Finding hope and light in the story of Efren Penaflorida

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, … it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair...”

I took these lines from the opening paragraph of Charles Dickens’ classic novel, A Tale of Two Cities, written in 1859 depicting the state of the times before and during the French Revolution in the two cities of Paris and London.

I recalled these lines because for the past few days I have been thinking how they also very accurately describe the state of our beloved Philippines today.

For some reason, however, I could only see “the worst of times… the season of Darkness… and the winter of Despair”…

As a 67-year-old parent and grandparent who wants a better tomorrow for his children and grandchildren, I could only feel in despair as I see the continued deterioration of peace and order, the anarchy among motorists in our roads, the wheeling and dealing in our politics and government institutions, and the growing number of poor people who are hungry, sick and abandoned. I thought I would start to see light with the coming 2010 elections only to see darkness settle in with the present horse-trading, changing alliances and the questionable automated elections. I could only see the worst of times in our deteriorating environment, the floods never seen before in history, and the rising number of diseases whose cure has yet to be discovered.

My feelings were aggravated most especially by the events of the past few days in Cotabato where I have spent some few good years of my younger life. I started to get depressed as I recalled and imagined the place where the so-called “Maguindanao Massacre” happened. I remember traveling by that same highway many times in the past from Cotabato City on my way to the southern part of the province. It seemed like nothing has changed since the 70’s but has even gotten worst. Painful memories came back as I was told that the massacre happened almost on the same spot where my classmate and friend, Fr. Nelson Javellana, OMI, died from an ambush many years ago. They say that Fr. Nelson’s ambush was the result of a mistaken identity. True or not, it remains a fact that the recent incident involving the violent and murderous killing of 57 people that included innocent lives is a much worst scenario and indicative of the “worst times, darkness and despair” that to my mind prevail today. What probably added to my depression was the fact that the innocent Lechonsito couple who were not part of the original targets and who apparently met violent deaths are family friends from Tacurong City who are close to me.

Yesterday, I realized there was nothing I could do but pray for the repose of their souls and hope that they get the justice they deserve.

This morning I woke up to the merry announcement by a television host that today is exactly 26 days before Christmas and that this coming Sunday is already the First Sunday of Advent. Almost immediately, the TV host followed it up with the news that today the government is finally honoring Efren Penaflorida in Malacanang. And my mind started to make the connections…

Almost everybody by now who reads the newspapers, watches television, and surfs the internet knows who Efren Penaflorida, Jr. is. He is the 27-year-old Filipino professional social worker and teacher, the CNN Hero of the Year who was cited for his innovative way of reaching out to the children of the slums in his native Cavite City.

In my desire to know more about him, I googled Efren’s name and found more than 800,000 references most of which relate the story of the beginnings of Dynamic Teen Company that he founded in 1997 initially giving tutorials in reading, writing and math to children in the slums in order to lure them away from a life of violence and crime in the streets among teen-age gangs. The program later evolved into a full-blown mobile mini school using volunteer teachers (former street children themselves) and what is familiar to the street kids in the slum areas – the pushcart or “kariton”. The rest is now, as they say, history.

I thought I found in the story of Efren the “best of times, “the season of Light, and the spring of Hope” that I was looking for at this time.

Today, as we approach advent some 27 days before Christmas, I dug from my files an old reflection on hope by Fr. James Keller, Maryknoll priest and founder of The Christophers. I find it very appropriate as we contemplate the story of Efren and the coming Advent and Christmas. It goes:

“Hope looks for the good in people instead of harping on the worst. Hope opens doors where despair closes them.

"Hope discovers what can be done instead of grumbling about what cannot. Hope draws its power from a deep trust in God and the basic goodness of human nature.

"Hope 'lights a candle' instead of 'cursing the darkness.' Hope regards problems, small or large, as opportunities.

"Hope cherishes no illusions, nor does it yield to cynicism. Hope sets big goals and is not frustrated by repeated difficulties or setbacks.

"Hope pushes ahead when it would be easy to quit. Hope puts up with modest gains, realizing that 'the longest journey starts with one step.'

"Hope accepts misunderstandings as the price for serving the greater good of others. Hope is a good loser because it has the divine assurance of final victory."

