When It Rains, It Rings

I NEVER DOUBTED what Ate Myla said about her chokti. That when she’s anxious, bothered, thinking or simply doing nothing (a misnomer for this Martha whose goal is to be a Mary), she gets hold of her prayer rope and breathes in and out the Jesus Prayer until her nerves are calmed and serenity sets in.

I finally got mine blessed, her gift which came with the pilgrim booklet, and felt the similar peace that she was talking about. Before its blessing, I chose to simply mouth off the prayer, breathing in “Jesus, Son of God” and exhaling “Have mercy on me, a sinner.” It was easy at first, just mind-muttering the verses, but it became hard the next day, breathing the inhale-exhale rhythm in sync with the tightly knotted beads which could only be felt with my thumbnail. The very low degree of difficulty is nothing compared to the high sensation afterwards. I did it twice. First on the way from Pure Gold to the barangay (I accompanied our Kasambahay Cita in preparing the requirements for her ID to end her agitation every time the security guard asks for it) and it was a breeze because, as we walked together (after Sis Irene passed us by the gate, picked us up and dropped us off), she waited for me to finish before she resumed asking questions. Mine is a 100-knot rope so it didn’t take long to complete. I prayed it again before dinner and I’ll say another round before bedtime (I was kept awake by excitement for tomorrow’s tasks I did many rounds). Ate Myla was right. The peace that the prayer gives is immense. Not as heavenly (as the anonymous pilgrim in the book swore) but only because I’m a beginner. I’m optimistic that as much as Ate Myla’s spiritual books inspired my reading and writing hours, my chokti will bless me with long periods of spiritual bliss.

What kept me awake

Ate Marivic and I said hellos on messenger. It’s been a while since our weekly AMQAH meetings came to an end so we really did some catching up. I was happy that her son Aaron will start online classes at UPLB next month. When she asked how I’ve been, I shared a not so pleasant news which made her suddenly ask me out so we could talk more and over food. I reassured her I was all right but she wouldn’t let me go until I agreed to meet up on St. Valentine’s Day. I joked that I don’t fancy Binondo as a date place and we laughed before parting ways.

What she didn’t know was I almost cried because of her sincere concern. To brush off the preoccupation, I wrote a letter to Ate Jojie, CEO of the Union of (Catholic) Church-based Cooperatives (UCC) I’m secretary of. I’ve been feeling numb in my feet lately and told Ate Myla about it. She prescribed Dolo Neurobion for my condition and off I went to TGP. The meds cost a fortune and were not in the discounted list but the first tablet I took gave relief. In my unemployed state, the next purchase would be a problem. I didn’t want to be a burden to my family so I proposed a loan to the Union, payable within a month, with my cellphone as collateral. Instantly, as quickly as she responded to my request for prayers for Kuya Jun, Ate Jojie said she’ll see what she can do. Within minutes, she messaged me again that help was forthcoming. She added that a separate support was coming from Manay Judy, one of the seven directors of the Union. No sooner had she said that than a notice from Palawan Express confirmed it. My kabayan made good her word. The tears that threatened earlier delivered their promise.

They were, like I reassured Ate Jojie, of joy. I told her I could not help it that one letter accomplished what I’ve been anxious about and praying for many days already. While I already know her to be of a generous spirit, she was only one officer among the board members who would collectively decide on my request so needed a consensus. Yet her heart was steadfast as well and, therefore, got the board’s green light. She asked me to smile because God does answer prayers. I did but the rain won’t stop.

Reassuring rope

Praying the chotki that night was no longer alongside angst. And I didn’t mind if I had to do it up until past midnight. I realized what the pilgrim meant by delight and rapture. I was getting there.

In-between breaks, I got to comparing the chotki to the rosary. With the rosary, I always get distracted, not too surprisingly by even terrible thoughts (as is usually the case with praying people who are the devil’s favorite prey) but maybe because there are intervals to the beads, compared to the 100 knots (of the rope) which consist of only one 10-word supplication, the distraction is very minimal and not too vile as to shudder at. After a round with the rope, I switch to as many rounds without it until sleep takes over. Which does not arouse guilt had the rosary been the sacramental I availed myself of.

