Crucify Me For Not Lying

There is a strong possibility that this will be the last blog you will read from me, just because you might think I am lying.

I will risk it anyway, just because I will tell you the truth.

During my grueling surgery of 2013, my right fibula bone had to be harvested to serve as donor material to replace my lower jaw. While there was involved procedure that lasted for 12 hours, I came prepared for the aftermath. The doctors warned me discreetly about the possibility of sectional paralysis. I was told to practice smiling with my eyes. There was insinuation that my speech will be severely altered. I will have to train my core to compensate for the lost balance from the misaligned leg.

By the Lord's grace, my miracle hit all three with astonishing wonder.

I smile wider now. Yes, I lost my Asian accent (It turned quasi-British) but I now speak rather audibly. The balance issue is not that pronounced: I lose my stance often, but my core pings it. There is just this one little thing that I keep in secret: my right toe got stuck and won't move.

On the 5th day of Creation (no matter what that means), God created the great sea creatures. One of these was the Wild Alaskan Sockeye Salmon. Previously on the 3rd day, He spoke to existence all good fruits and vegetation. One of these is the Wild Blueberry.

I never thought of what these two pin-point creatures would do to affect me.

A caring lady from my church recently introduced me to an incredible claim. An extract has been formulated that allegedly facilitates at least 9 good things to the immune system, digestion, inflammation, cardiovascular health, cholesterol, cognition, overall circulation, sexual health, and energy. I was gifted with a sample, just because I seemed weak and in need of boost.

In the past three years, due to my condition, I was forced to resort to juice and soup diet. I remained healthy, but limited in strength.The reality of my physical challenge was well represented by my hidden toe. Since it no longer moved, it sort of signaled my entrance to the era of Old.

Until ... I took the strong medicinal concoction.

With all my skepticism in full alert, I had no argument for the sudden movement of this stubborn little stub. While I am writing this, I am literally flexing my toe up and down, just to make sure I am not day-dreaming. When something had not moved for 3 years and suddenly springs into mobility, it is probably safe to say that it is a miracle.

I thank God deeply for creating life and providing all that is needed to sustain it.

Only for the Curious: Download the app: Team Fusion (http://teamfusionwebsite.com/mobileapp (click "Guest"). Enter code: russelldiwa

Share Only The Optimum

Coined words abound. The early 21st century word "Zumba" is described in Oxford dictionary as thus:

an aerobic fitness program featuring movement inspired by various styles of Latin American dance and performed to Latin American dance music.

The gifted Colombian choreographer Beto Pérez spiked the wild craze. More often than not, someone better hides in the background, silently optimizing what looms commercially.

Such is the case with a wonderful human I met. Raised by grandparents, he broke through the lines of social paralysis with disciplined tenacity. I stumbled upon Nick in the most unlikely locus: the marketplace.

Before I was called to ministry, I did business. Years of teaching minutiae of microeconomics instilled a deep awareness of the dance of mammon. Alas! money is never a neutral commodity. The buck is driven by forces that always advance an agenda.

My recent conversations with this young man, reignited my passion to offer nothing more and nothing less but optimum. Nick surpasses Beto in Zumba points. When he speaks, there is a genuineness that reveals rare integrity.

It is quite a gift to meet persons who are humble from a sincere core. While he is a young and powerful entrepreneur, his teachability throws me off.

I always pray for my own willingness to learn for I am often shackled by my oversized ego. This is why it is so refreshing to stumble upon someone who carries such open swag.

Just yesterday, Mr. Soto invited me to help him build his spiritual muscles. I responded with a trade: "I will mentor you in the paths of God if you teach me the elements of your last name."

#SOTO {Share Only The Optimum}

Slow Wit

Winston Groom saw through the jewel of simplicity when he wrote Forrest Gump. In his remarkable portrayal, Tom Hanks wonderfully reenacted little bits of heroisms done on very ordinary days.

I was the invited speaker at a Young Professionals retreat. During the avocational break, we were at a spring pool. There is something about organic ponds that is truly relaxing. Everyone was unguarded and aqua-socializing.

