Journey to The Center of The Heart

Operation Rescue The Bird

       One afternoon in school, our class–students and Paraeducators alike–went to the library. I seated myself in one of the tables half-reading a book, half-watching the kids do their work.

       Out of the blue, a bird flew in from one of the open double-doors of the library and circled above our heads.

      "Aaahhhhhhcccckkkkk!" The kids shrieked. "Bird! Bird! Hey, it’s a bird!" They ducked and peeked through excited arms poised defensively in front of their faces.

       The poor bird flew to the wide, broad fixed window at the back of the library; but it kept banging against the clear, transparent glass. Over and over again, it flew to the window and hit the glass. The bird, obviously, was trying to fly  back to the clear blue skies and tall green treetops outside, but the glass window was barring its way. The poor bird could see its home, but just couldn’t get there. Freedom felt so near, yet so far.

      Soon, after an alternating "thump-thump" from the bird hitting the window and "aacckkk, bird!" from the students, the bird finally grew tired and rested on the window sill, perched as if it were going to try again, looking hopeful that the invisible field would be gone by then.

      When my wits finally came back, I, along with the other adults, stood up and approached the bird gingerly. The bird had a bluish-black coat, and was about the size of a grown man’s hand.

       Tired from its futile attempts to fly out the window, it hopped back and forth on the sill. My first instinct was to carefully catch it with my bare hands, but thoughts of birdflu stopped me. I asked for a plastic bag instead. One of the library aides quickly got me one, which shot the idea that maybe I didn’t have to catch the bird after all.

       Plastic bag fixed the way I wanted it in my hands, I slowly reached for the bird. Hop, hop, hop it went to the edge of the sill. As my plastic bag-covered hands slowly got closer to it, the bird tried to flutter its wings and get away from the wrinkled white glob. It was a point of no return for me so I closed my eyes shut and, through the bag, felt my fingers touch the bird’s feathers, its wings and, finally, its whole warm body around my hands.

       I have the bird! my mind screamed silently. The knowledge sent electric fluid running down my arms.

       "Ms. Cruz got the bird!" "Careful! Careful!" Jubilant but hushed murmurs surrounded me. I turned around slowly. I could feel the delicate structure of the bird. My hold was nervous–unsure how firm my grip should be. I realized that the bird’s fragile life was in my hands literally, and that in an instant, I could easily squeeze the air out of its already nerve-wrecked lungs. I relaxed my hold. Gently, ever so gently, I cradled the bird between my palms and walked towards the double-doors through which it had mistakenly flew in.

       I had planned on walking all the way outside of the library into the open then release the bird to its freedom. But, something a co-worker said distracted me and my hold loosened. The bird jumped on the opportunity and flew away. But it flew too high and missed the opening of the door. Instead, it hit the glass window above the doors!

      "Oh!" We grimaced. But the bird immediately got its bearings, flew lower this time and went straight through the door. To freedom.

The Bird, The Window and Me

       To the bird, the air, blue skies, trees, wide open space represented freedom, happiness, peace, home–things it already had; yet, for some reason, it was lured into flying into the library.  The bird knew it didn’t belong in the library, so upon seeing the view–its home–beyond the window, it flew frantically towards it, but in vain. The deceptive glass of the window mockingly masqueraded as the way to freedom. And it had become an obsession to the bird.

       But, there was another way, and it required someone to help the bird find its way again. For the bird to find the right way, it had to be removed first from the window–the very thing that represented freedom to the bird.

       Understandably, the bird struggled and tried to get away from my hands when I had caught it. It had no idea that I was only trying to help it be free again.

        Perhaps, if the bird had been left alone, it would still be sitting on the sill, or worst, be dead from hitting the glass window over and over again.

        Like the bird, I have everything I already need, but I would still stubbornly venture out to places, situations, and relationships that may seem like a good idea in the beginning but inevitably reveal themselves as a trap.

