On the Author, the Narrator, the Solar System and the Year Ahead

"You know, Nanay," said B to me knowingly over dinner last night, ending with a dramatic flourish, "tomorrow is the last day of 2007!"

"Uh-huh," I smiled through my mouthful of left-over Christmas pasta, "and then, what's the day after that?"

"The first day of 2008!!!!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

After a brief, scholarly, somewhat one-sided discussion (mostly with B on the talking end) on what a year means in astronomy, how long it takes for each of the planets to circle the sun and spin itself round, what the new solar system now looks like, the new dwarf planets Eris and Ceres, and so forth, I managed to steer the conversation back to more earth-related matters, and talk about the year ahead. Now it was my turn to start with a "you know" statement.

"You know, B," I said. "I bet God has a terrific plan for us in 2008. Just like the books that we've read and the stories you've written, there's a fantastic ending He's planned for us, a great plot in store for all His children that only He knows. It's like a Great Big Secret that only He knows, and we discover more and more of what He's written in our story each day. He's the Writer, the Author of the story of our lives, and now He wants us to turn to page 2008 on New Year's Day with excitement and anticipation!"

"And," B added in agreement, "God is also the Narrator of our story, Nanay, just like in that Winnie the Pooh movie where Tigger and Pooh could talk to the Narrator and he talks back? And the Narrator could narrate them all out of sticky situations, like when Tigger was stuck up in a tree and couldn't bounce down, and the Narrator narrated him down safely by tilting the page!"

"That's exactly right, B," I replied, seizing the opportunity for a teaching moment. "And we do that all the time, too! We talk to the Narrator and Author of our story all the time and when we're still and we listen very carefully, we can hear Him narrating us through each page. When we're lost or stuck, He can narrate us out of anything! Do you know another name for talking to the Narrator, B?"

"What?" asked B with open curiosity.

So I said in mock horror, "What? You don't know? But you do it every night! I bet you know already." I then pretended to chew my dinner very carefully, taking my time, sipping my water.

It was easy to see that he was hooked on the topic and couldn't take the suspense any more without needing to make a dash for the bathroom. So I stopped teasing him, looked him in the eye and whispered, "Prayer, B. Whenever we pray, all we are really doing is talking to God as our Narrator and Author."

"Oh, yeah," said B with dawning realisation. "I'm excited to turn the page and see what He's written for us in 2008, Nanay. I can't wait!"

"Me, too, B!" I answered, and meant it with my whole heart.

The Most Wonderfully Difficult Time of the Year

Christmas is almost upon us, the most wonderfully difficult time of the year for many migrant families. Especially those who, like us, have not been home yet since we left, for various reasons.

Now, this post won't be an intellectually probing social commentary on migration, the emotional consequences or whatever it is that social academics write about. Nothing deep or clever in this blog entry. No, not this close to Christmas, I'm afraid.

All I know is that this morning, after two days of being stuck in bed with two virus-ridden young charges in freezing indoor conditions, I was in the mood to play Christmas songs on the CD. There is absolutely no other Christmas album yet recorded that evokes and exposes so many raw, deep-seated childhood thoughts and emotions in me than Ray Conniff's We Wish You A Merry Christmas. So, being the masochist that I often am, I played the CD, for the boys' enjoyment and early indoctrination, and to feed my own reminiscent mood,

And instantly, I entered back into memories of my happiest childhood Christmases, the jolly ghost of Christmas past. I remembered Daddy playing our Ray Conniff LP at full blast several days before Christmas, and it's impossible for me to listen to the Ray Conniff singers without feeling happier afterwards.

Once that CD was done, I decided to listen to the new OPM Christmas CD which a very caring and consistent couple friend of ours thoughtfully sent us this year. They've been very supportive of us, sending us OPM CDs and movies year after year to make sure we don't miss out. Thank God for friends like them! How I wish we'd get more Christmas cards and greetings from home, which we relish opening and reading before hanging it up on our "sampayan" of Christmas cards. But it's okay, it's completely fine, there's no need for guilt here; we understand the Pinoy culture very well, which is more suited to texting and emailing. We're not really good at snail mail, are we? Before we left the Philippines, we rarely sent Christmas cards abroad, it simply was not our common practice. Plus, I understand that this year was quite toxic for some of our more dedicated Christmas-card-sender-friends from home, and the run-up to the holidays has really been more intense this year, so that's fine.

But I digress...

So anyway, as I popped the CD in and listened to Jose Mari Chan's "Christmas in our hearts" and Gary V's "Pasko na, sinta ko," I thought I was doing very well indeed and was starting to pat myself on the back for being such a seasoned migrant, a veteran pilgrim celebrating her third uprooted Christmas away from everyone she loves with such serene grace. Then, without warning, Kuh Ledesma's voice suddenly broke into my thoughts: "Isipin ko lang, ating nakaraang Pasko, sapat na ang pagdiriwang..."