Through the murkiness, I just decided to take some laps. On my third turnaround, my left foot hit some kind of flesh underneath. When my right foot paddled down, it hit the same. I decided to turn and dive through with curiosity.

My wife was a varsity swimmer. She once warned me about the dangers of rescuing drowning persons. A host of good people have been locked in arms of panic to their demise. I totally forgot this lesson.

As I lunged, I felt two hands pull me abruptly with adrenalin force. Before I knew it, there was a face writhed in confusion ... her contorted grab was so tight ... we were plummeting down fast! It was then that I figured to play dead to court her release. When she realized that I was nothing but dead weight, she freed me. I hit rock bottom and while standing at the pool base, I spotted her two restless feet about three inches above my head.

I grabbed both and with whatever little strength I had, propped her up to as high as I could. The leverage was all that she needed to surface her head above water.

When I finally surfaced to the concerted applause of the crowd, the young wife (whom I later learned was three months pregnant), kept on hugging me with gratitude for saving her life.

I was in daze for this. I had nothing to do with the rescue. I was just there ... due to the simplicity of the Life Saver who made sure that three lives be spared that one ordinary day.

It was such a Forrest Gumpy moment.

Who Are You?

The Lion King saga depicts Rafiki with a query of identity. He strains to ask the most significant question: the determination of one's true nature.

Denrick has always been a nomad. His life is a continuous search within the world's jungle. Whenever I get to spot the chase, I find a most unique poise: he is actually rested amidst the rumble.

While playing the part of a wise baboon, his countenance shines through. The wisdom of this man is sourced deep from the Lion of Judah.

There is an invitation for us to consider recognizing who we truly are. Our quest for selfhood only reaches its finality when we seek help beyond the heights.

The Maker of heaven and earth towers with majestic grace. He beckons all who are weary and tired to a halt. It is in this holy pause that we find God with a name granted to us.

We have never been monkeys nor beasts. Darwin is unwittingly wrong: his gaze only saw the fallen mask. He should have rested to discover the genius of creation and the Grand Director who wrote it.

Broadway Narrow Way: A Musical Journey

A Most Unusual Mind

Every now and then, salvation implodes in the most unlikely setting. Mine took place inside my head.

If I follow the kerygma of Paul's New Testament thought, alongside his disclosure of regeneration in Christ, he makes references about emancipation from ourselves. The theological jargon was sanctification. The daily slang is evacuation.

I was hit by a depressive storm.

Anyone who has gone through this deep dark night of the soul recognizes the utter loneliness of its unseen yet brutal incarceration. No one speaks of its looming reality. One can be at the eye of its swirl while camouflaged.

I know this by heart: I roamed the earth with cunning invisibility.

I slept through its tectonic murmurs hoping for breath to snap. It was a hole too deep for hope.

If it were not for God's extrication, I would have long been gone. He used a most unusual rescue operation: the mind of a stranger:

I do not quite know him well, but ...

He loves vintage.

He spits words that are best processed by dissertation proctors.

He is young and restless.

He longs for sabbath every single day.

He is depressed by this world.

He is addicted to thoughts.

He is a pseudo-modern monk.

He is broken and healed.

He is quite unaware that perhaps, through his own struggles, God had used his moorings to keep me afloat.

It is amazing how a mind so little can affect a prodigious gloom.

I recently peeped into the metrics of my blog and was amazed how 30,000 viewers might have actually been affected by my puny thoughts just as I was altered by AJ's inklings. 

Please forgive me, for stealing this shot from your crib.

Seeking Recreation

The first thing we discover about God pertains to work.

In the beginning, God rolls up his sleeves to create.

After six days, He sits back to drink of all the ordered beauty of creation.

The metrics reveal glorious goodness.

When we got ushered into existence, we were endowed with industry. It is through God's regulated tasks that we find deep expression to our passion. We work from the vantage point of divine joy and so we produce gladness.

Prior to the fall, there was no room for burn-out. There was nothing to burn. All efforts came from God and were directed towards Him.

