If we truly understand what it means to make a promise, we would understand that the only way for us to be able to fulfill them is through the grace of God.
The only way for us to be able to stand by our vows is by knowing that God has loved us at our worst, and gave us His best.
He gave himself for us, so now we could also give of ourselves. He has loved us unconditionally, so now we too, could show unconditional love.
The only way for us to be able to stand by our promise of future love, is by understanding how God has loved us since the past, how He still loves is in the present, and how He will continue to love us– no matter what– for all eternity.
So to a very special person who is yet to be named, I am making this promise today:
I do not know what the future holds for us, but I do know who holds our future. I am committing myself to you, not based on how I feel about you and what I know about you now. I am making a decision to love you and stay committed to you regardless of how I will feel and what you will be like in the future.
I am now determined to live a life that would truly honor you—to do you good and not harm—even before you come into my life.
My beloved daughter,
My plan for your life does not have an expiration date, but it does have a perfect time. I know the waiting is the hardest thing to do, but I’m not letting you waste your time. I want you to take your appointed position now.
I know the plans I have for you and they will happen, but right now your appointed time is to love whoever is in front of you and meet the needs of those I have trusted to your care. You will not grow weary in the waiting if you will be about my business every day.
As you begin to be faithful with the little things I will begin to give you the big things I planned for you all along. Now, my beloved, is the time to ask me to use you in someone’s life today.
Remember my timing is just as important as my will for you. If you move ahead of me, you will feel lost. If you stay behind, you will also be left out. But if you will each day to stay close to me, you will move to the timing of my heartbeat, and all my grand plans for you will easily come into fulfillment. That’s a promise.
Your Father who created time
God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.
(Inspired by Sheri Rose Sheperd)
Faith is obeying God when He says do something for others even when you fear what may come out of it. This faith protects you because this is driven by Christ-like love that chooses to honor others with more than they deserve, letting go of what is easy for what will be worth it.
And when you let go of things that are so tempting to hold on to, you get these:
Joy in every challenge, patience even in pain, faith in the years, hope in uncertainty, and trust even in distance.
God honors the obedience of those who love others through His way and time. Yes, He protects the hearts (and future relationships) of those who are rooted to Him.
I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed.
I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—
the feeling of hitting the bottom.
But there’s one other thing I remember,
and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!
I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He’s all I’ve got left.
God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits,
to the woman who diligently seeks.
It’s a good thing to quietly hope,
quietly hope for help from God.
It’s a good thing when you’re young
to stick it out through the hard times.
When life is heavy and hard to take,
go off by yourself. Enter the silence.
Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions:
Wait for hope to appear.
Don’t run from trouble. Take it full-face.
The “worst” is never the worst.
Why? Because the Master won’t ever
walk out and fail to return.
If he works severely, he also works tenderly.
His stockpiles of loyal love are immense.
He takes no pleasure in making life hard,
in throwing roadblocks in the way.
- Lamentations 3:19-33 (The Message)
Hi. I hadn’t been able to update this blog lately because…
Date a girl who writes.
Date a girl who may never wear completely clean clothes, because of coffee stains and ink spills. She’ll have many problems with her closet space, and her laptop is never boring because there are so many words, so many worlds that she’s cluttered amidst the space. Tabs open filled with obscure and popular music. Interesting factoids about Catherine the Great, and the immortality of jellyfish. Laugh it off when she tells you that she forgot to clean her room, that her clothes are lost among the binders so it’ll take her longer to get ready, that her shoes hidden under the mountain of broken Bic pens and the refurbished laptop that she’s saved for ever since she was twelve.
Kiss her under the lamppost, when it’s raining. Tell her your definition of love.
Find a girl who writes. You’ll know that she has a sense of humor, a sense of empathy and kindness, and that she will dream up worlds, universes for you. She’s the one with the faintest of shadows underneath her eyelids, the one who smells of coffee and Coca-cola and jasmine green tea. You see that girl hunched over a notebook. That’s the writer. With her fingers occasionally smudged with charcoal, with ink that will travel onto your hands when you interlock your fingers with her’s. She will never stop, churning out adventures, of traitors and heroes. Darkness and light. Fear and love. That’s the writer. She can never resist filling a blank page with words, whatever the color of the page is.
She’s the girl reading while waiting for her coffee and tea. She’s the quiet girl with her music turned up loud (or impossibly quiet), separating the two of you by an ocean of crescendos and decrescendos as she’s thinking of the perfect words. If you take a peek at her cup, the tea or coffee’s already cold. She’s already forgotten it.
Use a pick-up line with her if she doesn’t look to busy.
