Category: Life

If I can only embrace each wounded man as God has embraced me, I would do so. But my strength is not enough, and my heart is not big enough to bear all their sorrows. I can only be a friend to some, a soothing light to few, and hope that by God’s Grace, I can at least comfort one grieving soul in my lifetime.

For what kind of man could ever find it so easy to let another one touch his very being at its weakest? Man would defend his wounds as he would defend his life. To trust is to be vulnerable, and to be vulnerable is to die. And few would ever risk dying in order to find new life.

I walked in the garden of life,
caressing soft petals here and there.
And lo! After a while they are no more,
and my heart bled for each fragrant petal that fell.
If every flower withers
never to return to its full blossom,
then what good indeed is passing by
in the garden of life?

Herein lies my hope:
That for every flower that withers,
another one blooms within me,
one that will remain
forever fragrant and fresh,
never ever to pass away.

Sometimes I wonder why we have to undergo living in an imperfect world such as ours. If there is really a God, is He powerless to bring us immediately into the perfection we desire? I believe God can surely do it, were it not for the gift of freewill He has bestowed on every man. For if He immediately brings us to such a state, wouldn’t it be His will anymore and not ours?

But what good is that will, you may argue on. Isn’t there more disaster in it than blessing? Isn’t the evil and suffering around us proof enough of the doom it has brought upon His creatures?

Birthpains, my friend. Only birthpains, with which His children shall be born. For without it, all that God can ever make are puppets with no real right to their Divine heritage.

Have you ever looked unto the eyes of true sorrow, the kind that is free of any bitterness or regret, the kind whose tears are so pure it cleanses your soul? If you’d have looked carefully, you must have seen the resemblance, how the eyes of sorrow so closely resemble the eyes of purest joy. How they both touch us and move us to be our better selves; and how they both give meaning to the life we’re living in today.Why are we so afraid then of sorrow? Why pretend you’re happy when what you really wanted to do is cry? There is more to life than laugher. There is more to life than the absence of difficulties that try our spirit. For trials give unto us a gift, which comfort can never bequeath upon us. And above all laughter are tears that tell us our souls have just been sanctified.

In truth, the most beautiful moments in our lives are the moments when both joy and sorrow dwell upon our hearts, embracing us, moving us, creating a tapestry of holiness and love, forever enriching us and blessing us through the mystery and power of our tears.