tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63955312024-03-18T22:49:40.096-07:00PARADOXICALThe faith chroniclesResty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.comBlogger1139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-14308801246580303192024-02-13T13:39:00.000-08:002024-02-13T13:39:47.490-08:00Copy pasted inspirational<p> One day, I came to God with a broken heart.</p><p><br /></p><p>I told God my heart hurts. The kind when the pain felt too real you could almost even touch it. And like a Father to a child, God asked me why. Why it hurts.</p><p><br /></p><p>“Because I wasn’t loved back. I’m not loved,” I told God in response.</p><p><br /></p><p>The moment I allowed that thought to linger in my head, I realized it wasn’t true.</p><p><br /></p><p>It wasn’t true because that week, when my heart got broken, my friends gathered around me when I cried and they loved on me.</p><p><br /></p><p>Above all, I know God loves me. He loves me enough to catch me before I fell too much in love with someone that God didn’t prepare for me.</p><p><br /></p><p>Realizing that, the “I’m not loved” drama immediately sounded so cheap. And so not true.</p><p><br /></p><p>“So why does it hurt?” God asked me again. Not because He didn’t know the answer. But because He had a point to make.</p><p><br /></p><p>This time, I thought long and hard, and searched my heart. And once I finally found the source of where all the pain was coming from, I boldly let it out to God like a child showing a badly skinned knee to her Father.</p><p><br /></p><p>“Because I was not chosen,” I cried.</p><p><br /></p><p>The thing is, you do not need to get your heart broken by someone to know how it feels like to not be chosen.</p><p><br /></p><p>We have our own share. Somewhere, somehow, someone was better than you and that someone else was chosen over you.</p><p><br /></p><p>It hurts. And I’m sorry if it does.</p><p><br /></p><p>When I cried to God and told Him that it hurts to not be chosen, this was what He whispered to my shattered heart:</p><p> </p><p>“But I have already chosen you,” He said.</p><p><br /></p><p>And then He reminded me of what He did to choose me. To choose us.</p><p><br /></p><p>Chose to be hung on the cross over the comforts of heaven.</p><p><br /></p><p>Chose for His whole body to be broken so my broken heart could be whole again.</p><p><br /></p><p>Chose to love me even when I didn’t deserve to be loved by Him.</p><p><br /></p><p>Chose to look at me worthy when there was nothing worthy of me.</p><p><br /></p><p>And being chosen by Christ—Love Himself—would always be more than enough to bring healing to all our broken parts. ❤️</p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-33203768068766084992024-02-06T21:04:00.000-08:002024-02-25T03:50:00.372-08:00Digital death<p> </p><p>Sometime in September of the year 2022, I received a
surprise most rude, and it was near the date of my birthday too. I was
in the middle of my usual browsing in between websites and social media
accounts when I was suddenly locked out of my Facebook account, the
original one I set up since I can no longer remember when. (I was one of
the last holdouts then among my peers.)<br /> </p><p>In one fell swoop, I
lost everything -- well almost everything. I lost an entire online
archive of essays, rants, thoughts during extra-lucid and emo moments,
over-shared viral posts that took my interest, the engaging comment
threads that went with those, and most especially the irreplaceable
photos.<br /> </p><p>Of course, I lost all my contacts along with it.<br /> </p><p>How did it feel?<br /> </p><p>It
felt awful. I didn't know I was so dependent on FB that my life had
been revolving around it. I practically opened and closed my day with
it. It was where I chatted with everybody -- from family to friends to
coworkers and informants to total strangers who needed my help as
information officer.<br />In an instant, it was all gone, like my house burned down, or was swept away, or eaten whole by termites while I
wasn't looking. So yes, it felt like a kind of death.<br /> </p><p>I was
so disappointed by the rudeness of it all, since there was not enough warning and all. In its aftermath, I
was groping in the dark for solutions that needed to be immediately
found, when it struck me that I should probably just create another FB
account.<br /> </p><p>It was so ridiculous that as I was seething in anger, I was also fighting off the urge to laugh inside me, as creating another account was as easy as ABC. </p><p>And
so, while I and my coworkers were left wondering why, I immediately
created another account just so I would be able to inform everyone of
what happened.<br /> </p><p>But like a plot twist from a very bad script,
that, too, got mysteriously locked just as I was warming up to my new
life online while trying to recover my 2,000-plus contacts. It appears that, while I was adding a contact after another at a fast clip, FB interpreted it as a bot's activity. <br /> </p><p>Good thing I have this habit of backing up my long articles, so those were safe. But the rest was gone, forever.<br /> </p><p>What went wrong?<br /> </p><p>With
FB not giving any clear reason why, I could only speculate. Maybe it
was the photos of boys being circumcised which I regularly reported as
part of the medical mission of sorts held regularly by the local
government. To be fair to FB, I was warned about that, even though I
have routinely pixelized the boys' genital area thinking there is
nothing to it, nothing that violates their person, invades their
privacy, or nothing that is sexually suggestive in the least -- after
all, these are but kids. I received some penalty for it (like my page
appearing less in people's timelines or something), even if I made an
effort to explain my side. I took all that injustice on the chin, but
not without some resentment for being thought of as a ped*phile, I admit.<br /> </p><p>But to go through it twice in a row is most discombobulating.<br /> </p><p>I
mean, what have I done? I am not into terror, I don't do porn, I am not
slandering anyone or stealing somebody's identity. Am I some kind of
criminal that I deserved to be treated like that? Are my years' or
decades' worth of content not enough reason to be more considerate and
circumspect on their part?<br /> </p><p>Apparently not.<br /> </p><p>Apparently, what I needed to do was to make yet another account. Fortunately, I didn't have to. <br />I
remembered that I had another pre-existing account that I barely used,
so I went back to it and used it as my new account. The only catch is,
it was under a pseudonym. But that was just as well, given how
traumatizing now to identify myself under my real name.<br /> </p><p>I am
slowly recovering my contacts one at a time and I am largely back in the
social media game. But the pain of being digitally killed still
lingers, especially since I am now sporting a new name, the choice of
which I have to constantly explain to anyone who asks. (For the record and to end
speculations, it's a code name for my hometown, whose patron saint is
St. Vincent Ferrer.) Somehow, I feel like some kind of a felon forced into
hiding for nothing.<br /><br /><br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-33835371843008766392024-02-03T19:34:00.000-08:002024-02-09T13:24:08.403-08:00Quote: What if sickness heals?<p>"We are sometimes so focused on being (physically) healed that we tend to forget that sickness itself can be a way to get healed, spiritually speaking, that is. ... Didn't Jesus himself go through pain and suffering? Didn't he too bleed that we might get healed?" - today's homily</p><p>But...did Jesus ever get sick? I don't think so. But if he was indeed truly human, he would have had a headache or flu at some point. </p><p>Anyway, the point is well taken. Jesus at least went through physical pain and discomfort, even of the worst kind: physical-emotional-psychological torture.<br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-43793354601137674172024-02-01T17:13:00.000-08:002024-02-27T18:20:07.352-08:00How I became an LGU PIO against all expectations<p>(Context: This is the latest installment (Part 5) of my online book, "Adventures of a Fortune Cookie Writer, So Far.")</p><p></p><p>I consider my story of being hired in the Local Government Unit (LGU) of Bayambang, Pangasinan a miracle,
not the least because I didn't have any of the usual political connections to get
in, if you know what I mean. (I am not privy to how they did the background-checking on me, but I heard that my schoolmate, Gene, who was the appointed MDRRM Officer, vouched for me.)<br /></p><p>In August of 2016, I was staying in my cousin's place in Pasay City, working from home on projects here and there
as a freelance writer-editor. I just lost my full-time job at MIMS Philippines after my contract ended. I was
almost at the end of my rope, professionally speaking, barely keeping
it together.<br /></p><p>One day, while seated on my ergo chair, Christopher Gozum chatted me through Facebook
Messenger. He is a town-mate whom I only met online after I had blogged
about an award-winning film of his that made the headlines here and abroad. Chris, it turned out, was recently hired
as the town's tourism officer, and he tipped me off about a vacant
position at the old Municipio back in our hometown. "They are looking for a
writer here," he said, "preferably a computer-savvy one."<br /><br />The
very next day saw me traveling from Pasay all the way to Pangasinan to apply for the vacancy. I
have not gone back since, not even once as of this writing.<br /><br />At
the old Municipal Hall, an antique structure in eclectic
(Spanish-Filipino-California Mission) style, I met a good-looking young
woman whom everyone addressed as Atty. Raj. After she quickly reviewed
my resume, she asked me, right there and then, to proceed to the Mayor's
residence for an interview in Brgy. Bical Norte. Atty. Raj turned out to be
-- beyond my expectations of a typical local government functionary --
Bayambang's Municipal Administrator, and I heard she also happened to
be a former Miss Bayambang, thus the requisite looks and bearing. </p><p>At
the Mayor's residence, I was ushered in by Karen, the Mayor's personal
secretary, to a well-appointed room inside what turned out to be the
family mansion, although from the outside, it looked more like a
corporate headquarters. The Mayor had very few questions. "Are you from
here?" "Where?" "How much is your professional fee?" I harrumphed, not
because of the fat cigar he was smoking, but because I didn't know exactly what to answer. (I was pretty sure my Manila rate would be too high for small-town rates.) He got his calculator and computed at
length and offered me something. I accepted.</p><p>"Ang gusto ko lang ay ang ipromote ang Bayambang sa mga investors," he explained, which I took to mean what would be my unofficial job description: to promote our town through my write-ups. "Ako na ang bahala sa roadshow. Ako mismo ang haharap," he added. (The word 'roadshow' intimidated the heck out of me.)<br /></p><p>As soon as the
Mayor okayed my application with the HR department, Atty. Raj asked me if I could start right
away, and fearing she'd change her mind, I said a hesitant yes --
hesitant because I still had an entire house of personal stuff to cart
off from Manila, starting with my work clothes.<br /><br />That was how I
started out working as a writer for the Municipality of Bayambang, but with
the designated title of "Public Information Officer," something I didn't expect. <br /><br />Writing is
something I can confidently say I know how to do right, even though I
am aware of how much I still need to learn to improve, but nothing
prepared me for what my unofficial title entailed. <br /><br />Being PIO, it
turned out, was not limited to writing tasks, it also meant being an office
manager/office administrator too, something I knew almost nothing about and not
interested in learning one bit.<br /><br />The writing part was something I enjoyed thoroughly while working as the
Mayor's, and by extension the Administrator's, reporter and