Work is worship. We offer our utmost to His Highest.

With this wonderful arrangement comes the gift of leisure. We were granted six days of toil. We were blessed with a day of rest.

Work was designed to exist symbiotically with recreation. We crave for disport because it is a divine craving. We are called to celebrate the staggering imprint of God's technical support in all our labors.

Thus we take time for a walk, run a few miles, do some kayaking ... not to recharge nor take breaks. We enter into Sabbath ... in order to recognize the beauty of our Creator and all that has been lavished to us for faithful stewardship.

Visiting Mother

The glee that mother exudes when her children visit comes with intense significance.

Through the years, her deep joy is found in mere presence of family. When we are gathered, she seems like a mother-hen, satisfied in her posture of affection.

Mama was not quite the person that she is now. She used to be so detached in her own world. I remember growing up with a deep sense of inquisitive mystery on who she is to me.

It was life itself that ushered her towards a radical shift. Through her scarred challenges, faith grew to serve as anchor.

When Christ takes front, end and center ... a person's orbit truly spins to a halt and enters a new galaxy.

The beauty of Carolina lies in the depth of her growing selflessness. I experience Christ's heart  each time I get the chance to pop in.

Just the other day, she intimated her desire to gather her brood to a Mediterranean Cruise. She said "Son, it will be such a delightful time ... we will experience the bliss of just being together ... dining, dancing, and laughing."

She is well along in years. She has reached some apex of wisdom.

Her perception is right: we were crafted simply to dine, dance, and laugh for eternity.

Screwtape Leaks

The following conversation was retrieved from the encrypted text message between Screwytape (Head Demon) and Wormywood (Newbie Recruit) last March 7, 2016 at 3:00 AM HDT (Hades Standard Time):

Screwytape: You need to understand how your mission in the next hour determines the residual outcome of your initiation, right?

Wormywood: Absolutely Boss! Tony and May are prime enemies for years now. Their witness is insane. We almost had them to ourselves until that stupid Valentines Banquet when in a moment of weakness, the hunk junked all our seductions. I know it, Boss. Both need to be shelved. The highways of Dallas are running at speeds of 81 mph on average. The projections are ready: an oversized truck will hit his car with impunity. They will not stand any chance of luck, promise.

Screwytape: The damage they have been causing our movement is off the charts. The man works overtime for righteousness and she, despite all ailments we caused, stands upright with incredible beauty. May has to die today ... Do you understand this?

Wormywood: I have to go. The mess is scheduled to happen in a few minutes, Watch it on the monitor, Boss. This is my gift for our kingdom anniversary!

BREAKING NEWS: A white BMW is wrecked by a wayward truck which spun and turn-turtled twice. In what seemed like a sure fatal hit, both driver and passenger escaped unscathed. The driver of the big monster was spotted fleeing on foot. Police caught up with the culprit. The couple are both in the ER recuperating from whiplash.

Screwytape: You realize, you stupid neophyte what this will cost you, right?

Wormywood: Boss, I don't know what to say. The winged creatures intercepted our sharp daggers. They are too swift and strong. You know, we have no weapons against their invisible support. It happens all the time ... give me another chance please?

Screwytape: You are asking for another chance? Do you realize what just happened? They just registered their gratitude towards their Protector and a major crash in our stocks just demoralized half of my kingdom. If it were not for your mother, I would have chopped your head right now. Get out of my sight!

BREAKING NEWS (Heaven's Morning Version)

Michael Angel: My Lord, mission accomplished! Only their chariot got wrinkled. Both your precious agents are safe. I recommend an immediate flush of energy and logistical provision.

Holy Boss: I saw your timely intervention, my faithful assistant. Be sure to hold their hearts and sling their minds to Level One. Bless them with our full support. Stir their family to rally with deep affections. The Kingdom remains in its advance, as scheduled. Good work today, troops!

Reversing the Pyramid

The word enterprise finds its biblical roots in the Parable of the Talents.