And, to my eternal shame, I broke down sobbing. Just like that. Bigla na lang akong naiyak, for no conceivable reason. All I remember, before my embarrassing solitary breakdown, was that I suddenly thought about my late Dad and our last Christmas together in 2002, and our Christmases before that.... and that opened the floodgates of other memories, I suppose... and I began to smell the bibingka, the puto bumbong, the champorado, the hot chocolate... and I remembered in one incessant rush the sights, the sounds, the textures, the unique Filipino atmosphere of Christmas at home, with loved ones, with family, with friends.

Homesickness. It never ends, no matter how many Christmases you've been away. Just like a wound that scars over during much of the year, only to be painfully peeled back every twelve months. And blood flows afresh, but scars over soon enough. And for the rest of the year, I thank God that pain has no memory.

Our Deepest Fear

As my short course for SET women returners comes to an end, I'd like to share with you a powerful poem which was part of last week's course materials. It's authored and published by Marianne Williamson:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small doesn't serve the world.

There's nothing enlightened about shrinking

so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

We are born to make manifest the glory...that is within us.

It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people

permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

As I read this short passage, I unexpectedly found a lump in my throat. It really moved me.

To inexplicably freeing tears.

Last posting date to the Philippines today...

... and I'm happy to say I beat the deadline! Yay!!!!

Burned the candle at both ends last night just to finish sorting, labeling, writing and licking the Christmas post, just to be able to send the cards off today and know that they might (or should, anyway!) reach the 47 receivers on or before Christmas. 47! Whew! And that's just for Asia and Oceania.

And then there's the annual family newsletter which I had to plan, compose, lay-out and print (with O's willing assistance), to be individually folded and sent out with the cards. It always takes assembly-line precision to produce those newsletters and cards every year, but we still do it.

Why, you wonder? Why do we even bother? Why do it at all?

Because it gives us a chance to re-connect with loved ones, even at least once a year. To be totally, virtually, ephemerally together in spirit, during the short space of time it takes them to rip open our card and read what's inside. For those precious few minutes, we allow them to come and share in our world, and our life is that much richer and brighter for the connection.

Because while each card goes through the family production line, we say a prayer for whoever it's going to, so it's a chance to intercede for each of our loved ones and remember them before the Lord. It's both a practical and spiritual process, a yearly ritual since we moved away from home.

Because uprooted, migrant families like ours can not afford to lose touch with our roots and our circle of relationships, at any cost, at any price. They are all that keeps us afloat in the deluge of the holiday rush, they are everything that keeps us sane in the flood of overwhelming loneliness that besets homesick people at this time of year. We reach out and explore our new world with enthusiasm and gusto, but we can't do it without knowing our roots are intact, that we still belong to a network of relationships with people who know us and love us, despite the geographical void.

So if you get a card from us this Christmas, you know what it went through before it reached your hands. And if you don't get one, it's because we probably don't have your address :) Not yet, anyway.

And Monday is the Christmas postal deadline for North America...

Back to the production line, then. :)

Embracing Obscurity

Here's a thought-provoking passage from Sacred Space this week:

"In his classic The Imitation of Christ, Thomas à Kempis urges the reader to ‘enjoy being unknown and regarded as nothing.’ What he means is the ability to persist through tedium, to survive without the oxygen of recognition, praise and stroking, to do some good things every day which are seen only by God. Most of us start life as the centre of the universe, being stroked and attended to. Baby’s every smile and whimper is responded to and noted. It is an addictive experience, and it is hard to get used to being just one of a family, and later one of a whole class or school, barely noticed. When children suffer undue neglect or distress, the effects can reveal themselves in adult life. Some people, like pop stars and notice-boxes, never recover from the addiction, never climb out of those infantile lowlands. They find it impossible to survive without notice and applause, and spend their energies seeking it. They never fit themselves for the higher ground where the oxygen of appreciation is thinner, and they have to survive, as à Kempis says, unknown and hardly noticed. For all but his last three years, Jesus was happy to live a hidden life. That is where most of the good in this world is accomplished, by parents, carers, and all who keep going through the daily offering of their unregarded service."

This reflection piece spoke to me particularly, because it strikes a very deep chord inside.

All my teenage and single life, all I had ever wanted was to live a normal, quiet routine, a distant reality from what I was actually experiencing back then with all the hype around my beauty title, my school awards, my TV guestings, stage performances and what not. I was always in the limelight, always standing out when all I wanted was to fit in. I simply wanted to be normal. I just wanted to be one of the guys, to be loved and appreciated for myself and not for the things I am able to do. I loved doing "backstage" stuff, taking on hidden service roles like being a retreat administrator, working behind the scenes, making sure everyone had food and beddings, ringing the bell for wake-up calls, just being everyone's assistant.

