There are days when, out of nowhere, I get so gripped by a crippling fear that I will die tomorrow.  And when I lay my head in bed that night, my mind will bring me to images of my son and my husband and what life will be like for them as my son grows up.  It brings me tears.  And I fall asleep.

Then the next day comes, I rustle out of bed and I see the sun beaming, its rays bringing warmth in the house.  And I smile.  And thank the Giver of Life for life itself.

Three years ago, we celebrated Thanksgiving with a bang!…that fizzled.

Two weeks prior to Thanksgiving 2008, I went in for my 32-gestational-week appointment on a Friday morning and there it was discovered that I was having contractions without my feeling it.  Odd, isn’t it?  Most people probably associate excruciating pain with contractions.  If what I was experiencing was a contraction, I thought, this should be a walk in the park then!

I spoke too soon, of course.  32 weeks is still early for delivery and my doctor preferred that I reach at least 35 weeks, even 34 weeks.  So she ordered me to drive straight to the hospital which was just a block away, thankfully, and get that contraction slowed down.  It’s not time yet, little baby boy Ballast, my doctor said.

There were wires hooked up all over me and there was the magic drip drip drip of medicine that was meant to slow down the contraction, which, at this point, was happening every five to ten minutes.  Hubby never left my side, never mind that we didn’t bring our delivery bag that was supposed to have already been packed and stowed away in the trunk for emergency situations such as that one.  Anyways…the nurses would come in to check on me and each time, they’d say, “Do you feel that?”  “Nope!,” came my response.  Even Hubby got on it too…”You just had another one.  Did you feel that?”  “Nope!,” me again.

By Friday evening, the contractions had slowed down significantly to an hour interval.  We were told to plan on staying until Saturday.  After that, it’s up to my doctor whether to release or keep me for who knows how long.  Saturday came and by that afternoon, I was contraction-free!  Yeay!  I was released but with a very stern warning to keep off my feet.  (Funny…the night before the appointment, I was on my knees, scrubbing our new one-month-old oven from the chicken grease we had for dinner that night…those crazy hormones!)

So…since my Mother-in-law was planning on being present for the delivery of our baby boy Ballast, we called her up in the Philippines to let her know that we had an almost delivery that weekend but that baby boy Ballast cooperated and for the time being, is kept happy in his Mommy’s womb.  Concerned that baby boy Ballast might act up again and decide to come before his Lola got there, my MIL changed her arrival to a week ahead of scheduled flight.  She arrived the week of Thanksgiving and we were actually thrilled to have had her with us for Thanksgiving, though sad that my Father-in-law was by himself (he did celebrate Thanksgiving with Hubby’s older brother and his family who lived nearby).  Up until Thanksgiving day, I was very careful not to over exert myself.  I was on the couch a lot, watching every cooking, travel, and craft shows on public television.  And Sunday football!

Thanksgiving came rolling…my MIL and Hubby were in charge of food.  Feeling more energetic and less concerned about popping the baby out since I’ve reached 34 weeks, I decided to take on the Christmas bedecking of our house…you know, make myself useful.  By dinner time, the house was starting to look a lot like Christmas, the smell in the house was insanely delicious, and the food was set for some festive eating.  The menu consisted of rosemary lamb roast, double baked marshmallow stuffed sweet potatoes, and roasted asparagus.  Sounds too gourmet, ya?  Well, to say it was delicious is an understatement.  And I was eating for two so I had every reason to indulge.  Of course, at about that time, I really can’t eat too much anymore…I generally felt bloated all the time.  Nonetheless, I enjoyed every bit of that dinner.  Until…

An hour later, I felt a pain in my back and shrugged it off but thought this may be the day we get to meet baby boy Ballast!  And the pain just got worst every ten minutes.  Excruciating!  Exactly how I thought contractions should feel.  So off we went to the hospital.  They admitted us at the triage and within five minutes of getting all hooked up and settled, I felt sweaty, the pain in my back was at its all time worst, and I couldn’t figure out whether to cry or scream first.  Then I said, “I think I feel my dinner coming back up!”  My poor MIL – only a nurse’s heart like hers would put up with a DIL (is that daughter-in-law in text terms?) who pukes out her Thanksgiving dinner she’s worked hard to prepare.  But hey, I was pregnant; besides, I could actually be delivering soon.  NOT!  False alarm, the nurses said, as they monitored me for another hour and no other contraction occurred.  All that – the pain, the puking, c’mon!  Nope, baby boy Ballast was being tricky.  He had to wait another two weeks after Thanksgiving before finally finally deciding to come out.  (Not that it was up to him, really.  At least, I think not.  Anywho…)

So yeah…it’s been awhile since I had lamb roast.  I know I will still enjoy it because I like its flavor and I miss it.

