i write to believe.

I watch this weekend come to a close in a few hours.  I find myself desperately clinging on to every minute of it.  Fearful of drowning in a sea of work deliverables that will rob me off my own breath, my life.  I've realized how my current environment has taken so much of my time and how I have allowed it to rob me off peace.   Earlier this afternoon I was reading Ann Voskamp's blog and took note of what she has said about haste.   Haste makes waste. The hurry makes us hurt. Whatever the pace, time will keep it and there’s no outrunning it, only speeding it up and pounding the feet harder; the minutes pound faster too. Race for more and you’ll snag on time and leak empty. Hurry always empties a soul. I am caught up in a work environment that runs on haste.  I am surrounded by people who have not experienced the rest-filled effort of passionate hard work.  I have been led to believe that my desires for a peaceful rhythm at work is  complacent and absent of ambi

The Youth Encounter Weekend just ended today and I am quite hesitant to go back to the workplace and leave the wonderful experience of solely focusing on the one thing I love doing the most.  Youth Ministry.  On the drive back home a couple of us have been talking about full time youth ministry and how we can make it happen in this apostolate's generation.  For some of us this has already been a long time vision.  But it remains a dream.  So tonight, I find myself lifting up this dream and hoping for God to bless it and be the Maker I need Him to be. This is an excerpt of a post I wrote in my old blog.  It was written on October 4, 2005 after the 3rd Youth Encounter (the first one I served in).   Given that my writing has been cooperating with me lately, I reminisce about what I wrote back then and find myself feeling the same things tonight.  It's been 7 years.  I cannot believe that it has been that long and yet the wonderful blessing of loving what you're doing

The whole morning has been spent soaking up on worship music.  I've forgotten how I respond to music.  I forgotten how music has always been a breathing space that unlocks, unravels, unleashes all the residue of burdensome circumstances that filled my days.  I've forgotten how music helps me wade through the thoughts that clash against each other aching to produce some sense. If the act of writing helps me figure out what's going on in my life and in my world, music helps me sit through everything in a posture of reverence and trust. The desperation that arose from the busy work weeks have finally led me to admit, I am thirsty for liberation.  I am thirsty for freedom. These are songs I have just discovered within the past 12 hours and have miraculously breathed life back into me after the passing of so many weary days.  

This year's WalkWay happened at 9:30am this morning.  We were able to grab a breather from all the work (this is prior to finding out that work tomorrow is cancelled).  I was determined to make the reflections find their way into a point of embedding. Here's some photos of that walk.  That reminder that I am the Beloved of a Savior.

I'm just going to let it out. I am so happy that our supposed work schedule tomorrow got cancelled!  God be Praised!  Finally the Mercy of Heaven has fallen upon me.  I cannot describe how uplifted I feel right now.  Have I been so distraught that the mere cancellation of a work schedule can completely unburden me?  Perhaps. Anyway, I am enjoying this liberated feeling no matter how momentary because it hasn't really felt this way in months.  So while I wait for my TV series to load, I soak up on some new worship music which I've missed out on for the past 3 months.

I have been tinkering around the keyboard for a couple of weeks now.  To no avail.  I cannot catch my thoughts.  Or perhaps I am not satisfied with what I catch and to my dismay, I just hit the delete button until what is left of my draft is a blank screen. It's 8:00am on Good Friday.  I've barely been able to reflect on anything of relevance to the Holy Week and I'm desperate for anything that will give me a little bit more meaning so that I can carry on till Easter. The past few weeks have been busy.  It's almost that desperate kind of busy where all you do is catch up on the deliverables expected of you.  No time for breath.  No time for life.  Almost suffocated.  But the heart of a volunteer never gives up.  I suppose I got that from ministry work and now I'm applying it to a work environment that continues to be my most difficult cross. The passion of Christ has been something I've always revered only from the distant pews on Triduum mass.