IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH

There are 14 years between us. He is the oldest and I, the youngest of the 5 surviving children of our parents. He was 19 when he left home for college in Manila. I was five. I didn’t know him much as I was busy with growing up and he was busy in college, transitioning to a life away from home. He was pursuing a degree in business, but unbeknownst to my parents he also enrolled in a Bible Seminary and studied for a degree in Sacred Literature. He finished both bachelor degrees at the same time. How he did it, I don’t know.

My parents used to tell us stories about our only brother Terry. He dreamed of nothing but becoming a preacher. At age 5 he would take all the chairs in the house and make the living room look like a meeting place. He would arrange the chairs as if they were pews, stand in front of them and talk and gesture as if he were preaching to a crowd. And preaching, was mostly what he did the rest of his life, in small towns in the Philippines to the capital city of Manila to the United States and some European and Asian cities. He would preach and teach in Bible colleges and lead Bible Study groups. He had the life-giving message of the Gospel and he shared it in whatever fashion he could, with whoever would listen. But today he is silent, though we could hear his breathing with the help of a respirator.

“Wake up, Terry, wake up,” his wife Gloria was encouraging him. “We’re all here. Lu and Ruth, Josephine and Hildo, Quiling and Don. They’re all here to see you.”

There was no response from him. He had the respirator tube in his mouth, and a couple more tubes hooked up to the machine that monitors his heartbeat, pulse, blood pressure; another was to the colostomy bag. There were IV’s that fed and sedated him.
I am surprised that the ICU personnel allowed these many people in his room. The nurse was very kind. As each of us sisters were introduced to her, she gave each of us a hug. She was kept busy as she worked on his monitors that sometimes flashed red or yellow lights, or sounded off with a whistlelike alarm. She would check the ports in various parts of his body. She was a picture of intense efficiency and focus. But she was never too busy to answer our questions.

We were at a loss. There were attempts at short conversations with him. We believe he could hear us, but just could not respond. But we went on our visits, taking turns going out to the waiting room and back to ICU.

65th Wedding Anniversary

Months before this day, we received invitations to come to Florida from Beth, his daughter, as they celebrate her parent’s 65th wedding anniversary in May. But a month before, Terry was diagnosed with colon cancer and a week later he had surgery. He did well. The cancer was still localized and the doctors thought they had taken out all the cancer cells. A week later, he developed gall bladder problems and had to have a second surgery. As he recovered, he developed pneumonia and peritonitis set in. Massive doses of antibiotics were administered, but the two surgical assaults on his body left him so weak and had to be put on a respirator.

Beth, who lives in NY, left for Florida two weeks before the anniversary, went home after a week, only to go back with husband Randy, the week of the party. His son, Joel and wife Beth, flew in from Arizona. Sisters Lu and Ruth, also from NY, decided to change their flights to a much earlier one to be by his bedside. The California sisters - Josephine and her husband, my husband and I arrived the week of the anniversary party. Ariel, Josephine’s son, flew in from NY on Monday afternoon and flew back home the following day, having spent a couple of hours at his uncle’s bedside.
The daily visits to ICU continued with more of us trooping in every morning. The security guys were amazed at the number of visitors to Room 214. “What a lucky guy!” one of them blurted out to us. It was obvious there was so much love there.

The Conference

The hospital conference room was packed. Dr. Ramos sat at the head of the table. Behind him were the managing nurses. Terry’s wife sat next to the doctor, all the children and their spouses, all his siblings and their spouses, two grandchildren and the brand new husband of one. There was also a close friend – the Pastor who now takes care of the West Manhattan Church which Terry started and pastored for over 30 years. On the speaker phone was Terry’s grandson, Nathan, who is a Crisis Ward doctor of a hospital in Arizona. Dr. Ramos and he were exchanging notes on Terry’s condition and what medical options the family had.

“His organ systems are stable, but he is so weak that taken off the respirator, he will not survive. But he is not getting any worse nor any better,” Dr. Ramos told Nathan.

