God Be Blessed

IMG_1285I am indoors this morning pounding at the slowness of my PC’s keyboard while the world around me is wrapped in the gust of coolness brought by the rains that began at two and whose end is nowhere in sight. I hate to open my door, for beyond that I know lies the inescapable responsibility to clean up the languishing mess of shopworn leaves, rotten and wet, thrown at my yard by the winds of last night. I am supposed to finish this piece whose deadline has been set by me. At the craft I have chosen, I am my own boss. And even though it has been my wish and desire to fulfill my boss’ wish and desire, I still have failed to relate to my own time frame. Maybe a turtle could beat me at the speed at which I am writing.

I have talked about slowness, and while I have faulted my machine, I have also been blessed by its inability to talk back. What else? My mind has been engaged to a topic that seems to be wanting of inspiration. For example, one who is so familiar with broccoli culture loses sync with the muse if he attempts at writing about deer hunting. There simply are no deer to hunt around the area, the muse does not cooperate. And while one spends much of his time musing, it’s the old muse he is actually missing.

Maybe I have picked up a poor day, if not a poor place to start crafting my piece. This particular day of March, for instance, seems to be a harvest bag bulging with too many distractions, too many to ignore. I am distracted by the sky—this rainy morning it has worn a shade of gray ash. Missing are the high dirty-whitish cirrus streaks hung like streamers across the canvas of blue, and so we too miss the usual drama of nature that comes in a weather fair and shining — the shrill neighing of the racehorse, the gentle chirping of the winged, the soft hiss of the small stream not far from us. You may expect an endless downpour the whole day. He is the sender of both blessings of sunshine and rain.

Oh, yes, and that neighborhood pigsty. A private business to uplift the lives of the poor whose number keeps thriving in the place we have chosen to spend our private lives in. The smell is no longer a matter of privacy, and we keep complaining. But here you can bellyache to the high heavens and nobody listens. However it too is a blessing: My nose has now learned to adjust to the culture of the smelling pigsty. My patience has now an additional point up its sleeve.

The other distraction is in my soul. The matter of doings of our two offspring living their separate lives from us sets my mind into thinking about the inevitable prospect that God has designed for fathers and mothers–“Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother and shall cleave unto his wife and they both shall be one flesh.” The fatherhood of my youth is gone, but in its place comes the grandfatherhood to a boy six years old. No, two boys, the younger of which is two. Ms. Joan Orendain—God bless her—is right in saying that Charles Jacob, my first grandchild, shall bless my olden days with golden joys. Thank God for inventing grandsons.

And so on these days when we have been bombarded with a blizzard of bad news of shootings and killings, of parricides and infanticides, of wife abuse and child abuse, of kidnappings and carnappings, of corruption and graft in high places and low, of world economies that float and sink, dictated by the whims and caprices of those harem-loving sheiks, let us not cease to bless Him. The blood of human hurts still oils the wheels of human lives, the vehicles of human activity still run the trip from misfortune to fortune and vice versa, and the great indomitable human spirit still looks up high for a better gaze at the future. Some of the world’s creatures have suffocated under the sheer weight of the world’s wealth—Warren Buffett is number one and Bill Gates is number three. But we who are spectators in this game too are survivors. If anything, we are to be thankful that our lives are not so calamitous. We still eat the fruits of our labors, for God also blesses those who sit and wait. Buffett and Bill Gates may have been blessed with the world’s wealth, but theirs is one that passes after this age, while ours is one that passes beyond this age. God be blessed for that.

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