BECAUSE ARMED WITH

BECAUSE ARMED WITH the Bible, my solitary, spiritual sojourn is always accompanied by our Father. Where before I’d post my daily scriptural with a hidden, vain, hypocritical purpose of accounting the number of likes and seens it generates, I now post it period. And regularly return to delete it the next day, having obeyed Him without motive. The feeling is light and peace-like, like an actual pat on the back from God. Like accepting things that cannot be acquired or changed.

I woke up at early dawn Sunday, hours before my set alarm. Alex was up, too, preparing for his bike date with cousin Doland. The drizzle was just starting when he left with my “Safe travels” blessing. It slowly poured a little later, while I was posting. I prayed harder that the rain does not pick up, not only for my son’s and nephew’s sake (apologized to St. Clare for the absence of egg) but on behalf of Sto. Rosario’s Feast. The downpour escorted me out of BF Homes but ceased when I got to the Chapel. Mary manifested her magnificat marvelously. I was able to serve as first reader, Ate Jasmin was second, young chorister/proclaimer John Paul was psalmist and Kuya Ben was the very able commentator. SJTP Parish Priest Fr. Jerome was the main celebrant, joined by his visiting predecessor Fr. Percy and Deacons Mark and Lloyd. My joy was immediate and complete (even if the chapel was only blessing the completed altar). The last time I served there, only bare columns adorned it; now the altar tableau is laden with intricate gold leaf while the floor is imaculately tiled. Even the archways to the sacristy borrow from the exquisite gilding. I was instantly exhilirated earlier, rehearsing my lines on the equally lovely ambo.

As is already a norm with the parish, Fr. Jerome alloted a portion of the Mass to appreciate the generous donors and supporters which transformed the blueprint into the beauty that it initially was. Along with the tasteful plaques awarded to the sponsors, a statue of the Lady of the Rosary was given to the top couple donor.

Gone was the frustration for my inability to proceed with my fourth day of theprodigalfatherapp. After several futile attempts at resetting my password, the site insisted it invalid I left it after sending an SOS to Fr. Michael Denk. I’d check it later, after the Home with Hangad 29th Anniversary of Music and Friendship.

Commented a by-your-leave before vespers, soothed and satisfied by the candor, and superb, swell musicality of the spiritual singers. My many attempts to sign into the prodigalfatherapp proved futile I gave it up unless it does something magical to recant its claim that my password is updated only to declare it invalid a while later. My friend, who suggested the app, thought of using another account. I wrote to Fr. Michael that I’m no longer frustrated but I don’t want to complicate matters further by using another account. This email returned via mailer daemon saying invalid email address with my message reduced to hieroglyphics below it. I will miss my journals because they were comprehensive compared to my spare notes but if it’s not for me, it cannot be otherwise. The cost of an ipad’s limited storage capacity took its toll on untechie me.

I solaced myself with the certainty that the edges of Gardenia bread are inevitably dunked in my coffee (reduced now to once a day, unlike the frequency before).

And that the Dutch/German “denk” translates to “think” so Fr. Michael just might wonder why I stopped after Day 3. Or it’s not true that hope springs eternal.

Librada superseded Desideria, the 10th departed soul in my nightly fifth mystery. Not a nice turnover, since it takes a month or so interval before my lineup drops the first soul in it. And memorization will have to take some effort when that happens. But my brief exchange with Ate Jasmin while waiting for the processional to start was grace enough. We shared the magnanimity of Mary in our lives. So goosebump-worthy I couldn’t wait to visit my recuperating breast cancer-operated Kumare. True enough, when I emerged on the third floor of LRB building 2, she was not in their unit, because chatting up neighbors yonder. Mareng Ruth bears her biblical moniker with steadfast faith and firtitude it’s such immense joy to pray for her. One breast less, she is thankful that, no matter the taxi fares she incurred during her trips to the hospital for initial checkups and ultimate confinement, her 4 Ps took care of the rest of the expenses. And her doctor was so compassionate she eagerly looks forward to her chemotherapy. This fortitude of the poor always works its allure on me. Mary really “threw” me around depressed areas to find my connection with them. The lessons of my accidents and exile are precious treasures I will have a hard time extricating from my senior memory. Which brings me to my other female friends whose life testimonies are equally exemplary.

Before I hit the sack, I told Bronson that the firefly didn’t visit last Saturday night because of the rain. Reclined, I was mulling the positive portions of Sunday when the firefly twinkled by. Amen.