Where does my hope come from?

Last night, I realized that my life is totally out of control. I came here to Los Angeles with a plan in mind. I would transfer in two years with an associate degree, and be admitted in an academically excellent university. I kept adjusting my plans to fit what I discovered as reality here. The tuition is expensive, and my plan was rather feasible if I had the time and money to go with it. Add that up to the expectation that I'm supposed to graduate in four years, which I doubt will happen.

In the Philippines, students are expected to graduate after four years of collegiate education, or even less. Typically, you'd have a Bachelor's degree by the age of 20. I'm two years late. I am expected to have a job and help out with the bills after I graduate, but even that seems like a long shot.

My life is out of control. No amount of victory weekends and spiritual house cleaning can stop me from falling again and again. All those sins are just a result of a bigger issue I have with God. The enemy will keep on attacking because that's how he is. If not my sexual purity, he'd pull the strings of my emotional vulnerability. The enemy makes me feel so unwanted. He makes me feel that no matter how hard or how many times I try, I can never get to that place of stability. Maybe he's right. Maybe that part can only happen in heaven. Nevertheless, we are called to fight the good fight faith, and to stand back up again.

It's surprising how God meets us in our times of need when we come as we are -- when we stand before him knowing that we are broken, selfish, and powerless. No more hiding. While walking to my youth group yesterday, I was venting out all my frustrations at God saying, "I can't do this anymore. I can't try and try again knowing that I'll always fall back. I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of myself. I'm so tired of my life. Would You do that? Would You try again countless times when You know You're just going to fail?" The answer came right after the question. Yes, He did and He would. God never gave up on me, and I bet He never will. There was no doubt of Him being good and faithful, but there was doubt of me being able to finish the race.

When I entered the church, my youth pastor was preaching about God as our Father, and the prodigal son. After all that's been said and done, even when the prodigal son left and hurt him, the Father stood there with open arms welcoming his son back. Then there was his other son who stayed obedient all those years, but all he really wanted was the blessing of the Father. He was using the Father to get what he wanted. That message shook my heart because I realized who I really was. I was the other son. At that time and place, I admittedly cannot say, "I love you, God," and really mean it. It is very humbling, but true. I am a human being with no capacity to love God on my own. I wouldn't have loved him at all if He didn't love me first. Loving Him requires His grace.

I realized I was only using God. I liked the feeling of being loved, and I like all the gifts He has given, but I'm not really ready to give up anything for Him. Even if everything I did was intended to glorify Him, there were really selfish reasons underlying all my actions. No, I have not done a single thing completely for Him. It had been all for me. I was the prodigal son's moralist brother who did things to earn the grace and mercy of my Father when in the first place it can never be earned for it was freely given.

Part of me as a person, an Asian, and a Filipina, is that I am a performance-based individual. That's how I grew up. My family required certain standards for me to receive their blessings. It is true at some point in every family. And it is hard for me not to come to God the same way. I always felt He expected me to do this and that, and if I ever fail, I would be too hard on myself. But He is the exact opposite of what I thought. He never required anything from me because He knew that I could never do it at all, and so He sent His son and He tells me, "I know you can't handle it on your own, so here's my grace. I know you will fall down, and you will sin against me and you will hurt me. It's okay, you've been forgiven. Go and sin no more. I already did what needs to be done." God knows I try to rely on His grace, but it's hard. And as long as I allow my performance to define who I am in God, then I'd always be defeated.

My life is out of control, but it doesn't matter as long as I have a God who is in control. I am not willing to go on. I can only trust that when God promised that everything works for the good of those who love Him, the bigger picture includes the good and the bad along the way. Right here and right now, it's not true that He's all I ever need and that I love Him more than anything else. But I pray that He will make it true in my life. There's only one thing I asked from Him last night, "Don't let go of me, even when I'm not holding on to You anymore. Even if I'm trying to take Your hands off of me."

Where does my hope come from? My hope comes from the Lord.

