Ramble: Moving houses

We sold our house on the plateau overlooking the Metro to permanently move into the heart of it. 

It wasn't a rash decision, being something my husband and I had talked about for many years. Even before the pandemic, we were no longer living at home on a daily basis. 

But it made other people sad. 

I guess I am really strange, because I had moved several times in my life and I don't recall being sad. Or maybe I just conveniently forgot about the sadness.  

What I do remember is being happy and excited. 

First move

When I was small we moved from our house (one my mom's parents had given her as a wedding present) to an apartment that belonged to my mom's sister. I didn't question the reason or the need for the move, for sure I was then too young to do so. 

This move though, had something that made me sad. It included using this brown car that I did not like. I remember telling the family driver to drop me off a distance from where my friends were because I did not want them to see me in that car because I was ashamed of it because it was ugly. Much later on, I found out it was a highly respected European car brand -- actually, it was a Renault. 

grabbed from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:1971-1976_Renault_16_TL_hatchback_%282015-07-14%29_01.jpg

But in terms of the apartment/house itself, I was simply excited about the new rooms and spaces.

Second move

I also remember moving to another aunt's house. This was even more exciting. They had a big yard. And a colored television! Something like this

https://collection.sciencemuseumgroup.org.uk/objects/co8066774/sony-trinitron-colour-television-1969-1970-television-receiver

I don't recall being sad about moving to that house, what I remember is getting sick and having to move from an upstairs room to a downstairs room, and pass through the living room where my eldest sister was having a teenager's party. 

But I was not happy then because I was sick, and I did not want to bother her party. The rest of the time, I was happy.

Third move

Then there was a move to my grandmother's downstairs house. Still on my mom's side. My father's family was in Mindanao. And thinking about it now, those moves were probably because of him, so we would not have been moving in with his family. My parent's eventually separated in fact, became legally separated, and obtained a Declaration of Nullity from the Catholic Church. But that's another story. Back to my house moves. 

Moving to my grandmother's downstairs house was exciting. There was an even larger yard, a "nipa hut", a pond with crossing stones, and a secret garden. There was a large Calachuchi tree that let us climb to the roof -- in our own home there was a malunggay tree that let us access the roof, so we spent quite some time on the roof, especially when we were running away from our dad's mother's punishments, but that's another story too. 

Two memories in my grandmother's downstairs house and her roof were getting burnt by the Bhagwan (TM) water heater and sitting on the roof watching the house across the street go up in flames and feeling the heat. Hot memories. 

Final move

Our next move was to our new house that our grandmother had helped my mom build on another aunt's property. My mom had wonderful sisters, and I still have three wonderful aunts up to this day who continue to support us with their love and prayers. And I'm sure my mom and her sister with her in heaven are both praying for us and loving us till too! 

Of course moving to our own new home was exciting. It was big! There were big stairs. It had tile floors and "anay" finish walls. and large windows. The room I shared with my twin looked over the garden and had two big cabinets, shelves and drawers. It was a happy room! 

So, no, moving houses when I was a child did not make me sad. I didn't dwell on what I was leaving behind. Or at least I don't remember being sad about it. I know I never questioned my parents about the moves. But thinking about it now, maybe I should have. And maybe I should have been more of a support for my mom.  

What about you? Have you had to move as a youngster? How did it make you feel? 

Lessons in Humility

Note: I wrote this eight (8) years ago, but somehow did not get to publish it. So the post says I'm 42 years old, but I'm actually already 50. The baby in the story is already seven, abut to turn 8, 

I'm a 42-year old milk machine

No longer so efficient

Some may even go so far

As to say I am deficient.

My fifth baby was born last month, fourteen years and 7 months after my fourth, and she has brought me one lesson in humility after another.

The lessons started with the realization that I was possibly pregnant. At a time when my life felt finally settled for the next few years, it was disturbing to think of the disruption a pregnancy would cause. I didn't even think then of the disruption a baby would be after he/she was born. It was also scary to think that I was already so much older than when I had my first four children, and I was quite unfit, physically. And the financial burden was another matter to worry about.