I hope at this point you already had your Thanksgiving dinner…if not, I apologize, and if (1) you’re pregnant and about to pop, (2) you’re about to eat Thanksgiving dinner, and (3) you’re feeling squeamish doing so, please do give me a call or write me a note and I will promise to make you a dinner to make up for what you might have missed today.

Happy Thanksgiving 2011!

“Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.” – I Thessalonians 5:18 

We watched a group of mallard ducks and their young waddling in the water today.  Our little boy was so thrilled just watching them moving along.  Then, at his initiative, we proceeded to look for the ant hills.  “Maybe they’re still there,” he said.  We ran across the greenish grassy parking lot, all sopping wet from the rains the last two days, and found the first anthill.  He pushed his shoe on it because he had to see the ants.  It took a few seconds before they came out and when they did, he sounded almost relieved, “There they are!  Let’s go find some more!”  So we did and we found at least three more.  Each time he had to push his shoes on the damp hill and each time we had to wait and make sure the ants are coming out.

The wind was getting more wickedly cold so we decided to go back in the car, with a little reluctance from him.  As we were walking, there ascending from the waters into the grayish sky were the ducks, quack-quacking, flying away.  “Oh no!  They’re going, Mommy!  Maybe there are some more ducks left behind.”

We had to look.  But we didn’t see anymore ducks.  Then, as we closed ourselves in the car, I spotted two mallard ducks and a young one beside.  “Look, that looks like a Mommy and Daddy duck with their baby duck,” I said to my little guy.  After straining his little body to look out past the high dashboard, he exclaims excitedly, “I see them, Mommy!”  Concerned, he said, “Aww…maybe we should bring them in the car so the baby duck will be safe.”

Meanwhile, Hubby’s out in the cold, enjoying flying his tricopter around the parking lot.  Concerned for the duck’s safety, our little guy stuck out his head and shouted at the top of his voice, “Daddy, don’t scare the ducks!”  He did this two more times.

This duck family lingered, much to our little boy’s delight, of course.

Everyday, as I care for this little boy, I am awed by his grasp of emotions.  He cares so well.  The other day at a park, all the kids decided to get in on playing hide and seek.  Our little one was on the side watching this all unfold.  Then he noticed another kid, about his size and age, sort of just hanging out at the bottom of the twin slide.  He went to him and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll play with you.”  They ran together to the swing area and of course, within a minute were getting themselves in trouble.

I love my little boy’s heart.  I love watching him reaching out to others.  He reminds me often that it isn’t all about me.  There are many others who need comforting – a hug, a word of encouragement, a prayer, an ear to lend, a meal.  I am very thankful for our son and all the joys be continually brings to our lives.

Laughter.  It’s everywhere at our house these days, more so now than ever before, thanks to our almost-three-year-old.  I love hearing him laugh…I love when he makes me laugh…I love when he and his Dad laugh together.  Laughing over silly little things.  It’s a gift.  And I am thankful.

I’d be remiss not to mention my Mom’s siblings – all eleven of them.  They were like the band of brothers…well, and sisters.  From my vantage point as a child, I saw them as aunts and uncles who knew how to stick together through life’s ebb and flow.  I’m sure there were some grown-up issues they had to paddle through but nothing fazed their resolve to bring attention to a matter important to the health of their relationship with each other and consequently, each other’s family.  Though some of them lived abroad and the others scattered around the country, they never neglected coming together for life occasions as weddings, christenings, etc.  Anyone that could, came, and we took time introducing and getting to know each other to the fast growing brood of Lola Maria and Lolo Mario.  I could never straighten out the names of all my Mom’s siblings; in fact, I have not seen all of them until years later.  These aunts and uncles – they are a class all their own.  I can wax poetic about how wonderful they are but really, there aren’t enough adjectives in the dictionary to describe their amazing care, concern, love, and support for me, my Dad and my Mom through the joyous and most trying times of our lives.  I am proud to call them my family and I am thankful that our becoming family was really not an accident.

Thankful for you all Aunts and Uncles:  Auntie Gloria, Auntie Mary, Auntie Flora, Auntie Frieda, Auntie Phoebe, Auntie Jonah, Auntie Rhoda, Uncle Mario, Uncle Dacwag, Uncle Dicang, and Uncle Octavio.  And thankful that you have exponentially grown our clan to incredible proportions with so many cool, smart, and beautiful cousins.  May our tribe increase even more!

This past Sunday’s worship really grabbed me to a point of lingering.  And I loved every moment of it.