Both doctors were puzzled. Dr. Ramos was hard-pressed to give the family any idea as to what direction to take. Nathan agreed. There was somber discussion. Gloria was breaking down. She was reminding them that he did not want to be artificially kept alive. The doctor said we were not there yet. His organs were functioning fine. He was just too weak to be taken off the respirator. The next step was to do a tracheotomy to help him breathe easier. The doctor and nurses left the room to allow the family to confer. Finally, a decision was made. “Let’s give him a couple more days; we’ll wait and see if he gives any positive response.” Eli, the younger son, asked Joel to pray. Joel thanked God for his concern and love. He told Him how everyone would accept God’s decision about Terry, but it was our request that He reveal to us the direction the family should take. His prayer was halting at times and there was an instant of emotional breakdown but it was clearly a prayer of submission to God’s decision.

The Party

The children decided to proceed with the 65th anniversary party. It was at Emeril’s Tchoup Chop in Orlando. It was a good temporary relief from the ICU visits. The beautiful fusion menu was a welcome departure from the quick meals that we were having either at the hospital cafeteria or at our rented condominium in Kissimmee, where all of us siblings and Paul, West Manhattan’s Pastor, were housed. There was our first cousin and her boyfriend who drove in from Jacksonville; there was Rudy, our first cousin from Orlando, and his wife, Angela. Then there were their bowling friends. It was a good night.

Monday Afternoon

The days went on. We remembered the doctor’s advice. “He hears you, so talk to him.” We prayed, engaged him in one way conversations. Don read Scripture. His Pastor from the Poinciana Church visited daily and prayed. I whispered Gospel songs and hymns. Ador, a bowling friend, suggested, “Sing the Sparrow song.” Ruth sang “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” Paul read more Scripture. We thought we saw some response. He slightly moved his head, and wiggled his fingers under the sheets.

Then on Monday, we trooped to the hospital once more. Back to ICU. We took turns going into his room. He seemed to be the same. We were praying. Then late in the afternoon, he opened his eyes and looked at each one in the room in the manner of one waking up from a long sleep. It was only for less than five minutes, but it sent our spirits soaring. We went home with a great deal of hope in our hearts. Soon as we got back to our rental townhouse, I emailed a quick message to our Community Bible fellowship updating them on Terry’s condition – please pray.

The Days that Followed

Tuesday morning Lu’s cell phone rang as we were preparing to leave for the hospital.
“Dr. Ramos was in the hospital early and was just so thrilled to see the change in Tatay’s condition. He opened his eyes longer this time and was responding quite well. There has been a tremendous improvement for the last 10 hours. We’ve decided to do the tracheotomy tomorrow, but as God would have it, a surgery by another doctor has just been canceled, so we have room to do the trache now. He will be in the operating room in 30 minutes! Pray!”

We arrived at the hospital as the staff was preparing Terry for our visit. He was clean shaven and his cheeks had much more color. His eyes were open and seemed more aware. He was responding to our comments with his eyes and with slight movements of his head. He looked much, much better than we have ever seen him.

That evening Gloria invited everyone to her house for dinner. Eli & Ruth brought Buffalo wings and salad, Roxanne & Alvin (Terry’s bowling pals) brought homemade pancit. Ador brought watermelon. Gloria cooked rice, provided drinks, fruits and coffee. There was a lot of food, stories, getting to know those friends being met for the first time. It was one big family, supporting each other, praying together, expressing concern and love for one another and an overwhelming respect and love for the one person who couldn’t be there. We all found strength and beauty in the midst of pain, in the shadow of death.

KEEPING BALANCED

Charisse, a Young Star


A few nights ago, I looked into You Tube and searched for the latest goings-on in the life of Charisse, the young sensation from the Philippines, who was introduced to the world through You Tube. She was first featured by Ellen Degeneres and Oprah Winfrey who described her as the most talented singer in the world. She was mentored and represented by no less than music world icon David Foster.  

I was so taken by this young girl during her early days as an entertainer. I would listen to her on the Internet and follow her career. She was only 16 years old, plucked from her simple surroundings in the Philippines, where she was born and raised. She was catapulted onto the world stage of entertainment, receiving accolades and the admiration of millions. She has been making a lot of money that she probably never dreamt she would ever have.