The first lesson in humility I got from my baby was the uncertainty and insecurity the possibility of pregnancy brought.

I put off confirming the pregnancy, but I knew that doing so could put my baby at risk. So I looked for a friend I hadn't seen in years who had become an Ob-Gyne. I needed someone who would understand my fears and treat me lika a friend, not just another patient in a whole line of patients.


My second lesson in humility was the need to seek out help. For me, who had always been self-sufficient and independent, going out of my way to ask for help was a new experience.

At around six months I went for my checkup and told my Ob-Gyne that I felt my uterus pressing down. She did an internal exam and confirmed that it was indeed low. She prescribed bed rest to ensure the baby didn't come out prematurely.  I was used to working or proceeding with my regular activities until the day before delivery, and having to stay in bed at six months was a real blow to me. This was my third lesson in humility, that I was indeed unfit to carry my pregnancy through under normal circumstances.

It was a blessing for me that my boss allowed me to work from home from my bed. I wasn't always very good about the staying in bed part of it, but just being spared the daily travel from home to work which took 3-4 hours was a huge blessing in ensuring I didn't deliver prematurely. This was my fourth lesson in humility, having to ask for special consideration at work.

A fifth lesson in humility which was not at all difficult for me, but which I consider a lesson in humility nonetheless, was the gift of an aunt of quite a large sum of money to help with my delivery. I am very grateful to her and all the others who extended (and continue to extend) a helping hand, quite often with a cash gift included. 

Thirty-six weeks, the milestone we were watching out for, came and went and we were relieved that the baby was not born premature. I had two incidents of early contractions which, thankfully, stopped. And the day came when I was really going to give birth.

The delivery gave me two huge lessons in humility. I was so proud of my four normal deliveries, all without anesthesia and with me wide awake. I was so good at delivering babies I didn't utter a single bad word nor moan nor groan much.  But now it was different. At a certain point the nurse remarked that my pain tolerance was so high, I wasn't complaining. She didn't know I had just texted my Ob-Gyne to please put me to sleep and give me an epidural for the delivery. My Ob-Gyne replied: Do you want to be asleep now or during active labor? Oh my! I wasn't even in active labor yet and already the pain seemed more that I could take. She decided to put me to sleep so I would be awake to push during active labor, and I had about an hour of sleep. I woke up to find that they were preparing me for the epidural. But before the anesthesia took effect I still had some time of contractions that were so painful and so long it seemed that there was no rest between them. I couldn't help myself I groaned and moaned and cried. The pretense of a high pain threshold was totally abandoned. I was weak and I couldn't take the pain. The sixth lesson in humility was this total dissolution of the stoicism I had been proud of from my days as a child playing stupid pain challenging games in the playground.

The seventh lesson came close at the heels of the sixth. My pride at having had four normal deliveries was totally gone. I got, as I had asked for, an epidural. I couldn't take the labor pains millions of women handle every day all over the world. From reading "The Good Earth" by Pearl Buck, I had always had the idea that delivering a child should be as easy as going out to the fields and squatting on the ground. At least it should be that easy for a strong woman. This was my seventh lesson: to have to accept that I was not a strong woman; that I was not the strong woman I believed I was. I even needed help from the doctors and the nurses to push my baby out.

The interesting thing about having an epidural was that this was the first time I really felt the baby coming through the birth canal, first the head, then the shoulders followed by the body until the feet came out. It is really quite a strange feeling.

After the delivery, the baby was allowed to latch on and I got to hold her for a while. However, something was wrong with me so they had to take the baby away and put her in the nursery. I was looking forward to rooming in with her but my blood pressure had gone up and the doctors needed to stabilize it first. I gave birth at around 4 pm and it was only around 6 am the following morning when I was deemed well enough to go to the nursery to feed my baby. To my chagrin I learned that my baby had been given formula. This inability to breastfeed my baby in the best way has been a continuing lesson in humility (my eighth). I, who always had so much milk in the past now struggle to feed my baby. The pediatrician thinks she isn't gaining enough weight and I am worried that on our next visit to the pediatrician she will say I need to supplement my breastmilk with formula. I am eating twice the amount of food I normally would to make sure I am not lacking in nutrition. I am taking a supplement to increase lactation and drinking a milk product as well.