Interestingly, the concept of business is presented from the vantage point of purpose. Jesus used the imagery of an opulent master entrusting his wealth to his servants. The transaction was based on a trustee relationship. The grant was accompanied by the master's discernment. Three persons were chosen. The first person was entrusted 20 years of salary. The second about 8 years worth, the third, 4 years worth. As the master went on a journey, they were left with a simple charge: work the resource.

The first immediately traded the 20 and it yielded 20 more. The second did the same: the 8 yielded 8 more. The first was paralyzed by fear, he did nothing. He buried his talent.

The Master arrived with an audit. The first two were complemented with sincere applause and promotion. The unwilling servant was reprimanded and sent away.

The parable is both deep and simple. It speaks of a unique perspective towards work.

It takes work seriously as it is received as an endowment from a benevolent Person who delights in good business.

I know of a man whose life and work are seamless beams of this diligent paradigm. Glenn reverses the corporate triangle by bridling his work to serve God and not mammon.

He mentored me recently about my tent-making. He emphasized the necessity of writing a covenant before one launches into the tumultuous market sea.

He said:" A contract must be signed first to effect the reason why we really work."

Thus I notarized mine: "I seek to reclaim God's wealth for His purposes."

photography: Paul Supelana

Things We Hold Dear

We own stuff.

At least, that is what we perceive.

We accumulate all sorts of implements to suit our preferences. Our propensity to acquire goods stems from the myth that one has to fend for his own. There lies within us the brokenness of abandon. We seem to share an imaginary shipwrecked existence where islands of goods are necessary. And so the law of supply and demand hums our musical cinematography.

We have been raped by a fatalistic deception. We are made to believe that all provision comes from human toil. To a certain extent, there is some truth in this but there lies a deeper reality: the curse of work has met its cure. 

When Christ hung on the cross of Calvary, he declared: τετέλεσται (It is finished!). With his work, our present labor takes on a different meaning. We travail not to secure our lot. We engage in diligent work to anticipate guaranteed blessing.

We enter into a new economy of trust. God gave us His Son. He will never withhold anything less. As we are endowed with gifts and talents, there is an accompanying invitation to consider holy entrepreneurship where we sign up as trustees under God's benefaction.

We recognize true wealth. God owns everything. We receive our calling as stewards. Our stuff is given to facilitate God's incredible magnanimity.

Our Boss owns the wealth of nations.

Adam Smith, the Scottish economist and author of the classic An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, was on point in referring to the Invisible Hand that steers all our transactions to where they ought to be.

Sketches: Jesse Sosa

Walk to Talk

I am troubled by conversations.

Words never quite represent the fulness of one's thoughts. Not unless, the one speaking clearly grasps what is being conveyed.

More often than not, I mumble for jargon not because I lack word-power but I leak in terms of substance. I have nothing good to say.

If it were not for the WORD who transpierced my world, I would have remained a monotonous clanging cymbal.

Late last night, I had one of those moments where my heart was registering a truth so opaque, my tongue simply proved inept. And so again, I caused unnecessary hurt.

Words are different when they are spoken without anchor. They are detonated with a thousand and one meanings. The recipient is either built or shattered in a million pieces.

I turn to the ONE who purifies His converse with blue flame. Every syllable given induces life.

I rise today surrendering my talk to a walk that leads to a holy bridle. I just hope my daughter forgives me for slicing her soul.

Photography: Renchi Arce

True Expression

The curse of our expressive generation stems from our wide but shallow accountabilities.

We are quick with hello and hug without true content. Ours is a social milieu clad with acceptable pretensions. Thus, when we get a glimpse of a true bond, we are drawn to its gleam.

My daughters beam this resplendence. Nika is getting married this June. Her younger sister will serve as Head Bridesangel. Their friendship is undeniably alien. This week, they both flew in from the Big Apple to host a bridal shower in hometown Texas. The production of this memory reveals much heart.

I find myself awed by this glow.

Oh how I long for a big brother who will pour out such devotion ... and I know ... how my younger brother craves for the same.

It is in moments of such capture that I am reminded of Christ's affection towards us. He has become our true brother. In our metaphorical role as bride, By will, He assumes the commitment to serve us with His utmost sacrifice.