When the Lord finally answered my persistent request for obscurity, to be hidden for a while, like a tiny flower which emanates its fragrance from concealment, I have found out after more than a decade of hiddenness that there is more to it than just savouring one's peace and quiet.

There is tedium.

There is boredom.

There is loneliness.

There is also the struggle to cling to one's meaning and purpose in the midst of mundane monotony, to merely survive day after day without being thanked or appreciated, to simply make the effort to smile at people who never smile back, to serve those who think they are entitled to your service anyway, to keep dishing out love and affection when your own "love tank" has been running on empty for a long while. This, by far, has been one of the most difficult and ongoing challenges I have ever encountered, a never-ending test of endurance of spirit. A test which I sometimes barely manage to pass muster, but quite often, more often than I would like, do fail at miserably.

The only thing that keeps me going, after I examine my pockmarked conscience in the middle of the night, is that tomorrow will be a new day, a fresh start, a clean slate.

And I can try again,

and again,

and again,

not just to survive

obscurity

but to embrace it.

The River Flows

Can't believe I finally did it: Yesterday, I submitted my online application for graduate studies at one of the top universities in the world. Will be posting my supporting documents tomorrow.
What am I thinking? Me? There? Absototally mental.
But still, I did it. Yes, I did.
Am praying for the best possible results, and expecting the happiest outcome with total, irrational, illogical, childlike abandonment. As my sister-in-law says, use the Law of Attraction, think inspired thoughts, be positive, which is another way of saying, "Have expectant faith, blockhead!"
Get back to me next spring and I'll tell you where the River flows.

First Frost

We woke up this morning to see the first frost of the season covering the grass and the leaves in our garden. It reminded me of a short reflection I wrote for Antioch last spring, based on Heb 10: 19-23:

"Therefore, my friends, since we have confidence to enter the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain (that is, through his flesh), and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful."

My Reflection:

"Will this winter never end?" I asked myself as I looked out the kitchen window early one frosty morning. It’s only been our second English winter, and while the sight of frost and snow still inspires excitement and open-mouthed awe in my tropically-oriented mind, a very deep and homesick part of me fervently longs for spring to come.

Then I saw it: A shaft of sunlight squeezing through a gap between our house and the shed onto our rear garden. Amidst the frost that lay heavily on the grass, there now was a strip of bright colour where the light had melted through the ice, thawing the frozen lawn with its warmth, splitting the gulf of drab grey with a defiant streak of vivid green. As though a path of life had been blazed across our frosty garden. As if spring had come early to that lucky patch of frozen grass.

And all of a sudden, a familiar voice spoke in my heart, and it hit me: This is what Jesus did for me. For all of us. He opened a “new and living way” for us out of the endless winter of our sin. He melted away the ice and snow, and He freed us from the bondage of eternal cold. The never-ending cold of being separated from Him, the only One Who could truly make us happy and complete.

He freed us. He saved us.

By His blood. By His sacrifice. By His love.

And as I stood there by the kitchen window, my heart was filled with overwhelming gratitude. I smiled at the melted patch of green and I thought, “That’s me. Thank You, Jesus, for saving me.”

Jesus, be our Eternal Spring, fill our waiting hearts with a deep longing for You. Melt away the frost in our hearts, wash us clean with Your precious blood. Keep our hearts true and allow us to come to you freely, willingly, daily, with confidence in Your constant mercy, forgiveness and faithfulness. Keep us warm in the light of Your saving love, and fill us with zeal to bring Your Eternal Spring to all around us.

Back to school... sort of

Drove myself to Cambridge last Saturday, with my three ultra-supportive Andres men in tow. I attended our first group tutorial session for my T160 course on the Open University, which I've previously mentioned in an earlier post.

I didn't realise how nervous I was about going back to "school" again, whether online or not, until I stepped into the shower, mentally rehearsing in a quiet state of panic how I would introduce myself to a bunch of strangers, and found out that I had put facial scrub on my hair instead of conditioner!!! (Yes, you can roll up your eyes just like I did.) Anyway, after I successfully exfoliated my unconditioned hair, I managed to get to the meeting while my boys and their tatay went to the Sedgwick museum in Cambridge.

The tutorial was good, in the sense that it was helpful to be able to meet my tutor and my group mates face to face so that when we go online for regular conferences this next 10 weeks, we have a face and a backstory to match with the name behind the post. Omigosh, most of them have got PhDs and postdocs, unlike me, and if THEY'RE having trouble getting back to work and finding a job offer with a good work-family life balance, what about me???

