A Sonnet for my One True Love

 

Back in college, there was one Shakespearean sonnet I adored simply because it initially described my idea of what marriage or love should be.

Sonnet 116

by William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove,

Oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempest and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown. although his height be taken.

Love’s not Times fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickles compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom,.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ nor no man ever loved.

 

Well, to put it bluntly, this is the sonnet that disappointed me. I never found that kind of love. Around me, marriages were breaking apart, couples were splitting up after passionate weeks or months of being together. What once was so loved became so hated. I never trusted love after personally seeing what it can do to a twenty-year old marriage.

I would smile at heartbreaking break ups and splits and nod my head sagely saying Shakespeare was oh so wrong. I never experienced a break up myself but I considered myself lucky I was spared the trouble. I was one of the joyless club, I thought, but then I think I’d prefer to think I was part of the better-safe-than-sorry group. So I threw away that silly sonnet I carefully wrote on a piece of Cattleya note and lovingly taped on my college clipboard. Shakespeare was a fraud and love is just that, an urban myth.

And then, Love found me. My True Love found me in my most hidden corner, sulking bitterly over the silliness of life. And I learned, it’s not that Shakespeare was wrong.Its just that I have been looking for love in the wrong places. I have been searching and expecting it from other people who never really knew what Love is. I have been scouring every piece of romance novel I could find for my happily ever after and was more surprised I never found it there. True love cannot be found in a mere piece of paper or corruptible flesh. Love is this: that He gave His son, His only begotten Son, for us.

That’s love. That is my One True Love.

P.S. And yes, He proved Shakespeare right, every bit of what is written in Sonnet 116 is true.

 

 

Making a Choice: How to Love (Pt.1)

Love is a verb that requires an object.

That is the one sure thing I have learned about love. Touchy subject.So, how do I live my life in love? Living in love is truly living out your vocation or living according to God’s purpose for you.

I became aware that the Christian vocation may be lived out in any of the three basic ways : the married state, the single state in the world, and the religious state.

I used to think that when you say vocation, you really mean becoming a nun. That to go on a vocational discernment retreat (or something) is to emerge as a nun. But its not like that at all. A vocation is God’s calling for us to carry out a particular role he has designated for us in his plan. And God’s plan is none other than to bring all people in union with Him. (from a booklet by the Daughters of St. Paul)

I am at that point in life where I am seriously thinking about my vocation, something I have not done before.Until that fateful (and a little reluctant, yes, sadly, when it comes to God, I have been a reluctant disciple…) and eventful individual consultation with one of the nuns from the Daughters of St. Paul. (That was during the Singles for Christ’s Western Visayas Regional Conference last September 27-29, 2013 at Ateneo de Iloilo). She told me that the age limit for entering as an aspirant with the Daughters of St. Paul was 28 years old. I have reached that limit. 

If I don’t do something, a door will close for me, a door I am fondly considering. I like what the Daughters of St. Paul is doing. The Daughters of St. Paul is an international religious congregation of women who are called and consecrated to proclaim Jesus Christ and make His WORD alive to the world by witnessing to a life lived through prayer, study, community life and through the apostolate of social communications.

The nun I talked to (I forgot to ask her name!), said I could come and visit them anytime in their place in Iloilo. I could visit their Chapel just to pray and talk to them. The problem with this girl she was talking to is that if it involves taking the initiative, you will just have to wait forever. I never take the first step. I like being dragged around because if things go wrong, I could always blame the one who dragged me around! If Peter was the disciple who denied Jesus, and Judas betrayed Jesus, and Paul persecuted Jesus, and Jonah tried to run away from God, I guess my claim to fame (well, in my own mind) is that I am the reluctant believer! I want to, yes, but I am a coward!You need to force me to do something I actually wanted to do in the first place (but, tell me not to do something and I will set my mind on doing just that!). Besides, I like being sure and certain of things. (And I was told how erroneous this need is, fueled probably by a lack of faith in the One who holds my forever).

So now, I am seriously pondering where God is calling me, where He is leading me. I can recall several  things from the consultation and from the RECON itself.

1. I don’t have much time left until one of the three options is taken away from me forever.

2. I need to pray for the grace of  courage to do what God has called me to do.

3. I should learn to trust God with my future and not secure my future by myself (she told me that. I have the tendency to “ensure” my future and refuse to listen to His loving urgings).

4. Not all are called to serve Him in this way.  It’s a special call.

5. I need to be open to wherever He leads me. I should be open to all three vocations: the married state, single blessedness, and the religious life, while discerning and praying for my vocation, for His call for me. (I guess I clued her into the fact that I want single blessedness over the other two because holy matrimony and the religious life wreaks a lot of havoc in my heart ( I am afraid of both).

6. I need to pray, to listen to Him attentively so that indeed, I would be responding to His will, not mine, not my mother’s, not other peoples’ but His alone (freaking out here, how do I do that?)