Our shallow existence meets the depth of His outstanding grace: a true personal relationship with no guile but only enduring honesty.

Pool of Grace

During the economic hiccup of 1996, I worked as maintenance technician for one of Dallas's fine swimming pool companies. Prior to this necessity, I never had any previous experience of manual labor except for a few skirmishes with garden work.

The code was sterling. My assignments were all located in the snooty Highland Park. The new mansion of Deion Sanders (#21 Dallas Cowboys) was on my clean list.

I would leave home at 5:00 am and be done with 12 swimming pools by 2:00 pm. I would then proceed to Dallas Seminary for my PhD course work. 

Work seemed relatively easy until one stormy night. Since most of my pools were ornate, trees were plenty. There was a concerted test the following day. Thick leaves carpeted my work to a degree of impossibility. That entire day, I had no room for breakfast or lunch and on through dinner. At 9:00 pm, I was still vacuuming my last pool. As I slumped bone tired behind the wheel, my hands shook wild. My head throbbed while thoughts of pity cascaded. I began railing at God for putting me through such a trying day, while my peers were busy engaged in white-collared library work.

God does not buy drama. He was quick to redirect my heart. I was reminded of Paul who was given the privilege of emaciating work in order to facilitate Christ's news. If I was on to training, there was no other option but imitation.

As I drove home that night, I restocked my allegiance. I vowed to restart with holy fury. I reported early and had a talk with the boss:

Mr. Volholzer: It was pretty rough last night, huh?

Me: It was a nightmare but I made it through. I do have a request, though ...

Mr. Volholzer: You are not quitting, right?

Me: No, I'm not. May you please increase my training so that I can be your best pool cleaner?

Mr. Volholzer: What did you just say?

He went on to take me seriously as I sought God's grace to turn my menial work into stamps of holy demonstrations. I never left any of my assignments without signing my name. I gained a reputation for extreme clean and was dubbed "The Asian Guy."

It was not too long thereafter, the Lord took me from the waters and into the pond. Now that I serve as fisher of men, I look back at the gift of hard labor and the ease of grace that ushered me through.

Who Fights For You?

I once met a young manager endowed with an entrepreneurial and artistic hybrid. I was a frequent visitor at his work and as I observed, branded by his remarkable looks, he was constantly the center of lady-attraction. There was one instance when he initiated a conversation:

JeSo: I see you frequently here. You seem to be a man of thoughts. What is your craft?

Me: Oh ... I ... teach.

JeSo: Philosophy?

Me: Well, I'd take that. I teach about ... life.

JeSo: I have tons of questions ... do you have time to talk?

That was the start of a conversation which led to a friendship with a man whose search for a good fight led to a willing surrender.

It was close to Valentines when I offered him free tickets to a night of love songs. The Renaissance ballroom was full. The steak was good. The music was classy. He came fashionably late with his gorgeous girlfriend.

JeSo is the sort of a man who goes deep. His gym work goes insane. He spots for minute muscular tones. His physique only equals the graphic genius of his craft. That night, our conversation hovered on the nuance of redemptive love.

I never disclosed my work as pastor and so when I rose to speak during intermission, he was mildly chagrined. 

He began understanding life through the context of War and Peace. JeSo used to live his life with all sorts of battles. He saw the ineptness of any human effort to win against forces that one cannot even see.

Someone had to fight his battles. Someone whose scars and wounds have been shed for cred.

Recently, he confided about incessant battles that are insidiously pressing him down. I had to remind him that the war is over.

The scary nemesis are mere drawings with no real gravitas. 

Artiste/Illustrateur: Jesse Sosa

Why We Run

We run for life.

I met a beautiful man who asked me to mentor him through his life marathon.

There was no bible on our first discipleship. I asked him to bring his mountain bike.

The trail was engaging as it took us to a Japanese-bamboo route. He was thrilled with much frolic. And then, the throw-down: there were three consecutive 25 feet dips on rock descent. I screeched to a halt, while he (a veteran marine) went for the jugular. I heard his rambunctious glee as he went down and up, down and up, down and up.