speechwriter. Everything I had learned in writing in my previous jobs seems to have prepared me for this one job. My years of experience came in handy because I had to write and edit news reports, features, editorials, speeches, messages, announcements, ads, letters, technical reports, monthly newsletters, annual reports like the State of the Municipality Address, State of the Children's Address, etc., fiesta souvenir programs, even books... Heck even EOs or executive orders, which are already beyond my ken, for I am not a lawyer, after all, but more of a journalist and creative writer.<br /></p><p>My rigorous training as an abstractor was most especially useful in going for the jugular while writing the news and other reports of such kind. My work as feature writer also worked wonders in going the opposite way -- by being oblique. The part I liked best is working with practically all local government departments and locally based agencies, ensuring I would never, ever get bored as I familiarized myself with the mandate and operations of each department and agency.<br /></p><p>However, nothing prepared me for writing in Tagalog and Pangasinan, especially in tabloid style, so this is an area where I am still learning the ropes. <br /></p><p>I noticed, though, that I was often treated by others as their personal
secretary the moment they'd hear that I could write. I realized that's
how most people see a writer -- as their personal proofreader. (This does not include requests for editing assistance from my superiors, of course.) I
wouldn't mind much if my workload was light, and requests for help
didn't come one after another like patients waiting in line at the
doctor's office. </p><p>But the rest of the unexpected tasks were something I
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mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-PH; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-PH; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Simply put, I was overwhelmed with how vast the
actual scope of work was.</span> Even as I
was in the middle of writing one obra maestra after another, a dozen
non-writing concerns competed for my attention and I was largely ill equipped at
it. </p><p>As the variety of tasks being requested by the Mayor multiplied exponentially, there arose an urgent need to hire additional staff. From just the three of us -- I, JV (the photographer), and Dr. Leticia Ursua (our media affairs officer), my office eventually expanded into an entire section. It was veritably a department, minus official papers. The arrival of Patricia, a gifted Literature grad from UST, was especially a God-send, as she took on many of the more challenging, because more creative, tasks, writing-wise. This was despite her gentle and delicate temperament, I must point out.<br /></p><p>Eventually, I also got involved in interdepartmental and inter-agency projects and undertakings that are beyond, even way beyond, my knowledge, experience, and competencies: Nutrition Month, Children's Month, culture mapping project, museum project, Women's Month, to name but a few.<br /></p><p>One particular task I don't relish doing is being an omniscient god
of search engines (or being Bayambang town's Google, for short) at people's
beck and call whenever they are looking for something, be it a certain
medication or (ugh!) a missing husband.<br /><br />To give further examples
of day-to-day concerns outside of writing, there was budgeting
(horrifyingly enough, the first task Atty. Raj assigned to me), planning
and assigning the day's tasks, the minutiae of HR concerns of staff
assigned to me (whether a job order employee's Daily Time Record is
accurate or not), a dripping AC unit and the presence of mice, strategic
(long-term) planning, bickering among the staff, the many forms to be
filled out, the many documents that needed my signature, the
labyrinthine procurement process (I certainly don't appreciate this shocking aspect, coming from the straightforward style in the private sector), the steady stream of memos and emails,
garbage disposal, etc. ...Bureaucracy, in other words, something that I
had long despised as evil as an ordinary citizen because I viewed it as
a major obstacle to the fast-tracking of progress. (I still can't
forget that experience when I lost all my government-issued IDs to
pickpockets along EDSA in decrepit Pasay Rotunda and I had to find at
least two new government IDs in order to have a new government ID and
just so I could transact with private banks.)<br /><br />From my 'hakuna
matata' existence in Pasay as a freelancer, I was suddenly thrown into a
whole new world that I had to face squarely despite my zero interest.
You can be sure that, cliched as it may sound, that famous Disney theme
from the movie "Aladdin" kept playing in my head ("A Whole New World") -- what they called LSS or last
song syndrome at the time. It already took me long years before I got to
embrace my 'calling' as a writer. I had attempted to get out of the
writing world several times because "there was no money in it," but I
ended up going back to it again and again, and here I was being
confronted again with a whole new set of realities that again begged my
acceptance. </p><p><br />As far as I can recall, I had no dreams of
becoming a provincial local government official, no matter how minor, and
everything that this entails. My whole world, after all, was all about Manila. I certainly had no desire to manage an
entire office that an LGU department head unfortunately faces each day,
on and off official hours, including Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays. And I certainly don't enjoy dealing with
different kinds of people and their own personal issues, not when I
myself was having a hard time dealing with my own.<br /><br />After all, I
was then into my fourth year of counseling and psychotherapy in various
pro bono helping institutions in Manila (Baclaran Church, UST, etc.),
when I suddenly had to return to my hometown with wounds that were not
yet fully healed. But since I was already here back at my old ground (I
was born in Manila, but I was here since kinder grade and up to senior
high school: that's ten years from 1976 to March of 1986), I had not much choice
but handle every challenge as it came and as best I could, with the grace
of God. <br /><br />It was only into my 6th year as a middle-level LGU
employee that I have realized that I had been contending with a silent
inner conflict all along as PIO. One midnight, I suddenly woke up
confronting myself about this hidden issue which finally surfaced to my
awareness, thanks to this seminar given by motivational speaker and
image consultant Ms. Toni Miranda which was a kind of retreat and
recollection that I badly needed for the longest time: "I was supposed
to be just a writer, but here I was doing a lot more beyond my
expectations and perceived competencies." No wonder I was constantly
anxious, panicky, and depressed.<br /><br />Then and there, I decided to
once and for all accept that this was my lot in life -- six years being
at it is quite lengthy, after all -- and instead of saying to myself
"how new and difficult everything is and I feel so inadequate at it," to
convince myself how lucky (or better yet, blessed) and how wonderful I
am to be right here, right now, together with all these people I had to
work with, with not just their own weaknesses and imperfections but most importantly their own
specialist knowledge, skills, and experience. <br /><br />In the latest
documentary about Imelda Marcos, "The Kingmaker," I was surprised by a major revelation:
Imelda, too, despite her high-flying self, suffered from a nervous
breakdown (or is that depression) in the beginning whose cause she
couldn't place her finger on. She said she had to travel all the way to
the United States to figure out what was bothering her, and she realized
with the help of the psychotherapist that being a politician's wife
made her profoundly sad. She couldn't quite accept all that horrid life of
being in the public eye 24/7, with all those strangers coming in and out
of her family's now aquarium-like lives.<br /><br />What she did, she said,
to overcome her sadness was to see the whole thing from a different
perspective, thanks to her therapist's suggestion. She said that,
instead of agonizing, "Oh, how pitiful I am," she chose to keep saying
to herself, "I am so lucky to be here, I am so lucky to be here, to be a
politician's wife, to be at all these events, to meet all these famous,
wonderful people and welcome them into my life."<br /><br />Right from the
start, I knew I was certainly lucky to work for someone like Cezar
Quiambao and, like what I told my superior and now-colleague, Ma'am Letty, "Gee, I don't know him from Adam, but this is a guy I am
willing to work for, for free (because he's the genuine article when it
comes to love of country and his people)!" But somehow, along the way, I
tended to forget this, as I got overwhelmed by mundane concerns. That
initial feeling of wonderment was eventually drowned out by all the negatives,
which was made worse by the ugly realities of local politics. (I mean, I
was suddenly yanked out of my comfort zone right into the middle of a
big political and legal squabble I had taken no part in -- in a town where
everybody knew everybody too. And since I wasn't sure where each
character's loyalty lay, I was like constantly walking on tiptoes, and
around eggshells). I tried to be as loving and kind a coworker as I could to everyone, no matter their positions and loyalties, but as
a team leader, I am the first one to say there was just so much left to
be desired in me.<br /><br />I guess this is an opportune time to do
something like what Imelda did to get healed: to keep on repeating to
myself until I believed it that, indeed, "I am so lucky to be here, I am so lucky
to be here, I am so lucky to be here." (I know, a better word for "lucky" is "blessed.") And I hope that, through acceptance, I can turn things
around as well -- I mean, the way I see my current work and life
situation. I have given so much of myself in my writing job, despite my
many inadequacies and handicaps in the non-writing tasks (better ask my
work-mates what these are), that I had not given much time for myself,
and now that I am bound to get more relaxed as I accept my
circumstances, thanks to this happy reversal of perspectives, I hope to
have a more enjoyable life, or at least, in corporate-speak, a work-life
balance, and I hope to do a lot better in this job that I now embrace
more fully as a new genuine, uhm, calling. After all, like I said earlier, the series of jobs I had earlier felt like a preparation for this one job, and that is probably why each time I tried to explore opportunities outside the world of writing, each and every one of those doors slammed shut in my face, as though to tell me to scram.<br /></p><p>I don't intend to
be the so-called jack of all trades or a Renaissance man who is a master
of everything -- I am more of a realist because I know my weaknesses
and I know I will flicker like a candle stub the sooner I spread myself
thin. But I can now concede this way: "Alright, God, I get it now" -- I am
not just a lowly, struggling writer now, but also what I used to regard
with animosity before because of long-held stereotypes: I am now a
government worker and officer. I am not sure if I am up to certain tasks
that the likes of Paeng Saygo have thankfully rescued me from, but I
will keep my fingers crossed moving forward.</p><p>*** <br /></p><p>Meanwhile, I almost
forgot to say that, after a few years, I got back around 80% of my
things in Pasay, big thanks to my brother Ricky, brother-in-law Carlo,
and others who lent a hand. I heard they got so exhausted with the
unbelievable amount of worldly possessions that they had to lift with their hands to the hauling van, which included boxes and
boxes of books, magazines, artworks, and, um, ephemera. I ended up
donating most of the reading materials to the public library because I no
longer have any space left at home. I hope and pray there are souls out there in this town who are kindred spirits, i.e., just as interested in the many rarefied things I got interested in as part of my life as a once-hesitant writer.</p><p>*** <br /></p><p>Corporate wisdom dictates that, "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail." But I believe that, in my case, it is the other way around: Despite all my plans, I remained open to God's direction in spite of my hard-headedness. My experience teaches me that, while planning is indeed important, God's plan, in His ineffable wisdom, will always be better. At which point, I am reminded of an old joke that goes, "You want to make God laugh? Tell Him your plans."</p><p>*** <br /></p><p>Whenever I feel discouraged at work for various reasons, I try to
recall a certain little incident that I have not written down thus far. I was
still in Manila at that time, and while thinking about my lot in one of my
lowest moments – yet again – something unusual for me happened at this point. I
was attending one of those worship assemblies in my community, The Risen Lord’s
Vineyard, when certain words in the day’s gospel impressed upon me gently but in a way that touched me deeply:
“Your reward will be not in this life, but in the next.” Or words to that
effect.
