my day.

I recently realized the beauty and value in blogging and journaling what we do in a day. For the longest time, since when I started online journaling, I had this immense disgust for solely blogging about how your day was, and what you did. To me, it was all... crap. To me, it was stupid and pointless--- self-centered really. Who would care to read a blog if it only talked about what you did? But I've been reading a few blogs that did just that, and I find myself appreciating their little ramblings about their day.. it's like seeing the world from their own eyes while simultaneously hearing the thoughts that go through their head.

Often times, I think I should only blog and journal if I have something worthwhile to write, only if I have something valuable to share: life lessons, thoughts, pains, the highlighted joy at the time. But in these past few days of grieving over loved ones, I've realized life is too short to be selective with what I recount. I want to look at my life and absorb whatever is in this place God has set me in. I mean, when you think about it, history is fascinating and could have only been appreciated if someone was writing it down. Thus, from this point forward, I would like to intentionally call myself a scribe, one who writes down what has been unfolded before them.

Here's my first attempt:

Today was my grandma's funeral. The night before she died was the hardest for me... the viewing and funeral were not as emotional as I thought it would be (but my lack of emotions may have been due to the fact that I don't know how to act around so many people.. like how do you greet your cousins, who you met for the first time, at a funeral? Do you smile? I just don't know)

My family came in late for the memorial service (we're stuck in filipino time, always late). We had walked in the middle of my Unlce Ferdi's speech, followed by my cousin Erika. One thing that stuck to me was their little footnotes about the relationships within their family. Uncle Ferdi recollected how Grandma Lina hated how the family would fight, and Erika shared how, last Christmas, when the whole family was together, there was a sparkle in Grandma Lina's eye, glazed from tears, and she said, "I am proud."

As I'm recalling all of this, I'm reminded of the night before Grandma Lina died. My Auntie Teri told me that Grandma hated it when the door to her room was closed. When she was sick, she always wanted the door open so she could hear all the noise.

After the memorial service, I know one sure thing about my Grandma Lina: that she loved love, especially the love within family. I'm sure that she wanted to hear noise because she loved the proximity of family, of people, the nearness of loved ones. That was her joy.

So I also got to spend some time with cousins and family who I haven't seen in a long time after the funeral. The sight of their faces makes my heart leap and I'm drawn immediately into an embrace. I just want to know them, and I hate every wall that is walled up simply because I don't see them often. They're part of my family, and I find it my right to know them... God I pray you let me know them, and that you let me love them this way.

Amidst all of this, my thoughts have also been flooded with the tears that come from grieving with my sister. This past week, her friend died and my heart is moved at how much of an impression he left on this earth. It isn't his good works that continues to resonate with the people he knew, it was his love. He loved well. My sister had known him for a short time, and had quickly come to love him as her brother. She'd told me stories about him before he died, and so hearing about his death shocked me.

Whenever she would tell me things about him, I could see something change in my sister. I could tell she was so touched by the love he so freely gave, so much so that it even changed me... You could tell that he was so transformed in the love of Christ, that it was able to expand, reach out, and grip my sister's heart, that it then translated itself into my sister's stories, and touched me, a third party. Wow.

I was reading one of his blogs, and he quoted Dostoevsky: "To love [someone] is to see them as God intended them."

I really like that quote.

And I really could keep talking about Love forever, and even if I did, my ideas of love would still be diminished. It's just so real and enlivening. It frees people, and it heals them too.

I want to love deeply every second of my life.

RIP Grandma Lina, and Matt King.

Food for Thought.

You either trade your life all at once, or you trade it one day at a time over the course of decades. Either way, you trade it for something.
"What will you trade your life for?"
-Neue Magazine, The Reproducing Church

I didn't have much care for this article, but it's initial question struck me, and stopped me from reading any further. What am I willing to trade my life for? More appropriately, what have I already traded my life for? ...What is it that I've given myself to in this life?



If it's for nothing, then all of this is in vain... how terrible would that be?

Oh! The illusions of this world are SO convincing! This idea that momentary pleasure actually lasts for eternity?? Uh, no. No. To live for the whims of this life, in this side of eternity, would be living dead: dead in the inside. I don't want that.

..just some thoughts.
[I should be working on 2 major papers right now... haven't started, yikes!]