I TURNED 65 today. My story mirrors the changing mood of the past few weeks and shortly thereafter: from cheer to grief and back to cheer.
It is like how the feeling of joy during Christmas turns to grief during Good Friday in just about nine weeks. But Easter Sunday follows in three days, and a profound rejoicing awaits the faithful.
And here I try to relate my story — unfit as I am — to the irreplaceable roles of Mary, Peter and Thomas. Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, did not doubt her God. But apostles Peter and Thomas did.
In a flash of an unguarded moment, Peter tried to save his own skin by denying his association with the master when accosted by authorities who were under orders to apprehend all supporters of Jesus. Jesus was already in the custody of his accusers and barely hours away from his death on the cross in Calvary.
"Doubting" Thomas was not a fan of hearsay. He dismissed tales his fellow apostles told him that Jesus was alive and, on several occasions, had, in fact, entered their heavily locked safehouse unaided. No one on their own had ever come back to life days after his or her death, in the flesh as they told him, so he probably doubted that even his master could pull off the unprecedented feat. Unless he saw it for himself, Thomas vowed not to take the news seriously.
Thinking of Thomas, I woke up one morning to find how I made it hard for the Lord to get me closer to him. Like many elderly people, I look forward to days of relative ease. And like many wage earners, this should be the time I start receiving pension and insurance benefits. None of them excite me. I did not save enough to qualify for any of those old-age incomes.
For one who started working at 19 and still grinding it out at 63, my career track is probably not a good model for young people who are about to join the labor force. Most of my employment (at least 23 years in government and about the same length of time in nongovernment and multilateral agencies) was on contractual terms with no employer-employee relationships. I did not get access to retirement benefits from them.
It was up to me to pay my insurance premiums, and I was remiss in this obligation. I also bought insurance policies from at least three private insurance firms on separate occasions but allowed them to lapse after contributing several monthly payments.
What I should have set aside as insurance contributions went to various investments that floundered. Somehow, I always thought when I was younger that I could outwork the system, including the provision for old-age pensions.
The past 12 months were particularly tough for me and my family. I knocked on doors to ask for gigs and all sorts of livelihood opportunities, but none opened for me like they used to. I could no longer sell my crafts.
Often, there was no hint of where our next sack of rice was coming from. Debts are in arrears. Some lenders threaten me with either court or barangay invites. Unpaid bills pile up. While waiting for the ejection notice from the administrator of the apartment where my family rented a unit in the city, my wife and I retreated to our hometown in the Visayas. This left the rest of my family to fend for themselves. I have two adopted children—a son who has his own family and a daughter who is in high school — who light up my days and for whom I am happy to toil.
There is a gripping sense of insecurity that brings everyone's morale down. The toughest part is missing the smile of my grandkids who I long to see after months of separation.
I cannot recall ever praying to my God, the same God of Peter and Thomas, as hard as I did. I asked for a livelihood in the name of my family, thinking especially of my children and grandchildren. The God of mercy, if ever he existed, heard none of my petitions. Or if he heard them, he dismissed them. For months, we barely got by even a pauper's standard; my wife and I lived practically from alms. Failure to provide for family needs turned pressure moments into despair. The pride I once basked in was gone. It reached a point where, like Thomas, I doubted the presence of the Lord. If he existed, I questioned the power of his presence.
And yet, despite the turbulence of my faith, I am here. For now, I appear to have survived — perhaps in better shape than millions more out there. Somebody must have willed it. While I sulked, the God of mercy was hard at work, after all. He may have ignored my prayers, but, to my belated realization, he provides something even for the undeserving. He dumped my wishes to remind me that I know nothing of his ways. The God I doubted and questioned did not doubt the capacity of relatives, my siblings especially, to offer help. Despite their own struggles, they kept me going.
May God grant us the time and strength to glorify him, to happily requite acts of kindness everywhere, and to justify the love by which he built a home for his people on earth ... and beyond.
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