</p><p>I couldn’t dam up the tears flowing profusely from my eyes while in the
midst of other people when I heard those words. I felt greatly relieved and consoled that I ‘heard’ an
answer from God – finally – after so many years of wondering whether I was still on track. This plane of existence,
I realized, was not the right venue to expect rewards from heaven. Of course, I knew that
already, but it turned out that, deep inside, I was actually believing the reverse.</p>
<p>Whenever I think about success now – whether I am a successful person or not
– I just try to remember the many alternative things I was blessed with in the
face of so many things missing in my life. I figure that the most important among these
things is not a thing all, but God himself. Yes, I can say, “I have God," and thanks
because I had been needy in so many things that I had to cling to that only one
entity that I could rely on with constancy and satisfaction. I thus find great consolation in
this oft-repeated Mother Teresa quote: “God didn’t call us to be successful but
to be faithful.”</p><p>Meanwhile, a local saying has been my anchor of late: "Anos labat,
wala'n sansiya," which roughly translates to "Patience, for someday
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<![endif]-->
<p> </p><p> </p>
Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-36822357806058971752024-01-30T02:20:00.000-08:002024-01-30T02:20:25.438-08:00World Happiness Day jokes<p> 😀 World Happiness Day ! 😀</p><p><br /></p><p>Some short stories: </p><p><br /></p><p>1. Today I donated my watch, phone and $300 to a poor guy. You don't know the happiness I felt as I saw him put his knife back in his pocket.😬</p><p><br /></p><p>2. I miss times when I was working at the zoo. My boss fired me just because I left the lion's gate open. I mean... My God! who would steal a lion?🤭</p><p><br /></p><p>3. I was in a cab today and the cab driver said, "I love my job, I'm my own boss. Nobody tells me what to do.“ Then I said, "turn left".🤨</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why do supermarkets make the sick walk all the way to the back of the store to get to the Pharmacy for their prescriptions while healthy people can buy cigarettes at the front?🤔</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why do people order double cheeseburgers, large fries, and yet get a diet soda?🤔</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why do banks leave vault doors open and then chain the pens on the counter tops?🤔</p><p><br /></p><p> 🙄Why do we leave cars worth thousands of dollars in our driveways and put our useless junk in the garage?🤔</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why does the sun lighten our hair, but darkens our skin?🤔</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why can't women put on mascara with their mouth closed?😵💫</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why is 'abbreviated' such a long word?🧐</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why is it that doctors and attorneys call what they do 'practice'?😇</p><p><br /></p><p>*🙄Why is lemon juice made with artificial flavoring, and dish washing liquid made with real lemons?*🤪</p><p><br /></p><p>*🙄Why is the man who invests all your money called a broker?*😔</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why is the time of day with the slowest traffic called the *rush hour?*😏</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why do they sterilize the needle for lethal injections? 🤔</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄You know that indestructible black box that is used on airplanes?</p><p>*Why don't they make the whole plane out of that stuff??*😉</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why don't sheep shrink when it rains, whereas Sweaters of Wool, do?🤪</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄Why are they called apartments *when they are all stuck together?*😏</p><p><br /></p><p>🙄If flying is so safe, *why do they call the airport the terminal?*😠</p><p><br /></p><p>😜Now that you've smiled at least once, it's your turn to spread this stupidity and send this to someone you want to bring a smile to</p><p>(maybe even a chuckle)...</p><p><br /></p><p>😜 😋 We all need to smile every once in a while. 😜</p><p><br /></p><p> A Day Without Laughter is a</p><p>*DAY Wasted !*🤩 Have a wonderful day</p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-84413483840570376922023-12-21T20:34:00.000-08:002023-12-21T20:34:25.647-08:00Four Stages of Elimination in Life 🔰<p>(Forwarded)</p><p> <span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">Four Stages of Elimination in Life
<span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"></span></span></span></p><p><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🔰" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tc3/1.5/16/1f530.png" width="16" /></span>At
60, the workplace eliminates you. No matter how successful or powerful
you were during your career, you'll return to being an ordinary person.
So, don't cling to the mindset and sense of superiority from your past
job, let go of your ego, or you might lose your sense of ease! </span></span></p><p><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"> <span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🔰" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tc3/1.5/16/1f530.png" width="16" /></span>At
70, society gradually eliminates you. The friends and colleagues you
used to meet and socialize with become fewer, and hardly anyone
recognizes you at your former workplace. Don't say, "I used to be..." or
"I was once..." because the younger generation won't know you, and you
mustn't feel uncomfortable about it!
<span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"></span></span></span></p><p><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🔰" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tc3/1.5/16/1f530.png" width="16" /></span>At
80, family slowly eliminates you. Even if you have many children and
grandchildren, most of the time you'll be living with your spouse or by
yourself. When your children visit occasionally, it's an expression of
affection, so don't blame them for coming less often, as they're busy
with their own lives!
<span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"></span></span></span></p><p><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🔰" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tc3/1.5/16/1f530.png" width="16" /></span>At
90, the Earth wants to eliminate you. Some of the people you knew have
already departed forever. At this point, don't be sad or mournful,
because this is the way of life, and everyone will eventually follow
this path!
<span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"></span></span></span></p><p><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🌺" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tf2/1.5/16/1f33a.png" width="16" /></span>Therefore,
while our bodies are still capable, live life to the fullest! Eat what
you want, drink what you desire, play and do the things you love.
<span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🌺" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tf2/1.5/16/1f33a.png" width="16" /></span>Remember,
the only thing that won't eliminate you is your current families and
friends. So, meet more, communicate more, say a hello, maintain your
presence, be happy, and have no regrets!
Merry Christmas to all!<span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🎄" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t60/1.5/16/1f384.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🎁" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tdd/1.5/16/1f381.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🎅" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/te1/1.5/16/1f385.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="😘" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tce/1.5/16/1f618.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🎄" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t60/1.5/16/1f384.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🎁" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tdd/1.5/16/1f381.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🎅" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/te1/1.5/16/1f385.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="😘" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tce/1.5/16/1f618.png" width="16" /></span>
Enjoy Life & Stay Happy<span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="👍" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t55/1.5/16/1f44d.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="😁" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ta8/1.5/16/1f601.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🥰" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t43/1.5/16/1f970.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="😊" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td8/1.5/16/1f60a.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="👍" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t55/1.5/16/1f44d.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="😁" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ta8/1.5/16/1f601.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🥰" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t43/1.5/16/1f970.png" width="16" /></span><span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="😊" class="xz74otr" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td8/1.5/16/1f60a.png" width="16" /></span></span></span></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-28964793406968724762023-10-15T15:57:00.003-07:002023-10-15T15:57:28.152-07:00Teresa of Avila's 7 Stages of Prayer<p> SEVEN STAGES OF PRAYER </p><p>ACCORDING TO ST. TERESA OF AVILA</p><p><br /></p><p>The Walking Catholic Facebook Group </p><p><br /></p><p>Teresa of Avila, a prominent Spanish Carmelite mystic and Doctor of the Church, described various types or stages of prayer in her work "The Interior Castle." She outlined seven stages or mansions of the soul, each representing a different level of prayer and union with God. </p><p><br /></p><p>These stages are:</p><p><br /></p><p>1. MENTAL PRAYER :</p><p><br /></p><p>This initial stage involves using our thoughts and imagination to engage in conversation with God. It includes meditation on Scripture, reflection on the life of Christ, and the use of devotional prayers. Mental prayer helps to cultivate a deeper awareness of God's presence and a personal relationship with Him.</p><p><br /></p><p>2. PRAYER OF QUIET :</p><p><br /></p><p>In this stage, the soul experiences a deeper sense of peace and stillness in the presence of God. It is characterized by a quieting of the senses and a greater receptivity to God's presence. The soul is drawn inward and begins to experience a more profound union with God.</p><p><br /></p><p>3. PRAYER OF UNION :</p><p><br /></p><p>At this stage, the soul experiences a more intimate and profound union with God. The individual becomes more passive, allowing God to work within them. The soul is completely absorbed in God's presence and experiences a sense of ecstasy and divine union.</p><p><br /></p><p>4. PRAYER OF ECSTASY :</p><p><br /></p><p>In this stage, the soul experiences moments of intense union with God, often accompanied by mystical phenomena. The individual may be temporarily transported outside of themselves and immersed in the divine presence. These experiences are transient and leave a lasting impact on the soul.</p><p><br /></p><p>5. PRAYER OF QUIETUDE :</p><p><br /></p><p>This stage involves a deeper level of stillness and surrender to God's presence. The soul experiences a profound peace and rest in God, detached from external distractions and desires. It is a state of deep contemplation and union with God's will.</p><p><br /></p><p>6. PRAYER OF UNION :</p><p><br /></p><p>In this stage, the soul experiences a complete absorption and transformation in God's love. The individual is united with God's will and desires nothing apart from Him. It is a state of profound intimacy and conformity to God's divine plan.</p><p><br /></p><p>7. PRAYER OF TRANSFORMING UNION :</p><p><br /></p><p>This final stage represents the highest level of prayer and union with God. The soul is completely transformed and united with God's love. The individual's will is fully aligned with God's will, and they become an instrument of His divine love in the world.