I watched a video of her as she walked with security officers to perform in a mall in Toronto, Canada. She smiled and waved at the hundreds of people waiting to see her. I saw a very young girl having the time of her life, looking very innocent and eager to please her fans. Her life story, more than her singing talent, drew me to her. She did not know me, but I started to pray for her. How is she going to handle all of this sudden success?

Michael Smith, a Contemporary Christian Singer
On the same night I watched and listened to videos of Michael Smith, a very popular contemporary Christian singer. I saw and listened to him perform before thousands of adoring fans, and wondered, how does he handle all of this success?

Then I thought. If I were to come to sudden wealth, or get the world’s attention and admiration for some spectacular accomplishment, I wonder how I would do. 

Heirs & Heiresses

 Years ago, I worked with a very nice medical secretary. One day she told me that a New York lawyer had called her. He had been trying to get hold of her. He was able to track her down through the Mormon Genealogy Rock in Salt Lake City, Utah. He had a client who had died and left his fortune to ten relatives and she was one of them. It turned out that his client was a famous architect in New York who had invested in acreage where deposits of oil and natural gas had been discovered. A big oil company wanted to negotiate with the heirs and heiresses in order to extract these deposits. There would be an initial lump sum of money for each one and a weekly income for each to the tune of several thousand dollars for life.  

My friend, who at first was very skeptical, was flown to the land sites and met other heirs and heiresses. My friend was terribly incredulous. This was definitely a big change of fortune. She was the sole family breadwinner. Her husband had been an invalid for years and they had been struggling financially for a long time. I was so happy for her as she continued to update me with developments.  

My friend told me that there were ten heirs and heiresses. Among them were a retired school principal and a Baptist pastor. The latter waived all his rights to the inheritance. He didn’t want any part of it. He was afraid of what it would do to him and the rest of his family. The retired school principal held out the longest in signing the contract. He wanted a better deal from the oil company. When the reality of it all started to sink in, my friend began talking about their plans. They would buy houses for their married children. She would not want to quit her job, so there would be normalcy in her life. But slowly, her husband began talking about buying his dream cars (emphasis on the “cars”). We were going to keep in touch and they would plan a visit to California (we were in the Midwest at the time) to see us. To make a long story short, I left for California and lost track of them.  

Success & Failures and What They Do to Us
A family counselor once told me that there were people who were afraid of success. I couldn’t understand that. Why would anyone be afraid of success?

Failures, financial distress, hurts, misfortunes all can make life hard to bear, but so can success and a great deal of wealth. From my life journey, I can attest to the first, but have yet to experience the latter. We have seen lives destroyed by both.  

In the movie Fiddler on the Roof  we see this exchange between Perchik and Tevye:
                Perchik: Money is the world’s curse.
                 Tevye: May the Lord smite me with it. And may I never recover.


Most people probably secretly share Tevye’s wish, and may think my friend’s Baptist Pastor relative foolish. I don’t think I have any fears that I would ever face this dilemma. I share the prayer of a very wise man from long ago.

  Two things I ask of you, Lord . . . give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God. 
Proverbs 30: 7-9 NIV

STORIES THAT WILL NEVER MAKE THE HEADLINES (but color our lives) or

LITTLE ACTS OF KINDNESS THAT DOT MY DAY

When Hank the Cat wakes us up with his urgent meowing in the mornings, I reluctantly open my eyes and coax my body to go vertical. Sometimes it takes longer than at other times. And as half of me wakes up, I sit on the bed and utter a prayer of thanks for the night’s rest and for whatever the Father has in store for the day.

 Off to Work

 I walk into the office at 10:05 and as I pass Robert’s and Stephanie’s desks we exchange lively “Good mornings” to which I add, “It’s Friday! It’s Friday!” I work only 20 hours a week, but Friday holds an excitement for me as for those who work 40. Then I hear Stephanie say, “Robert got you coffee this morning.”