This reminds me, I've had a major paradigm shift since I wrote the post I linked to earlier, on Looking At The Stars. For one thing, I read the words I'd written about chemical engineering being "bad" and "pollutive" and "man-made" and I felt ashamed of myself for bashing my course so narrow-mindedly. My conscience reminded me of my own reflections years ago: "All things are able to be used for good or for evil. It is the choice of the one wielding the gift, which turns it into a weapon or a tool."

So I began to re-think my options and try to dig deeper into my online outburst about chemical engineering and process industries. What made me say that? Why do I sound a bit bitter? Why am I so quick to turn my back on my first degree? If chemical engineering was the wrong course for me to study at uni, then why did God let me make a five-year mistake without giving me a hint or a clue? Why did He reward me with academic honours and confirm my career choices with blessing upon blessing at that time? Why did He not then re-direct me, as I have seen Him done so often in recent months, in order to keep me from making a mistake in my life and wasting my time on something He didn't wish me to do? Is it possible, be it ever for a tiny bit, that studying chemical engineering was really part of God's plan for me, after all, and He wishes me to use it for His purposes?

Pretty drastic paradigm shift, eh?

I began to think of myself doing research in the atmospheric sciences and climate modelling, and together with my giddy excitement and enthusiasm for it I also realised that for all the science, innovation and hard work I may put into that sort of research, my output will always and forever be purely, wholly, totally, simply, merely, undeniably ADVICE. Any papers or findings I produce will surely be perceived and received as optional, advisory and non-compulsary recommendations. Scientific and factual, yes, if I'm lucky, but mere recommendations nonetheless. Descriptive, predictive and instructive, yes, but lacking any decision-making power, no action taken. It's like being able to diagnose a sickness without being able to prescribe or provide a treatment. I can only imagine how frustrating that might feel.

On the other hand, I realised, Hey, I could go commando on this one. If I could actually get myself back into industry working as a chemical engineer and do R&D, I could be part of the SOLUTION to our environmental problems, especially climate change and global warming, instead of just yapping about it and scaring people into caring about it, too. If I could find a good company that's doing research on sustainable options and ways to remedy our global problems, e.g. carbon-capture storage (CCS) which focuses on capturing and re-injecting carbon dioxide into the earth's crust, which is something that some major oil and gas companies are developing right now, then I could spend my days knowing I actually did something and didn't just observe it or predict it.

Then I did some research on prospects for chemical engineer graduates in the UK, and what I saw was encouraging. They get good pay and there are many industries to choose to specialise in. In fact, chemical engineers are among the best paid among the graduates of all engineering disciplines here in the UK. Hmm, pretty convincing, on top of everything else, right?

So that's hopefully what I'll be shooting for in the coming year/s, to get a job as a chemical engineering doing research into environmental solutions. It all depends on what God has in store for me, so I am still waiting on Him and trusting in Him to lead me in the right direction. I hope the T160 course will help me to move forward in this area, so that God can use me as He has planned since the moment my life began.

And as for looking at the stars, well, I won't need to get a job doing that when I can do it on my own anytime I want.

NanayNette on Shelfari

By the way, people, have you checked out Shelfari yet? It's quite cool, sort of like Facebook or MySpace but for bookworms. If you've got time and broadband, I do suggest you take a look round, see who else you know is a Shelfarian and perhaps even build your own bookshelf. If you're one of the ten people on this planet who reads my blogs, you might also be interested in looking at the books I've read or are currently on my reading list. Just right-click here to open in a new window.
I don't normally pay attention to casual invites to join online networks since I'm already having trouble remembering my various usernames and passwords, but Shelfari sounded different, so I joined up. It's nice to be connected to fellow booklovers and to get ideas on what books to read next. Sometimes I just dip into my friends' bookshelves and see what books they like, what books they recommend, what books we like in common. The whole concept behind Shelfari is so simple, I'm surprised no one thought of it before.

Autumn Rocks

Fall's coming, I can feel it.

I always know when Autumn is around the corner when the wind starts to nip my fingers and ears, and this morning, bright and early, it nipped. Autumn is coming, with Winter soon on its heels, and when it comes it will never be, to my mind, too late. I guess I never want Summer to end. Who does, right?

But having my birthday right bang in the middle of the Autumn Equinox is kinda cool, I think, as it signals a change in the seasons, a new beginning. Hasn't always been so. At first, for the past two years, I thought of it as depressing for my birthday to annually be the necessary herald of the stark frozen winter days to come, but now I think of it coming, not at the end of summer, but at the beginning of fall. The beginning of the most beautiful and colourfully awesome time of the year, when the leaves turn gold and yellow and orange in a bright rage of mature defiance. Not languishing for a raw spring or a green summer that's come and gone too quickly, but rejoicing in the rich, triumphant kaleidoscope which the passing seasons have brought quietly on.