Of course, he wondered where I was:

Tévan: Hey brother, where are you?

Me: I am still here ... turn around ... 

Tévan: Why did you stop? Are you tired?

Me: I cannot do the drop. This is why I took you here. The last time I faced this hole, I waited for the guys to pass and I had to walk it.

Tévan: Come on, just ride it. You can't be serious!

Me: I am dead serious. My past shackles me. When I was 9, I was on a bike race and I got into a serious accident. My bike was split and so was my boldness. I can't go past this dip. You have to mentor me.

Tévan: We will never leave this place not until you are able to negotiate this monster. I will show you how its done. Let's do this!

After a rigorous half-hour drill from master sergeant, there were two men zooming to and fro like unbridled boys.

We concluded the afternoon with Gatorade reflections. Tévan got the significance of a true teach. Iron has to sharpen Iron. When I asked what he learned through the overture, he quipped: "Indeed, life has its way of pounding us. We do need each other to take the u-Turns ."

We both run and have been falling quite hard. The bruises and scars serve as evidence to the brutalities and of the Grace-laden Rescue that comes with it.

Yesterday, I just called him asking if we can run again.

He said: "your timing is perfect."

Fake Accounting

Our generation is blighted with what the Psalmist calls endemic lies. 

The social media has gone viral in its scope of delusion. We amass an incredible network of friends without really knowing anything about these, except for a few lines of personal acclaim.

Gone were the days, when one had a friend or two, running on deep answerability.

Even churches have followed the Pied Piper's lead. The mega-sized congregation has entered the era of the Big Greet. We turn to the person next to us and we exchange chums. We lead them to believe that "we care and love them in the love of the Lord." Whatever. 

How can one truly care and love someone whom they barely know?

The reason for Christ's Incarnation rebukes our expressive catastrophe. God did not seek redemption from a distance. He sent His Son, not only to bridge the gap, but to enter our world. It is in the context of personal abiding relationship that salvation has come.

This leaves us with a challenge to audit our current list. It is either we know our friends or we merely know how to use them.

God never used a fake accounting system. He calls us to adopt true accountability by repenting from our relational pretensions while turning toward a bold resolve to enter deeply into the reality of our connected lives.

It is with hope that we shall find Christ wonderfully mediating there.

photography: Stella P. Sison

Secret Dance

The first occurrence of dance in Scriptures reveals the primacy of joyful worship. The bondage of Egypt was broken and Miriam initiated the expression of affective gratitude with tambourine and song.

Dance, like any other human mien, reveals a brewing mood.

During my recent birthday celebration, energetic youngsters shared a riveting number. Their moves flung with joie de vivre. While watching, I felt my own joints replicating the breaks. One thing quite conspicuous was their preference to cover their eyes to style their gig. They looked awesome but it somehow registered what I perceived was reflective of my own secret dance.

I groove metaphorically. How can I not express my daily gratitude for the consistency of God's blessing in my life. But then, my sway is somehow covert. 

One Sunday, right after church, I took my family to a Vietnamese Bistro. I noticed a young couple chatting while waiting for their food. I reckoned from their looks that they are actors: tattooed and with outlandish garb. My myopic bias stapled a label: with a crop of hair like those, they are dope-regular.

When food was served, I was put to shame by their witness. He held her hand while praying loud to Jesus with sustained thanksgiving for close to a minute.

I was challenged to take off my blinders when I declare thanks. Indeed, in all things I must bless the Lord of Dance without veil.

I just did that yesterday at a Muslim-run Dimassi's grill. I felt the stare of people while I popped my inner soul with glee for an extended mixx of praise.

Photography: Paul Supelana

Eusebio's Legacy

My grandfather, Eusebio C. Manalili (1903-1990) although silent, declares from his epitaph his life words: "In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths."

My mother fondly recalls the incredible entrepreneurial genius of this opulent man. He traded all sorts of things from medicine to real estate. Wary about the banking system, he hid most of his money in sacks. His manner and decorum were impeccable as his fashion was. He first introduced me to the necessity of preppy. Thus, he bought me my first wingtips. 