 “Oh, how sweet you are!” I exclaim.

Sure enough there is a cup of hot coffee on my desk. What a pleasant way to start a work day. Dave, our accountant is already hard at work. I am so thankful for this man’s patience as he trains me in bookkeeping and in the software we have to use, new skills for me to learn. I then go to my usual routines – put lunch in the refrigerator, check phone messages, check emails. A few minutes later I decide to check any mail that might have come in. We have a mail slot where the mailman drops the mail onto the floor of a little room that has a separate entrance from my office. As I get out, I hear the furious honking of horns. There is a little red car driven by a young Asian lady who has about a third of her car into a parking spot. In front of her is an SUV driven by a guy possibly in his forties, who is trying to back his car into the same parking spot. Neither of them budges. They just keep honking at each other furiously. I watch intently. “Parking rage,” I tell myself. Then the SUV driver surrenders and gives the infamous digit salute to the lady in the red car. But he pays me the same “respect” as his car goes by. Huhm, this is going to be one interesting day.

Nothing earthshaking happens in the office as I do the chores I have assigned myself for the day. But I learn to spell “Cocanougher” which is the last name of a caller. I call back a lady I got acquainted with yesterday to ask for an update on her husband’s condition. They are from out of town but have been in the City for a few days now. He has cancer and is being treated at the VA Hospital. She was quite distraught yesterday when I talked to her. I promised to pray for him. Today she tells me that he is 40% better and thanks me for the prayers. There are many others praying for him. Soon it is time to go. I’ve put in my 5 hours.

 My Friend Joe

As I get out of the gate I spot Joe, a homeless man who hangs out in our neighborhood. I reach for a Fuji apple in my lunchbag.

“Joe, would you care for a Fuji apple?” I offer.

“Oh, I can’t bite it. I don’t have top teeth,” he replies.

I feel so silly. Duh, Raquel. How many times have you seen and talked to him and you never noticed he didn’t have upper teeth?

On the 8X Muni

I can’t get on my usual 3:47 8X because it is so packed, so I have to take the next one. As usual I am in the senior citizen section. I stand in front of a lady who doesn’t look like a senior at all, but she doesn’t offer me her seat. “I’d just stand here and look sweet,” I mutter to myself.

Soon I hear an argument between a young black father who is hanging on to a baby stroller full of stuff and a Hispanic mother who has a daughter about 5 and a son about 8 who are sharing a seat while she hangs on to a strap trying to keep her balance.

“You should have your kids get up and offer the seat to my wife,” he says to the mother, “Can’t you see, she is holding a baby?” His wife is holding a little boy about two years old.

I don’t hear her answer, but I can tell that she is not about to have her children do that. There are a few more exchanges but the mother stands her ground.

The woman seated in front of me joins the discussion, siding with the young father. I think, “You better stay out of this, lady. Look at you, you’re not a senior and you’re not giving me your seat.” But I just smile at her. In reply to my smile she says, “I like your earrings. They’re the same stone as my ring,” and she holds her ring up to me.

“Garnet, right?” I reply.

“Yes,” she says with a smile.

She sees the young dad trying to ram the Hispanic mother with his baby stroller. The lady with the garnet ring intervenes.

“Don’t do that,” she says quietly, “you don’t want to end up in jail.”

At the second stop on San Bruno Avenue, a few passengers get off and the young dad has his two-year old sit next to the lady with the garnet ring. The boy starts staring at her and crying. His dad moves him to the seat closer to him, next to an old Asian man. The little boy stares at him. The Asian man hands him a cellophane-wrapped cookie. He smiles at the old man, the old man smiles back. The young dad smiles, I smile and the lady with the garnet ring smiles. All’s well that ends with smiles.

“Bayshore and Arleta,” the bus speaker announces. The next stop is mine. I pull on the cord for my stop. The bus driver lowers the steps for me and I get off. I see Don coming, so I hurriedly walk to the spot where he usually picks me up. I pass a couple of nice-looking black ladies and one of them says, “I like your scarf.” I turn around and say, “Thank you.” I get in the car and tell Don, “What an interesting day I’ve had.”