       A nagging voice would then tell me that I wasn’t in a good place at all, that I was far from good things, far from true peace, far from home, far from my heart, far from my authentic self.

       And so, like the bird, I would also ‘find my window and try to get out’ only to hit the glass over and over again.

       In my life, the window represents ‘looking for love in all the wrong places’, toxic relationships, attachments to things, habits, behaviors, attitudes, etc. that provided fleeting happiness and false promises. I would pounce on this ‘window’ over and over again, duped into thinking that I was getting closer to what I was trying to get to.

        The ‘window’ had become an addiction. It had replaced ‘home’.

        The nagging voice would continue its plea to get away from the window. But I would try to drown it out by hitting it again. To numb the pain, I would fly to the glass and hit it again. Fly and hit, fly and hit. Again, and again and again.

God’s Will and Metanoia: The Way to Freedom

       It is said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results every time.

      Gosh, I’d been insane countless of times, then! How many times had I flown and hit the glass and not get anywhere?

       Fortunately, there was another way, and it required Someone to show me. This Someone had the daunting task of removing me from the ‘window’ that had dangerously become a part of my reality. He had to show me metanoia–a profound change of heart, a change of direction, a new way of living.  He had to teach me to surrender to Him, to His will.

       Like the bird, I anxiously tried to get away when this Someone came. Nobody was taking me away from my ‘window’! But something in me also yearned to be free, to be saved, to surrender to the arms of…a Savior.

      But the pull of the ‘window’ was too strong, and I couldn’t–didn’t want to–be taken away from it. It felt as if the window was stronger than anything.

     However, this Someone was stronger. In fact, He seemed to be the strongest of them all. Too tired and too defeated to get away, I finally surrendered into His arms. For all His strength, He was surprisingly gentle.

     Lovingly, He picked me up and held me as I felt the withdrawal symptoms from being far from the window running its course. He patiently nursed me until I could fly again.

     Soon enough, I was spreading my wings on my way to true freedom. I was on my way home where peace, love and joy reside, where my Savior reigns from whose gaze I’m never far out of reach.

      Though every now and then, new places with big windows would still fascinate me and I would go explore, I know now which ones to avoid. I have to learn to follow a different course. If I happen to find myself trapped because of my own wrong choices, I have faith that my Savior is never far away to save me and bring me back home again.

      As I live in metanoia and strive to follow His will, I have faith that He holds me in His arms and would never let me go.

     I only need to surrender to Him and to His faithul promise of freedom.

      Over and over again.

       In 2003, my sister and her family came from the Philippines to visit us.

       One day, I was sitting in the living room mindlessly watching tv. My brother-in-law, Kuya Nicol, was having a late lunch. Yannick, my then two-year-old nephew, wanted to see what his daddy was eating. Kuya Nicol picked up Yannick and sat him on the table. Soon enough, Yannick spied on the chocolate cake across from him.

      "Cake! Cake!" He eagerly yelled. Quick as a flash Yannick lunged for his dad’s fork. But quicker was his dad who firmly, but gently, caught Yannick’s hand.

     "Daddy lang, Yannick." Kuya Nicol said. He picked up the fork, sank it into the chocolate cake, carved out a sizable piece and gave it to Yannick who had his cute little mouth in a big O.

     "Mmm-mmmm," Yannick said with 100% satisfaction.

      My breath caught in my throat. "That’s how you are with us, your children, Lord!" I thought.

      My attention totally diverted from the tv, I reflected some more on the scene that had just unfolded in our kitchen.

      Many times I acted like my nephew. If I wanted something, anything that I think would give me pleasure or happiness, I would ‘grab the fork‘ immediately and not consider the consequences. Many times as I reached for my dreams or certain goals I would stubbornly follow my will, my way only to end up bruised, hurt and fearful to try again, doubting myself and my abilities.

        But just like Kuya Nicol who told Yannick, "Daddy lang," I realized that God always tells me the same thing, "Rio, my child, let Me do it. Let Me be your strength. Let My will be done."

