Finding my "KUYA"

The final Thursday in March a marbled sunrise of gold rays and white clouds erased a sleepless night. It was time to write, but by noon I confessed to my eldest son over the phone, “I can’t write! I can’t do it!”

This was NOT my response to the question Miguel posed to me last week Wednesday, “Does God want you to arrange flowers or to write?” He knew I was into a search for ways to arrange silk tropical flowers rather than a new blog on my laptop.

I paused, then asked Miguel how he would answer the question, -- if he was I. God muzzled retorts, yielding to our double resolution to seek His affirmation for each of us.

For myself God’s amen came last Saturday's evening worship. Sunset’s glow brightened the blue and white robes of Jesus rising into heaven in the main stained glass window. In pre-service practice our Praise Team’s instruments and vocals soared unified to heaven.

Practice chitchat was upbeat. One had a possible job. Another had all negatives on his medical tests. Another talked about his daughter’s wedding plans. The new acoustic guitarist, Ricardo grinned as he showed me photos of his two sons. He pointed to a photo of his granddaughter as a child then laughed as he said she was really fourteen.

In the break before service, I asked him where he used to live. Ricardo verbally opened his suitcase of jobs- a K through 12th grade teacher, an insurance then financial consultant, the music director of bells and choirs at a major church.  In Santa Fe he said he wrote articles so well, he became a managing editor.

Quickly I handed him a piece I wrote the day before Miguel asked me his piercing question. I hurried to my worship mike.

After a final song of “My Life is in you, Lord,” Ricardo privately commented on my writing. His comments blessed me just as much as our hurried chats about Chicken Tinola, Pancit, Bibinka cake, and other island treats. I should have had him over to cook.

Son of an American and a Filipina, Ricardo spoke perfect American English but unlike me, he understood Tagalog.  Since his kids were older than mine, he was like an older brother, or "Kuya" in Tagalog. The next time I saw him I vowed, in respect, to address him as Kuya.

Instead Sunday evening Kuya suffered a major heart attack. On Monday I learned his next 48 hours would be critical. Many Mt. Calvary folks signed onto the Prayer Vigil my beloved hubby encouraged me to start.

Still, how could anyone recover from blocked major arteries, diabetes, and a failing kidney?

* * *

On Friday I interrupted another floral search to write this. Ricardo attended our church for nearly two years. These past months Ricardo directed Bell Choir and for the past three weeks he joined our Praise Team, loving the blend of liturgical order and contemporary songs. For our beloved brother this Saturday our church has two services, the first, a memorial, the second, evening worship with his favorite songs.

Through tears I will look to the stained glass depiction of Jesus' resurrection. Death will happen, but those in the Lord will be resurrected in hope, strength, abundant life in the heavenly kingdom where one day I'll find Kuya in multilingual joy.

Blindsided, Part 2 of 3: Submissions

Dawn slipped through the bedroom blinds to sprinkle onto my eyelids at the appointed ordaining, all too soon for my willing.

When I finally awoke, I had a headache and a late breakfast. Of course Buddy came to the rescue after I asked. He served me a cup of water and half of a caffeinated tablet. If I took the whole tablet, my eyelids would close and my head tilt off, proof that I could take Ritalin for my whirling dervishes.

My head stopped pounding while I nursed my melancholy baby of a mood.
I prayed and paced. No, I begged. I begged, as always, for my kids who did not receive job news or contacts the previous week, this week.

Surgical recovery was my excuse for not submitting manuscripts since Thanksgiving when Doc E first corrected my eyes. The left dominant eye just would not focus beyond 20-40. Nevertheless, I had not submitted any good manuscripts since the previous year’s Thanksgiving when my beloved lost his job.

In this merry, merry month, the books and checks have arrived for my 2007 submissions for A Cup of Comfort Devotional for Mothers and Daughters and A Cup of Comfort for Parents with Special Needs. These printed pieces quietly prompt me to tell you fellow writers or those yet to be published, “Keep on, keeping on. Write, then submit what you write.”
For you without good jobs, the encouragement is the same: “Keep on, keeping on.”

Like Buddy does with his Abilities Discovered counselor, he submits. In dashing dress shoes, pants, and casual button down shirt, Buddy smiles as he submits resumes all over town.

“Hi, how are you?” he’ll respond in greeting. Bud is challenged by direct questions. He knows how to work through his blind spots, to grin a dashing smile as he turns to his counselor for her to answer. Even if he’s turned down, he continues to smile and submit.

I turn to my own Counselor, but discover it’s me, myself, I who must finish the queries. I must keyboard to submit and also submit to the One who gives me the fuzzy faith to overcome the frown of rejection with the smile of trust.

How do I write 1,000 words per day?

My weekly blogs hover around 400 or less. 1,000 words a day, that’s what one author recommends as a goal for aspiring writers. Like walking 10,000 steps, a regular goal is a viable way to muscle up and tone healthy in whatever work you pursue. Where to begin?

These days I’ve been more mommy than writer. Especially since my beloved is on a multi-week work trip, thank God he has work.

In addition to handling the finances, I do the errands. I drive the kids to regular fellowship and church. I schedule doctors’ appointments and making the trips to them. A few weeks ago I blogged when I was supposed to be at my periodontal dentist’s visit. Never again. My computer calendar now emails a day ahead, notices of our medical appointments, etc. Doctor and dentist business cards decorate the wall mirror I face each day in the master suite. And I let the doctors’ offices call ahead to remind me.

Days fill with scraps of worded lists: what to buy, where to donate, whom to call, new addresses, more contacts. Check, check, check, check goes my mind morning to evening.


There remains 1,000 written words a day, a goal I failed to reach last year. But I can talk those words. Oh, we women, we talkers easily breathe a thousand words, a thousand opines, or catty remarks, not in one day but maybe per hour.

Maybe we need to check, check, check, check our tongues.

I need my daily appointment with the Doctor whose Word frees my tongue from verbal innuendo, impurity, gossip, four letter rage, envy, strife, “and the like.” On his script is a better list that nourishes me and spreads vitality to others, if I chew the right fruit.

“... the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”

Note the “and” at the end of the list. Patience is not an option. Not. Neither is self-control. All these fruits are vital to a contented life even in hard times. Hard times and suffering have a greater purpose. They ripen the fruit of the Spirit in us. Hardships mature us, polish us luminous and precious.

Whether a writer or a mom or whatever I’m to be, I pray my 1,000 words a day be selective yet juicy fruitful.

What say you?