It's a New Season

It is a sunny Saturday morning. I am home and finding it quite strange that I do not have exams to check or papers to read and mark. I look at the pile of exam answer sheets and reflection papers that I have checked and marked in the last two weeks and I couldn’t help but smile. This is it. The school semester has ended for me and I am just waiting to turn in my students’ grades.

I have seen six end-of-the-semester seasons of madness. I remember nights when I would stay up late reading not-so reflective papers. I remember days when I would have to forego going out with friends because I had to check papers. I remember crying in frustration after MS Excel generated my students’ final grades and there were a couple who did not make the mark. I remember being annoyed when students who never show up for five months suddenly appear at the end of the semester expecting to have a passing grade. But this semester it is different.

What makes this sixth end-of-the-semester season different? Because this is my last.

A year after I got my bachelors degree in Psychology, I enrolled in the UP College of Education to get my masters degree. In a reflection paper for a class called “Teaching Creative and Critical Thinking” I wrote:

I delight in the knowledge that as a teacher I am given the chance to mold the minds of those I teach. I want to make a difference in the lives of students as I impart to them the things that I am passionate about… I believe that a teacher is given the honor and the privilege of shaping minds, nurturing souls, and igniting a fire in the hearts of students… I think that all teachers can be catalysts. Someone once said that a catalyst is consumed in sacrifice. If a teacher is willing to be a catalyst, consumed in sacrifice, then the impact is change in the lives of the students and the people these students meet. (November 2006)

In June 2007, I started teaching in an academic institution for higher education. There was a sense of nervous excitement on my part. A university took a risk in hiring me—someone without any teaching experience. I did not want to let the university down. I could only imagine what went on my students’ minds as they watched a twenty three year-old walk into their classroom introducing herself as their Psychology instructor.

In another reflection paper for the same class, I wrote:

When I become a teacher I think that one of the most challenging tasks that I would face is to know my students beyond the warm bodies sitting on their chairs. I think that the most effective teachers are those that connect with their students beyond the intellectual level. It will require a lot of emotional investment, I suppose… Who knows how many souls I would touch? It might very well be the souls of our country’s future leaders that I would inspire to make a difference simply because I took the risk to invest in them emotionally. (November 2006)

Investing in people’s lives and building relationships. This is something that my students taught me in the three years that I was an instructor. Emotional investment. Something that was taught in theory in all my educational foundations classes but found depth in practice.

Nothing compares to sharing in the lives of others. The first batch of freshmen I taught will be seniors come June this year. Yes, I have seen three batches of students fresh out of high school eager to know what college is all about. Three batches of giggly sixteen year-old girls and three batches of cooler-than-thou sixteen year-old boys. Over a thousand students in three years.

I wasn’t very successful in getting to “know all of my students beyond the warm bodies that sat on their chairs.” I do not think three years is enough to build a relationship with depth if one has a thousand students. But to those I have known and grown in relationship with, I can say that it has been very rewarding.

My students taught me so much about myself. I have grown and developed in character and not just in my skill as a teacher through them. From those who seemed to find joy in talking while I discussed Freud, I learned patience. From those who found difficulty in turning in reflective papers, I learned grace. From those who were always negligent in fulfilling requirements, I learned firmness in the way I disciplined.

It is my joy and privilege to be a part of their lives as well. I have seen them rejoice as they passed difficult subjects. I have prayed with and for them when they struggled. I saw couples get together and I have seen a fair share of couples breaking up. I have listened to stories of their families. I have seen tears of frustration. I have shared in laughter over their silly antics. I have received thank you notes, surprise visits, invites to debuts, and even food from former students. Nothing compares to the knowledge that you have ceased to become a person who merely shared information with your students. You have become a person who shared in their lives. For this privilege, I thank all of my students.

This is my last semester in an academic institution. I wouldn’t be in this kind of setting for a while as I am embarking on a new adventure. One that will let me invest in people’s lives and build even more relationships. My new job with Indigenous Emergence (iEmergence) combines my passions for education and teaching, indigenous peoples and indigenous Psychology, and field research and travel. This is such an awesome job.

So... It is a sunny Saturday morning. I am home and finding it quite strange that I do not have exams to check or papers to read and mark. I look at the iEmergence job description and my MPI (My People International) employment application form that I have had with me in the last two months and I couldn’t help but smile. This is it. It is time to invest in the lives of peoples, nations, and generations.