What more can I say? Efren Penaflorida’s story embodies all of these. Maybe, there is still hope for the Philippines after all!

Maddie

Today, an ordinary everyday miracle occurred. I would not have noticed it were it not for the fact that it is too close to home. I am referring to the birth of my granddaughter Maddie, my daughter Dana’s and her husband Marco’s first child.

Yes, I said that it is a miracle. No, it is not your kind of a miracle. Maddie was not conceived nor born under extraordinary circumstances. She was a healthy, normal, seven-pounder bouncing baby girl when she came out at around 2 am early today. And contrary to expectations, Dana was in labor for only a short period of time and had a relatively easy delivery compared to Thelma’s birth-giving history. But I still consider her birth just the same as a miracle.

For me, every birth is a miracle that has always brought me down to my knees in silent prayer to thank the Creator for the gift of life.

It is a miracle because the egg has to be there at the right time while one tiny sperm among thousands has to fertilize the egg. Then the resulting embryo has to stay planted in the uterus but not anywhere else, and not flushed away during the next menstrual cycle. The right hormones have to be produced by the mother and the right cell divisions must take place in the embryo. Finally, the fetus has to stay in the womb for the correct amount of time in order to be viable.

It is a miracle because how else can you call the amazing transition within seconds of a newborn from a water creature inside a woman’s uterus to an air-breathing baby at birth? How do you describe its transformation in nine months from an undefined tiny fetus to a full-blown baby capable of giving untold happiness to everyone by just a smile?

But the miracle does not end there at birth. It continues as Maddie grows up. It goes on as Marco and Dana in their role as co-creators mold her into the person she is meant to be in accordance with God’s plan, while the rest of us participate in this beautiful unfolding of the mystery of life that is given to Maddie.

Seizing the moment

This is my journal entry on the 7^th day of Shiela Viesca's 21-day journey in creative writing with the above title.

“I do not know how to explain it but, for the longest time I seem to be searching for an answer to a question that I do not even know how to phrase.  And that is perhaps why I too often stumble upon what I thought is the answer only to be frustrated and disappointed – the reason for my asking God for a second take or for another chance.  Then I go searching again, resulting in my running around in circles like a rat in a maze.

Upon reflecting on what to write on the title for today, it came to me that perhaps what I need to do is to stop occasionally and ‘seize the moment’.  To end my searching for a while in order to listen whether I have asked the right question in the first place.  For it seems that it is only in asking the right question will I be able to get a real answer and find what I am looking for.

How often have I missed an answer to my question because I had missed the essence while concentrating on the accidents, overlooked the beauty of the rose while focusing on the thorns?

I always find myself always in a hurry.  And that is where my problem lies, I think.  I gobble up my food during meals and miss to savor the real taste of food.  Thus, I don’t digest my food well and end up sick.  Similarly, I race to my destination even on a leisure trip and end up missing the scenery along the way.  I am too tied up thinking what lies ahead and miss the joys of the journey itself.  Like a restless child, I keep asking in my impatience: “Are we there yet”?

It has been only since I suffered from a spinal ailment a year ago did I start to slow down.  Come to think of it, maybe this is God’s way of slowing me down, of making me “seize the moment”, of making me see the answer to my question clearly.

Seizing the moment is listening, as in listening to another person, paying attention not only to his what he is saying but also to what he is not saying through the language of his body.  Seizing the moment is stopping to smell the flowers and enjoying the fragrance. It is wondering at the sight of a rainbow or hearing a bird sing. It is chewing your food slowly and savoring the subtle flavors of food.  It is also talking to a stranger at your gate and asking for his name.  It is wrapping oneself in silence and whispering a prayer of thanks at the end of even a not so wonderful day.  It is staying still, listening to the inner voice of the divine and feeling His embrace.

And maybe after staying still and ‘seizing the moment’, I can finally phrase the right question and figure out the correct answer.”  

Writing of pain

Yesterday was the fourth day of my 21-day journey in creative writing following the book of Shiela Viesca.  “Writing of pain” was her suggested title.  I like what I have written on pain and I want to share it with you.

“My daughter Dani Mae tells me that I am a “been there, done that” kind of person.  Maybe yes, in many ways.  And in writing of pain, I must say that I have known of pain in all its shapes and sizes during the past 67 years.