From the song “O The Deep Deep Love of Jesus” are the words: “O the deep, deep love of Jesus – vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!”

From Psalm 103:11-12: “For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.”

From the song “My Song Is Love Unknown” are the words: “Oh, who am I that for my sake my Lord should take frail flesh and die?” 

From Romans 5:8 – “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

Again from the song “My Song Is Love Unknown” are the words: “This is my friend in whose sweet praise, I, all my days would gladly spend.”

From John 15:15 – “I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.”

From the song, ‘Tis So Sweet To Trust In Jesus” are the words: ’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus and to take Him at His Word;  Just to rest upon His promise and to know, “Thus saith the Lord!”

From Matthew 14:27 – “But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

From the song, “Made Me Glad” are the words: “You have made me glad and I’ll say of the Lord: You are my shield, my strength, my portion, deliverer, my shelter, strong tower, my very present help in time of need.” 

From Psalm 121: 1-2: “I lift up my eyes to the mountains – where does my help come from?  My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.”

Thankful for words that affirm this crazy-love that God, the Maker of heaven and earth, has for me, His child, whom he also calls His friend.  It brings joy to my heart that makes trusting in HIM all the more sweet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Music was an ever present part of my life growing up.  There was one time when a bunch of relatives, whom I have not met until their visit to our town from the city, gathered round at my Grandma’s house for a singing.  That day, we’d gone hiking to a smaller village literally sitting on top of a mountain called Maligcong.  This place boasts of mountain layers of rice fields that very much rivals the more famously known Banaue Rice Terraces in the Philippines.  To get to the village, we had to get past three mountains.  The reward, for me, is really in the process of getting there, not so much seeing the village itself, for in the hiking is where the grandeur of God’s creation, contrasting my smallness, affirmed the crazy-love of a God far more powerful than I can ever imagine yet still cares for the little details in my life.  Anyway…there we were, immersed in the beauty of nature, taking in the expanse before our eyes, feeling close enough to touch the sky yet still far away.  The young rice seedlings, only about a foot tall sticking out from the mud field, softly danced with the breeze.  And then it was time to go home.

After getting all bathed and fed, our company gathered ’round Grandma Herminia’s house and an uncle picked up the guitar.  Out came some Peter, Paul, and Mary classics – “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “If I Had a Hammer” and “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”  On and on they sang.  I was about nine or ten years old at the time and very much enjoying the sounds.  Then I heard a tune that stuck with me since that first time I heard it:

“…it grieves my heart so,
Won’t you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.”

Oh the voice of my Auntie Rhonda singing that song…I heard the pain in her voice, the sadness.  And the harmony from the other guys in the circle, especially at the oh-ooohing at the end – ah!  That just brought me goosebumps!  I thought the tune and the way it was sang was just beautiful and haunting at the same time.  Perhaps for this very reason, those exact lyrics stayed with me for so long.  I looked up the song on the internet (what can we do without it now?) and eventually found it:

Cruel War
Peter, Paul, & Mary

 

The Cruel War is raging, Johnny has to fight
I want to be with him from morning to night.
I want to be with him, it grieves my heart so,
Won’t you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

 

Tomorrow is Sunday, Monday is the day
That your Captain will call you and you must obey.
Your captain will call you it grieves my heart so,
Won’t you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

 

I’ll tie back my hair, men’s clothing I’ll put on,
I’ll pass as your comrade, as we march along.
I’ll pass as your comrade, no one will ever know.
Won’t you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

 

Oh Johnny, oh Johnny, I fear you are unkind
I love you far better than all of mankind.
I love you far better than words can e’re express
Won’t you let me go with you?
Yes, my love, yes.

 

Yes, My Love, Yes.

The singing went well into the night – all aunts, uncles, and cousins just simply enjoying the music and each other’s company.  There were many more occasions such as this in my growing years, especially when a relative from the city or abroad comes to visit.  Permanent imprints in my memory that I so cherish.

Music is the one thing that most of my family, immediate and distant, all appreciate.  Doesn’t matter if the person plucking away on the guitar or drunk or not…eventually someone else took over.  Doesn’t matter if the song is good ol’ swingy Sinatra, folksy Peter Paul & Mary or Jim Croce, rockin’ Beatles, or aged hymns of the faith…the singing kept going.

Thankful for the music…what other folks refer to as the soundtrack of our lives.  I love this line from the movie, August Rush:

“You know what music is? God’s little reminder that there’s something else besides us in this universe, a harmonic connection between all living beings, every where, even the stars.”