</p><p><br /></p><p>It is important to note that these stages are not necessarily linear or sequential, and individuals may experience different levels of prayer at different times. Teresa of Avila's teachings on prayer provide insights into the progressive journey of the soul towards deeper union with God. Her descriptions of the various stages of prayer offer guidance and understanding for individuals seeking to deepen their prayer life and cultivate a closer relationship with God. Teresa's teachings emphasize the importance of surrender, stillness, and receptivity to God's presence, as well as the transformative power of divine union.</p><p><br /></p><p>By outlining the different stages of prayer, Teresa of Avila invites individuals to recognize and embrace the diverse ways in which God communicates and draws souls closer to Himself. Her teachings highlight the dynamic nature of prayer, acknowledging that it is a journey that unfolds over time and requires openness to the workings of the Holy Spirit.</p><p><br /></p><p>Furthermore, Teresa's teachings emphasize the transformative power of prayer, as the soul progresses from more active forms of prayer to deeper levels of contemplation and union with God. She encourages individuals to surrender their own desires and allow God to work within them, leading to a profound transformation of the soul and conformity to God's will.</p><p><br /></p><p>Overall, Teresa of Avila's teachings on prayer provide insights into the progressive nature of the spiritual journey, the importance of surrender and receptivity, and the transformative power of divine union. </p><p><br /></p><p>Her writings continue to inspire and guide individuals in their pursuit of a deeper prayer life and union with God.</p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-30708435667967773662023-08-31T22:20:00.003-07:002023-08-31T22:36:42.482-07:00How to Survive Your 40s<p>What excellent essay-writing!</p><p>-------------------</p><p>How to Survive Your 40s</p><p>By Pamela Druckerman</p><p>Ms. Druckerman is a writer in her 40s, living in Paris.</p><p><br /></p><p>May 4, 2018</p><p><br /></p><p>If you want to know how old you look, just walk into a French cafe. It’s like a public referendum on your face.</p><p><br /></p><p>When I moved to Paris in my early 30s, waiters called me “mademoiselle.” It was “Bonjour, mademoiselle” when I walked into a cafe and “Voilà, mademoiselle” as they set down a coffee.</p><p><br /></p><p>Around the time I turned 40, however, there was a collective switch, and waiters started calling me “madame.” These “madames” were tentative at first, but soon they were coming at me like a hailstorm. Now it’s “Bonjour, madame” when I walk in, “Merci, madame” when I pay my bill and “Au revoir, madame” as I leave. Sometimes several waiters shout this at once.</p><p><br /></p><p>On one hand, I’m intrigued by this transition. Do these waiters gather after work for Sancerre and a slide show to decide which female customers to downgrade? (Irritatingly, men are “monsieur” forever.)</p><p><br /></p><p>The worst part is that they’re trying to be polite. They believe I’m old enough that the title can’t possibly wound.</p><p>I realize that something has permanently shifted when I walk past a woman begging for money.</p><p>“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she calls out to the young woman in a miniskirt a few steps ahead of me.</p><p><br /></p><p>“Bonjour, madame,” she says when I pass.</p><p><br /></p><p>This has all happened too quickly for me to digest. I still have most of the clothes that I wore as a mademoiselle. There are mademoiselle-era cans of food in my pantry.</p><p><br /></p><p>But the world keeps telling me that I’ve entered a new stage. While studying my face in a well-lit elevator, my daughter describes it bluntly: “Mommy, you’re not old, but you’re definitely not young.”</p><p>What exactly is this not-young age? I hear people in their 20s describe the 40s as a far-off decade of too-late, when they’ll regret things that they haven’t done. But for older people I meet, the 40s are the decade that they would most like to travel back to. “How could I possibly have thought of myself as old at 40?” asks Stanley Brandes, an anthropologist who wrote a book in 1985 about turning 40. “I sort of look back and think: God, how lucky I was. I see it as the beginning of life, not the beginning of the end.”</p><p><br /></p><p>Forty isn’t even technically middle age anymore. Someone who’s now 40 has a 50 percent chance of living to 95, says the economist Andrew Scott, a co-author of “The 100-Year Life.”</p><p><br /></p><p>But the number 40 still has symbolic resonance. Jesus fasted for 40 days. Muhammad was 40 when the archangel Gabriel appeared to him. The Israelites wandered the desert for 40 years. Mr. Brandes writes that in some languages, 40 means “a lot.”</p><p><br /></p><p>And age 40 still feels pivotal. “The 40s are when you become who you are,” a British author in his 70s tells me, adding ominously, “And if you don’t know by your 40s, you never will.”</p><p><br /></p><p>I’m starting to see that as a madame, even a newly minted one, I am subject to new rules. When I try to act adorably naïve now, people aren’t charmed — they’re baffled. Cluelessness no longer goes with my face. I’m expected to wait in the correct line at airports and show up on time for my appointments.</p><p>And yet brain research shows that in the 40s, some of these tasks are harder: On average we’re more easily distracted than younger people, we digest information more slowly and we’re worse at remembering specific facts. (The ability to remember names peaks in the early 20s.) You know you’re in your 40s when you’ve spent 48 hours trying to think of a word, and that word was “hemorrhoids.”</p><p><br /></p><p>But there are upsides, too. What we lack in processing power we make up for in maturity, insight and experience. We’re better than younger people at grasping the essence of situations, controlling our emotions and resolving conflicts. We’re more skilled at managing money and explaining why things happen. We’re more considerate than younger people. And, crucially for our happiness, we’re less neurotic.</p><p><br /></p><p>Indeed, modern neuroscience and psychology confirm what Aristotle said more than 2,000 years ago when he described men in their “primes” as having “neither that excess of confidence which amounts to rashness, nor too much timidity, but the right amount of each. They neither trust everybody nor distrust everybody, but judge people correctly.”</p><p><br /></p><p>The Times needs your voice. We welcome your on-topic commentary, criticism and expertise.</p><p><br /></p><p>I agree. We’ve actually managed to learn and grow a bit. We see the hidden costs of things. Our parents have stopped trying to change us. We can tell when something is ridiculous. And other minds are finally less opaque. The seminal journey of the 40s is from “everyone hates me” to “they don’t really care.”</p><p>Even so, the decade is confusing. We can finally decode interpersonal dynamics, but we can’t remember a two-digit number. We’re at or approaching our lifetime peak in earnings, but Botox now seems like a reasonable idea. We’re reaching the height of our careers, but we can now see how they will probably end.</p><p><br /></p><p>And this new age is strangely lacking in milestones. Childhood and adolescence are nothing but milestones: You grow taller, advance to new grades, and get your period, your driver’s license and your diploma. Then in your 20s and 30s you romance potential partners, find jobs and learn to support yourself. There may be promotions, babies and weddings. The pings of adrenaline from all these carry you forward and reassure you that you’re building an adult life.</p><p><br /></p><p>In the 40s, we might still acquire degrees, jobs, homes and spouses, but these elicit less wonder now. The mentors and parents who used to rejoice in our achievements are preoccupied with their own declines. If we have kids, we’re supposed to marvel at their milestones. A journalist I know lamented that he’d never again be a prodigy at anything. (Someone younger than both of us had just been nominated to the United States Supreme Court.)</p><p><br /></p><p>“Even five years ago, people I met would be like, ‘Wow, you’re the boss?’” the 44-year-old head of a TV production company tells me. Now they’re matter-of-fact about his title. “I’ve aged out of wunderkind,” he says.</p><p><br /></p><p>What have we aged into? We’re still capable of action, change and 10K races. But there’s a new immediacy to the 40s — and an awareness of death — that didn’t exist before. Our possibilities feel more finite. All choices now plainly exclude others. It’s pointless to keep pretending to be what we’re not. At 40, we’re no longer preparing for an imagined future life. Our real lives are, indisputably, happening right now. We’ve arrived at what Immanuel Kant called the “Ding an sich” — the thing itself.</p><p><br /></p><p>Indeed, the strangest part of the 40s is that we’re now the ones attending parent-teacher conferences and cooking the turkey on Thanksgiving. These days, when I think, “Someone should really do something about that,” I realize with alarm that that “someone” is me.</p><p><br /></p><p>It’s not an easy transition. I’d always been reassured by the idea that there are grown-ups in the world out there curing cancer and issuing subpoenas. Grown-ups fly airplanes, get aerosol into bottles and make sure that television signals are magically transmitted. They know whether a novel is worth reading and which news belongs on the front page. In an emergency, I’ve always trusted that grown-ups — mysterious, capable and wise — would appear to rescue me.</p><p><br /></p><p>I’m not thrilled about looking older. But what unsettles me most about the 40s is the implication that I’m now a grown-up myself. I fear I’ve been promoted beyond my competence. What is a grown-up anyway? Do they really exist? If so, what exactly do they know? Will my mind ever catch up with my face?</p><p><br /></p><p>Pamela Druckerman is a contributing opinion writer and the author of the forthcoming “There Are No Grown-Ups: A Midlife Coming-of-Age Story,” from which this essay is excerpted.</p><p><br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-36010298860003647912023-02-15T00:56:00.002-08:002023-02-15T00:56:21.958-08:00 A Valentine Homily by Father James Donelan SJ<p> A Valentine Homily by Father James Donelan SJ</p><p><br /> If by some happy chance you should ever find yourself in the Italian City of Florence, take a little time out for a sentimental pilgrimage. Leave the Piazza Vecchio, cross over the Ponte Vecchio, where the goldsmith shops are. Go up the Via Maggiore towards the Pitti Palazzo where, just opposite the Palazzo and the church of San Felice, stands the Casa Guidi. This is the shrine of our pilgrimage. It is a proper pilgrimage to make on Valentine's Day, for here in this old ancestral house of the Guidi family was enacted one of the great love stories of all times. </p><p><br /> I would like you to re-live with me two touching scenes from that love story. The first scene takes place on an early spring morning in the year 1849. Standing on the street below, we can see the large windows of the Casa Guidi open up, and a man, an Englishman, stand there looking across towards San Felice, but actually lost in thought. He is a writer, a poet, and he is thinking about what he will write that day. He doesn't hear his wife come up behind him until he feels her hand push some papers into his pocket - and turning, he sees her fleeing from the room. <br /> </p><p> An hour later he is still standing there by the window, his cheeks wet with tears. For what he read in his wife's neat handwriting on the crumpled sheets of paper was the answer to a question -- an answer which he kept to himself for 12 years. Until his wife died. Then he gave it to the world. We all know both the question and the answer: <br /> </p><p> How do I love thee? Let me count the ways: <br /> I love thee to the depth and breadth and height <br /> My soul can reach… <br /> I love thee to the level of everyday’s <br /> Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. <br /> I love thee with the breath, <br /> Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and if God choose, .