I only disdained visiting Lolo Eusebio for two things: First, two minutes right after a road travel, he would immediately coerce me to a walk to his barber. He would always require a full trim. I often wondered why Mom would always demand that I travel with a full pint-size coat and tie just to see my old man. He was so eccentric with details: he folded his soiled clothes. I remember always being reprimanded for not shining my shoes.

Secondly, he would always pull me out of bed to read the Bible. When this is imposed at 4 in the morning, the dereliction is disturbing.

On one of those mornings, he was reading the story of Joseph. He began sharing his own journey as a businessman. He spoke about the gift of wealth and who gives it. He intimated that I pursue the world of Economics as a way to honor God. This was rather confusing from the perspective of my adolescent digs. How can money and God tango? I once heard someone tag moola as root of all evil. But then, his long stories spoke as though God and money were never enemies.

One day, he laid hands on me and whispered a most unusual prayer: "May the blessing of Joseph be yours."

I never understood the implications of a patriarchal bestowal. What's with a mere uttered wish anyway? 

When I followed Jesus, I was led to consider the meta-narrative of wealth. I took Economics, I taught Economics, I tried Economics. My limited observation led me to a point of discernment.

Grandfather was indeed right. There are only two kinds of men: those who acknowledge God and are directed well; and those who act knowledgeable and are nothing but empty husks.

Warning: Explicit Prayer

I never understood prayer the way I encountered it on August of 2013. Everything that I had known from Sunday School and Seminary did not quite prepare me for a most staggering encounter.

It was C. S. Lewis who once said: "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."

I just came off from an involved 12-hour surgery. With my face swollen to a watermelon, and about seven tubes of blood rushing, I was wide awake at the ICU of Baylor Hospital. I was quietly alone. I could not move my face. My leg was tied to a machine while throbbing. I just lost my lower jaw and my fibula, but not my spirit. I was wide alert, thinking of family and church.

Since I was not able to sleep, I turned to my usual conversations with God. I told him that since I had so much time in my hands, maybe He could obliged me with a long chat.

What ensued was intensely alien and holy.

With eyes wide opened, I was ushered into a vista much similar to the dark battle of The Lord of the Rings. There was a surge of hideous monsters rushing with fury. The army was so thick, it seemed like the onrush of an ominous cold front. As I prayed, I was overwhelmed by the virtual transformation of my uttered words to balls of fire. Each time, I versed a prayer, a giant ball catapulted to the enemies. They were so scared of the meteor-like push. They were retreating in droves. And thus, I prayed and prayed. Names of persons were being downloaded to memory as I engaged in what has turned to an exhilarating offensive.

While all this was happening, I noticed a man standing about 3 inches next to me. I never saw such creature before.

About 9 to 10 feet tall. His face was about 2 feet long. His was the most beautiful facial symmetry I had ever seen; eyes were brown/blue. There was no smile, but serious delight. His body was so buff. Absolute zero body fat. No human skin but feathery-like eagle tone. No wings but strong and stable. His legs were massive like pillars. He was looking at me and was communicating not with words but through mind: "Continue your prayers. Do not be afraid, no one will harm you, I am assigned to protect you."

I was smitten with abiding peace.

The occurrence started at around midnight, when I roused Dr. Oxford was on his early-bird rounds. The surgeon asked how my night was. I was hardly able to mutter any words. I was too intoxicated with wonder.

Since that day, I never took prayer playfully.

Just last Wednesday, at the church prayer meeting, a young father was praying for  a young teenager. I stood from a distance shooting the picture of a raging invisible combat.

At the center of it all, is our LORD who guaranteed that as we pray, His peace that surpasses our understanding shall keep us sane and safe.

Pure Joy

Joy

comes

from

only 

ONE 

source.

It comes from a world not our own.

Joy

comes

from

knowing

only

JESUS CHRIST

the author of life.

He came to share His World to us. 

(the battery of Joy, included).