       "Surrender your will to mine and give me your desires for only I can fulfill them beyond your wildest imagination, beyond your impossible dreams. Without me you can do nothing, but with me nothing is impossible. I want to lavish you with my riches. I’ve given you My Son, have I not? Give me your life and you shall have it more abundantly."

        That day with the cake, a fork and my two-year-old nephew helped me realize to set my sights on better things than a chocolate cake, be present to opportunities I’m given, keep reminding myself to give up my fork to Daddy, and let my Daddy’s will be done.

        Mmm-mmmm, sounds good to me! Thanks, Daddy!

       "And I give my all

       (Take me as I am)

       I am yours, Oh, God

       (Lead me to Your arms)

       And I’ll give You praise

      (For I rejoice in You)

       Till the end of my days

       I give my all

       To You……"

       We sing this song during praise and worship in our Singles For Christ community. But recently, I’ve been having difficulty mouthing the words.

       Singing is praying twice. As such, the song is a prayer to God, and praying is communicating with God. In other words, I am communicating to God that "I give my all" to Him.

       I balk.

       I reflect on the words and remember what Mother Teresa had said before she returned to her Creator, "I give my all to Christ for Christ has given His all to me…"

       With that thought, I can’t sing the song without having my chest cave in, my breath grow short, my throat burn and my tears spill out.

       He has given His all to me. I belong to Him. The question is, can I truly give my all to Him? Can I decide to sincerely live the song and not just sing it?

       What does the song truly mean in the uniqueness of my individuality as a human being? What exactly does giving my all looks like in my own life–in my home, family, work, in my friendships, community/ministry, in my inner life?      

       I reflect.

       I pray–asking, seeking and knocking.

      He leads me back to my heart where He sits in His throne.

       To give my all, my heart has to be free from fears– fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of not being wanted by another human being, etc; and wants–attachments to possessions, thrills, the next big experience, perfectionism, overwhelming emotions, the attention of another person/s. Giving my all to God means dying to my self everyday–dying to my pride, ego, selfish and self-seeking desires, addictions, emotional attachments, emotional thrills, dying to the negative voices inside my head, dying to my wants that don’t bring life.

       As I strive to die to myself, lose my life in His, and letting Him be the true source and goal of my life then I can become fully alive in His glory, for His glory. To give my all to Him means that I have to be detached from the world, even from my community, so that I am free to listen and respond to the voice of my Lover, the Lord. For only through Him, in Him, and with Him can I have everlasting life, a life filled with true joy, lasting peace and enduring love.

       Only then–when I am living for His glory–can I have meaningful relationships. Only then can I be truly present in the moment, living in the moment and not be overwelmed by fantasies, nor be filled with worries about the past or anxieties about the future. Only then can I establish a rhythm in my life– a calm, peaceful, serene way of living in the face of calamities, or mental and emotional disturbances.

       When I am doing every single little thing in my daily life–waking up, brushing my teeth, eating my food, talking to people, walking down the street, driving, thinking, dreaming, writing, singing, serving, crying, laughing, etc–and making the Lord part of it by inviting Him in and His will, then I’m living for His glory.

          Giving my all to Him, and living for His glory is a process; it’s also a process of getting to know oneself in order to know what one’s ‘all’ is. It doesn’t happen overnight. Everything worthwhile takes time. And so I submit myself to the journey step by step, take one day at a time and remember to pray the Serenity Prayer (God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference).

       After all, it’s all about spiritual progression, not perfection.

       By myself, I cannot do it; I get so easily distracted. But He promises to grant His grace that enables us to do His will. Nothing is impossible to God. The Holy Spirit, the Advocate, will give His strength to those who sincerely seek to do His will. He is the constant, faithful Help for those who wish to give their all to Him, so that they can truly say ‘yes, Lord, I give my all to You.’

       And so I sing:

       "Till the end of my days

        I give my all

        To You….."