I don’t know where this will lead me. I am not even sure if I want to know or if I am ready to know the answer. I don’t know where I will get the courage to tell my mother that, if I am called to the religious life, to be a bride of Christ, that I would be doing what she has called  “my foolishness”. (I used to joke about becoming a nun, just to tease them, just as I joke about getting married when I get irked with them a bit for disregarding me).

During the Provincial Conference last year, I felt that aching call which I set aside because I cannot face it at that time. I was unwilling, a lot unwilling and I told myself that maybe, my vocation was to become a blessing to everyone by staying single, because I could reach more people in the “normal state”.

Then, in this year’s RECON, why is there a discontent? A persistence for something else. Why is there a restlessness, a dissatisfaction in my soul? Why is there a call for more? I am already doing mission work just by being a teacher to my out of school youth and adult learners! I am already so blessed in my present state really. This should be enough. I am happy with my journey but why is it that there seems to be more, that there is something much deeper, richer and fuller somewhere out there?

I don’t want to regret not doing this. I am unsure where to start, but I am sure He will teach me, lead me, and make His will known to me.

I am His Beloved

 

 

Love is something I would have never touched with a two foot pole. Love is something I used to reserve to describe an emotion I would rather read about than experience. Love is something I always thought would eventually just lead to tears and disappointments.

I am familiar with hard work and dedication. I am very intimately connected with words like “obligation” and “responsibility” and “sacrifice”.

But I can’t seem to connect love and myself in one sentence….

I am currently reading “The Story of a Soul” by St. Therese of Lisieux and I feel a little resentful because God did not give me parents like He gave Therese Martin. The “Little Queen” (as her father called her) had a childhood filled with so much love – from her parents and her sisters and from her God. At such a young age, she was already drawn to the divine.

She has so much love to draw from.

I grew up in a household where love is not demonstrated. So, I grew up cold and callous and uncaring, not because I chose to be cold and uncaring but because I did not know how to be anything else. There was just nothing inside my heart. I used to feel nothing at all. I was seldom moved by compassion, seldom moved to tears, seldom touched by scenes that would have made others cry. I felt neither pain nor comfort, neither joy nor sorrow. Everything was gray. I only feel the things that hurt my pride. I was simply existing, moving on from one chapter of my life and stoically smiling over tragedies and triumphs, while inside, there was just this empty hole.

I was incapable of love because I never felt love.

St. Therese said “… I understood that if all the lowly flowers wished to be roses, nature would lose its springtide beauty, and the fields would no longer be enamelled with lovely hues.” Why can’t I have had parents like St. Therese’s mother and father so that I would have grown up into a loving woman like St. Therese… so that I could have had known and loved God with all of me ever since I was a child?

But then, who am I to question His plan for my life? He gave me my Nanay and Tatay because He had His reasons. My parents are good parents.They are responsible parents and they loved me in ways I had not seen because I was expecting them to love me in a certain way. And now, I can honestly say that I love them… just as I love my brothers and sisters. No, not out of familial obligation and responsibility but out of something inside me that has been growing and breaking free since I felt how much He loves me.

Love is now a wonderful feeling. Love is now this strange and beautiful thing I hold out in the open when I am alone. It is something that I ponder and wonder at in the silence of my solitude. Love is so amazing. Love is everything and if not for my experiences, if not for the lack of love in my life before, if not for that void in my heart, I would not have this kind of appreciation, and sense of wonder before It.

Love is God. God is Love. God is amazing. Love is amazing. God is wonderful. Love is wonderful. Love is all I need. God is all I need… because I am His beloved and He is mine… And I love Him with all that I am….

See how He works? Glory and praise to the King alone.

Fair and Unfair

 

 

I was trying to hold back tears of frustration.

I was angry, and irritated and fed up and the anger was just fighting to burst out of my chest. I knew that when I let loose, it would be very ugly and awful.

As an advocate of freedom of self-expression and authenticity, I would have allowed myself to let loose. I just wanted to vent my frustration over how unfair everything is, just then.

When others get tired, or angry or fed up with you, they do not feel compelled to hold back on the censure. They will be very quick to make and pass judgments around and tell you to your face what exactly is wrong, in a very unkind manner. Worst, some would even go behind your back and tell others about what you have done wrong without telling you.

On my way home, while blinking back tears of pent-up frustration, I came to this realization. I was once like this. I was quick to make judgment. Quick to find fault. Quick to see what is wrong. I was so good at fault-finding that it became more than a habit. It become part of who I was. And it hurt a lot of people around me (and the sad thing was, I did not even realize this).

However, knowing what I know now and believing in what I believe in now does not change that attitude overnight. There are moments when I can feel myself reeling from trying to hold back! I am so angry I just have to vent it!

Last night, I even told my sisters how unfair they were to me. When they are angry or irritated, they feel that it’s okay to show it. Don’t they realize that the silent, pouting treatment is hurting me? It’s okay when they act childish and petty but when I do that, I get reminded that “SFC kaw, ga amo kaw ka daa?” (You are a Singles For Christ. Why are you acting like that?”). As if being an SFC has transformed me into a saint overnight.