It’s a bigger mission field out there. More learning, stretching, and growth. Can't wait.

Finding My Heartbeat and That Which Makes My Heart Beat

Beginnings: Flashback, four months ago

I wave goodbye with tears freely flowing from my eyes as I enter the departure area of the Davao international airport.  It felt like I was leaving a very large part of me behind and not knowing when I would be able to go back was heart wrenching.


Chapter Endings: Fast forward, September 11

I cry buckets of tears as Carla, a very dear friend, the younger sister I never had, gives her testimony during the church's prayer gathering.  She shares what going to Davao did to her and she bids farewell to us who have been her family in the seven years that she was away from home.


Somewhere in Between

I think majority, if not all, of us have been tempted to skip to the end of a book we are reading.  There is that anticipation and desire to know how things end that make skipping to the final pages very tempting.

But reading just the beginnings and the endings never make sense and it somehow robs one of the joy of experiencing the opportunity to completely involve and engage one's self in a story.  This testimony is what is "in-between" my beginnings and chapter endings of my Davao saga.

In the time between April 14 and August 18, I got to convince three of my closest church friends to go back to Davao and walk the mountains that showed me what my heart was made of.

It was very easy to convince one.  Cookie, being the very supportive friend that she is, readily ran with my heart.  I had to use the "travel the Philippines" card on Bobbie.  And on Carla, I had to get down on my knees to pray that she would decide to go as she was going through difficult times in her life and was prone to "change plans" out of the blue.

Why was I so bent on having my sisters in church go back to Davao with me?  I wanted them to see what I saw last summer as I walked the majestic mountains of Davao.  I wanted them to feel what I felt last summer as I lived with the Matigsalugs.  I wanted them to see the God of tribes and nations who was so real in the life and worship of this people.

Why was I so bent on going back to Davao?  Because it was in Davao that I found my heart.  And in any story of a journey to self discovery one always wants to go back to the mirror that showed a person his reflection.  I wanted to look closely into the mirror to see what else was in me.

God did not disappoint; He showed me His heart and I heard my heartbeat.

We were participants in the trial run of the Osmosis Project.  There couldn't have been a better opportunity for me to look closely at my reflection than this.  The Osmosis Project's goal is "to draw out from the participants their own desires and vision for holistic transformation of indigenous communities and to engage the participants' imagination so they might see what is possible for themselves as individuals, for the team as a whole, as well as for the community and social contexts from which they come and to which they will return."

We were to do what the Matigsalugs did, listen to their stories and dreams, and share ours as well.  Listening to and sharing of stories or what we call "pakikipagkwentuhan" might sound unproductive to many.  Admittedly, there is no tangible output after an hour of "pakikipagkwentuhan" but it is in the "pakikipagkwentuhan" that people's hearts get to connect.

It is in "pakikipagkwentuhan" that a mutuality of relationships is established, hence the prefix "pakiki".  It is in "pakikipagkwentuhan" that another person's dreams also become your own, another person's struggles yours, and another person's heartbeat the rhythm of your heartbeat as well.

God showed me His heart through "pakikipagkwentuhan".  I heard of stories that made my teacher heart bleed.
These are stories of children having only two school days because the teachers are not able to spend the whole week up in the mountains.  I heard of stories of mass promotion and no clear measurement of a student's readiness to be promoted to the next grade level.  I heard of stories of school children trekking under the heat of the sun everyday just so they can go to school.  I saw classrooms badly in need of repairs.  I saw torn textbooks and textbooks left to rot at the jeepney drop off point at the foot of the mountain.

After hearing these stories and seeing these things, I heard my heartbeat.  God birthed dreams in my teacher heart.  Tribal Mission Foundation is starting to develop a curriculum for pre-school indigenous children.  They call it Foundational Learning for Indigenous Children or FLIC.  I saw the opportunity to help and be part of something as grand as shaping the minds of young indigenous children, to help them be proud of their identity, and to spur them to claim their own destiny.  FLIC is something I would really like to work on and be a part of.  This is one of the reasons why I wanted to become a teacher and why Cookie and I want to put up our own school in the future.  This is shaping the mind of a whole generation for national transformation.


Chapter Endings and New Beginnings: Love and My Heartbeat

It is funny how going to Davao always amazes me.  It is easy to go on missions trips and say you are helping and giving because you happen to have the financial capacity to do so.  But in the two occasions that I walked these mountains, it was always I who went back to Manila with so much more.