<br /> I shall but love thee better after death. <br /> </p><p> Elizabeth Barrett, the Englishman's wife who wrote the immortal lines of “How do I love thee?” never dreamt she would ever say such things, feel such things. At 16 she had fallen from a horse - the injury developed into tuberculosis. It also gave a tyrannically possessive father the weapon with which to imprison her for 15 years in a room where no brightness -- neither of smile or sunshine -- ever came. To pass the time, she wrote poems. A kindly uncle published some of them. One day, she received a note which read “I love your poetry with all my heart, and I love you, too.” Signed, Robert Browning. </p><p><br /> What followed is an astonishing example of the power of love. Elizabeth escaped from her father's house, married Robert Browning and sailed to Italy, to Florence, to the Casa Guidi on Via Maggiore which was to be her home until she died. That “incurable” invalid bore her husband a son, and so filled his heart with song that Robert Browning became one of England's greatest poets. While she, transformed by his love, wrote a collection of Sonnets which earned for her an immortal place among the world's great poets of love. </p><p><br /> What advice do you think Elizabeth Browning would have for you today on Valentine’s Day? I choose to ask Elizabeth rather than her husband because I have found at least in my reading of literature, that while male poets like Sydney, Wyatt, Shakespeare, John Donne excel in expressing their love, it is the women who get to the heart of the matter. Perhaps because, as Jane Austen, an English novelist wrote – “Love is only part of a man's life. It is a woman's whole life.” And she went on to say that while men may love as long as there is hope, women love long after there is none. When Jeremy Irons, playing the English gentleman, asked the French Lieutenant's woman if she walked those bleak shores waiting for her lieutenant, the woman proved Jane Austen's point. She had learned, she said, that the very brave can be very false. She knew he wouldn't return and yet she waited. <br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-63698831291199413942023-02-12T04:15:00.003-08:002023-02-12T04:15:49.163-08:00Worst panic attack episodes <p> </p><p>Worst panic attack episodes <br /></p><p> </p><p>1st day at work in LGU due to 3 events occurring one after another</p><p>GMA 7 crew arriving for coverage in a farm - Valium side effect<br /></p><p>The League Crew arriving for coverage </p><p>Trip to Baguio for ICS - Valium side effect<br /></p><p>Culture mapping</p><p>Visit to National Museum of Natural History</p><p>Vigan Church</p><p>National elections at BNHS</p><p>Back to work post-pandemic</p><p>Fiesta events</p><p>Concert with Fliptoppers</p><p>Benjoe's visit, Urduja - hypertension after Sedazine<br /></p><p><br /><br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-29057367145923644012023-02-07T00:04:00.004-08:002023-02-07T00:04:47.624-08:00Panic attack logbook: Prayer<p>Jesus, you are my savior, redeemer, and healer. Through your sacrifice upon the cross, release me and heal me from the effects of a fallen world in my life.</p><p>Release me from the effects of others' sins against me as I release them to you. Release me from personal pain, grief, and sickness as I lift up those sufferings and and press them into your wounds.</p><p>Thank you that you bear the unbearable. Help me to deliver to you that which I am unable to separate from myself, by myself. Help me to deliver into you Jesus the unbearable burdens of sickness and suffering, mine and of my friends as they arise and continue in m life. Amen. <br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-73588959997602459992023-02-06T23:36:00.005-08:002023-02-06T23:43:15.741-08:00Panic attack logbook: Signs I am improving<p>From being totally afraid of going out of the house, I can walk to the nearest vegetable and fruit vendor, barbershop, grocery stores, and at least three money transfers.</p><p>I can eat bread and still be able to walk around the block. I've long suspected that bread makes me palpitate and easily get tired.</p><p>I can now watch the news, most items anyway including fire, crime...</p><p>I can now watch violent shows again.</p><p>I can now read about heart disease.</p><p>I can now walk around in15 minutes straight inside the house.</p><p>I can now lift the 4-gallon mineral water vessel.<br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-77509655190541189742022-10-16T18:53:00.011-07:002024-01-02T22:29:39.899-08:00Whew<p>I came here to list down the major stressors that I survived of late.</p><p>The first one was the earthquake that shook the office building. I couldn't believe I had to go through such a panicked state all over again. I had to literally cover my mouth so as to hold my breath for 40 seconds at a time. I had to be taken home to prevent a full-blown panic attack or hypertension episode. Thank God for kind souls (Paeng, JP, Kiko, Gwyn).<br /></p><p>While recuperating at home, I caught German measles, what they call tigdas hangin in Tagalog. My skin erupted with red marks which I mistook for an episode of anaphylactic attack, so of course I had panic attack as I debated with myself whether to ask for an ambulance or not. It turned out to be harmless, or so I thought. Apparently, I caught it from my baby nephew Theo who came down with it earlier.</p><p>The next major one is when I got a department head deeply offended when she noticed a major omission in the Annual Report my office has successfully published. She ranted and raged on the chatroom, of course, and this affected my equilibrium. Another major panic attack -- the kind that I thought would be the end of me.</p><p>As a gift most rude on my birthday, Facebook deactivated my account for no apparent reason. I lost everything that I failed to back up, especially the photos. After creating a new account using a variation of my name, Facebook disabled it as well, again for no apparent reason, just when I thought I had a survived a major cancellation that spelled digital death to me. Good thing I am obsessed with backing up write-ups that I deem important.</p><p>Another big one occurred on I can't remember exactly when but I suddenly lost my hearing in my right ear. This gave me tremendous worry, as I envisioned myself as carrying a PWD card for the rest of my life and availing of whatever benefits or assistance the government can provide to the likes of me, with people pitying me and all.</p><p>***<br /></p><p>On October 4, my sleep was suddenly disturbed by a furious coughing bout. It seemed to have been caused by the pre-ordered calderetang kambing my family had for dinner. I found out from Ivy that she used sriracha as spice, so it must be the sriracha, which is essentially red chili concentrate.</p><p>The next day, I had to absent myself from work because of cough and cold, which seemed bad, so I took the opportunity to take some rest and have lots of sunshine. I remember that a couple of weeks or so ago, I had clogged nose and my voice sounded like it, like I was ngongo. The ENT I had visited for checkup said the insides of my nostrils were "edematous," and so he gave me my old med, Nasoflo spray. I decided not to go to work for Thursday and Friday as well, hoping to get well using Decolgen.</p><p>I was able to go back to work Monday, but I had to constantly excuse myself to flush my nose and cough up phlegm. </p><p>Decolgen was a bad choice of med. My BP shot up like never before that by Wednesday, I had to exit from a big event because I was feeling weird. I tried to forestall it by drinking a quick glass of lemonade before I left home, but no go. The monitor read 170/110! The lower number was most worrisome, for I never registered such a high number before. Dr. Adrienne gave me 40 mg Furosemide, a diuretic, on top of the maintenance meds I take (losartan in AM and amlodipine in PM). <br /></p><p>By Friday, my throat was itchy nonstop all afternoon. I was worried because it reminded me of the time I got seriously ill of covid about this time of the year, together with my family and their respective families plus an officemate's family.</p><p>I used all sorts of remedies: Strepsils, cetirizine, Alizin, honey, hot water therapy... Nothing worked well. </p><p>By Saturday, I decided to go to the doctor at BDH. Dr. Kathleen de Vera gave me co-amoxiclav 5 mg for 5 days plus NAC 600 mg, also for 5 days. As of this writing, I am on the road to recovery.</p><p>Maybe I have a primitive, simplistic thinking on this, but I always associate trials like these to big projects, perhaps the equivalent of religious mission of some sort. And I have big ones to lay 'blame' on: the 2021 Annual Report of the LGU, the Bayambang Culture Mapping Book project, and the Bayambang Museum project, which came to my lap one after another or even at the same time that I didn't know how I was able to handle all that gargantuan workload, most likely without people from the upper rungs realizing how great the pressure they have lain on my puny shoulders. For sure, I wasn't alone at it, but my contribution was nothing to sneeze at, and I maybe had to suffer a little for these projects to come to fruition. I know the logic behind my reasoning is fuzzy at best, if not laughable for the dots hardly get connected, but that is how I see the universe operate, influenced no doubt by my Christian upbringing. Before the glory of the resurrection, there must be the road to Calvary to trudge on, the passion of the cross to go through, from agony in the garden to carrying of the cross to scourging at the pillar to crowning with thorns, to crucifixion.</p><p>Maybe the thought of sacrifice should be all worth it for me. I hope to God.<br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-55931830367498761762022-08-28T01:53:00.000-07:002022-08-28T01:53:03.546-07:00Quote on power of God vs our fallen nature<p> Quote: "Do not underestimate the power of God in you, but do not underestimate your fallen nature as well."</p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-21842213711825767802022-08-21T19:35:00.006-07:002022-08-21T19:59:45.797-07:00Truth, history, God<p>The writing of history, as in all kinds of writing, is a pursuit of truth. And the pursuit of truth is no different from the search for knowledge and wisdom, the spirit that animates the scientific method, the teaching profession, journalism, and indeed the very search for God. After all, what is truth? </p><p>Truth is, in the Christian point of view, God itself (Jesus as "the way, the truth, and the life"); truth is no less than God.</p><p>The search for truth among fallen humanity is thus at best laughable even though necessary because, while everything must be exhausted just to arrive at truth, eventually truth is not fully knowable as God is not fully knowable in the face of human limitations. With such nature of the quest for truth, God remains in the realm of mystery.</p><p>As one theologian puts it, "Truth is a mystery," in the sense that God is a mystery. This means only God can lay claim to the truth.</p><p>What is reprehensible, therefore, is not conflicting sides of the same story but outright lying to suit one's preferred narrative of history. This is what we -- all of us without exception -- must guard and rail against.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-40308103915603072732022-08-18T17:43:00.004-07:002022-08-18T17:43:29.804-07:00On sickness<p>Sickness is often seen in a negative light. It is blamed too much as the bad guy. But sickness can be viewed from an opposite angle.</p>In the spiritual realm, it can be viewed as having a lot of benefits. This is counter-intuitive, it is true, for after all, we are not made for sickness. We naturally want to avoid it at all cost, as we naturally avoid pain and suffering at all cost. It is a lot easier to view sickness as God's punishment because it seems more logical. When we get sick, a lot of us (maybe those of us who grew up with punishing parents) instinctively review what we have done prior to this 'karma' of illness.<br /><br />But Catholic/Christian thought tells us that God is not a punisher; hell was created "as a contingency measure," to quote a theologian, meaning hell, and by extension earthly suffering, is not in the original plan of God.<br /><br />It is us who punish ourselves for choosing actions that result in bad consequences. It is safe to assume that it is not enjoyable for God to see us fall ill and in pain.<br /><br />But we all get sick anyway, and that is to say God allows it anyway, in his desire to give us freedom or for some other reason according to His ineffable wisdom. And it is at this point where we are driven to ask certain questions. If God is good, then why does He allow -- not cause, take note -- sickness? Could it be that sickness has benefits?