The Long Way Up

If I had it my way, I would probably end up living out in the boondocks like a hermit and avoid as much human interaction as I possibly could. That's a part of me that I know may never actually get to be lived out. Good thing, too, because I know I have been called to interact, live with and shepherd people into the Kingdom of God. My life is littered with a lot of paradoxes: a love for writing weighed down by frequent writer's block; a love for singing on stage neutralized by an aversion for crowds; a friendly demeanor opposed by this isolationist tendency. And that is one of my biggest dilemmas. In last decade of my life I have been ushered into this position of having to address multitudes, correlate with groups of leaders, and mentor several fledgling and maturing followers of Jesus. Part of me embraces this challenge. Another part wants to dismiss it altogether. Handling people is a fine art. It takes skill. It requires wisdom. It takes a lot of patience... and a t...

Why is it when you're having a really bad day and in a really bad mood, a series of irritating, annoying, vexing, patience-testing circumstances just keep coming at you like a flood? The office has been overrun by children. It's become a daycare center. And any trace of workplace decorum and decibel levels have all but vanished in to the thick, palpable noise of unnecessary sounds. It's become quite hard to concentrate in my work space unless I choose to drown out the loudness with music through noise-cancelling earphones, which sometimes can't cancel the noise. I don't mind condescending to others and making room for their unique set of circumstances and personalities... but is it too much too ask for a little reciprocation? Can the consideration I've dished out somehow find it's way back to me, especially on days like this? In the first place, the office is an office, not a nursery. Not a hangout place. Not a storage facility. . . . . At the...

I love words and I love writing. But one of the aspects of this passion that I really don't like is the paradox between having a lot of ideas when there's no writing instruments around, and getting writer's block when you've got pen and paper handy (or already sitting in front of your computer). It's the same for writing blog entries, lyrics or sermon outlines. And it doesn't help at all that your mind processes so many things at the same time that you really need to play catch up with your thoughts. I've had to lose many good ideas because of this. Still... what can you do? It's part of your passion. It's part of your vocation. It's part of your profession. So write, write, write!

I have always been wary about formal meetings and corporate gatherings. Whenever I get called to one of these, I always feel uncomfortable and out place. I always feel like at anytime I am going to be called out and be made a public spectacle of. For a long time I have always wondered why I felt this. I could probably trace it back to a traumatic childhood experience, yes; but over the years, the reason for this dislike to "official" get-togethers became more clear. Okay, okay! I'm not taking a jab at people who gather together for meetings to make plans to get things done, because many times they do just that: make plans and get things done. There's certainly great value to consolidating our time, effort and resources to achieve great goals. And I'm all for that. The thing I want to point out though is when these gatherings are turned into pissing contests by the "bigwigs" and the "who's who": people who deemed themselves very importan...

It seems to be an annual habit of mine (when my birthday comes around) that I tend to get sentimental and express what's in my heart and mind through verse and prose. This year's natal day was no different. I call this one 'For. To.' as a play on words on my age. ;) - - - - - For the things that once was said To the loves that now lay dead For the wounds that rendered scars To the surface and the heart For the strange familiar ways To the one it led astray For the former now forgot To the man that I'm still not For the face of future asked To the days of pain unmasked For the broken soul collect To the knee that genuflects For the will that stays unbent To the strength that's left unspent For the agony of wait To the unrelenting state

I wrote this "poem" in October of 2014 as a favor for my pastor friend for their Pastors' Appreciation Celebration held in the church I used to go to. It was (and still is) entitled "The Pastor's Call", but I'd like to rename it for this blog entry as "THE DEADLY VOCATION"! Hahaha! - - - - - To rise above the love of self And live beyond the lure of wealth To run the race, forsaking all Of such is made the pastor’s call To lead by faith when there seems none And carry on when hope seems gone To build the bridge and watch the wall Of such is made the pastor’s call A pastor stands when others crumble He lends a hand when others stumble A pastor walks on, lowly, humble And oftentimes required to tumble A pastor guides when one is lost He gives of self, he knows the cost A pastor looks to Jesus’ cross He lets Him take away the dross To see ahead the winding path And then avoid the aftermath To keep the sheep from deadly fall Of such is made the pa...