LANGUAGES, LANGUAGES

A French Non-Connection

A couple of years ago, Don and I had a short layover in Paris on our way to Hungary.  We had some difficulty at the Charles de Gaulle Airport. It just wasn’t organized in the way American minds work. When we finally found our way to the Immigration booth, the officer said something in French. Don answered, "English only" and the following ensued:

Officer in the booth: Je ne comprends pas.

Don (smiling but getting uncomfortable): Don't speak French. English only.

Officer: Non, non. Parlez-vous le français?

Me (trying to salvage situation and "charm" the man. We've heard of mean French people at CDG airport): Un peu.

Man: Ah, ah, Comment allez- vous?

Me (Now, I'm really in trouble! Think, think back to +50 years ago when you took college French!): Ah, ah . . .

Man (eyes beginning to widen and glare at me): How are you? I say "how are you?"

Me: I know, I know. I just can't remember how to answer that!

Man: Ah, ah (meaning, I got you!)

Me (suddenly remembering my French teacher in college): Trés bien! Trés bien!

Man : Aha, mademoiselle. (grinning from ear to ear, turning to Don with a big thumbs up. I was so happy I made him glad. He hands our stamped passports to Don.)

Me: (Trying to be even more charming.) Merci beaucoup!

Don: Where do we go from here?

Man waves us off to a direction behind him to the left.

And thus, started about 30 minutes of getting lost looking for F1, where supposedly we could find Gate 31 for our flight to Budapest. I'm glad we did not have to go back through Paris on our way home. The Dutch were a little more merciful.

“Kelapa” or “Kepala”

There aren’t too many experiences that humble one more than trying to learn a foreign language.  On our first few months in Indonesia so many years ago, while still learning the language, I was subjected to some strange reactions as I tried to communicate with the new words I learned from our language teachers.  I remember being stared at as I pointed to my head and told someone, “Kelapa saya” when I meant, “Kepala saya.”  The “Kelapa” meant “coconut” and “Kepala” meant “head.”  Then I went to a little store looking for matches.  I asked for “kereta api” which meant “train” rather than “Koret api.”  A favorite story that went the rounds of our missionary circle was about a very dignified senior missionary lady who was one day talking to the young man who helped with the chores in her home.  One morning she told the young man to “Buka yang chelana” to the great shock of the young man.  What she meant was “Buka yang chendela,” which meant “Open the window.”  Instead, she had said, “Open the trousers!”

            My own favorite story was about the first time I taught a group of about 30 Indonesian kids.  I had my flannelgraph board and was skillfully putting the figures on.  I was teaching in Indonesian for the first time as I animatedly told the creation story from the book of Genesis.  The children were all so very attentive and I thought, hanging onto every word I said.  The more attention I was given, the more animated I became.  After the class and everyone but our neighbor Ambarwati was left, I asked her how the lesson went.  “Kami tidak memahami kata-kata apa yang Anda katakan! She plainly told me as only an 8-year old could, “Ibu, we did not understand a word of what you said.”  After a whole year of reading, memorizing and practicing, this was the judgment on my language skills.

The Heart of a Language

            But the more difficult thing about communication is it really is not just a matter of reading, memorizing and practicing.  Language has to be learned in its context.  It cannot be learned well unless it is learned in its culture.  I call this learning the heart of the language.  Language may be part of a people’s culture, but the people’s culture is also part of the language. 

            I often hear a new language from my young friends, the millenials.  I am learning their language through social media.  It is taking me awhile to get used to their language as there is a part of me that is resistant to it.  I am still enamored with English the way I learned it – complete words and sentences, expressive and always takes time to say what it wants to say.  It does not say BFF when it means “Best Friends Forever.”  It uses all 18 letters to say it.  My millenial friends don’t have the time to say all these letters.  Then there is “peeps.”  They shorten the 6-letter “people” to 4.  “Husband” becomes “Huz.”  I’m still trying to learn the heart of this language.  I want to be able to communicate with my young friends effectively.  My “Huz” tells me that it comes from their texting and twittering that require them to say more with less.  I’m trying to find the heart of this language. I have come to the conclusion that this new language requires that things be said as quickly as possible with as little as possible.  It seems to be a language of the hurried, hurrying and would be hurried.