All this is sort of like me at my time of life: the now-quiet, more-pensive, mellowed-down, middle-aged (!) thirtysomething Me I never thought I'd be. But truly, given a choice, I'd much rather be 36 than 16 or 26. So I'm determined to enjoy this stage of my life and revel in it, rejoice in it, embrace it, cherish it while it's here. Like everything around us, it too is fleeting.

Autumn rocks. I love it. It's so me.

Trusting and Asking

If you want to make God laugh, said Fr. Chris at Mass this morning, tell Him your plans.

I had to smile at the thought. It's true, though. All our best-laid plans, our hopes and dreams, our short-term and long-term goals, all are nothing but crude, unsystematic impulses of thought and emotion when compared to God's elegant, infinite, all-encompassing tapestry of blessing and fulfillment, His masterplan for each living individual, brought together in His all-seeing will for the whole universe.

What an awesome thought. Too big for my tiny brain to comprehend. Much too big, especially on a warm, lazy Sunday afternoon.

But really, it's true. No matter what I plan for myself, for my life, my future, God still manages to outdo me in securing the best possible outcome. His plans for me turn out so much better than my own pathetic attempts at goal-setting. Not that I should stop organising my life, setting three-year goals and having a mission statement and all that. But it is sort of wonderful to know that if and when I bungle it up, as all mortals are wont to do at some point or other, if I overlook something, botch my plans, forget to factor in something unexpected, then His plan is still there to save the day. As long as I don't struggle against it, that is. As long as I submit my will to His, and abandon my desires to His plan for me. As long as I trust in Him to lead me, and not to impose what I want, or what I think I need, on His unfolding plan for my life. As long as I don't wrench the steering wheel away from Him and foolishly insist on driving in unknown territory.

Trusting God. If there is something I need to master before I finally become worthy enough of heaven, this is it. Someday I hope the Church will assign one of Heaven's citizens as the official patron saint of all stubborn-but-hopefully-getting-there disciples who find it hard to trust God or other people. When that happens, I will be first in line in asking that saint for help! Trusting the Lord with all my heart, by far, is the most difficult act, the most impossible feat that He has ever asked me to do. It's not that easy for me to strip my defenses away and make myself vulnerable to Him, to submit my tomorrows, my dreams, into His hands, to be led, often blindfolded, over unfamiliar terrain, towards a mysterious and unseen destination, without even an estimated time frame for pitstops or our final arrival!And just when I think I'm beginning to get the hang of this whole Trust issue, something happens, and bam!... I'm back to square one. Well, not really square one, but on the same x-axis point in the spiral from which I started, but one level higher on the y. Pardon the gobbledegook, been brushing up on maths lately. Anyway, hopefully you guys know what I mean about the spiral, about going up from one level to another in the matter of Trusting.

For instance, just when I thought I was getting pretty good at Trusting God for His plan for my life as a single woman, and everything was calm and peaceful, and the universe was "unfolding as it should" under the tender eye of God, all at once I find that I'm a wife and mum, and that it's a gazillion times harder to entrust the lives of my husband and children into His hands, as well. To believe that He loves them and has a perfect plan for them, too. It's easy enough to accept it in my mind, but it's harder to make it actually sink into my heart, to make it a daily, practical reality, this Trusting thing. And I'm well past the theory of Trusting, I think. I've heard all the talks, read most of the stories, heard how others have done it. Now I'm in experimental laboratory work already. I've thunk it all out, now I've got to actually do it.

I was struck by something else in the Gospel today: Ask and you shall receive. The whole idea of Asking is one of my character weaknesses. See, I think I don't ask enough. Like Trusting, Asking has always been an issue for me. As a child, I was never one to ask for toys or books or dolls. Somehow, the "bilmoko" gene must have gone missing from my DNA at birth. But before you build me a pedestal and praise me for my virtue, let me tell you why I consider this more of a fault than anything else. Not Asking is one of my defences. If I don't ask, I don't owe. It's not a virtue, I think, but rather more of an insidious form of pride and self-reliance, a desire to be free from anyone's good will and generosity, and to strive for things on my own.

But the Lord is my Father, and He delights in hearing me ask from Him. He takes pleasure in my reliance on Him. I give Him joy when I come to Him with my needs, saying, "Lord, I need this, but I can't get it myself, only You can do it for me. Can you please help?" Not that He glories in His power over me, absolutely not, although He is entitled to do that, if He wanted to. But He's not that sort of parent. Asking doesn't demean the Asker by glorifying the Asked. Asking creates an invisible link which bonds both the Asker and the Asked in a true and loving relationship, a commitment, a covenant. Asking removes my defences from Him, makes me vulnerable to Him, exposes my desires, opens my heart to His loving kindness. It's not about being greedy, about wanting blessings, about seeking prosperity. It's about putting God in His rightful place in my life, and putting myself where I ought to be: on my knees, at His feet, under His wing. It's about making Him God over me, about admitting that He is wiser and more powerful than me, about making Him my Shepherd and my Father, acknowledging Him as my Lifesource and Provider. As one worship song says, it's about seeking the Giver, and not the Gift.

