Psalm 91

Last Monday, my mom and I went to GCC to inquire about their NET schedule and policy. She had told me to drive on the freeway so I pleaded with her that we go through the McDowell Rd. exit to loop 101. Going up on that ramp is just beyond me. I wouldn't be able to breathe. Tsk. And so, I was facing my fear of heights again. Aren't those brutal escalators in Arrowhead Mall enough?

So I drove to our destination while silently praying to God all the while that He would please pretty please guide my hands safely. Because the truth is, although I desperately would rather be just a passenger, I think being one for most of my life may have caused me some serious bout of paranoia. Or maybe it's just because I've watched too many freaky-car-accident related movies. I'm not sure. All I know is that I see crazy, stupid, reckless people driving, and who I believe are harboring some intense if-other-people-are-doing-this-while-driving-then-why-can't-I-? attitude. And it scares the living daylights out of me!

Either there's a girl madly texting, a guy smoking, a woman putting some make-up on, or a man looking anywhere but the road. What is up with that??? Don't these people realize that they could get hurt because of it? Or worse, that they could end up stealing other people's lives away from them?!

I was driving and afraid... which was not the right and best state of mind to be in when maneuvering a car. So for miles, I prayed, until we were on that bridge, where I literally had a hard time breathing. And so I prayed even more to God.

It wasn't until my mum and I were at Lee-Lee's however that I felt a little bit serene considering the fact that I was pushing our cart in the produce section rather furiously, the wheels of my mind turning. I had realized that my old friends Mr. Repression and Ms. Denial were back to haunt me. Not only that, but to remind me how much of a loser I am to allow them to oppress me, that I was nothing more but a soon-to-be-nineteen-year-old-girl who is still afraid of heights. How mortifying is that? There I was, picking up cucumbers, confronted with the ugly reality that I was afraid to face my fears. And not just any kind of fear, mind you, but every single fear I have since I was such a little kid. Well... most.

Throughout the drive back home--with my mum driving--I was really bothered. I was angry at myself, jealous of others who drove the roads with self-assurance and ease. We arrived at home, and I still thought about my two old friends whom I thought I'd successfully managed to ditch a while ago. Can't they understand that I don't want them around??? So, pathetically, I sulked.

Then around dinner, God came to the rescue! My grandma had buzzed me on YM! to inquire about my younger brother who had gotten sick during Youth Camp in California. I reported to her that although he was getting better, he was still in a bad shape, and that because of that he was isolating himself. Through my grandma, God spoke to me. She told me to read Psalm 91, to memorize it if I could. Here are my two favorite promises found in this prayer:

1. "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust" (NIV, Ps. 91.1-2).
2. "'Because he loves me,' says the Lord, 'I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation" (NIV, Ps. 91.14-16).

After reading Psalm 91, I was numb with excitement. My grandma may have meant it to ask God to heal my little brother, but I knew that it was also an answer to my burning questions as to why I was still afraid, given that I pray really hard for my driving skill to improve. And I am extremely particular when asking God to take away my fears pertaining to technical road journeys.

In no time at all, I got my answer. I realized that I haven't fully surrendered my life to God's reigns. I realized that I don't trust God completely with every fiber of my being yet. And that resistant force was impeding me from going to places. It's hindering me from moving forward, and actually dealing with my fears. By not wholeheartedly trusting God, I am making myself slave to my fears, instead of being my fears' master, as God is to me.

The beginning verses of Psalm 91 clearly states that if we are living in God, meaning that we trust Him to keep us safe, then He will protect us. The key word is trust. In the last verses of this chapter, God summarizes concisely His examples--in former verses--what He will do for us, once we surrender our lives to Him with our trust.

I can mutter desperate pleas of help to God in all the languages I know. I can beseech Him with requests for inner calm, presence of mind, self-assurance, and a round-the-clock rational head to deal with any kind of driving problems when I have to. So can you. And others that are struggling like us. But the thing is...

How can God shelter us, deliver us, protect us from harm's way, when we can't even provide Him one thing? Absolute trust in Him to do all of the above.

Heart of the Matter

I was maybe six or seven, with the bangs, and living two houses down from my maternal grandparents' house. I had a dream that, up until now, I could still vividly remember. I dreamt of my dad packing up his clothes and leaving the family. And in my dream, I was running around the house, crying my eyes out, begging the other adults in the household to stop him.

I was nine, still with the bangs, and living in a secluded peachy-coral neighborhood on the hills. It was a weekend, which meant my dad was home. And he was on his signature laid-back poses, sideways on the couch, watching the almost malfunctioning TV. I was wondering where my mum was, and I found her huddled on two opened suitcases, with her clothes neatly folded on the bed. I didn't know much, except for the fact that she was leaving for sure. And that she was crying. I asked her what's wrong, where she was going, if I could come. She pushed me so hard, that I scraped my right knee against the bedframe that was too big to fitfully hold the mattress. Hence, my loud crying. My nine-year-old mind couldn't understand why my loving, doting mother would harshly push me away. It seemed to last forever. But I hung on to her leg, and all the while she was walking around, putting her things away, like I wasn't even there at all. Until, she stopped, and I took the opportunity to run to my dad to make him stop my mum.

And a year later, I was still the girl with the bangs, and I was living in my maternal grandparents' house with my two little brothers. Both of my parents left. And my little ten-year-old self, in a white top and a dark blue minnie mouse PJ's, cried silently in loneliness, clutching my mother's favorite album of Kenny G close to my heart.