<br /><br />We are then driven to speculate on the answers. One of which is: Maybe it is His way of forcing us to take a breather and take stock of our life, to think of what is essential, like the reality of mortality and what goes beyond that. In short, maybe it is His way of trying to say, "Calm down, slow down, you are not God, you have physical limitations."<br /><br />Sickness slaps us in the face with the truthiness of the cliche, "Health is wealth."<br /><br />Sickness gives us life lessons we will never have a chance to learn in a state of physical wellness. Too bad the lessons are not free but painful to have.Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-47035152847953977822022-08-18T17:37:00.003-07:002024-02-04T04:25:54.056-08:00 Happiness from the Christian perspective<p>In 2009, New York City-based writer Gretchen Rubin came out with a book called "The Happiness Project" in which she chronicled her quest to purposefully pursue happiness for one year. Her stab at what has come to be called 'stunt journalism' became a hit, with millions of copies sold, making the book a New York Times Bestseller.</p><div dir="ltr" trbidi="on">It obviously struck a chord among many readers. This reader, for one, was certainly able to relate with much of her experience, as she presented research findings from various disciplines and insights from diverse traditions. The book is a trove of information on the subject, with threads from Greek philosophers, American political figures, Buddhism, Catholicism, Judaism, etc., thus the quotes presented can be as disparate a source as those from G.K. Chesterton, Abraham Lincoln, St. Therese of Liseaux, and Aristotle.<br /><br />Rubin's bestseller, among other things, forces someone with a strong Catholic/Christian point of view, to think long and hard on the subject, challenging his or her own belief system. This reader, for one, certainly took such a step back.<br /><br />One thing readily noticeable from such a perspective is that Rubin's work is indeed a comprehensive look, but something is lacking somewhere, thus making it, for lack of a better term, incomplete. After all is said and done, it seems deliberate in leaving out essential points from the Protestant tradition she grew up with. And one of these is this: Happiness is central to Christianity. In fact, the summum bonum or whole point of Christianity is not only happiness but eternal happiness. The Christian 'version' of God wants us to be happy for all eternity -- what could ever top that? As St. Augustine puts it, it is a longing that is planted deep in the soul of everyone.<br /><br />But even in the here and now, the Christian God wants us to be so. In fact, he not just wishes, but more so, commands us, believers, to be so! "Rejoice in the Lord, I say to you, rejoice," the Bible says, with the repetition being a clear emphasis.<br /><br />But wait, things are not that simple. "Rejoice in the Lord," I recognize, sounds cryptic to the uninitiated. From what I understand, it is a kind of rejoicing that is more inward than outward. Rejoicing in the Lord, for the phrase to make sense, must mean a kind of rejoicing that doesn't deny or forgo the reality and inevitability of sadness or sorrow or even panic, worry, or anxiety, among a host of other negative emotions. It must mean a kind of equanimity anchored on a seemingly mysterious element, i.e., something that is to be found "in the Lord." Christian happiness clearly does not mean being what they call "pollyannaish," or being positivist for the sake of being happy to the point of irrationality, giving no space to sadness or some such emotions when called for, as though being sad is a mortal sin.<br /><br />Christianity then must be preaching a different kind of happiness. It is opposed to the epicurean version, which is essentially, "Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow, we will die." It demands, or challenges, believers to pursue something higher if they are to gain eternal life of happiness. And it is something that is bestowed, or in Christian parlance, graced, not sourced from within: as Psalm 4 says: "You have put into my heart a greater joy than they have from abundance of corn and new wine."<br /><br />Okay, so Christianity wants its adherents to store up treasures of joy not on earth but in heaven, but at the same time, it does not entirely frown upon earthly sources of happiness like money or wealth. Unlike in Buddhism, wealth in Christianity may even be viewed as a blessing, provided it is honestly and justly earned -- a blessing that is meant to be shared to God's people, especially the needy, by the way. This is how Buddhism's nirvana is not quite equivalent to Christianity's conception of heaven or paradise; both preach detachment from the world, but the former is premised on the inherent badness of the world, while the latter is premised on its inherent goodness.<br /><br />This is the reason why avowed Christians frown at the very idea of the secular pursuit of happiness, even when it is enshrined in a country's very constitution, as in Rubin's United States of America. To Christians, the secular pursuit of happiness is pointless because it is empty, for what is it all that for if you don't end up at the right destination? (Yes, I am essentially paraphrasing the oft-quoted Biblical passage, "For what profits man if he gains the whole world but loses eternal life?")<br /><br />I understand, however, why Rubin avoided this tack, for it would sound judgmental in its tone of finality. As someone once put it, "Who could argue with God?"<br /><br />Then again, what philosophy or religion is not uncompromising in its declaration of truth, or faith? I figure that since Rubin was already at it, why not go hook, line and sinker with it and recognize the whole point of Christianity when it comes to happiness instead of going down the cherry-picking route?<br /><br />Because she left these points unsaid, serious Christians would find her work otherwise wanting in spite of the flood of useful information it contains.<br /><br />Nonetheless, the book is unputdownable, owing to its nature -- I mean, who doesn't want to know how she did it for a year? This reader certainly couldn't help but follow her quest from start to finish to see how it would pan out. But it missed its chance to be a great book for serious Christians not because it contradicts Christian concepts but that it is incomplete. After all, it is common belief among Christians that one's passion in life, provided it is not disordered, is indicative of one's life's calling. To Christians, happiness can be everything that Rubin pursued, but there is a great 'if' for that happiness to be complete as to turn it into joy and someday soon, ecstasy, i.e., if and only if they are anchored on the one quest for the kind of happiness that endures for all time.<br /><br />Once upon a time, I had done what Rubin did: survey my friends by asking "What does happiness mean to you?" or "What makes you happy?" My friends' answers were varied but hardly surprising because they all reflected my own set of hobbies and happy moments, my hopes and yearnings -- except for one person who answered differently and who I thought was the one who really nailed it. "I am happy," he said, "when I am at peace knowing I have done the will of God for me."<br /></div>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-13547024723429850102022-06-12T15:14:00.004-07:002022-06-20T00:54:20.175-07:00 Holy Trinity mystery<p>Quote: "Holy Trinity, You are as deep a mystery as the sea, in whom the more I seek, the more I find; and the more I find, the more I seek."</p><p><br /></p><p>What is true for the Holy Trinity is also true for knowledge itself: The more things I know, the more things I know I do not know, so I want to know more, ad infinitum. As an Italian saying goes, "Learning will not stop until the coffin."</p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-38155164383451181972022-05-11T01:09:00.003-07:002022-05-11T01:09:19.380-07:00Jesus the Rebel<p> </p><header class="entry-header responsive-max-width" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #74767e; font-family: "Open Sans"; margin: 0px auto 32px; max-width: calc(900px);"><h1 class="entry-title" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; clear: both; color: var(--wp--preset--color--primary); font-family: var(--font-headings, "Poppins", sans-serif); line-height: 1.125; margin: 0px 0px 16px; max-width: unset; padding: 0px;"><span style="color: var(--wp--preset--color--primary); font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 13.3333px;">"</span><span style="color: var(--wp--preset--color--primary); font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bolder;">Jesus was aptly labelled as a rebel, a subversive, and a trouble maker. That was why the leaders of the old religion, Judaism, the Sanhedrin and Pharisees, just had to get rid of him. For how can he defy thousands of years of Jewish tradition. Ironically, his death from the hands of his ‘enemies’ became the basis of the Theology of Salvation of Christianity, the new religion replacing the old."</span></h1></header><div class="entry-content" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #74767e; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 20px; margin: 32px auto; max-width: none;"><p class="has-primary-color has-text-color" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; color: var(--wp--preset--color--primary); margin: 32px auto; max-width: calc(900px); overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: bolder; max-width: unset;">east</span><span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: bolder; max-width: unset;">wind </span><span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: bolder; max-width: unset;">jour</span><span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: bolder; max-width: unset;">nals</span>, April 17, 2022 (archives tr236)</p><p class="has-primary-color has-text-color" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; color: var(--wp--preset--color--primary); margin: 32px auto; max-width: calc(900px); overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">By Bernie V. Lopez, <a href="mailto:eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; max-width: unset;">eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com</a></p><p class="has-primary-color has-text-color" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; color: var(--wp--preset--color--primary); margin: 32px auto; max-width: calc(900px); overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">Share with friends via this blog link – <a href="https://eastwindjournals.com/2022/04/17/jesus-the-rebel/" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; max-width: unset;">https://eastwindjournals.com/2022/04/17/jesus-the-rebel/</a></p></div>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-13485407832135110642022-05-11T01:05:00.003-07:002022-05-11T01:05:45.321-07:00 The Power Children Do Not Know They Have <p> <a href="https://eastwindjournals.com/2021/04/26/the-power-of-children/">The Power Children Do Not Know They Have – Eastwind Journals</a></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-4372724118190016782021-12-21T21:47:00.004-08:002021-12-21T21:47:58.067-08:00Forwarded: Family, Place of Forgiveness<p> Please look at the speech that was read yesterday by the Pope and see how Pope Francis has beautifully written about the family. <br /><br />FAMILY, PLACE OF FORGIVENESS ...<br /><br />©️ There is no perfect family.<br />©️ We do not have perfect parents,<br />- you are not perfect yourself.<br />We do not marry a perfect person or we do not have perfect children.<br /><br />©️ We have complaints from each other. We can not live together without offending one another.<br /><br />©️ We are constantly disappointed. Yes for so many reasons at different times we are disappointed by one another.<br /><br />©️ There is no healthy marriage or healthy family without the exercise of forgiveness. Forgiveness is the medicine of family joy and happiness<br /><br />©️ Forgiveness is vital to our emotional health and spiritual survival. No matter the offence or who is the offender. Without forgiveness, the family becomes an arena of conflict and a fortress of evil.<br /><br />©️ Without forgiveness, the family becomes sick and unhealthy.<br /><br />©️ Forgiveness is the asepsis of the soul, the purification of the spirit and the liberation of the heart. No sin is too big to be forgiven.<br /> He who does not forgive does not have peace in his soul and can not have communion with God.