I’m probably just an old stick in the mud.  I remember my discussions with my children when they were still in school and writing papers.  I’d read them over and where I saw contractions, I’d tell them to use complete words.  They would tell me nobody wrote like that anymore.

I wonder what this millennial language would grow to.  Will it ever produce literary masterpieces such as Psalm 23 of King David, or Lincoln’s  Gettysburg Address, or the poetry of Robert Frost’s “Walking Through the Woods on a Snowy Evening” and those of Robert Browning, Emily Dickinson, etc.  Let me try my hand in a FB version of those famous lines from Frost.

D wds r lvly, drk n dp,

Bt I hv prmses 2 kp,

N myls 2 go b4 I slp.

 

 

A YEAR OF SOMETHING NEW

 “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!  . . .” (Isaiah 43:18-19 NIV)  This quote in a 2-inch square frame on Matthew and Helen’s nightstand caught my attention.  How apropos for the start of the new year.

What do you forget?  When one gets to be my age, forgetfulness is quite a curse.  I go into a room intending to do something or to get something and as I get there, I forget what it was I went there for.  I would sometimes be in the middle of saying something but then be stopped dead in my tracks because I can’t remember the word I wanted to say.  But there is a forgetfulness I’ve always had.  I have never been good with numbers and so it has been difficult for me to remember phone numbers, plate licenses or even my own social security number.  I have a hard time remembering the ages of my two children though I was certainly present when they were born.  We were celebrating Matthew’s birthday on the wrong day until three years into his life I accidentally came across his birth certificate in my files and found out my mistake!  Then there is the little matter of my wedding anniversary.  For years, Don and I would argue as to the date when we were married. 

So, yes, I have a difficult time remembering some things but there are things that are hard for me to forget.  There is a certain fast foods place that I have never gone to for the last 40+ years because I remember when they were found out to have served horsemeat one year when beef prices went sky high.  I could not forgive them and could not forget what they’ve done.  There are other things that are hard for me to forget.  Things like hurt, pain, offenses either committed against me or those I have committed on others.   It is also hard to forget some of the little successes I’ve had in life.  I tend to dwell on these, trying to affirm my self-worth to myself and getting pretty close to taking credit for some things that I have been able to do not because of my abilities but because of God’s grace and blessing.  There are things that have to be remembered but there are those that are best forgotten, or not dwelt upon. 

Mulling over this quote from Isaiah, I decided to find out more of the context in which it was said. Isaiah lived and prophesied to the nation of Israel 700 years before Christ. In the first 40 chapters of his book he wrote about what was coming upon the nation because of their rebellion against God’s ways.  But then Chapter 41 and onwards, he spoke of what their God would do for them when they turn back to Him.  In this quote he tells them not to remember the pain and suffering that they would have to endure because their God was going to do a new thing for them as He takes them out of Babylon.  He would do a new thing!

Each new year for me is a gateway to new adventures.  It is a blank page that waits to be written on.  My past year had some joys, excitement, some sadness, losses of family and some close friends written on it.  But there were also some fresh adventures – a part time job, meeting new friends, a month-long visit from my sisters, and a lot of new things to learn.  I remember one particular year when I had a lot of pain and hurt and it was difficult to move on with life.  It was only by God’s grace that I was able to put it behind me.  At such a time, the ability to forget the hurt was a real gift and the healing began.

How has 2013 been for you?  Have you had hurts, losses, pain, failures?   Can we put them in the past?  They belong to 2013.  2014 is a NEW year.  This can be a year of something new.

TWO VERY DIFFERENT BIRTHS (A Christmas Morning Rambling)

THE REASON FOR THE SEASON

The Doctor's Announcement

 “You are two months pregnant!” Such was the pronouncement from the Indonesian doctor that examined me.

Don and I were thrilled. We had been married three years. I was already a few years past my 30th birthday and had fears that we might not have natural children.  We had talked about adoption.