Of Struggles with Apathy and Vulnerability

In the spirit of indifference, I am actually quite neutral today, even when last night was a hard one. In the middle of all the preparations for my debut, I thought it was just one of those daily dramas that my mom pushes on me because I resent exercising. Yes, that's right people. We fought over this a gazillion times before, and I just wouldn't do it. Why? I'm content with my body, with who I am, and I don't care what people think of me. On the one hand, I actually get her point of view because she only wants the best for me. She wants people to like me and not judge me, she doesn't want people calling me fat, and she wants me to look good on my debut, so my guests wouldn't have anything to say except marvel at my awesome beauty. Ha!

She's been working so hard these past few weeks, organizing the venue and catering, designing things, and fitting everything in our tight budget. That's actually quite amazing. She's also been telling me that she couldn't concentrate and do her job because she's thinking of my debut, she's already having debts, and on top of all that, she still has flight to book which would be equally or even more costly than my debut. At the back of my mind, there's my mean, rational self telling me that she shouldn't be stressing herself too much with my debut because anything will do for me, and besides, she's the one who wants to work on it, so why does she come and tell me that it's my fault that she's stressed out? And then there's my good, obedient side that is slowly fleeting, which is nagging me, "What the heck are you thinking? Of course she's gonna do all the work 'cause you're doing nothing. She doesn't want to end up like you and throw a stupid party for her daughter. She wants the best for you." And so goes an endless argument between the two.

I actually had a thought that maybe I've been cursed with apathy. My mom usually gets mad a lot, and you wouldn't want to come near her when she's stressed, because she always finds a reason to be angry. She used to say so many negative things to me when I was younger so I taught myself to block out all the negative things I hear from her, and from everybody else, unless it sounds constructive rather than insulting. And what do you know, I was actually good at it. That was how I built my self-esteem. Maybe there's just a problem with communication, she's my parent after all, she can say anything she wants however she wants to. If she's going to ground me, or threaten me, or disown me, it only hurts a little, and then I block it off, and then I tell myself that I don't care, and I really wouldn't care. Recently, her approach has been subtle, and that surprised me a lot. She doesn't get angry all of a sudden, and she's grown to be more gentle. But my approach hasn't changed at all. I discovered that my apathy stayed, even when the rational part of me knows that she is right, I am at fault, and I should definitely say sorry and pay restitution. But the next day, I end up doing nothing.

When she cried last night, which was the purest and weakest cry I've ever seen from her, I couldn't get myself to pity her. There were a lot of things that went on my mind. I thought that she was beautiful as a woman when she did that. I was surprised to see her vulnerability because she's always been an authoritative power figure when I do something wrong. Sure, I've seen her loving side a lot of times as well, but weak and tired weren't usually in the equation. I also thought that it was the most beautiful sign of love, but I don't really want to get soaked up in her love because I'm afraid it would hurt so much when I leave for L.A. and live on my own. I cried after she told me to get out of her room, because at the sum of it all, it wasn't a cry of discipline and tiresomeness, but a cry of pain. I hurt her. And I was also hurt because I love her, but I didn't love her the way I should have.

In my lifetime, I've only made a few people cry, and I was reminded that they all had the same reason to do so. Because they love me, but I didn't love them the way I should. I could even call it an unrequited love. I don't know what to do with myself. I am rid of integrity, excellence, and now love. I don't have all those things, and at times, I couldn't care less. I hate myself for being like this. At this point, there's only one thing I've realized. People who truly love risk themselves of the vulnerablility of being hurt. My mom loves me, and would do anything for me, and I can't exactly say that I can do the same for her. I can only imagine that kind of love until I have my own child someday. God, who is in the most vulnerable position of all, chose to love me, even when He knows I will only desert, offend and hurt Him countless times.

I want to care. I want to do something to make it up to the people I've hurt. I am secure in God's love, but in any other human love, I'm afraid I just have to make restitution to restore our relationship, otherwise it may slowly drift farther apart without me noticing it.