How long has it been since I truly Trusted God with my life and with my future, in simple childlike abandonment and with anxiety-free knowledge that all will be well?

How long since I last Asked Him in confidence, submission and humility for anything truly important to me?

I come to You, Lord, once more as Your child. Teach me to Trust You and to Ask. Amen.

Looking At The Stars

Ever since I can remember, I have been fascinated by the wonders of space. Call me a geek, but it's true. I had always wanted to study astronomy (astrophysics, in particular) in university, but never got to, living in a developing country with a curriculum more geared towards business and the "practical" sciences. At the time, studying astronomy abroad just for the sake of it seemed a self-indulgent pleasure that neither I nor my parents could afford.

I enjoyed chemistry in high school, thanks to a wonderful teacher (Miss Tess Santos) who opened my eyes to the art and the beauty which lies beyond the science of chemistry. And I thought I was pretty good in maths, too. So I studied chemical engineering in university.

But the more I studied it, the more I realised it was not for me. It was such a pollutive field, these chemical process and manufacturing industries, and so man-made. But I did discover that I had a heart for the environment through one of the ChE courses I took: Waste Management/Intro to Environmental Science. If I could have shifted courses and gotten a degree in Environmental Sciences then, I would have, but inertia proved too strong to battle.

And then I started studying for an MSc in Environmental Studies. I finished all my coursework with high grades and got a high pass on my comprehensive exams, but have yet to begin my thesis, since I took an extended study leave right after my son was diagnosed. But it was during that period that I discovered meteorology, climate studies, the physics of the atmospheric environment. I realised that atmospheric physics (e.g. climate modelling, global warming issues) is probably what I wanted to put my energy into in the future, out of all the urgent and important environmental concerns today, like solid waste, water pollution, renewable/alternative energy, resource recovery, recycling and what not. But I realised that the institution where I was studying Environmental Studies would not be able to support me in this goal, since they do not have the facilities or the research infrastructure for atmospheric sciences.

Late last year, I applied for the PhD programme of one of the leading UK research institutions in meteorology and the atmospheric sciences. They rejected my application, saying that my five-year Philippine BSc in Chemical Engineering with a "magna cum laude" attached to it was not the equivalent of a UK honours degree, which was required for admission into the programme. My Philippine degree was judged to be just an ordinary UK degree, according to their assessment. Their educational system is quite different here, as you may have guessed by now. The Philippine higher education honours system is more similar to that of the US, with its laudes and all. Here in the UK, they have no clue what a "magna cum laude" degree means. So I was not eligible for a funded place on the PhD programme in Atmospheres, Oceans and Climate, but I was invited to take the one year MSc, provided I could pay my own way. Ten thousand pounds (PHP 1M) for an MSc? From my own husband's pocket? No way! We have children to feed and rent to pay.

I was crushed by the news, initially. It was a blow to my intellectual pride and my already-wobbly unemployed housewife's self-esteem, I suppose, but any rejection, when distilled properly by the Lord through prayer, produces a very raw, pure dose of humility which strengthens character for life. As my wise and loving husband said to me, "Do not think of it as a rejection, but a re-direction from the Lord." If He wanted me to get into that PhD programme, it was within His power to do so. But that would have meant uprooting my family and moving to a different city, and God probably thought it was not the right time to do that. He loves me, and knows what's best for me. It was a very clear "No, not yet" from a loving God. He has a better plan.

But I have lately been getting the itch to study again, though, especially since our youngest started going to nursery and I have been enjoying a couple hours a day to myself. So I looked at the website of the UK's well-respected Open University (a leading institution on distance learning) and discovered that they are offering a free 10-point course called "Science Engineering and Technology: A Course for Women Returners." It's an online, distance-learning course meant for women with a background in science, engineering or technology, women who have had to take a career break to raise kids, women who want to return to the field and use their SET skills again. I reserved a place on it, and now the registration papers are sitting on my desk, waiting to be filled up and posted back. I am quite excited about it, but it's a pity, for apart from a tight cluster of long-distance friends, I have no one else to tell and be excited with me.

I have been looking at the OU's website in more detail and I see that they offer credit transfer for previous study. I'm planning to apply for this, using both my BSc and MSc from the Philippines, and use it towards a second undergrad degree, most probably a BSc honours degree in Physics, with courses geared towards astrophysics and atmospheric physics. I'm not sure about this yet, I'm not certain if we can afford it, since I do not bring in any income to our tight household budget, but if I can get some major help from the OU in paying for the fees, I would register for this degree in a heartbeat.