The news about the coming baby got quickly bruited about among the Reyes and Major families. Letters flew across the ocean rejoicing at this coming event. There was a bit of concern, though, we were thousands of miles away in Indonesia, a foreign country.  How do we do this?

We had to find a doctor and a hospital that we could trust. Having a first baby at my age was a definite concern. We’ve heard of Mongoloid and Down Syndrome babies born to older mothers. Most of our missionary friends would go to the American Baptist Hospital in Kediri for their health issues. This was about a day’s bus travel from Surakarta where we lived. We decided to check it out.

The Baptist Hospital in Kediri

Dr. Kathleen C. Jones, Director of the hospital, was a kind, American missionary who had spent most of her working life in Indonesia. While waiting for her, we took in the physical condition of the facility. It was very well-kept, clean, with well-trimmed bushes and seemed like freshly painted buildings. The staff moved about with much efficiency and politeness.

As she took her seat across from me, Dr. Jones took my hand and said, “Let’s pray,” and she prayed for this coming baby. Wow, what an assurance of protection and care.

She told us things we were to expect, examined me and said the baby showed all signs of A-1 health. However, she made a very strong suggestion that we have a Plan B. Babies are known to defy their birth schedule and because we were so far away from the hospital, we should check out local hospitals just in case we had a schedule-defiant baby. I was alarmed. Don and I wanted to have this baby in an American hospital where we were sure we were going to be taken care of well.

We went home and despite our strong intention to have Kristy in the Baptist hospital in Kediri, we felt it would be wise to take the counsel of the good doctor, after all she knew babies better than we did.

Off to Brayat Minulya (In an Indonesian pedicab)

On a Sunday night, my waterbag broke. Were we thankful we took Dr. Jones’ advice! Off we went in a pedicab to Brayat Minulya Hospital in our city (This was an Indonesian hospital run by Dutch sisters. When Kristy was growing up and would be confused as to which was her right and left hands, we would attribute it to the confusion surrounding her birth – born of Filipino mother and American father and in a Dutch-run hospital in Indonesia!) On a beautiful Tuesday sunrise, our 8 lbs. 12 oz Kristy was born – beautiful and healthy. Mother and baby, waited on and pampered by a staff of Dutch sisters and Indonesian midwives, stayed 8 days in the hospital. And to think of all our concern about how we would give birth to this baby in a foreign country!

Two thousand years ago, An Angel's Announcement

²⁹ Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. ³⁰ But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. ³¹ You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. ³² He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, ³³ and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”  (Luke 1:29-33 NIV)

Off to Bethlehem (on a donkey)

A few months later, a teenaged unmarried mother-to-be riding on a donkey led by her fiancé, traveled miles to comply with a government requirement of a population census.  This was also going to be her first baby, but it was going to be a very special one. She knew from the start that this was no ordinary child. I can’t even imagine what thoughts she had as her life circumstances seemed to have gone out of her hand completely. She was pregnant though she had never known a man. Nine months along and here she was traveling to Bethlehem. (Present day airlines will not have allowed her on their plane!) Did she think of what lay ahead like most would-be mothers do? What kind of a baby is this? Then, they couldn’t find an inn where they could lodge. (I would have had an intense discussion with Don. “What do you mean ‘I can’t make any motel reservation’?” and “did you check out the hospitals on the route to Bethlehem, just in case. . .?”) And as baby Jesus was born in a manger, I wonder, how Mary must have felt. This baby is the Son of God, could God have not found better accommodations for His Son?

Only God could put together a scenario such as this. And for what reason? I don’t know. I have my opinion, but it really doesn’t matter.

In a nutshell, the life of this One, born in a manger, is told by Dr. James Allan Francis in the following poem written during the early 1900’s.

One Solitary Life

He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. Until He was thirty, He worked in a carpenter shop and then for three years He was an itinerant preacher. He wrote no books. He held no office. He never owned a home. He was never in a big city.

