Of Paints and Brushes, and Musings on Christmas

I am in the middle of finishing several painting projects, and have been using watercolor paints again. I have not used them in a while, because I need to allot enough time to let the paint dry before I apply the other layers. 

Time, sadly for me, has become a luxury quite difficult to afford. I do my best to manage my schedule ~ to have time for family and friends, the apostolates closest to my heart, and yes, even for my hobbies. (Writing personal thoughts has lately taken a back seat, but then again, I try to squeeze it in!)

So today, while contemplating a particular painting I am working on ~ my own rendition of "Beloved Dominican Saints" which was originally painted by Bernadette Carstensen, I thought of Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus, who was a painter, too. (She is one of my favorite saints, and remains one of my most powerful intercessors in heaven who have always been a constant companion in in my faith journey.)

I am merely God's paint-brush.

In her autobiography "Story of a Soul", Saint Thérèse likened herself to a brush which Jesus uses in making His masterpieces:

If a piece of canvas painted upon by an artist could think and speak, it certainly would not complain at being constantly touched and retouched by the brush, and would not envy the lot of that instrument, for it would realize it was not to the brush but to the artist using it that it owed the beauty with which it was clothed. The brush would not be able to boast of the masterpiece produced with it, as it knows that artists are not at a loss; they play with difficulties, and are pleased to choose at times weak and defective instruments.

I am a little brush which Jesus has chosen in order to paint His own image in the souls entrusted to my care. An artist does not use only one brush, but needs at least two: the first is the more useful and with it he applies the general tins and covers the canvas entirely in a very short time; the other, the smaller one, he uses for details.

Break my heart, Lord.

I remember being told very early to be careful with not only what I wish for, but especially with what I pray for, because I really just might get what I am asking from the Lord!

As I work on several paintings, I remember a prayer, a song that keeps playing on repeat in my head. It has become sort of like a personal anthem during the times I was discerning what to do next in my life. That was about six years ago, and there is a line from that song that made me tear up every single time I listened to it, or attempted to sing it. It still moves me to tears even now:

Heal my heart and make it clean; Open up my eyes to the things unseen. Show me how to love like You have loved me. Break my heart for what breaks Yours, Everything I am for Your Kingdom's cause, as I walk from earth into eternity...

For years this has been like a life-song albeit only for a certain stage in my life. But it stuck with me, and looking back, it has dawned on me that this particular prayer of mine has been answered. 

My heart is terribly aching for the many things that I am sure would break God's heart ~ and  most of the time I feel too weak and vulnerable to be keeping a shattered heart inside my chest. Then again, it gives me so much consolation that my "direct line" with God in prayer is always open and available!

Painting and praising even in my brokenness.

Ah, the tempests that rage in my life, and the billows that toss me around!! I would not have survived and still remain here if it were not for God's grace. I thank God for days like today that I get to reflect and deal with my heartaches. Admittedly, some parts of my paintings literally include tears! 

God made the world beautiful, but we have marred it with our selfishness and greed. Somehow, when I paint, I am able to look at Beauty that I otherwise would usually not notice, what with the daily preoccupations of my every day existence. With brush in hand, I am able to contemplate how masterfully and thoughtfully God created each of us; that every detail in Creation was, and is done in Love.

It's two days before Christmas, and there's a sense of longing, and emptiness that need to be filled. Out in the streets, I see chaos in the snail's pace traffic. The Christmas lights have become too blindingly bright that people seem to be unable to focus on the real Light. The Christmas carols that I so love to sing as a child are reduced to noise, compared to that one sweet sound I so long to hear ~ His voice. 

Christmas is a joyful season; I cannot help but also think about why He was born in the first place. The sadness echoes because I know He came that He may die for me. His birth brings hope and promise, and the certainty that there is salvation for us all.

If the myriad pieces of my broken heart were not enclosed, they would probably have already scattered all over. There is joy in celebrating the season, but this early, I cannot help but ponder about Bethlehem and Calvary at the same time. I am exhausted and broken, and yet, in my brokenness, He comes to me as a child, and He makes my heart whole again.

I am glad I can resort to my paints and paint brushes. All is God's grace that I am able to turn the mind to the good. The pigments and the canvasses are a big help in keeping my focus on Him who is the reason for the season.  Oh the hope that is experienced through the heart by the power of His unconditional love and grace! 

What a truly amazing gift we all receive at Christmas ~ Jesus Himself! 

The Silent Gaze of Mercy

It was a wonderful morning a few days before Christmas. My coworkers decided to go to Tagaytay City to check on retreat houses that our diocesan catechists may stay-in for a retreat in 2015. They invited me to tag along. After weeks of working late, I welcomed the short getaway; I could use some fresh air. 