The ninth lesson in humility is having to deal with the depression hormones bring after delivery. I've always prided myself in being very mentally stable. Psychiatrists I have had the need to converse with have always remarked how sane I was. Now I cry without reason at odd times of the day. I have sometimes put the baby down and left her to cry. I've gone as far as mixing her formula and trying to feed her from a bottle.

And the tenth lesson in humility? It is that, despite four grown up children and one grandchild, this baby is like my first child all over again. I feel so ignorant and so unprepared. And I guess it shows, because I have been asked by various people, including total strangers, nurses and other medical staff: "Ma'am, is this your first child?"

No, she is not my first child, she is my fifth child. But for the first time I have been granted the gift of these ten lessons in humility, for which I am truly grateful. 

Living by His Grace

It's been over a year since my last post.

Since then, my husband and I have both quit work, and he's started his own law firm, with me as his secretary, receptionist, researcher, writer, editor, driver, messenger and all around assistant.

We've been living by God's grace, totally dependent on Him for cases and clients. God works through our family, friends and other people around us, of course. But we have been given the special grace to  be aware, accept and be grateful, that the work that comes to us a blessing from above.

My mom has passed away, and we have been reminded that heaven is real, and is the future we should all work for, and train our children towards.

Striving for Poverty in Spirit

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, 

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 5:3)

In his Message for the World Youth Day 2014, Pope Francis says:

"You might ask me, then: What can we do, specifically, to make poverty in spirit a way of life, a real part of our own lives? I will reply by saying three things.

1. Try to be free with regard to material things.
2. Experience a conversion in the way we see the poor. We have to care for them and be sensitive to their spiritual and material needs.
3. The poor are not just people to whom we can give something. They have much to offer us and to teach us ... about humility and trust in God."

Do read the Message to get his explanation. It's a wonderful document that says so much more than what I've quoted above.


For this post, I'd like to reflect on these three things in my life.

1. Try to be free with regard to material things.

Detachment from material things is something I have been consciously striving for from a young age. Way back in high school, the only material things I cared for -- and spent my allowance on -- were books. And then I had a family at a young age; a sure way to limit, if not totally obliterate, one's discretionary income. Between wanting stuff and staying sane, I opted to detach and keep insanity at bay.

But recently I got a nudge that I still have to be aware of the pitfall of desire and envy for stuff. Sometime in the middle of last year I discovered eBay. I actually went so far as to order an iPad online. The ad called for a cash deposit, but before I could make it, my children warned me not to. After all, how could I be sure to get the product after depositing the cash. They asked me if I had even checked out the seller's credentials. They also advised me to schedule a meet-up instead. So I tried to call the seller and I texted a few times. As they warned, I never got to arrange a meet-up.

Six months later two of my children have hand-me-down iPads and I still don't have one. And one morning a strange but familiar voice inside me whined "Why do they have iPads and I still don't. Didn't I say I wanted one six months ago?"

I know it's just me talking to myself, but I was still surprised. I thought I'd successfully vanquished the green monster decades ago. I had not. I've realized I still have to be on the watch against him, or else I might one day find him overcoming me.

2. Experience a conversion in the way we see the poor. We have to care for them and be sensitive to their spiritual and material needs.

One of the major life adjustments of marrying young, for me, was having to take public transport. When I was younger, there was always a car and driver to take me and my siblings to and from school and wherever we wanted to go. But then I had to learn how to commute, and at some point had no choice but to take public transport.