If she raises her head, offer to buy her another cup of coffee. Or of tea. She’ll repay you with stories. If she closes her laptop, give her your critique of Tolstoy, and your best theories of Hannibal and the Crossing. Tell her your characters, your dreams, and ask if she gotten through her first novel.
It is hard to date a girl who writes. But be patient with her. Give her books for her birthday, pretty notebooks for Christmas and for anniversaries, moleskins and bookmarks and many, many books. Give her the gift of words, for writers are talkative people, and they are verbose in their thanks. Let her know that you’re behind her every step of the way, for the lines between fiction and reality are fluid.
She’ll give you a chance.
Don’t lie to her. She’ll understand the syntax behind your words. She’ll be disappointed by your lies, but a girl who writes will understand. She’ll understand that sometimes even the greatest heroes fail, and that happy endings take time, both in fiction and reality. She’s realistic. A girl who writes isn’t impatient; she will understand your flaws. She will cherish them, because a girl who writes will understand plot. She’ll understand that endings happen for better or for worst.
A girl who writes will not expect perfection from you. Her narratives are rich, her characters are multifaceted because of interesting flaws. She’ll understand that a good book does not have perfect characters; villains and tragic flaws are the salt of books. She’ll understand trouble, because it spices up her story. No author wants an invincible hero; the girl who writes will understand that you are only human.
Be her compatriot, be her darling, her love, her dream, her world.
If you find a girl who writes, keep her close. If you find her at two AM, typing furiously, the neon gaze of the light illuminating her furrowed forehead, place a blanket gently on her so that she does not catch a chill. Make her a pot of tea, and sit with her. You may lose her to her world for a few moments, but she will come back to you, brimming with treasure. You will believe in her every single time, the two of you illuminated only by the computer screen, but invincible in the darkness.
She is your Shahrazad. When you are afraid of the dark, she will guide you, her words turning into lanterns, turning into lights and stars and candles that will guide you through your darkest times. She’ll be the one to save you.
She’ll whisk you away on a hot air balloon, and you will be smitten with her. She’s mischievous, frisky, yet she’s quiet and when she has to kill off a lovely character, when she cries, hold her and tell her that it will be alright.
You will propose to her. Maybe on a boat in the ocean, maybe in a little cottage in the Appalachian Mountains. Maybe in New York City. Maybe Chicago. Baltimore. Maybe outside her publisher’s office. Because she’s radiant, wherever she goes. Maybe even outside of a cinema where the two of you kiss in the rain. She’ll say that it is overused and clichéd, but the glint in her eyes will tell you that she appreciates it all the same.
You will smile hard as she talks a mile a second, and your heart will skip a beat when she holds your hand and she will write stories of your lives together. She’ll hold you close and whisper secrets into your ears. She’s lovely, remember that. She’s self made and she’s brilliant. Her names for the children might be terrible, but you’ll be okay with that. A girl who writes will tell your children fantastical stories.
Because that is the best part about a girl who writes. She has imagination and she has courage, and it will be enough. She’ll save you in the oceans of her dreams, and she’ll be your catharsis and your 11:11. She’ll be your firebird and she’ll be your knight, and she’ll become your world, in the curve of her smile, in the hazel of her eye the half-dimple on her face, the words that are pouring out of her, a torrent, a wave, a crescendo - so many sensations that you will be left breathless by a girl who writes.
Maybe she’s not the best at grammar, but that is okay.
Date a girl who writes because you deserve it. She’s witty, she’s empathetic, enigmatic at times and she’s lovely. She’s got the most colorful life. She may be living in NYC or she may be living in a small cottage. Date a girl who writes because a girl who writes reads.
A girl who writes will understand reality. She’ll be infuriating at times, and maybe sometimes you will hate her. Sometimes she will hate you too. But a girl who writes understands human nature, and she will understand that you are weak. She will not leave on the Midnight Train the first moment that things go sour. She will understand that real life isn’t like a story, because while she works in stories, she lives in reality.
Date a girl who writes.
Because there is nothing better than a girl who writes.
Hi. Today I’m swallowing my pride to make my Instagram account come to life.
You’ve got a sweet promise spilling out of your heart. The whole world stopped when you were born. There is no one in the history of the past or future who can move the present the way you do. You are a necessary light and you are a cause for fireworks.
You think you’re just one out of 8 billion but, honey, you’re wrong. You’re one in 8 billion. There is no one like you. You are not just a name nor a face. You are not just a number, a statistic. You are not something simply taking up space. You are a beautiful person and your beautiful story matters.