I know the physical pain that comes from cutting myself or falling into the ground and scraping my knees as a little boy even as I get rewarded later with a loving and tender caring for my wounds from my mother.  But I know too the unspeakable pain in my mother’s eyes when she learns of my wrongdoing and is forced to inflict the punishment I deserve for my misdeed.

Later as I grew older, I learned gradually that there was pain too that was inexplicable to my young mind in losing a loved one or a significant other, just as there was a strange pain in being ignored by someone I cared for.  I experienced the pain of growing up as I had to make choices along a crossroad and learned what pain was when I got torn between two loves. 

In my adult life, I got to know more about the agony of decision-making as I followed my heart’s desire and not the dictates of external factors.  And the “unkindest cut of all” was the pain of rejection inflicted  by those I thought were friends who would stand by me no matter what my choice was.

As if coming full circle much later, I experienced a parent’s pain to see his child hurt himself in the process of trying to be on his own – as he takes his first steps, ride a bicycle or even or even explore the wonders of falling in love.  I felt the pain of letting go as my children learned to spread the wings I gave them as they tried to be on their own to explore and find their place in life.

I live in physical pain every moment at present.  I have chronic back pains due to an impaired disk in my lumbar area.  I cannot stand for long or walk far without my back and right leg hurting.  I wake up in the morning feeling like my back has been hit by the proverbial ton of bricks.  Doctors have recommended surgery of my spine.  But I have refused.  Physical therapy, exercises, and pain-killers serve as my daily dosage of fuel to keep me going.  I still thank God for my pain, although sometimes I feel like giving up.  I remain hopeful.

Today, I have come to embrace pain albeit reluctantly at times during my low moments.  But I have learned too that pain is not an enemy that kills, but a friend that allows you to be.  I am what I am today because of all the pain in my life."

Discovering silence

I picked-up a most wonderful little book from Powerbooks recently.  It is entitled “Quintessence of Creative Writing, A 21-Day Journey”.  Shiela Viesca, the author, says in her Preface that she wrote this book “in the hope that my thoughts may guide your major decisions in life; that you may set free those cherished opinions that for a very long time, have remained locked up in your mind.”  …”I wrote this book so that you might evaluate for yourself the wonderful story of creation that you star in everyday.”  It is really what Viesca calls a “21-day creative writing journal”.  This slim book is all of 21 chapters with every chapter consisting of a suggested title for the day, a short inspirational introduction by Viesca to focus your thoughts, and then 3 blank lined pages for you to write your journal.

I am now in my second day today, and so far, I find it quite interesting, to say the least.  Let me share with you what I wrote in long hand very early this morning through one sitting for about 30 minutes on the title: “Learning  Silence”.

“I first experienced the practice of silence in the seminary.  How I hated it then at first!  We observed absolute silence from after night prayers in the evening up to after breakfast in the morning the following day.  We practiced silence not only in the chapel at prayer time but even in the corridors!  We were told then that silence is necessary so we can commune with God more… But as a young man then still steeped in the ways of the world, I could not see it that way.  How I loved it when we seminarians were allowed to talk during recreation time or after a day of silence in recollection or in retreat, for instance. 

Later I realized gradually that observing silence is actually natural for me.  Maybe because I tended to think of myself even then as someone who had nothing good to say.  I also felt that I did not want others to know what I was thinking of lest I be laughed at.

I do not know now when I discovered that silence is the time when I am at my most productive moments.  I also found out the truth of what I was taught earlier in the seminary that it is only in silence that I would discover my God and ponder my relationship with Him.

Just a while ago, I found myself in silence in the aloneness of my self, of my being...  You see, I woke up early and dressed myself for mass only to find out that there was no transportation available for me as Thelma my wife had already left ahead of me. 

As if by instinct, I went back to my chair and decided just to pray the rosary instead in the darkened silence of my room.  It was then did I realize that I was all alone at home… and my tears started to fall as I felt like a child abandoned...  Thelma is in church, Pizza is serving at the Discovery Weekend with Jay, Nico is in faraway California with Cecille and Nicole, Dana is in Pasig with Marco waiting for the birth of their first baby, and Dani Mae has just left much earlier for a DLSU tree-planting activity in Bulacan.  How long has it been when my wife and children were always all around me?  Is this a foretaste of the end?  I asked myself.