He never traveled two hundred miles from the place He was born. He never did any of the things that usually accompany greatness. The authorities condemned His teachings. His friends deserted Him. One betrayed Him to His enemies for a paltry sum. One denied Him. He went through the mockery of a trial. 

He was nailed on a cross between two thieves. While He was dying, His executioners gambled for the only piece of property He owned on earth: His coat. When He was dead He was taken down and placed in a borrowed grave. 

Nineteen centuries have come and gone, yet today He is the crowning glory of the human race, the adored leader of hundreds of millions of the earth's inhabitants. 

All the armies that ever marched and all the navies that were ever assembled and all the parliaments that ever sat and all the rulers that ever reigned – combined - have not affected the life of man upon this earth so profoundly as that One Solitary Life. [1]

Years ago, I chose to follow this Son of God, who has made a world of difference in my life. Have you ever thought of what you would do with Jesus? You see, He is either the Son of God as He claims or the biggest liar or raving lunatic. Ever thought of that? A penny for your thought this Christmas day.

















[1] Accessed on the Internet at www.konig.org on December 24, 2013

The "Why" Question

                                              Beautiful Palompon, Leyte

The last few days have been very difficult.  The pictures of Haiyan’s deadly assault on the Philippines haunt me. 

"God must have been somewhere else. Or that he forgot that there is a planet called Earth," said Rodrigo Duterte, Mayor of Davao City, as he brought medical aid to Tacloban, the city hardest  hit by the typhoon.

Speaking to reporters, Mayor Duterte said the people of Tacloban "have no electricity, no food, no water, all their dead are on the streets, the survivors are looking up at the heavens." . . .

"There is no local government functioning. Those that they depend on - the police, the army, and even the social workers of the government - all of them are victims, all of them are dead. Even the police and the army there are dead," he said.[1]

At night as I lay in my comfortable bed, snuggled under warm blankets, I see pictures of those sleeping on the wet streets littered with what remained of what used to be homes and proud city buildings. In the mornings, I make breakfast of freshly toasted multigrain bread spread with cream cheese accompanied by crisp bacon slices and hot newly brewed coffee.  I hear the cries of “We’re hungry.  We have not eaten in three days.” I dine at a fine restaurant, and I ask myself, "Is it right for me to do this?"

      Some friends we met in Palompon

Don and I went to Palompon, Leyte in 2009.  We were there to see a close friend from college days who later was my co-teacher in Mindanao for over four years.  As she retired from her teaching career, she opened a student Center in her home for young high school and college students.  She has been inviting Don and me to join her in ministry in the Center.  As we prayed and considered Palompon as a possible place of service,
we spent a week checking it out and trying to find out how we could fit in.  We met wonderful new friends - students working hard at getting an education to help them have a better future, volunteers and staff giving of their time and energies to help young people prepare for more effective and productive lives.  Then there was a new friend who took care of our meals so wonderfully and made sure we always had good hot coffee when we
wanted it.  We found out we shared a common love for coffee.  In the last few days we tried to find out what has become of them.  We found out that Palompon was probably the second hardest hit city by the typhoon.  Finally, a friend from Iloilo sent me a message.  My old college friend was safe, but that’s all she could tell us. 

I don’t want to ask “Why, Lord?”  I keep telling myself, “God is sovereign."  I may not understand this, but I trust His heart, and His heart is nothing but good.  He has His reasons, known only to Him.  I get reminded of my Facebook posting two years ago.                                  

 Whenever one begins a question with "why," he should realize that the answer must necessarily be theological, not scientific. Science can deal with the questions of "what" and "how," sometimes even with "where" and "when," but never with "why"! The "why" questions have to do with motives and purposes, even when dealing with natural phenomena. ("Why does the earth rotate on its axis?" "Why do we have mosquitoes?") Even though we can partially explain such things by secondary causes, we finally encounter a "first cause," and then the "why?" can be answered only by God.[2]

 

 

---

[1] ABS-CBNnews.com posted at 11/12/2013 12:56 pm accessed 11/17/2013 

[2] http://www.icr.org/icr-devotionals/"Days of Praise" accessed 8/14/2011