Then what? A research career in atmospheric physics or astrophysics, probably, when the children are both old enough to be in school all day. A PhD? Only God knows, and I am content to take it one day at a time, to wait quietly for His will to unfold in my as-yet-earth-bound life.

For now, though, I am content just to be part of an exciting Galaxy Zoo project which I read about yesterday on BBC. I help astronomers by categorising some of their 1 million satellite images of farflung galaxies, just by going online and looking at the pictures.

Anything to keep me looking at the stars.

My Second Spring

I took this photo on a recent day out in the lovely English countryside. The four of us had just taken a ride on a real steam engine in Leighton Buzzard Railway, and as it was a sunny spring afternoon, the warmest day of the year thus far in Britain, we decided to treat ourselves to some ice cream.

So out came the picnic mat (which is always, ALWAYS stored in the boot, just in case) and we all kicked off our shoes, sprawled out over the grass and happily enjoyed our ice cream in the shade of a large tree.

As I lay with my boys under its widespread branches, wondering how old this tree was and feeling drowsy in the uncommon warmth, my eyes looked up and saw this: new leaves, freshly unfurled, bright green and alive with anticipation. And these leaves sprang out from the old gnarled branches of the old gnarled tree, with its lined, weather-beaten bark encasing a rough and sturdy trunk. The contrast was breathtaking, and led me to reflect...

This is my second spring in England, and inasmuch as my first UK spring meant, for the most part, that I had triumphantly survived my first UK winter, this year is different for me somehow. I now find myself looking around me, seeing the daffodils, tulips and cornflowers bloom, as if for the first time. I look at my favourite trees on my daily walk, and appreciate what the seasons mean for them. I have seen them everyday, all year long. I have lost count of all the different shades of green that I see in our garden in just a single day. Now I see what spring is like.

For a girl brought up in a tropical, wet-and-wetter country, living out the four seasons of a year has been a tremendous learning experience. It still is. Reading about spring, summer, autumn and winter in books is sooooo different from actually feeling it happening around you, seeing how nature responds to the changes of the seasons. I marvel at all these changes as a bystander, an observer, all the while thinking of home, and how strange and un-home all THIS still is to me.

So on that day in Leighton Buzzard, as I looked up and saw this old English tree unfurling this year's new leaves from the same branches it has had since its youth, I had a startling thought: Nette, this could be you.

Me? Warm, sunny, tropical, sampaloc-tree me? Like this aloof, unfamiliar, temperate region tree? How so?, I asked myself.

Like this tree, I reflected, I sometimes look and feel the weight of years gone by. Mistakes, regrets, ghosts of past wrongs. This tree has stood and seen much throughout its life, and yet, each autumn it sheds its old leaves and grows new ones in spring. No matter what has happened in its past, it always faces forward with hope, it anticipates its renewal, year in and year out, as Mother Nature strips away the unbecoming brown and replaces it with young green.

There stands hope, and there stands renewal.

Have you ever seen a new leaf growing on an old tree? If you have only ever lived in a two-season place, probably not. I know that the only time I ever saw new leaves back home was on young trees and saplings, and in MetroManila pollution, even they didn't stay fresh and untainted for very long.

So I looked at this tree above me, and I looked in particular at its leaves. The lines of the leaves were clean, each leaf fluttered in the breeze, untouched by anything except the wind, the sun and the rain. No unsightly folds, no gashes, no marks on its surface. Just smooth, clean lines on a smooth, clean green. On each leaf an intricate pattern of life and of hope.

No wonder, then, that the word "lent" means "spring." Each Lent, we become like that tree. Our old and withered branches-- tired and drooping from years of work, study, sadness, pain-- are suddenly covered with new leaves of untouched purity, bringing fresh life, fresh hope, fresh joy, fresh expectation. Each Lent, our Lord renews us and makes us young again, taking away the past, wiping the slate clean, giving us a fresh start, a chance to once again begin.

Like many of you, I am in constant need to be reminded of that; I need to re-discover the grace of God, the gift of new beginnings.

And on that particular spring day, it only took a tree to remind me of the love of God for me: fresh but unchanging, firm but forgiving, wise and ancient, full of hope and surprises.

So when I feel tired, old, hopeless, bogged down by guilt, sin, rejection or failure, I simply think of that tree, and my heart lightens.

And sometimes, you know, when I keep very very still, I can almost feel the fresh springtime breeze of the Spirit, playfully ruffling the young, green leaves of my weary soul, making them dance.

Finally Driving My Family...