As I prayed the Joyful mysteries, the 3^rd mystery of the Nativity suddenly hit me.  I remembered and even smelled Christmasses past of my childhood when Christmas was Christmas.  But for some reason the 5^th Joyful mystery of the Finding of the Child Jesus in the Temple hit me harder as more tears began to flow.  A joyful mystery?  What is joyful about this mystery for me? 

Then I recalled all of a sudden the trip Thelma and I made to New York in 2003 (?) to visit our son Nico.  I realized then that that was my own finding of my son who had grown up in wisdom so quickly from boyhood to manhood after he decided to go on his own to pursue his American dream… The mystery of the Finding of the child Jesus was a painful experience for Joseph and Mary, but it turned into unspeakable joy in the end just as my own finding of my son did to me.”

PIZZA!

I have always been amazed by the swiftness of time. Today, my eldest child, Pizza, turns 30. Allow me to do some bit of reminiscing…

After we got married, Thelma and I sort of mutually agreed to have a child right away since I was already 36 and she was 27. We prayed for a baby girl and even had a name for her already – Eliza Paz – after her two grandmothers, Thelma’s mommy Feliza and my Inang Paz. But the baby did not come without some apprehension on our part. Thelma’s first pregnancy was, to say the least, problematic.

Sometime in October 1979 on the 8th month of her pregnancy, Thelma started to have labor contractions with bleeding that forced me to take her to the old Medical City then in Mandaluyong where I was the Human Resources Manager. It scared me no end when her OB told me that there was greater risk of losing the baby at 8th month than at 7th month. Thelma’s condition fortunately stabilized after seven agonizing days and then we were sent home. At her OB’s advice too, she stayed in bed at home 24/7 until the baby reached full term.

On November 2, 1979 after being advised that the baby was due and that Thelma must move around, I remember bringing Thelma to a supermarket and a movie that day. On the morning of November 3, a Saturday, Thelma woke me up and told me that her bag of water had burst so I immediately rushed her to Medical City accompanied by Mommy Eliza (Thelma’s mother).

But we were mistaken to think that the baby was ready to come out. No way! This baby wanted it her own way at her own time!

Thelma stayed in the Delivery Room in great labor pain all day of November 3 and into the early hours of November 4, Sunday, while I waited anxiously in our hospital room. Shortly before 3 am of November 4, her OB decided to perform a Caesarian section after assessing the situation. Thelma was transferred to the Operating Room and given spinal anesthesia. As her OB was poised to cut her up, lo and behold, our baby reared her beautiful head and greeted the world in grand and dramatic fashion!

Our God-given baby girl in answer to our prayers, was born at 3:20 am, a Sunday, on November 4, 1979 at The Medical City Hospital.

I held her, the first baby of my yesterday’s dreams, for the first time later that day in our hospital room. And you can just imagine how emotion-filled that moment was for me!

As planned, we named her ELIZA PAZ and nicknamed her Pizza, actually a mixing-up of the letters in Eliza Paz, but also an obvious throwback to our favorite fast food item when Thelma and I were dating before and after our wedding.

Looking back, I must admit that I probably missed a lot in terms of bonding with my eldest baby girl during her infancy, toddler, and even teen years. You see, from early 1980 to late 1984, I took up a job that was very demanding in terms of my time. Those years took me away from Thelma and the children (Nico came in March 1981, while Dana was born in July 1983) as I spent a lot of time in the office or in work trips abroad. My subsequent jobs too made me more of an absentee father. In any case, even given my shortcomings as a father, I believe Pizza grew up to be such a wonderful child and a very beautiful person in her own right.

Today, at age 30, my eldest baby girl is now a very devoted wife to Jason, a most loving and solicitous Tita to Nicole and soon to Maddie, and a caring Ate to Nico and Cecile, Dana and Marco, and Mae. I am praying very hard she would soon become a beloved mother too!


Looking at her now, I realize that Thelma has done an amazing job in raising her. But I too cannot help but remember a song from “The Sound of Music”: “but, somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good”, to deserve a precious daughter such as Pizza!