No power to change myself.

My sin humbles me,
reminding me that
I am utterly incapable of obedience
without a fresh act of the Holy Spirit
each
and every time.
My ongoing struggle
with a depraved heart
makes me completely dependent on God
for growth. There is,
perhaps, no other way
to get humility than by learning
I have no power
to change myself.

Prayer of a worker inside a youth detention center

At the back of this Hall of Justice is the detention center where I am currently doing my fieldwork. It just dawned to me that I have been spending tremendous time there for more than two months now. And the weird thing is that I feel a bit sad to leave the detention center after office hours. Haha. This fixation in working with children in conflict with the law which was a passion is becoming an addiction. (Just kidding!)

Let me share with you my prayer one time regarding the youth that I am helping inside the detention center.

How I have come to love these people God! Sometimes I see myself that I care for them with an extraordinary love that is far beyond myself. You showed them to me. You showed me who they really are, to see them as You do. And whenever I see them your way, your love always overwhelms me and pours out towards them. To open my eyes, You first love me. And as I feel your Spirit loving me, I can't help wanting whatever makes them more to like You. I love them but my love wouldn't be enough. They need and deserve much more. With all my love and strength, I pray that You give me your love for these youth. Love them through me.

Got myself inked

Happy prompt of the day: Do a random thing with friends. Random and ridiculous and childish.

I remember that one lazy Monday afternoon, when the weather was humid in the metro and perfect for half naked afternoon nap, my bored housemates asked permission to make my back their canvass. Because from time to time, I fancy myself getting inked, I said yes.

They said they would be drawing me (with my mohawk hair) holding a booklet I usually use when I engage students in conversation about life. After around 5 minutes, they proudly said that they are done.

Hence, the picture.

Funny though that when some friends saw this picture on my laptop, they ask if they can see my tattoo. I said it wasn't permanent. That it's just a washable marker on my back. Three people said that they thought it was real. That since I work with children, they thought that I had tattoo that looks like a child art. I haven't thought of that. But hey, not a bad idea.

Unfortunately, I'm too chicken to have needles piercing my skin. Washables will do for now.

Head on the floor

Sometimes, I feel dumb about my decision to pursue M Social Work. I initially like the idea of an "organized helping process". I like systems. I like precision and hitting goals. And I think so far, the curriculum that I had gone through gave me the skills and competencies to do that. However, now that I am innovating a social work practice model and that things become academic and technical, I feel alienated from the discipline I fell inlove with. I wonder, in the data analysis, or even in plotting a flowchart of the so-called helping process, where can I show the human heart? Where can I put in the conceptual framework that I am doing right now, the "unscientific" concepts like compassion and forgiveness and hope?

A Celtic prayer

I have received an SMS from a colleague. It's a Celtic prayer she said. And probably it's a prayer that's way older than I am. It has been a guide prayer for me, which I occasionally utter from time to time with all my heart. It says:

Lord, bring new life where we are worn and tired.
New love where we have turned hard- hearted.
Forgiveness where we feel hurt and where we have wounded.
And the joy and freedom of Your Holy Spirit where we are prisoners of ourselves.
To all and each, where regret is real, God pronounces pardon
and grant us the right to begin again.
Thanks be to God.

Minsan, hindi kailangan pag-usapan ang problema

Marahil ang paglilinis ng electric fan ang pinakamasaya mong nagawa ngayong linggong ito. Nakita kita kanina. Nakangiti ka habang kinakaskas ng scotch brite na panlinis dapat ng mga plato natin ang electric fan mo. Ngayon ka lang ngumiti matapos ang halos isang linggong pagkukulong sa bahay.

Kung ako sayo, masasanay na ako sa problema. Hindi naman yan nauubos. Laging may nakapila. Hindi lang natin alam kung kelan dadating pero madami yan. Kailangan lang natin natututo palagi kapag nandiyan na sila.

I'm a proud "street" child

Unlike the children I'm working with in my current preschool, I didn't have the luxury to play in private playhouses. No expensive Little Tikes equipments. I only have the streets. And the kids in the neighborhood. Along with dirt, bacterias and talisay, aratiles and acacia trees.

I grew up climbing balete trees, playing with water along canals, got bitten by dogs who do not have anti-rabies vaccination, chased tricycles on highways and somehow manage to survive until now.

The little people on my Friday workplace

I have been working as a child development specialist in a preschool for four years now. I have seen some of the kids grow taller and bigger. And (rowdier) and funnier. And their voices, even if you give me a couple of hundred of people, I will be able to pin point who among them are "my" kids. (Okay, the last sentence might be a little exaggeration. Haha!)

Being surrounded by kids is a well of joy indeed. Their honest inquiries are hilarious. Their warm hugs are energy booster, and let me point out that they are way better then Cobra energy drink. When they give compliments, they really mean them. Looking back on those passed years, work as in working with children per se is not work at all. It's more like fun and play.

Psalm 127: 3 comes to my mind right now. "Children are a blessing and a gift from the Lord." Indeed. Indeed!

Chisel season

This is my chisel season. A season for crunch time and confirmation of endurance. In a way, it's a sort of attitude test. It's when several factors in life connive and start giving hard blows. And everything (the good and bad stuff) seems to be just crazily flowing in my face.

Good thing, there can be coffee in the morning. That kicking-ly strong aroma that makes my blood generate momentum to warm up. And that there is early morning date with God. On those few silent moments, I can just be still (and not ranting). That I don't have to fake God and tell Him I fully understand. But just be authentic and be quietly waiting for His assurance until I know fully in my heart that even if I have an overwhelming situation, and even if the coming day would be a chaotic one, my God who is perfect and good and loving does not change.

That is a good life line for me. Good enough to continue life with love and respect (even if there is absence of happiness).

First antithesis

The last night Emil talked to me, I said I will be painting my black shoes with white paint. I have been convinced that I should have done that years ago. But I am too chicken to be unconventional. And since everyone is using that black shoes, I was forced to wear the same even if deep in my heart, I wanted my black white.

Emil is the only person who understood me. He listened intently to my questions of conventional. And even if we do not necessarily agree on my theses and antitheses, he respects me just the same.