...and not just up the wall, mind you. Well, pardon the naivete but I don't mind telling you that it still feels absolutely exhilarating to me. I've been driving B to school and back for two weeks now, and each time I am filled with gratitude for the car that was given to us, for the mobility we have, for the freedom to go to serve and attend evening Church services, especially as Holy Week approaches. The sense of newness and excitement behind the wheel will soon fade, I am told, and I might soon find driving to be a chore or a tiresome routine, but I really do pray that I won't. I really hope I won't forget how generous God has been to us in giving us a car. At any rate, if any of you catch me complaining about driving, I happily give you leave to knock me on the head and say, "Hey, shut up and give thanks for the car, you ungrateful amnesiac! Count your blessings!"

And blessings there have truly been. The first week after we got the car, the UK experienced a sudden cold snap--- bitter cold, snowy weather, wind to freeze the marrow in your bones. I thanked God--- continually, profusely, repeatedly, until His divine ears must have fallen off--- for sparing B from having to walk to and from school in that horrible weather, and to me, it was a concrete, undeniable example of God's insane, practical and unbelievable love for B and our whole family. He KNEW the cold snap was coming, and so he sent us the car the weekend prior. His timing was impeccable! And I swear, only three short words were constantly playing in my mind like a looped digital banner that whole week: "Thank You, God... Thank You, God... Thank You, God..."

Last weekend, for the first time, I drove the whole family down to West London--- a 68-mile return journey through village roads, the motorway and the city streets of London. Reaching peak speeds of 70mph on the motorway, navigating the complex junctions and roundabouts of London and getting through heavy, creeping traffic was no mean feat for a week-old driver like myself. Thanks to O's capable navigating, we stayed on course and didn't get lost. Who needs a GPS SatNav when husbands can read maps, too? Anyway, I was so incredibly ecstatic at my humble mini-achievement that I must admit, once we got back, I did allow myself a passing moment of pride in my little accomplishment, before senselessly collapsing in a tired and trembling mass of jelly arms and putty legs on the bed!

What This Car Means To Me

You may not believe this, but there are still some very generous people left on this planet.

Take the Thoelkes. A handsome, godly pair of grandparents, members of Antioch community who prayerfully decided to give us their old car once I passed my driving test last year. Yes, not sell, not lend-- GIVE. As in, for free.

Last Thursday, they drove the car all the way up to our house from London and gave us the keys. It's a lovely car. Well-kept, low mileage, trouble-free engine. We love it!

You cannot imagine how ecstatic we were. Because it was given to us for free, we were able to spend the money intended to buy another car on a trip to visit family in California last month! That was a real blessing from the Lord. As expats, it was wonderful to be among loved ones again, to see our children playing (and fighting and making up) with their cousins, to share quiet moments with our parents, siblings, in-laws and friends. That trip deserves a blog entry all to itself!

I drove our car for the first time the day we got the insurance papers, and yesterday I drove the whole family for the first time, and it was meaningful because our first drive was to the Church. It was appropriate, I thought, to make the Church our first stop, as it was God who made it possible for us to have this car, and we wanted to thank Him and to offer the Lord back what this car will allow us to do:

• This car will allow me to serve my family in harsh weather, so they need not walk through rain, hail or 30mph gusts of wind. This morning, there was snow and bitter cold, and as I drove B to school for the first time, I praised God in my heart that he did not have to walk 20 minutes in this weather anymore. B is so thankful to God for our car, and so appreciative of my new driving skills, that just to see him so happy and grateful is more than enough to overwhelm me.
• This car will let me serve God more, as I become more mobile to go to choir practice, volunteer for parish rotas, become more involved in our local community. I plan to sign up for these services soon, and hopefully it will help me to make new friends in our parish.
• This car will let me serve others, as I give people a lift home when they need one. I plan to keep a booster seat in the boot all the time, so I'll always be ready to give lifts to other kids when their mums are busy.
• This car will let us become more active members of Antioch Community, and perhaps even become part of weeknight sharing groups, hopefully soon. I hope I'll be more confident driving on the motorway, so that I can be brave enough to drive on the M1 even at night.
• This car will let me bring my family to so many beautiful places in England. Villages, shops, the countryside. Oh, I have a mental list of all the places where I will drive them! Oh Lord, let it be summer soon, please!

In other words, this car is far more than just four wheels and five seats to us. It opens up for us a completely different world with exciting opportunities and things to explore. We cannot thank God enough for sending the Thoelkes to us, and for this car, which will change the way we live our lives from now on.

Nette Back on the Net

I wish there was an easy way to explain why I haven't been blogging these past months.

To start off, just to get them out of the way, here are a few of the non-reasons:

• I found a job and got too busy to blog
• We moved to a remote part of the world which has no internet access, like, say, the Antarctic
• I began writing my book and my publishers told me to forsake my blogs
• Simon Cowell finally discovered my talent and signed me up for a recording contract

But for whatever it's worth, I'm back. And here to stay.

Let's catch up, shall we? I have loads to tell.