COMING HOME

I just came home from an 8-day silent retreat at the Jesuit Spiritual Centre- Langata, Kenya. That was one of my many “first” experiences: my first time to be quiet for 8 days (thank God for Listerine! Otherwise my breath would’ve stunk like crazy!!), my first guided retreat, my first experience of an Ignatian Spiritual Exercise, my first time to come into a one-on-one moment with God. Ah! And we’ve all heard how the first time always hurts! And it it’s true- my 8 days silent retreat on Discernment was painfully fulfilling.

It brought the pains of finally being loved like the beloved; I never thought accepting to be loved is much harder than giving it. It was an intimate moment of being in God’s arms. And boy! I felt so unworthy. I couldn’t believe God is that crazy about me! And yet He never failed to manifest it in the dawning of every new day, in the stillness of the clouds, the rich teal colors of the forest, the different tunes of the humming birds, the beauty of the flowers’ dresses. Oh it was lovely! Only in silence did everything begin to speak loudly to me.

Silence is indeed Golden. Truly, it is only when we relinquish the noise within us that we come to complete submission to hear God’s voice. The Blessed Virgin Mary showed us the grace of silent surrender. And in those 8 days, my struggles paid off when at last, I could no longer hear no more. At that point, I was quiet within.

After 8 days, I came home with utter peace in my heart.

In two days, I will be leaving Kenya and I will soon come home to the arms of someone waiting for me for so long. Again, I will experience how it is to be loved. I hope I will do better this time in accepting it. After years of doing the apostolate of giving love, I must have been too fearful to allow myself to be (with all sincerity) at the receiving end.

All the 192 hours of my retreat were affirmations of God’s love to me. And in a few days I shall experience the human version of it; the love that God has planned for me. The love that He blessed that I may grow perfect in it. The love that I have no control out of, the love that is pure and true, holy and pleasing in His eyes; the love that will be my cross and my salvation.

Coming home. What a profound experience it will be this time! I have stalled too long in my own search for the right way. Finally the arrow is blinking clearly which way to go. After a year and half of discernment, days of personal and guided retreats, and countless conversations with spiritual directors, I now have full conviction that where I’m headed is going to be home, because after all, that will be the road that will truly lead to my Final Home--

Where God is waiting.

See you there!

Airports

I love this word! It’s so point-blank.

When I think of this word, I think about--waiting, meeting, crying, hugging, bidding goodbyes, cold food, expensive souvenir items, rolling suitcases, people. Many people. From different places. All probably thinking exactly what we have in mind—waiting, meeting, crying, bidding goodbyes…

I have two dear friends who just left for the airport. Not as a final destination of course, but rather their threshold (my other favorite word). Donna left for Botswana, Fr. Sisoy left for Manila. It has been a week now, and I thank God I already heard from them both. They did it! They crossed the line and now they are in another world!! Hooray!

I envy them for making it through. For braving the uncertainties and now flirting with transition. I suppose it’s not easy, but it happens to the brave! “The only thing that is constant is change” so they say. And unless we accept that, we’ll never get to value the moment.

I will be heading to the airport in less than 30 days from now. And these words come to mind—waiting, meeting, crying, hugging, bidding goodbye, cold food, expensive souvenir items, rolling suitcases, people. Many people. It’s the cycle of life I guess. It has happened and will happen again and again, but it will always carry with it a different meaning each time.

Airport.

Ephemeral moment.

Going in and out.

Between places and loved ones.

Not quite here nor there.

At the airport, life happens to the brave. Virtues grow to the holy. Decisions are made to the discerning. Ah! I can’t wait.

 Back to Basics 

We just soared high in the Easter clouds followed by a great shebang of the Pentecost fireworks. We were elated and blessed. We have been empowered!

Adrenaline must have pumped us up during the festivities of the Easter season; our apostolate must have been at the peak, our spirituality in a euphoric high. This time it’s green again- the Ordinary Time; such in descript moments of austere celebration. And yet, when the party is over, real life begins. After we have stepped out of the Easter fête fully empowered, what next?

As missionaries- religious or lay, veteran or neophyte, idealistic or jaded- we are once again called to the battlefield, which is no less than living our lives in the most ordinary of time. It is when the gears are down, the night is quiet, and the air is still, that we are called to true discipleship.

“Mission is not doing but being”. Perhaps it is when we are not serving that best tells how well we closely follow Christ. When we are doing our apostolate it is easy to spot our identities as missionaries. But what becomes of us during our still moments? Who are we in ordinary times?

Whatever Jean Paul Sartre has to say about this matter, I dare not touch; For I am not exactly concerned about the philosophical value of our existence as missionaries. I am simply curious how well we fare as we go back to basics.

I am not sure whose hands this article would land on, whose eyes would read it, but somehow I know this would reach the heart of someone who is struggling to make it through the missionary life. And that would well be you and me, as I quote Henri Nouwen when he said, “those who believe they have arrived, have lost their way”.

I am humbled by the example of the people I look up to who are themselves learning and relearning each day as I, a rookie in the mission field, am struggling to make sense of the mystery of my calling. I have never felt more understood than sharing my gripes and sentiments to someone who not only could conceive of it, but who likewise empathizes on my every dilemma. I thank God for sending me people who taught-and are teaching- me what it means to be in the world but not of the world.

Going back to basics must be a formidable task to those of us who are enmeshed in the ideals of servanthood. I had my own share of expectations when I first stepped into the mission arena. Every day however, piece-by-piece, my expectations crumbled like the walls of Babylon. What was left in the end, were the basic bricks that hold the foundation of my faith.

Back to basics is after all not so basic at all. Since sometimes like Peter, we would like to stay at the mountaintop and there build our tents. But alas! That is not only our calling, for we are likewise called to take our descent and be with ordinary people at ordinary times. And that to me is the greatest challenge of a missionary. Paradoxically, it is when the mission is over, that mission begins.