<br /><br />©️ Unforgiving is Evil and a poison that intoxicates and kills the one who refuses to forgive<br /><br />©️ Keeping heartache of unforgiving in your heart is a self-destructive gesture. It's autophagy.<br /><br />©️ Those who do not forgive are physically, emotionally and spiritually ill. And they will suffer in two ways<br /><br />For this reason, the family must be a place of life and not a place of death; a place of forgiveness,<br /> a place of paradise and not a place of hell; A healing territory and not a disease;<br /> an internship of forgiveness and not guilt.<br /> Forgiveness brings joy where sorrow has brought sadness; of<br />Healing where sorrow has caused disease.<br /><br />A family is a place of support and not of gossip and slander of one another. It must be a place of welcome not a place of rejection. Shame to those who plant evil about others. We are family and not enemies.<br /><br />When anyone is going through a challenge all they need is support.<br /><br />¤ By Pope Francisco<br /><br /><br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-48622004238715786482021-11-22T16:22:00.001-08:002021-11-22T16:22:06.130-08:00Jesus Christ: The Basics<p> I have never read something so exciting about Jesus so summarized and accurate.<br /> <br />This is the CURRICULUM of a great doctor, my friend for when I needed it.<br /><br />First name:<br />JESUS CHRIST<br /><br />Position:<br />SON OF GOD<br /><br />Master's degree:<br />KING OF KINGS*and *LORD OF LORDS and GOD OF GODS<br /><br />Partner:<br />* GOD the Father* and GOD the Holy Spirit *<br /><br />Work Experience: <br />Miracle Worker<br />Savior of confessed sinners<br />Sin Forgiver * Prayer Warrior<br />Demon Destroyer<br /><br />Ministry:<br />24 HOURS<br /><br />Instrument:<br />FAITH<br /><br />Favor:<br />GRACE<br />HOPE<br />LOVE<br /><br /><br />Author:<br />THE BIBLE<br /><br />Meeting room:<br />MAN’s HEART<br /><br />* That this doctor visits you everyday * 🤗👏👏👏<br /><br />In chemistry, He turned water into wine; (John 2: 1-11)<br /><br />In biology, was born without the natural conception.<br />(Matthew 1-18 and 25)<br /><br />In physics, He denied the law of gravity, when He walked on the waters and ascended into the Heaven.<br /> (Mark 6:49 and 16:19)<br /><br />In economics, He refuted the law of mathematics by feeding 5,000 people with only five loaves and two fish. and still make 12 baskets full.<br />(Matthew 14: 17-20)<br /><br />In medicine, He healed the sick, the blind, the deaf, the lame, the lepers, bleeding, and many others without prescribing any dose of medication.<br />(Matthew 9: 19-22 and John 9: 1-15)<br /><br />In spirituality, only He resurrected from the death, and through this, those who trusted in Him will also be resurrected one day. (John 11:25-26)<br /><br />The story is told before Him and after Him, He is the PRINCIPLE and the END;<br /><br />He was called Wonderful, Counselor, Prince of Peace, King of Kings and Lord of Lords<br /> (Isaiah 9-6)<br /><br />In the Bible it says that no one comes to the Father except through Him; He is the only way; (John 14: 6)<br /><br />So ...<br />Who is he?<br /> He is JESUS !!!<br /><br />The eyes that read this message will not fear any evil.<br /><br />The hand that sends this message will not work in vain.<br /><br />The greatest man in history: * JESUS *<br /><br />✔ He did not have servants, and yet they called him Lord<br /><br />✔ He did not have any degree of study, and yet they called him Master.<br /><br />He did not have an army, but the kings feared him.<br /><br />✔ He did not win military battles, and yet he conquered the world<br /><br />✔ He did not commit any crime, and yet he was crucified<br /><br />✔ He was buried in a tomb, and yet He was resurrected (lived).<br /><br />I feel honored in serving this leader who loves us so much, so much, that he offered his own life to give life to each one of us.</p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-14875080826160118712021-11-02T17:18:00.024-07:002024-02-06T22:38:56.888-08:00A note of thanks to all<p>Hardly had my family fully grieved the sudden passing of my father -- who had to be cremated with dispatch (turned out he was negative) - when we all fell ill one after another beginning on September 14, 2021. The symptoms came slow but telling -- something told us this one was... different.</p><p>In other words, we were hit by COVID-19, possibly the feared Delta variant, judging from the severity and swiftness of infection.</p><p>I would like to thank the following without whose help I and my family would not have come out of the ordeal alive.</p><p>First of all, Paeng, my immediate superior in the office, for his awesome coordination skill on top of his already gargantuan task as a multi-hyphenated head of four offices/departments, and the other forms of assistance (food, cash, meds, etc.)</p><p>Pat, my unofficial deputy, for assuming my different tasks in my long absence, with the help of the PIO team (Sheina, JV, Verna, Gab, Don, Dian, Ace, and our 'mother' Ma'am Letty)<br /></p><p>Gene and her MDRRMO team for kindly delivering oxygen tanks at all hours as needed</p><p>POSO, for their ambulance service to and from the hospital</p><p>PNP, for letting in my brother and his wife, son, and newborn, so they could come home and assist us as we were one by one feeling fatigued and helpless</p><p>Dr. Paz, Dr. Adrienne, and Dr. Roland of the LGU's Rural Health Units, for the preliminary help and checking on us, including the requisite inquiries through their nurse Jonathan and the DILG/DOH's assigned contact tracer (Rience Gonzales); for providing meds and medical equipment and supplies, even food pack</p><p>Vincent, our friend at BDH, for taking care of my mother everyday and not leaving her until she got well</p><p>My niece, Kiara, whom I suddenly remembered works in the faraway area I was confined in (there was no available room back then in Bayambang) and thus rescued me by providing for my numerous needs while recuperating inside my room</p><p>My other siblings in Manila and Cavite, who constantly kept tabs of the situation and assisted when needed through financial and moral support<br /></p><p>My dear high school classmates, especially those based abroad, for the generous financial assistance they gave for the second time around, even without being asked to give again, the first one being for my father's burial, and for their fervent prayers; special thanks to Mira and Jaye, Bles for organizing those in the US, Ivy and Melvin for the food deliveries, and Erwin in Australia for sponsoring food<br /></p><p>Also our former class adviser, Ma'am Tets, for giving financial assistance without being asked</p><p>Our neighbors in Cadre Site -- Solomon, Lucido, Gache, Doloque, Medrano families -- who gave meds, assistance in cooking, advice -- their kindness will not be forgotten<br /></p><p>My colleagues in the LGU who got wind of my family's situation, for their encouragement and prayers; Ma'am Elsie/Accounting for taking care of my PhilHealth account</p><p>Michael who served as our runner.</p><p>My old friends in the different lay religious communities in Manila: The Risen Lord's Vineyard, Risen Christ Catholic Charismatic Community, Filipinos for Life/Prolife Prayer Warriors, etc., for their intercessory prayers; also, my little, largely locally based intercessory prayer group -- I firmly believe in the power of intercession</p><p>The doctors, nurses, and other personnel of Medical City Clark, for their invaluable service -- the smile, the kind words, the genuine concern, the response to my little requests on top of the expected service -- those things can't possibly have a price tag <br /></p><p>Lastly, thanks so much to my boss, Mayor Cezar, together with Ma'am Nina, Ma'am Bonita, for footing the horrifying bill when they didn't have to; special thanks to their nurse Sarah<br /></p><p>Let me take this opportunity to thank as well those who helped us when my father died that I have not mentioned above: Cadre Site barangay officials, especially Kuya Nato (with son Cris in tow) who first came to our rescue while knowing the risks, Kagawad Ong, Kapitan Diolazo, our BHWs, especially Lea who doubled as ambulant vendor. Special thanks to Vincent for helping out at BDH, my cousins from all over, especially Uncle Bern's children, my neighborhood, friends in the office, the LGU, Raul and Cesar and wife Venus for the funeral assistance, everyone who condoled with us online, and again, Mayor Quiambao for the generosity.<br /></p><p>(My profuse apologies to anyone I may not have inadvertently left unacknowledged.)<br /></p><p>May God spare you and your family from what we have been through. For coming to the aid of poor, helpless souls, may he reward your household a hundredfold.</p><p>Of course, I thank God, that in His mercy we have weathered the twin storms of sudden death and dreadful disease. He must have allowed this for a reason, and I trust in his wisdom. I thank God, mother Mary and the saints, for the little and big miracles (see above) and the consolations (the thought that we were not alone -- several other families were going through the same exact thing, we are not the only ones suffering, etc.) in between the seemingly endless days and nights of trial.<br /></p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-14778932684741767132021-10-22T21:48:00.018-07:002024-02-04T04:35:29.389-08:00 My Experience of Covid-19<p>It all started September 14, 2021, Tuesday, when Ace, my staff in the office, felt my neck while I was having a massage during a break and he said I had a fever. I said no, I don't, but when I felt my neck and then my forehead, I realized that I indeed had a fever. I also noticed that earlier, after lunch, mucus started dripping from my nose down to my throat nonstop. I couldn't do anything but swallow each drip, and maybe out of denial, I attributed it to the sweet and sour pork I had for lunch yesterday which, of course, had lots of ginger. (I usually get a reaction from ginger like clogged nose at night.) </p><p>By dinner, I noticed that my appetite decreased, and that's when I started to worry. Could this be...? I hope to God it was just the usual flu, which I get yearly.<br /></p><p>Sept. 15, Wed. I didn't report for work because, on top of my fever, which went on and off, and loss of appetite, I suddenly had cold, cough due to itchy throat, and body ache -- all slight. I took Bioflu, thinking it was just indeed the flu I was prone to. Paeng sent me ivermectin, and I took two capsules as prophylaxis as instructed. He also gave me the Chinese Linghua herbal supplement, but after reading the lengthy ingredients list that it has ephedra, which I knew causes palpitations, I skipped it.</p><p>Meanwhile, my mother was the one who was really sick at this point (she had been sick a few days prior), and needed medical attention. Fortunately, Vincent, our friendly neighbor who's a nurse at Bayambang District Hospital, was on hand to address her every need. He volunteered everything, so she didn't have to be confined. This was something crucial because no room was available at the local district hospital nor anywhere else near.<br /></p><p>Sept. 16-18, Th-Sat. The slight fever was still on and off. My appetite was not improving. I noticed a kind of exhaustion I never experienced before after doing the simplest house chores. All I wanted to do all day was sit down on a chair and lay my head on the table.</p><p>Sept. 19-22. Sun-Th. I wasn't improving still. I was really fatigued at this point, unable to help with the house chores, my fever still on and off. My sister was also slowly showing some symptoms.<br /></p><p>I called up Dr. Paz Vallo, and she kindly sent me and my sister cotrimoxazole, vitamin C, and diphenhydramine, plus a food pack to help tide us over.</p><p>Because diphenhydramine gave me insomnia the next day, I took cetirizine instead. </p><p>I was so disappointed with the situation because I was consistent in taking vitamin C, my expensive food supplements (vitamins and minerals, including zinc and vitamin D3) from Usana, probiotics (Yakult, yoghurt), on top of my maintenance medicine (losartan). </p><p>All along, I had been doing everything else as instructed just to be compliant with the health protocols: face mask, face shield, social distancing, self-quarantine, exposure to sunshine...<br /></p><p>Carlo, my sister's husband, was starting to fall ill as well. This was the worst-case scenario. We clearly needed help. My brother Rommel, together with his wife and two sons, including 2-month old Theo hired Doming's van so they could travel all the way from Liliw, Laguna, to help us out. They were recent covid survivors themselves.