This opened up a whole new world to me. I saw and met people I would never have known about had I remained cocooned in an air conditioned car. Not just the people in the vehicles with me but the poor people on the street. And while I have tried to be sensitive to the material needs of the poor I have encountered -- sharing food when I have some; giving some money when asked; even giving away a jacket I was wearing to an old man in the rain -- this is the first time I have been confronted with the fact that I should also be sensitive to their spiritual needs. More thought on this needed!

3. The poor are not just people to whom we can give something. They have much to offer us and to teach us ... about humility and trust in God.

Sometimes when I see poor old people on the street selling stuff or doing some kind of hard labor, I think to myself I would not be as indefatigable. I imagine I would just quit working, sit on the sidewalk and beg. An attitude which points out I don't think very much of beggars. But this message from Pope Francis makes me think that beggars are the best teachers of humility. Maybe it is not that easy to be a beggar. Humility is easy when one chooses to be humble, but having it thrust upon oneself, I am made to think now, could also be a very painful experience.

Also, there is some irony in learning to trust in God from the poor. If trusting in God works, and the poor trust in God, should not God reward the poor and lift them from their poverty? But they remain poor! So how do we learn trust in God from them? Even more thought needed on this.


What about you? How do these three "things" work out for you?







 


 

Therese in the footsteps of the saint

Marie Therese turns 15 today. She's named after St Therese of Lisieux, and seems to have inherited some of the saint's characteristics.

According to the website of the Society of the Little Flower she was precocious and sensitive and needed a lot of attention. (Yes, that sounds like my own Therese.) Also, Saint Therese, after an experience that changed her at the age of 14 years, turned her energy and spirit "toward love, instead of keeping herself happy."

This reminds me of a conversation I had with my Therese recently. She was telling me how sad it was that youth nowadays are being taught to help others because helping others will make them (the youth) happy.

"What's wrong with that?" you may be asking.

While it's true that helping others brings with it a warm fuzzy feeling, surely the motivation to help should not come from the selfish desire to achieve that warm fuzzy feeling. There will be times when that warm fuzzy feeling may not come, and then you are left regretting the waste of effort or resources. Also, if you help others only to gain something for yourself, you are not likely to help others when there is a cost to oneself greater than the potential gain.

I know I'm not explaining very well, just ponder it yourself. At least I know that my Therese has got it right, and in her own little ways, makes little sacrifices to make life better for others, even if they don't make her happy. 
 



  

Blessie's Blessing

And the king will say to them in reply, 

'Amen, I say to you, whatever you did 

for one of these least brothers of mine, 

you did for me.' -- Matthew 25:40

(Thank you, Blessie, for taking the time to view this blog and for your advice. If you look to the right of this, you'll see I followed it.)

Blessie is a writer, editor, homeschooling mom and rabbit raiser. See more about her here. Her blog,  The Nanay Notebook, is the only blog I follow. Yesterday morning I sent her an email to let her know I was reviving this blog. To my pleasant surprise I got an email back from her with advice to add a Follow by Email gadget to this blog.

I've done as she suggested; so please, if you are reading this, do enter your email into the text box at the right under Follow me :). Thank you in advance.   

So anyway, I've got that bible verse up there because Blessie's act of kindness reminded me about it. Jesus himself, in effect, is clearly saying we should feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome strangers, clothe the naked, care for the ill and visit prisoners.

We can extend the idea to the extent that any good thing we do for anyone is a good deed done to Jesus. And then we can jump to the reverse of the idea: any good thing done to us by anyone is a blessing from God. Does that make sense? Well, that's the train of thought that made me think of the verse: Blessie's advice is God's way of helping me out with this blog. After all, it is called "living by his grace" because I hope to share how my life has been, and is constantly, shaped by God's grace.

So, as much as I dislike the Pollyanna route to happiness: "There but for the grace of God go I."

Feast Day of St. Thomas Aquinas

I don't know much about Saint Thomas or Natural Law. And much as I wish I had time to study about both, right now I don't.

But the Internet is really a wonderful resource and in less than five minutes, I've found out a nugget about St. Thomas: he wrote hymns!

A YouTube search resulted in this find, may it be a good start to this Tuesday.