And then, I prayed. (It was more the “anguished cry for comfort from above” kind of prayer, one that makes word unnecessary). Immediately, this thought flashed through my mind. “When Christ suffered for my sins on the cross, did He blame me for it? Did He cry out that it was all my fault and not His own that led Him to that moment? Did He tell me I was being unfair to Him? Did He ask me why He had to suffer for me when I refused to suffer for others in His name?”

He bore the pain quietly. He bore His cross in obedience, in quiet pain, crying out only to His father.

My God, forgive me for resenting my crosses. Bless me with the grace to bear them with the same love that You have borne Yours with. And in moments like this, let me turn to You for comfort when the wounds get too painful.

Under Construction

 

This blog is under construction…

It needs a little “creativity” and “love”….. In the meantime, let’s ponder this song and this saint whose Feast Day is being celebrated today.

You fill my night full with stars

Saturday Afternoons, Red Gloves and Tears

 

Still reading Unafraid, and was only able to finish Gideon’s Gift and Maggie’s Miracle from the Red Gloves collection, but these are stories that would change a readers life, if you only open your heart and head to it.

I was morose that whole week, wondering what I wanted from life and wondering why I feel so unfulfilled, and a little resentful about my lot in life.

That short, quick, unexpected Saturday afternoon talk with Nong Gil was certainly an eye-opener.

I wanted to write. I just don’t know why I can’t anymore.

I like teaching. I am just not sure why I feel so restless with what I am doing.

Reading, after God and family, is my one (well, three actually), Great Love. So, why do I keep flipping from book to book, cover to cover, author after another author, without really reading anything?

What could be so wrong?

I guess, I have learned to separate the heart from the brain that what the brain can comprehend, the heart can’t express and what the heart can feel, the brain cannot realize. Not really unusual. I may look like one whole big person but deep inside, I really am just one huge compartment with a lot of little compartments subdividing the rest of my life.

And that afternoon, I understand why I have to get hurt while reading a book and that it’s okay to cry (just not where my mother and siblings could see me). And that by so doing, I am letting my heart and brain connect with each other again.

I can’t write while I am not whole. I can’t be myself without the freedom of using what He has given me all along. I don’t know what I am capable of yet because I have always been too afraid to try.Still am though.

But this week, I found my way back into the arms of my most favorite activity, with all of me, this time. And while lying on a hammock, I absorbed one great story with both my head and my heart, taking in a series of stories involving a Red Glove and Christmas time.

After crying a river (Karen Kingsbury, seriously, knows how to make a person cry), and after engaging the whole of me in the exercise, I felt better afterward. This has always been the ultimate reading experience for me – taking in all my senses, delighting the intellect and stimulating the heart – and feeling good afterward.

Romance novels have dulled my heart after many years of gobbling them (they are just like the junk food of books). But, the kind of fiction that Francine Rivers and Karen Kingsbury create makes me feel and think and appreciate life. They make me feel more alive and closer to Him. They make me feel a part of Him, His creation. They make me think of Him and they make me cry because He makes me cry often. (And only He can do that – and reading too, and yeah, my mother as well).

And maybe, someday, I would be able to write something like what Rivers and Kingsbury have written and maybe, that would make me feel ever more alive, and fulfilled and much closer to Him too.

I Want to Write

 

Right now, I feel something literally screaming my name – the front cover of a book, several books, books meant to be written.

I have always wanted to become a writer, a novelist…

I chose to become an English teacher because I thought I would be able to become a writer and be practical at the same time. I thought I could do it.

When I became a teacher 7 year ago, I thought I only needed a laptop. When I had my laptop five or six years ago, I thought I needed time. I decided to become a Mobile Teacher because I thought I would be able to have the “time” to become a writer. And I never really did – finish anything that is.

I finished several unpublished poems that fell short of whatever literary criteria the world has. I was able to plot several young adult fiction that never came into fruition. I managed to blog about things that matter and don’t matter to me… I was able to finish a script which they intend to publish as material for our sessions, and with colleagues, we were able to finalize a modified big book and a brochure on responsible parenting.

Now, the call is so loud and so deafening that I could not think. I could not return to our fellowship with SFC because everything is so unclear to me right now. I want to write. I want to write. I want to write. I can feel this thudding in my blood. When the crowd goes away for the day, and I find the time to be alone, the same mantra begins to play in my heart.

But, I can no longer write romance novels I have effortlessly plotted when I was in High School. They seem too froufrou, like a mockery of the life I have seen so far. I can no longer write poems forthey seem to deep and too artificial a venue to express the slice of existence I have tasted in the past three years. I cannot seem to write short stories. I never knew how, anyway.

I want to write. I crave it with all of me. But why is it that the words refuse to flow, the plot refuses to shape itself, the inspiration fails to come?

I want to write. So why can’t I?