Maryridge Retreat House
of the Good Shepherd Sisters

As I waited for my friends to pick me up at the corner of Araneta Avenue and Aurora Boulevard, I saw a little boy about 6 to 8 years old, begging a coconut vendor to give him a piece. I overheard him saying he has not eaten yet. I could not resist the urge to approach them and offered to pay for one. He excitedly took the coconut fruit and water. I asked him where his parents were. In between sips, he nonchalantly replied he has no mother and his father is in jail because of cellphone theft. He has no siblings, and he said he has no house and sleeps in the streets. I felt a searing pain in my heart.

The vendor, perhaps also filled with pity for the child exclaimed, "Kung ang Diyos ay Diyos na maawain, bakit Niya hinahayaang magdusa ang mga batang paslit?" (If God is a God of mercy, why does He allow little children to suffer?)

Before I could answer him, he left almost in a haste, and so did the little boy, and I was left dumbfounded on that street corner. There I was looking forward to a short trip away from the city to unwind, while many nameless destitute people are worrying about where to get money for their next meal. I was excited to have some relaxation outside Manila, but around me are people lacking not just in basic necessities but also in love and attention. I felt guilt and sorrow. I felt I was not doing enough to alleviate pain in the world.

After a few minutes, my friends came. And so began my journey to Tagaytay, contemplating the pain and suffering of this world.

In the many years that I have served as a volunteer in various organizations that take care of the sick, the elderly, the poor, the abandoned and the marginalized of society, I have seen pain and despair. At one point in my life, I have asked God why He could have the heart to allow suffering? I believe that with Him nothing is impossible, but why then can't He do something about those abandoned elderly on the streets? Or bring healing to all those cancer-stricken children so that they may live a full life? Or provide a safe and loving home for orphans?

I have always known the answer. This inextinguishable faith in my heart will always find solace in the Truth of the Gospels. But in silence, I begged the Good Lord to remind me once again. Perhaps I needed to just hear Him speak to me.

We arrived to a chilly weather at the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary Retreat center and was welcomed by Sr. Aida, FFM. Inside her office was a simple reminder of the real Reason for this season of merriment and glad tidings. 

Sr. Aida's Nativity display
on her office desk

On her desk was a Nativity set ~ Saint Joseph and the Blessed Virgin Mary kneeling and adoring the Infant Jesus. Looking at the Holy Babe you'd expect to find joy. Ironically, all I could think about was the reason why Jesus had to be born for us all: our redemption through His Cross. And I thought about that hungry, homeless little boy I encountered earlier that day. I fought back tears as I thought of how he will be spending his Christmas while the rest of us shall be stuffing our bellies with good food and wine, and how we shall be celebrating till the wee hours of the morning with laughter and warmth with our loved ones. That boy will be  cold, hungry, and all alone.

And I looked to Jesus. In silence, He comforted my heart and reminded me of His love. Jesus knew how it was to be alone at the moments of His greatest sufferings. No other human soul could ever comprehend nor share the agony of His heart as He hung on the Cross. That is why He fully knows and understands what every breaking heart is going through. He  is Emmanuel after all; God with us who shares in our deepest loneliness. In His desolation, He reveals to us His infinite and unconditional love for humankind. Jesus invites us to come to Him that He may be able to take away our afflictions. He draws us to Himself that He may be able to dry all our tears.

As we continued on to have an ocular visit of the place, Sr. Aida led us to their chapel with a breathtaking view of the Taal Lake. Inside, as I would expect in a Franciscan congregation, hung a San Damiano Cross. I knelt in prayer and looked at the image of Jesus. 

The San Damiano Cross and an image of Mother Mary,
Chapel of the FMM Retreat House in Tagaytay

I was reminded of the salvific Love of Jesus. Saint John Paul II said in Salvifici Doloris, "Salvation means liberation from evil, and for this reason it is closely bound up with the problem of suffering... God gives His Son to 'the world' to free man from evil, which bears within itself the definitive and absolute perspective on suffering."

"God gives His only-begotten Son so that man 'should not perish' and the meaning of these words ' should not perish' is precisely specified by the words that follow: "but have eternal life". Man 'perishes' when he loses 'eternal life'. The opposite of salvation is not, therefore, only temporal suffering, any kind of suffering, but the definitive suffering: the loss of eternal life, being rejected by God, damnation. The only-begotten Son was given to humanity primarily to protect man against this definitive evil and against definitive suffering." (Saint John Paul II in Salvifici Doloris, IV, 14)

The Cross of Christ teaches us and empowers us to take up our own crosses and to be affirmed that in our own anguish, we partake of the suffering of Jesus. In Him we find comfort for our weary, burdened hearts. When we are faced with fears, we draw strength from Him who endured the ordeals and tortures of His Passion. When we feel alienated or rejected, He draws us to run to Him who alone can fill the emptiness our heart feels. 

I look up to the Cross, the eyes of Jesus lovingly gazing at me. Love is the answer of the meaning of suffering, and I found it in the eyes of the image of Jesus hanging on the Cross. "For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life" (St. John 3:16) 

I offered a prayer for that little boy, an image of Christ hungry for our love. Pray with me for him, and for all those abandoned children, the sick, the last, the lost, the least, all dear to Jesus whose birthday we celebrate every Christmas.