Our pastor mentioned twice on separate occasions that he learned somewhere that stars do have natural vibrations, much like a sound wave from a musical instrument.  Isn’t that just mind-blowing?  But really, hear this from Psalm 19, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”  How cool is that?

Ah!  Life would be colorless without music.

“The music is all around us; all you have to do is listen.” – August Rush

 

Yesterday, our family had dinner at our house with one of my quick becoming soul sisters.  After dinner, Hubby put our little guy down to sleep.  Meanwhile, us girls gabbed about life.  And laughed.  Oh, the joy of just being and laughing.  It’s very refreshing to the soul.  Thankful for these moments of friendship building.  It’s a beautiful thing.

 

This is part two of two, a grateful note to my Dad’s siblings.  Yesterday I talked about the first two girls in the family.  Today will highlight my Dad’s three other siblings.

Auntie Borah.  Her official name is Deborah but she’s known by her peers as Borah.  She’s also called Debbie by some.  The only single sibling in the family.  But fully blessed with many, and I mean many nieces and nephews.  She is also one of the constants in my life…there from my early years through high school and beyond.  She’s the easygoing laid-back kinda gal who certainly knows how to have a good time.  A great cook and entrepreneur when she puts her mind and heart to it.  She taught me the ins and outs of starting a street food business.  I have fond memories of my successes from those endeavors in my younger elementary years, thanks to her.  She has a stout heart where family dearest to her heart are concerned.  When she loves, she gives her all.

Auntie Borah, grateful to you for being a big sister to me.  You weren’t all verbal about feelings, but I felt and knew then that you cared and that was enough for me.  I know you still do and I am thankful for you.  I’m hoping it ain’t too late yet for you to come upon a partner in life that can be your number one cheerleader and spurn you on to creative cooking endeavors.

Uncle Eric.  Charm.  Wit.  A few of the words that describe him.  He has a thirst for learning.  I often saw quotes carefully written in beautiful penmanship on a piece of paper protected by a piece of plastic and taped on the walls.  He knew deep words and I remember wanting to learn deep words, too, and use them in school.  Later in my school years, I’ve learned to befriend the dictionary and thesaurus.  He is also the cleaner in the family.  I was not aware how dirty we kept Grandma Herminia’s house until he came back to town after years of living in Batanes with my Aunt Abigail and Uncle Dan and family.  He took charge, making the floors look spotless for the first time in ages.  There was order.  And it felt good.  That inspired me to take on some deep cleaning rituals on weekends.

Uncle Eric, thank you, too, for willingly loaning me some bus fare to visit my Dad in the city back in the day.  I am thankful for your encouragement to me over the years to dream big.

Uncle Bobot.  His name means “the last child.”  But his real name is Albert, named after his Dad whom he saw only during the first six months of his life.  He was pretty young when I was growing up and I didn’t really see much of him.  He was with his peers a lot.  But after getting married young and settling down, he’s brought to the family a wife, an aunt to me who was very kind and soft-spoken, still is.  When they started having kids, I was entrusted with many chances to care for their brood and love on them.  And how grateful I am for the experience of caring for those young children who, now, aren’t so young anymore.

Uncle Bobot, thank you for teaching me how to cook.  I remember when I was about to saute aromatics and you schooled me on starting with onions and garlic first, always, before tomatoes, if using tomatoes.  That’s a very practical skill that, to this day, I use every time I cook.

*These are my Dad’s five siblings in order.  My Dad is second in the family order but the first to have a child and marry; hence, my being sort of considered as the last child in the family.  Thank you all for your love and care and the many practical help you offered and gave me during my growing up years.  We miss you and love you all!*

 

Aunts and Uncles to me are like an extension of my Mom and my Dad.  They have filled in different roles that were parental in nature.  After all, we had lived in one house at one time or another – in my Grandma Herminia’s house.  More than once, I heard one, if not most of them, consider me the youngest sibling in the family.

This is just a first part of two, a grateful note to my Dad’s siblings, with the first two sisters of my Dad highlighted today.  Tomorrow will spotlight my Dad’s three other siblings.

Auntie Abigail.  I think of her as an embodiment of the song, “Take My Life And Let It Be” by Frances Havergal.  A woman of substance.  One with incredibly lasting imprints of a Christ-like life to those she’s known for a lifetime and for a short while.  She fiercely loves her Abba and she’s dedicated her life and her household to His call.  She also fiercely loves her husband.  She told me once, “I know some wives can learn to live without their husbands…they have to, when the husbands have to work outside of the house so much for a long period of time.  But when your Uncle Dan leaves, even for just a week, I can’t stand it.”  I’ll never forget her words.  Now that I am married, I realize even more the value of what she’s told me then.