Lucy’s spiritual project

I never take lightly the adage “When it rains it pours” because it applies to me whether in bad or good times. The rains always remind me of God’s goodness, balancing life for His creation for it to roll with the punches, so to speak, in order to, in the long run, hit paydirt. If we’re not up to the cross, we’ll never deserve Christ is what it all boils down to.

Lucy emailed me about a project with an NGO (World Association for Psychosocial Rehabilitation) which advocates the promotion of mental health among the poor. She got wind of my church work and enjoined me to include spirituality in her advocacy. Her first letter about it was a narrative, although I detected her hint at getting me involved which crystallized in her second mail. I was sold to the idea, I’m always pro-poor, but asked her for time to broach the idea to Tek, my Catechist friend and IT wiz, who agreed at once. Therefore, I trashed my thoughts about a jibjab-making project with her and segued onto this infinitely enriching venture. I made her understand that it’s volunteer work but will try to bargain for at least the cost of my maintenance meds and remuneration for her research work. She didn’t need further prodding.

I’m truly blessed by Tek. Much younger than me, she used to be among her age group at the Institute. Many years later, our paths would cross at a reunion of sorts at mutual friend Mel’s place where the gap didn’t separate us but only served to bring back the many milestones missed. Buoyed by that, although compelled by a sad event, we got together again to pay tribute to a former colleague who became a foreign service officer and died of Covid 19 in Beirut, Lebanon. I wrote about the tribute to Ambassador Bernie, helped greatly by the video thereof and transcriptions of Cha where the film failed. Lucy got to read it, and perhaps got convinced that I can pull off a prayer reunion similar to her tribute.

When I called Lucy to discuss the prayereunion, she was no longer keen about it for many reasons. The UK variant was one, the shortness of time to prepare was another (Bernie’s birthday is on February 18 already) and she was traveling to Pangasinan on another project. While ILS Executive Director Cha was willing to host the event again, she begged off from conceptualizing the project and its attandant programme. Which would not have been a problem with Tek and me. But God is way ahead of us is an obvious blessing. Lucy agreed for me to, instead of help organize a zoom reunion again, solicit prayer petitions from the same friends of Bernie’s, collate them into another article and publish the end product on filcatholic.org. My friend, Bob, Claret Production Manager, has given his nod to the plan. Nonstop rain now.

Meanwhile, she appreciated that Tek was with me on the mental health advocacy and has indeed started to browse links and sites on the subject. We’d probably get together after Bernie’s birthday to talk about mental health at length.

Cooperative circular

I was brimming with bright ideas it amazed me how awesomely God enables me to read and write all the significant strides my unemployed state encounters. Ate Jojie invited to join her zoom meeting with UCC’s member-primaries to walk them through the Cooperative Development Authority’s (CDA) memorandum circular 2021-03, a regulatory relief for those primaries that wish to comply with requirements like the conduct of a general assembly which the pandemic put a moratorium on. She requested me to take note of the proceedings and I happily heeded her.

McDonAntonio

Friday morning greeted me with a bouquet of roses on my altar. The roses were Alex’s gift to his Mom; Myrna placed them on the altar as an offering to the Holy Family.

Ate Marivic texted that she and Ate Veron would arrive at McDo on Don Antonio (to save me fare and walk) by 1:30 pm; contrary to my surname, I was there earlier and cooled my heels playing my favored Words with Friends until they came. These siblings in Christ spoil me rotten. They had chocolates, cranberry juice, a face mask and slipped me each a bill even if I already told them UCC responded to my call for help without any obligation on my part. It was a happy reunion, a lingering conversation cut short only by Ate Veron’s Baywalk bike date with hubby Andy. The only missing seal of that sibling encounter was the beso-beso of old. Yet we extended our exchange until the base of the Commonwealth footbridge, where they dropped me off so I can proceed to Ever Gotesco Mall, to buy Cita’s broom. I bruised my knee when I bought two plastic basins for her at Commonwealth market. Happily despite the damage. Our washing machine has been broken for ages and I know how manual laundry feels (I did it during my exile) and with buckets as vessels (mine, too, the diff being I did my laundry only, not a family’s). She’s a happy soul who sings as she does her chores in spite of problems her daughter calls (and makes her cry) about. The attenuated palm broom that she used has swept dirtier floors and I imagine her back groaning when she stoops to sweep (she actually told me finally when she requested for its retirement). She beamed when I brought back two medium basins. With the pair of brooms, she was over the moon. Amen.