Those events happened a long time ago. But for years, after my brothers and I have been reunited with them, it was still hard for me to overcome my bitterness at having been left with no proper explanation in my grandmother's house. For years, I refused to understand that it was all for us, so my siblings and I could attend prestigious institutions, to have a better life. I became the black sheep. I became the bad granddaughter, the disappointing daughter, the evil sister, the wrong role model.

I started harboring some of the seven deadly sins. I became fluent in the language arts of cussing. I rolled my eyes at every adult in existence. I blamed everything to my parents, who were the root of all evil-Sammy, at the age of fifteen.

And here I am now. Almost turning nineteen, free of the bangs, and living in a house my parents have sacrificed for.

I knew I had a problem back then. When I finally overcame my resistance to the idea of God being there, and of Him simply waiting for my call, I immediately rushed to confide in Him my problems and the issues--trust and abandonment--I have been struggling with the most. I asked Him to heal my spirit, to mend my broken heart.

Like the little girl I was back then, I ran to Him to stop me from becoming such an angry person. I ran to Him to change me, so I could forgive the people who've hurt me the most. And to be honest, it hasn't been an easy process although I could tell that He is really working in me. Up until now, whenever I recall certain things in the past that have shaped me negatively, I lose my patience and revert back again. But with His never-ending grace and patience with me, I've been able to come back through. And I really, from the bottom of my heart, thank and praise God for everything: the answers, the push, the little reminders, His love, His compassion, His forgiveness, His grace and purity.

Yes, some wounds are hard to heal. But with God's divine power, every damaged aspect of our beings will be healed. He will restore us through His strength. And just like any recovery, we have to be patient with it, particularly recoveries such as this.

Michael Dowd's Thank God for Evolution

It is an undeniable fact that when my family and I are out--grocery shopping, dining out, shopping, watching a movie--there is a restrained excitement for my part, and an unspeakable evasiveness for my parents'. While I am hopeful that I might get a chance to buy a new book, my parents usually avoid the recreational, commercial areas where I could easily see the big street signs of either Barnes&Noble or Borders. If they find it inevitable, they have this rude habit of steering me away from the books section. My mum makes her pssst-aaaahhh. My dad summons me back to his side. And I mumble (rant, if I find a possible book) why they always take me away from my happy place. And ask them why they don't ever invest in my sanity when I mostly need it... to no avail, mind you.

A few months ago, we were at Fry's, and I immediately separated from my parents to go look at the beautifully stacked books. Even if I don't have the money to buy it, I go anyway because simply flipping through and inhaling the smell of pages makes me ascend to my own little nirvana. So anyway, I was about to find my parents when I caught a glimpse of "...God...Evolution." I stopped in my tracks. Interesting, much? It really caught my attention, and I couldn't help wondering why God and evolution were both on the same phrase. Obviously people have been talking about God and evolution in the same sentences. However, those were literally conflicting sentences that go back and forth until it doesn't make sense anymore. Those kind of sentences was much more common to me, which is why the title of the book was mind-boggling to me. I couldn't figure out whether the author was being ironic and satirical or he was being sincere and genuine.

There was only one solution. I had to buy it. But the thing is, I didn't want to mess up a mundane yet happy and blissful day with my parents, which was a possibility if my dad shook his head. So, I set the book down, turned my frown into a smile, and searched for my parents half-heartedly... not knowing that I would come across that book again in the following months.

Indeed, good things come to those who wait.

I was supposed to be studying for my ACTs this Saturday, but I spent some time today just caressing the pages of Michael Dowd's Thank God for Evolution. I got it yesterday from the same shelf where I had put back the one I took out. I don't know if this is the same book or not, but it doesn't matter. And yesterday, while I was just looking at it, I saw that its book cover was sticky and dirty with some unidentifiable marks. Normally, I would have been furious because of the damage. I consider it a crime. But I was just glad that my mum bought it for me. She didn't even argue with me. And I couldn't see a sign of restrained annoyance or something. And she isn't one of those people who've mastered the art of a poker face.

I started reading it this afternoon, and tonight I came across this: "...the more I learn about this amazing Universe, the more awesome my God becomes!" I couldn't help smiling because it's so true. I find myself easily relating to the parishioner who testified this.

I've always been a curious person, and I love learning (and anything to do with it)! Also, when I was a sixteen, I had written how I was more of a to-see-is-to-believe person. So, I had identified myself on science's side of the spectrum. But lately, thanks to Hebrews 11:1 (Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see, NIV), I'm slowly edging towards to something definitely better. I'm just really happy to see this self-transformation. And because of God's help I was able to change at all, to someone better.

And ever since my walk with God, I've come to strongly believe that everything-happens-for-a-reason-according-to-His-plan-in-His-timeline, and that everything-we-have-going-on-earth-and-in-our-lives-all-go-back-to-God-in-some-shape-or-form-or-another. Having this book in my hands is proof of it, because I'd realized while contemplating on what I had read so far that:

I've been having unanswered questions in my head lately about a lot of things, and I've been hoping (not even pray!) for answers. But tonight, I felt like I will find some of my answers in Michael Dowd's book.

God knows and understands our innermost needs and wants. And He is truly the magnificent provider. Even if you're not humble enough to ask for it, or you don't think He has the capabilities to make things work just how you like it... He will make it happen if it is what's best for you and others, in His time, of course.