The first time I went up, the Matigslugs taught me to open my heart and risk it in order to build relationships.  That was why I was crying four months ago.  I opened my heart and it fed on the love that easily flowed in the Matigsalug community.  I did not know if I would ever be able to experience such openness and love in the busyness of Manila.  Today, it is something that I experience with old and new friends, with students and co-teachers, with current and future family members.

This second trip showed me that the heart doesn't just have to be open but that it must beat in synchrony with other hearts.  To reach that point wherein you no longer keep count as to who is giving and who is receiving but the focus is on whether or not you have the same heartbeat.  And that is why I was crying last Friday.  The idea of missing the cadence of Carla's heartbeat was painful.

But that is the way of the heart, I guess.  You risk, you love, and you feel pain when there is loss.  Because pain shows you that what was lost was of value.  But it doesn't mean that you will lose that rhythm, for "the heart in its purity knows no other thing but to connect and beat in synchrony with other hearts" (graffiti in a train seat as cited by de Guia, 2005).

Until I walk the mountains of Davao again and be reunited with the Matigsalugs, I shall be content with listening to the cadence of my heartbeat.  Right now, I like the way it sounds.  It has the rhythm of dreams that have just been birthed and visions that are waiting to come to pass.

I would like to take this time to say "thank you" in behalf of the whole team that went to Davao last August 19-26.  I thank you, Church of the Risen Lord for supporting me, Cookie, Carla, and Bobbie in this missions trip.  Thank you, Pastor VJ for sending us with your blessings and your covering.  Thank you to the missions board for your willingness to support and send us out into the missions field.  May God bless our church as we partner with Him in fulfilling the Great Commission.  And may we have even more opportunities to sow seeds and harvest souls in the vast mission field.  Amen.

A FLOWER IN A FARMER’S FIELD

Para sa mga nagsisikap makuha ang mga gusto nila sa buhay. Para sa mga nabigo at sa mga nagtagumpay. Para sa mga nag-aasam ng karunungan at kahusayan. Para sa ating lahat. :)

*convocation speech ng Silliman University president. napaka-ganda, maraming quotable quotes (emphasis mine).

*****

Text: Job 28

A story is told of a farmer one day working his field. He worked hard and he was pleased with his crops. They were growing well, rows and rows of green, promising a good harvest. Then his eyes caught a rather odd thing: a flower growing amidst his crops. It was too beautiful to be a weed and so he plucked it up to take home.

Suddenly, the earth shook and trembled. And a nearby hill opened up to reveal a deep cave inside. Awed, he rushed to it. And he saw that inside the cave were shining and glittering things. He went in and found that there inside the cave was a trove of treasures. Valuable gems. Gold, rubies, sapphire, diamonds.

He could not believe what he saw. And so, drawn by the spell of treasures, he went in and started scooping as much of the glittering stones as he could. He stuffed them in his pockets, and clutched as much of them as his hands can carry. He thought of getting out and to pile them outside in the grass, then come back for more.

But as soon as he started stepping out of the cave, a voice rang from inside the depths of the hill. “Don’t forget the most important thing!” said the voice. Looking around for what very precious thing he might have missed, he saw that he had the most valuable of them already. And so he rushed right out to pile his treasures in the grass outside and intended to rush back for more.

As he moved toward the mouth of the cave, again the voice warned: “Don’t forget the most important thing!” This time, he didn’t as much pause to consider what the voice was warning him. He rushed out of the cave, laden with gems he had with him.

As soon as he stepped out of the cave, the earth again shook and trembled. This time, the hill moved and closed the cave. It swallowed the rest of the treasures still inside. The farmer was dismayed. But he still had much of what he had brought out. He consoled himself that with what he already has he is still very rich beyond his wildest dreams. But, alas, the treasures he had brought out had all turned to dust.

You see, in his fascination with the glittering gems, and in his rush to get as much of them as he can, he had forgotten to bring out the cave with him the flower that opened the hill in the first place. Amidst the glitter of things, the frenzy to have as much, he lost sight of the beautiful. He forgot the flower. He forgot and had lost sight of the essential. And so he lost everything.

This story is almost like what we read in Job 28. This text in Job tells of humanity having acquired great and valuable things. They have treasure troves of knowledge and skills and of the power and prowess to do astounding feats. They can go to the deepest bosoms of the earth to mine precious metals. They can make food grow on the surface of the earth, when underneath is burning fire. They can stop rivers and redirect them to where they want them to go. And they have the knowledge to acquire things that even the most ferocious beasts are not able to touch.

