain inside me will be appeased only when I find that reason. This is what my blog is all about ... my journey towards that bigger meaning that will give worth to my anguish and my pain, until finally, I will be able to say ... "Ahh, God was not playing with me after all!"