For a Stronger Body

Dear Ptr. Moe,

I cannot completely comprehend what exactly you’re carrying, and how painful it is right now. I know it’s hard, even without slipping myself into your shoes (which probably is a lot bigger anyway, LOL, ga-joke koooo).

Being ROLF’s youth pastor never will be a light responsibility, yes, but I know that even before you had decided to answer the Lord’s calling, He already had planned to place you in YA…for a huge reason. I had sensed something different inside of you, the first time you were publicly introduced to the congregation as an intern pastor. I remember the first day we met and I shook your hand. There was something different radiating in you I just knew was from the Lord. Now you’re here, with us, in a completely different position. His ways truly are unpredictable and mysterious. And although you always find yourself in pain, you’d know He’s just stripping you from the things He doesn’t want to remain in you. He’s pounding you. He’s scraping the soot from you. But He’s recreating a better you – one He had always wanted you to be: a man after His own heart.

I am sorry I really had not been sensitive with you for the past year, Pas. I had always looked at you as a strong man, with nothing to fear or be pained about. What I haven’t realized until recently was the fact that you’re just as fragile as we are. And here we are, probably increasing the burden you bear.

I’m sorry, Pas. I truly am. And although I seem like I do not care, I do. I do. Especially because the Lord wants me to, you will always be in my prayers. You will always be in our prayers. Remember that you are our pastor not because of worldly or supernatural chances, but because you are meant to be here. Things are going to be so much better and lighter in His time, Pas. (I know you already know that, but I’d just like to say it anyway to keep you comforted)

“Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5b

I am only a text, call, PM, or 500 meters away, Pas. Do not forget that! I am a friend and a sister; my ears are more than available for special times and talks. I may be a lot younger in years, but I still have been granted listening skills and a heart by the Lord. :3


"But God is the God of the waves and the billows, and they are still His when they come over us; and again and again we have been proved that the overwhelming thing does not overwhelm. Once more by His interposition deliverance came. We are cast down, but not destroyed." - Amy Carmichael

Stand firm, soldier.

Your gwapa na sister in Christ,

Aine

Compositions of Late

Please do take time reading this long-ish intro. :)

I had only started loving poetry when I had my first Poetry class where we had immersed ourselves in the reading and the discussing of the greatest poets’ works. It was at moment when I subconsciously acquired the knowledge of making out the mysteries of this kind of literature. But it was just that: reading, analyzing, and nothing more. I thought.

Although unaware, I had recently been writing some of my latest blog posts in poetry form. My co-major and friend remarked on how I had switched gear and now am migrating to poetry (which she finds beautiful HAHA, thank you), but I told her how I never really had written a poem. And she was like, “Are you kidding me?” After a moment of contemplating on her sudden mentioning of my pieces, I realized I DID find poetry the most accessible channel I could have in the literary world whenever I felt too emotional for spoken words to handle. I used to write flash fiction when I felt emotional, but I now find creating characters and a simple plot too much of a hassle especially because I no longer have all the time in the world.  Though, of course, I’ll never ever replace that dream of becoming a fictionist despite my fascination for poetry. I will be one, God-willing.

Here are two poems that I had managed to stitch together during our Org meeting a while ago. Sorry, Mayor, I was only half-listening. :3 I was just thinking about the position I am in now, how far I have reached, and how far I am yet to go, with God's grace.

North Star

Take two steps back.

Be flung towards the open.

Wings spread far across over

The green sea of ancient.

Flap, glide, and plunge.

Grow weary.

Beady eyes towards

The isle beyond Horizon.

Hear a trumpet call

Miles across your point.

Reach out farther off

East and west.

Wall-high waves crash.

Sea water sprays.

But sail forward, go North.

Follow the Star that never moves.

Firefly

Limping, she walks.

Stuttering, she talks.

Blinking, she looks,

And flickering, she shines.

Dodging, she glides.

Fluctuating, she remains.

Boldly, she tries,

Yes, flickering, she shines.

P.S.

I had started writing poetry when I was seven. The poems I had written were mainly for my parents, but when they encouraged me to compose more, I decided to keep a journal for them (along with the a capella songs I had also written). Sadly, I had lost the journal the year I decided to stop writing poems altogether as I never found myself good enough. That was the time I didn’t know I would be an English major. That was the time I thought I wanted to be an actress, a flight attendant or an astronaut. I never knew that after eight years, I’d go back to the first genre I had ever liked.

Broken Altars, Forgotten God

Broken altars, scattered stones,

Crumbled fragments and a forgotten God

Indistinguishable heaps of rubbish

Desolate shrine

Pathetic momentoes of a Forsaken Love.

Of broken covenants and dead worship

Of polluted and missing sacrifices

Of faded loyalties and stifled visions,

Also of a llonging, hurting God.

O, to have known You and loved You

And then to fade away

Into disloyalty and spiritual decay;

Or worse, into deep darkness and degradation.

It’s not only to lose life’s highest incentives

Or heaven’s holiest spell

But also to lose life altogether.

No wonder – ‘There was no peace to

The one who went out, nor to the one who came in,

But great turmoil was on all the inhabitants of the lands,

So nation was destroyed by nation,

And city by city, for God troubled them

With every adversity’ (2 Chro 15: 5,6).

So said the prophet Azariah.

Though spoken thousands of years ago

There is still relevance in the prophet’s words

At this hour of universal darkness.

Where earthquakes and tsunamis, hurricanes and typhoons

Sicknesses, diseases and terror acts

Deluge us almost daily, with meaningless deaths in every land,

There is no true peace and rest, Lord

Within the heart of every human being.

So raise up, O God, Elijah-type of men.

The remnant is calling for their soon release.

Let the intensity of our prayers cause a Divine Stir

For their soon release, to stand strong in every land.

Come Elijahs, come! We have been waiting long.

Come, gathered those scattered, broken, disorderly stones,

Come, rebuild God’s altars; raise up the shrines

Establish God’s honor once again, and lay the sacrifices on.

Then call for holy fire – the one that comes from above

The fire that consumes carnality and checks evil from within.

For we want no other, for others have left us, O, so dry

We seek the one from above, for only this one will satisfy.

by Susan Tang