Humanity, says our text in Job, has much treasures of things, talents and technology. Indeed, today, it can tame the distance of space and the depths of the seas. It can build big and huge structures and bask in luxury that not even Solomon could have done.

And yet, humanity continues to be a sorry lot. It cannot seem to get out of the rut of routine; out of viciousness and violence; out of frustrations and fears; and out of deceit and conceit. So many, everywhere, continues to be tormented by abuse and anger; by worries and wars; and maddened by desperate lusts for power, prominence and approbation. Life to most, it seems, is about one’s ability to pretend and to contend.

Humanity has a lot, but it continues to lack, and to be gripped by the fear of not having enough. You see, says our text in Job, humanity has forgotten the most important thing, the essential. In its fanatical, single-minded and obsessive quest for what pleases the eyes, the body and pride, humanity has forgotten wisdom, the core of any person’s ability to appreciate, and, hence, to relish life.

Knowledge is power, but wisdom is essential. Knowledge allows us to do things, and to do great things. But wisdom gives meaning – and so, value – to what we are able to do. It is like this: knowledge is like having the ability to build a house, even a great big house; but wisdom is what makes the house a home. Knowledge gives us power to stock our houses with many things, with the best there is. But it is wisdom that allows us to place value on peace, on quiet, on privacy and solitude, on love for each other, which are the essentials of a home.

Wisdom, however, says many, is elusive. It is too nebulous to be readily defined, and so is not much to be made into something important. I submit not. Wisdom, says our text in Job, is simply “to fear the Lord.”

Fear the Lord, and in that is wisdom.

And what is it to fear the Lord? Is it like to fear vicious predators, or abusive spouses and mates, or like fearing enemies out to tear you to pieces? Is to fear the Lord like fearing ghosts or malignant diseases?

I submit three simple propositions about how it is to fear the Lord:

First, to fear the Lord is simply to recognize that everything is the Lord’s; that there is no mountain high enough as Moses’ Sinai, or waters deep enough as the Red Sea, or places far enough as Egypt was from Canaan in Joseph’s time, or pits more dangerous than the one with lions in Daniel’s case, no place or circumstance too fearsome or too delightful, where and when God cannot reveal His glory. To fear the Lord is to simply recognize that in even the depths of our sorrows and losses, or when we fall and stumble, or when we rise in victory, these are equal times that manifest God’s presence.

Second, to fear the Lord is to simply recognize that His will and intentions always prevail over ours. In hubris and pride, we may many times think that we are the ones that control our affairs and our lives. But think again. How many more times do we need to see ourselves failing, see ourselves disappointed over unfulfilled desires and aims in life, before we realize that we really have no control over our present or on how we’ll turn out to be in the future? Fearing the Lord is to give credit where credit is due: God is a greater presence and a greater power in our world and in our lives, more than what and how we can make them to be.

And third, to fear the Lord is to simply recognize that who we are (however much we think lowly or highly of ourselves) find ultimate and final value only in God. Our friends and family may many times make us feel important. Our colleagues may many times make us feel needed. But friends, family and colleagues could abandon us. In any moment, they could decide that we’re not any bit deserving of their love or attention. Worse, friends, colleagues, and even families, may turn to hate us. But not God. We are precious lambs in God’s sight. Even the worst of us (or even when we are at our worst), God loves us. And He cares. And He gives us value. A value equal to the life of His sonly Son.

But, alas, in our quests for life’s gold, rubies, sapphires and diamonds; in our frenzied daily quests for attention and power, and to be persons that matter to all, or to be the best and have the best and the most; we forget the essential, we forget the beautiful flower in the fields of our lives. We forget to fear the Lord. We forget wisdom.

We forget that we need not be maddened by our life quests. That even as we must strive to have some attention, have some power and have some things, we trust that in our strivings – in all our strivings and preoccupations in life – God is present, God is the future, and God is watching and caring over us, and placing value on our labor.

Wisdom bestows meaning to our strivings. And with wisdom, our strivings become not lusts and vicious competitions, not frenzied amassing of the good things, not maddening quests to be ahead, but quiet manifestations of faith. With wisdom, with incessant fear of the Lord, our strivings become dignified. They acquire meaning. And they acquire dignity and integrity.

Full Article Available On-line: http://www.su.edu.ph/pres_speaks/bsm_aflowerinafarmersfield.htm