</p><p>Meanwhile, I had to ask Ace to sleep over in an adjoining room so we had an extra hand while waiting for my brother.<br /></p><p>At the checkpoint in Tampog, my brother and his family were questioned, and I had to contact Paeng again to help my brother. They were allowed to enter after some hesitation from the police chief's men.<br /></p><p>Sept. 23, F. I had insomnia, of course.</p><p>My cold was gone, but I still had no appetite. I was also hyperventilating, I think -- anxiety and panic attack over the what-could-be's. On top of this, I had LBM, or could it be IBS (irritable bowel syndrome, as part of anxiety and panic)? I wasn't sure.<br /></p><p>I asked Paeng to take me to a hospital. It was my niece's Jiliana's birthday, and she was on video call, but I was in no mood to greet her and I had to pack up my things fast. An ambulance I requested arrived at the gate, and I was taken to Medical City Clark in faraway Pampanga because there was absolutely no room left in town, particularly in the Bayambang District Hospital. I also asked Paeng to ask the Mayor to help me. The Quiambao family's nurse Sarah took care of the details in booking me.<br /></p><p>The ambulance arrived at dusk. After going through an admission problem (the head nurse at the Emergency Department said there was no advice regarding my arrival, but there was), I was made to fill out a number of forms. I was incredulous. Here I was very sick and I had to read a lot of things in fine print, write, and remember a lot of personal data, including numbers. </p><p>After that, I went through a battery of tests, one after another: chest X-ray, CT-scan, two types of blood test, and three tests for covid: antigen, swab, RT-PCR.</p><p>After that, the nurses started to put me on dextrose.</p><p>On dextrose, I was made to wait while seated inside a cramped cubicle until the nurses found a slot at the makeshift hospital tent. I checked the time, and it was already 10 pm.</p><p>Inside the tent, I had an ECG test. They also started to give me all sorts of medication via intravenous (IV) administration: ceftriaxone, dexamethasone. I was also given N-acetylcysteine to drink, a mucolytic that tasted like Sprite. </p><p>To my horror, I learned that the tent does not have its own comfort room. I had to be in a wheelchair accompanied by a nurse just to be able to answer the call of nature at the Emergency Department, which is about 15 meters away. I was also lying together with another patient next to me, but there was at least a divider for privacy. Another consolation is that the tent had air-conditioning.<br /></p><p>A kind-faced female nurse provided me a portable urinal, but I found that it was not enough. I had to make use of the empty plastic bottles of mineral water that I had emptied earlier to be able to take a leak.</p><p>Every now and then, three nurses took my vital signs: BP, body temperature (using either a thermometer or a new contraption that they inserted into my ear), and blood oxygen saturation (using a pulse oximeter). Strangely, supposedly hypertensive me never registered high numbers (it was always 110-120/80, when my usual is 130/80). My oxygen level was also normal.<br /></p><p>All throughout, I was chatting with a lot of people on my phone, and I received a lot of bad news. My sister's in-laws in Brgy. Sapang appeared to have caught the virus one by one. That was two more households falling ill together!</p><p>Another staff at work, Don, also informed me that his entire family except his father and grandfather who lived in a different house fell ill one after another as well.<br /></p><p>Sept. 24, Sat. I had dry mouth, sudden onset of dry, itchy cough that was no longer slight but full-on. I still had a worrisome lack of appetite, LBM, and on top of that, hyperacidity, because they started me on omeprazole, taken 30 minutes before eating.</p><p>Sept. 25-26, Sun. The coughing became frequent. It was of a sort that I had experienced before, the kind that hurt your stomach.</p><p>They also tested my urine, in case there was a problem with my kidneys.</p><p>When night came, I was told that I was confirmed positive for COVID-19. I was given remdesivir and a blood thinner, enoxaparan, but before that, I was told to sign a waiver. I was aware that remdesivir was costly, so I had a new thought to worry about (the bills) and the effects of a drug I was not familiar with.</p><p>When I really couldn't sleep, I took Valium (diazepam) even though I worried about possible drug interactions. The doctor said she thought of giving me Lexotan, but she approved Valium because she said I had been using it, but only "as needed."<br /></p><p>Sept. 27, M. Finally they were able to find me a room, a private room with its own comfort room, thank God. I was happy that I could do all the ablutions in privacy and, for the first time, take a decent bath. (Before this luxury, I only managed to use a towel to clean up myself.) But despite all the comforts of privacy, all I ever wanted to do was sit on a chair and scroll down my FB or chat with people and lie down if bored or tired -- and pray. I think I outdid the monks at praying. I couldn't even play games on my cell phone. I didn't have any desire to listen to music. I was able to watch TV, whose switch malfunctioned all the time, until I could no longer find anything that interested me.</p><p>While confined, I had to keep on checking on my mother at home who was on dextrose and oxygen, my sister and her husband who were experiencing symptoms as well, and the deteriorating conditions of everyone in the houses of my brother-in-law's brother and parents. On top of these, my staff and his family members (wife, brother, sister) were suffering symptoms as well with various levels of severity. Somehow, the message seems to be, at least my family was not alone at it. <br /></p><p>There was an earthquake just when I was about to sleep. The room shook twice -- with the two hanging dextrose bottles moving to and fro. This building might fall apart, I thought, so I pinched a contraption that produced a sound at the nursing station. The nurse for the night entered my room almost laughing in fear just like me.</p><p>My LBM stopped, finally, but my appetite was still so-so. A few bites and I felt too full too fast. There was a great deal of food being wasted, of course, packs and packs of decent canteen food going to the trash bin. There were very few things I still liked eating -- strangely, I never lost my sense of smell and taste: apple, pear, vegetable sidings, eggs. I didn't feel like eating rice, but I forced myself to eat a few spoonfuls. Not even loaf bread and biscuits appealed to my appetite, even though I brought lots of them with me, thanks to Paeng and my staff.</p><p>They said my blood albumin level went down, so they gave me Ensure Gold for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, plus a drink that resembled orange juice but actually contained something helpful at this point. </p><p>Sept. 29. My coughing stopped, thank God!</p><p>Sept. 30. This is the only time I regained my appetite. I had to text my niece Kiara, who I remembered from out of the blue worked in Clark Airport, to satisfy my cravings for papaya, burger buns, mayonnaise, and later on, Big Mac and Chicken Joy.</p><p>Oct 4, M. I was told that I still could not be discharged because I suddenly had a lung infection, as indicated by a WBC count of 9,000. (Normal is 1,000). The doctor gave me a new antibiotic, but I failed to catch the name.</p><p>Oh, God, what new horror would haunt me through the night and keep me awake?</p><p>Oct. 8, F. I was finally discharged but was told to take cefuroxime twice a day for four more days. I wonder where I got that lung infection when I was already on ceftriaxone.</p><p>Inside the ambulance going back home, I messaged the Mayor, thanking him profusely. "Sir, thank you, I owe you my second life," I said, to which he responded, "You're welcome." <br /></p><p>I had to be on quarantine for one month. Over the first week, I felt so weak that mere walking felt weird because laborious. I was totally unable to help out with the daily house chores.</p><p>I also had to wake up in the middle of the night to eat something because I felt hungry. <br /></p><p>Little by little, I tried experimenting what activity I was able to do. I rejoiced at each little success in disposing of and segregating the waste, washing the dishes, mopping the floor, helping out with cooking, cleaning up the leaves in the yard.<br /></p><p>Oct 16. For the first time, I didn't have to wake up in the middle of the night just to eat because I didn't feel famished. This must be the beginning of real recovery, I thought.</p><p>Oct 25. I returned to work after finishing just two weeks of quarantine, I realized. I was able to deliver, but I noticed that I got tired so easily. I wanted to go home by 3 PM every day. </p><p>I was told that covid patients need a lot more time, possibly up to 6 months, depending on severity, for full recovery. </p><p>All the while, I was wondering if my mother and I, and the others, would come out of it alive, because covid-19 -- looking back -- is a disease that is designed to ensure you are killed, at least for us older and vulnerable ones, so I am just thankful that we all did survive.</p><p>We are now all back to our old routines, quite weaker than before but determined to recover.</p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395531.post-59402545473203114962021-01-01T16:24:00.004-08:002021-01-01T16:24:48.345-08:00My favorite prayer<p> O merciful God, grant that I may desire ardently, search prudently, recognize truly, and</p><p>bring to perfect completion whatever is pleasing to You for the praise and glory of Your</p><p>name.</p><p><br /></p><p>Put my life in order, O my God.</p><p><br /></p><p>Grant that I may know what You require me to do.</p><p><br /></p><p>Bestow upon me the power to accomplish Your will, as is necessary and fitting for the</p><p>salvation of my soul.</p><p><br /></p><p>Grant to me, O Lord my God, that I may not falter in times of prosperity or adversity, so</p><p>that I may not be exalted in the former, nor dejected in the latter.</p><p><br /></p><p>May I not rejoice in anything unless it leads me to You; may I not be saddened by</p><p>anything unless it turns me from You.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>May I desire to please no one, nor fear to displease anyone, but You.</p><p><br /></p><p>May all transitory things, O Lord, be worthless to me and may all things eternal be ever</p><p>cherished by me.</p><p><br /></p><p>May any joy without You be burdensome for me and may I not desire anything else</p><p>besides You.</p><p><br /></p><p>May all work, O Lord, delight me when done for Your sake and may all repose not</p><p>centered in You be ever wearisome for me.</p><p><br /></p><p>Grant unto me, my God, that I may direct my heart to You and that in my failures I may</p><p>ever feel remorse for my sins and never lose the resolve to change.</p><p><br /></p><p>O Lord my God, make me submissive without protest, poor without discouragement,</p><p>chaste without regret, patient without complaint, humble without posturing, cheerful</p><p>without frivolity, mature without gloom, and quick-witted without flippancy.</p><p><br /></p><p>O Lord my God, let me fear You without losing hope, be truthful without guile, do good</p><p>works without presumption, rebuke my neighbor without haughtiness, and—without</p><p>hypocrisy—strengthen him by word and example.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Give to me, O Lord God, a watchful heart, which no capricious thought can lure away</p><p>from You.</p><p>Give to me a noble heart, which no unworthy desire can debase.</p><p>Give to me a resolute heart, which no evil intention can divert.</p><p>Give to me a stalwart heart, which no tribulation can overcome.</p><p>Give to me a temperate heart, which no violent passion can enslave.</p><p>Give to me, O Lord my God, understanding of You, diligence in seeking You, wisdom in</p><p>finding You, discourse ever pleasing to You, perseverance in waiting for You, and</p><p>confidence in finally embracing You.</p><p><br /></p><p>Grant that with Your hardships I may be burdened in reparation here, that Your benefits I may use in gratitude upon the way, that in Your joys I may delight by glorifying You in</p><p>the Kingdom of Heaven.</p><p><br /></p><p>You Who live and reign, God, world without end. Amen.</p>Resty Odonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06308416791417331341noreply@blogger.com0