When I was growing up in my Grandma Herminia’s house, there is a corner part of the house stacked with piles of boxes up to the ceiling.  I never dared touch that thing because I was afraid of getting reprimanded but I was always curious.  Across from it was also a little space with a trunk where my Mom’s college books and recipes, scribbled in notepads, were kept.  On top of the trunk were more boxes with who-knows-what’s-inside of them.

One day in high school, I finally summoned the courage to tackle those boxes.  After all, I was cleaning house so I had valid reason to look through that pile of junk that had been sitting there for years, collecting dust.  I opened the first box and, to my delight, I found a treasure trove of letters neatly tied together with a rubber band, addressed to my Uncle Dan from my Aunt Abigail.  Love letters!  I suppose I should have asked before delving into reading but I didn’t know any better.  Mind you, they were good ol’ fashioned courtship letters, day to day events written to her beloved during their time of physical separation because of work, one year prior to their wedding.  I was struck by the depth of her love for him, expressed in the simplicity of her words.  She must have sent at least one letter a week.  There were three boxes full of love letters, written by hand!

Reading those letters made me feel like I was a part of their courtship and marriage.  And because they eventually moved away from town and went to live in an island way north of us, I did not often see them.  but from afar I have admired their marriage, though imperfect (for whose is?), and secretly desired, in my then young heart, a courtship and marriage just like theirs.

As an aside…I really was, in a way, part of their courtship.  I was two when my Aunt Abigail was back in town during their time apart before their wedding and she wrote several accounts of me learning my alphabet and some nursery rhymes and songs.  She was my teacher, of course.

Auntie Abigail (and Uncle Dan), thank you for imparting with me some life lessons about love and marriage and faith and service.  May God bless your ministry and increase your tribe a hundredfold.  (Hint hint, Gea!!!)

Auntie Carol.  She was there when I was a teeny weeny little thing.  She was there when I was in my elementary days.  She was there when I was a teenager.  And she was there when I was in College.  Literally.

I don’t know why or how but for some reason, I had this idea as a young kid that my Auntie Carol was a bit of a tightwad.  But the truth is that whenever I was around her, she really had a very generous spirit.  She fed me each time I went to her house.  When she learned that I had a project in school, she was quick to offer her help because she knew I didn’t always have money for what was required to complete the project.  She was willing to loan me bus money whenever I needed or wanted to visit my Dad in the city, even for just a quick 24-hour round trip.  (My Dad worked in the city, a 6-hour bus ride away, while I went to high school in our town.)  Later, when I went to college in the city, she was there on some weekends for her masters course and every time I saw her, she’d buy me lunch even at 3:00 in the afternoon and slip me fifty or more pesos in my hand without saying anything or expecting to be paid back.  The extra cash and free meals were very much needed by a cash-strapped college student.

Auntie Carol is an English teacher at the public high school in the town where I grew up.  When I was entering high school, she made a decision to not ever be my English teacher.  She felt awkward about it and so did I.  She managed to not be one of my teachers in all four years of high school but she did have a large influence in me with everything related to English.  I mean, really, when your Aunt is an English teacher, you better make sure you’re pretty good at it!  Yes, I know now that people have different strengths but I really always liked English anyway so all I did was worked hard to make sure my English grades were in good standing.  I think I did okay on that.  As for English speaking…well, she probably didn’t intend to be my coach but she took on that role for me.  Growing up, she corrected my enunciation of words when I read out loud or when I spoke in English through songs and nursery rhymes, etc.  I didn’t think it offensive…I was glad she cared to correct me.  I heard her speak in English and thought her enunciation was just how English speaking people do it.  And I aspired to that level.  I currently live in the land of the English speaking people and I cannot be more grateful for those early years of corrections from her.  Often I hear compliments about my English speaking ability along these lines : “Wow!  Your English is good,”  “You sound like you’ve lived here all your life,” and my favorite one, “You don’t have an accent!”  Truth is, I want to learn how to speak with the Southern accent, an English (British) accent, and an Irish accent.  Apparently and according to my husband, I sound like all three when I am trying to speak British – a very baluktot (mangled) mix of accents!  Oi!

Auntie Carol, thank you for your patience in correcting my English – it has paid off quite well!  Thank you for your generosity that was really beyond just money.  Sharing life with you when I was growing up had its ups and downs but I learned more about persisting in a relationship with you than with other relationships I had growing up.  You didn’t give up on me and I am glad to be friends with you.  Grateful for your stern warnings with boys – I appreciate them now more than before, of course.  I know now you really were just looking after my welfare and I am very thankful for you being there, bold to speak your mind.