One of things I really, really miss about childhood was the actual reality of not having a care in the world. I miss just waking up in the morning, just having breakfast, and then just playing outside with other kids. I miss how, after hours of just playing outside, I would come back into the house for another meal. I miss how after playing some more outside the house I would wash up and get ready for dinner. After which I would go to sleep at night and repeat these steps again the next day. Everything was so simple back then. Life was uncomplicated. As an adult, life is anything but simple. I sometimes wish some of the things in my life weren't my current realities. Paying bills I always feel I'm in a catch-release situation with my monthly utilities payments. It's like I'm running after something that permits me to catch them, but only for a brief respite. And then they're off and running again. It never feels like it's going to end. The daily commu...

There was a period of roughly ten years of my life when I was writing lyrics and making songs like crazy (by my own standards anyway). I tried to write down words on paper as fast as they popped up in my head, and tried even harder to capture melodies that were fluttering by my ears. This was the season of my life where I thought I was going to be a prolific songwriter and lead vocalist of a (world!) renowned band. It was a desire that had been burning in my heart for a long time. Over the course of that ten-year-musically-infested span of time, I have met some of the most gifted guitarists and songwriting collaborators who have helped unleash the flood of creativity that have been held back by the dam of solitude and boredom. If I were a flickering lyric writer at the time, my guitarist friends were the high-octane gasoline that lit me up brighter than a wayward bush fire. We would play music together like there was no tomorrow, and write songs like our lives depended on it. W...

Life has an abundance of moments that give us wonderful emotional highs. Like the first day of school. For many of us, this experience can be highly stressful as, for the first time, we leave the comfort of our parents' side and the familiarity of home. For others, it can be highlighted by the excitement of meeting new friends in a larger interpersonal setting. Or how about the moment of having that first crush? It certainly brings with it a plethora of intense emotions that leave lasting memories in our brain. In my case, I remember the girl... and I still remember the feeling. Other instances could be the time you perfectly executed a dance routine you practiced really intently with your family; or the time you got a special year-end bonus for doing such an excellent job at work; or the time you finally discovered and lived out your life's purpose. These bring us heightened feelings -- positive or negative. We often refer to these times as moments where we have experi...

1975. In the Queen City of the South. On an island surrounded by 7,106 other islands floating merrily in the South Pacific. I was delivered into human existence in a place considered beautiful for its abundant natural wonders, and economically strategic for its geographic location. That setting would make one think there would be no need or reason to leave. The island is Cebu. The city -- the Queen -- also bears the same name. On the country's map, it is located at the center of the Philippine Islands. This is perhaps the reason why this island province is called "The Heart of the Philippines". I was born in the Heart. Then I moved. As a five-year-old. I remember very little about that relocation; that very first one. What comes to me when I think about it was being on a boat, heading to one of the multitudinous islands in the archipelago. Upon arriving at our destination, I recall my family and I settling into the one half of a two-storey duplex with a beach ...

Almost forty-two years into this long-haul excursion called life and, still, the resident, wide-eyed, insatiable 10-year-old remains agog at the ever-changing painting of everyday existence. From the bold strokes on life's canvas to the minor flourishes randomly scattered with passion, he still has sights set on the attractive. He has an eye for beauty. He has an ear for harmony. He has hands that will gravitate towards crafting things that contribute elegance and appeal to just about anything that surrounds him. Ten. He receives the warmth of a vigorous embrace given from behind him by surprise. The giver: his father. The occasion: his day of birth. This memory has since stayed forever engraved in the deep recesses of his mind; tucked away in a private room of outstanding remembrances; unknowingly stored for future recollections of significant instances pertaining to relationships. Perhaps that storeroom might even be deeper than that. Twenty. He ponders on the ramificati...