You are a possibility, a solution, and because of you, the world is better and is still getting better. Your story is going to change people. It’s going to lead them to goodness, to walk in the light of redemption. Your story is the pinprick of courage that is going to help someone get by. Because of you, someone will do something that will catalyze a revolution. Because of you, someone will understand love better or learn that it’s okay to chase after a dream or become a better person. Because of you there is hope for this generation.
Your presence has magnitude. By simply existing, you are opening up an entire reality of grand promises. Please stop denigrating your point in the world. You are someone’s best friend/employee/sibling/child/teacher/hope/inspiration and if you didn’t step into these roles, the world would be horribly crippled.
And when you look at the vastness of this planet, remember that you are not tiny. Because the Creator of this planet you think is too big for you, well, He has big plans for you. Bigger than the mountains and the skyscrapers and people who convince you that you have no worth.
You are someone’s answered prayer. You are Someone’s masterpiece. And if you believe it, more beautiful things will happen. No matter how many circumstances state otherwise, this promise will always remain true: you matter.
Believe it. Now.
Just so you know, and of course you know, this is by far the most emotionally draining letter I’ve ever written.
I am aware that you’ve already received countless of love letters from other girls claiming that you are the love of their lives. And instead of challenging them all into pointless catfights, I will contently draw myself at the back of the line with the assurance that you love me as much as the fabulous girls at the front.
The thing is, I would gladly be a part of your harem. Because even if I am, I still wouldn’t be settling for less than I deserve. In fact, it would still be more than what I deserve, sharing your love with many other girls. Just knowing that you love me is more than I could handle not to act all giddy like a schoolgirl again.
What can I do? You are hard not to fangirl on. You are so effortless, more glamorous and attractive than all the James Bonds combined, I just can’t imagine you farting or picking your nose. And sure, sometimes I get intimidated by your perfection against my human-ness that I can’t even look you straight in the eyes. But you hold my chin up every time so I wouldn’t have any choice not to and it is during those moments when I get to see your beautiful eyes that I get a glimpse of that heroic thing you did for me, the mockery and humiliation you endured in contrast to your flawlessness, because of a love that defies all logic.
Through those beautiful eyes poured out streams of tears, not because of pain from your purple bruises and bloodied wounds, but because you were thinking of me. Of me. Of me. Actually, can I say that one more time?—of me. Of me, who spent years of my childhood hiding inside my room because I was not pretty enough. Of me, who was always seeking for validation from all the wrong princes who turned out to be just toads. Of me, who never really thought of the idea that I was utterly, to-die-for loved.
But there you are now, supernaturally free of the wounds and standing perfectly beautiful (in an Armani suit, perhaps?) outside my house, carrying a boombox, as you serenade a sweet song of your love.
What has a quiet fangirl like me ever done to deserve the hero of all her fangirling love her like this?
I have no idea. But I let you inside my house. And I am now in a permanent state of bliss.
In an instant, you have become more than just a vague dream. You are now my reality. I can see you as the one I can grow old with. I can see you at the other end of the aisle during the day when I finally get to wear the white gown I have sketched when I was just nine years old. I can see you looking after my future children, my grandchildren, my great grandchildren. I can see you taking care of the house bills, I can see you dictating all that shall be put on the red basket at the grocery store, I can see you spoiling me with picnics under a tree in the middle of a rice field, I can see you crying your heartbreaking cry during the last seconds of my life.
Everything that I felt was important suddenly seem incomparable to living a life with you. A life of laughing with you over the most mundane things. A life of debating with you even when I know I’ll never be at par with your intelligence. A life in which I can finally have total submission without holding back from fear that I’d end up messed up if I do. A life in which I wouldn’t for a second hesitate if you want to have your name tattooed right in the middle of my forehead.
No matter what I am going through right now, or what I am yet to go through, I am sure I will no longer fall for the pits of worries. Because my reason to be happy will now always outweigh all the reasons to give up. And as you have already figured out, you are the definitive one giving me a reason to be happy. And you are always enough.
You are enough because, oh my God, you are so beautiful. And you are both vast and tiny. Vast to be everywhere in the world and tiny to live inside my heart. You are home and you are foreign. You are celebration and you are mourning. You are words and their antonyms in a thesaurus. I don’t know how all of that could be true about you, but they are in one way or another, and that’s what makes you even more beautiful.
You are exactly the one my dad told me I should be happy with. You are the only one deserving to be associated with the most beautiful love songs and stories ever created. You are the grand designer of things I particularly appreciate about this world. You will satisfy all of my otherwise superficial longings . You are greater than a man riding a white horse. You are the Ultimate Romantic. You are Love.
Which reminds me. No, I am not vigorously in love. I am vigorously in Love—I am in you. And you are in me.
And I’m at ease because I have more than just trivial thoughts for you now. Every day, I am getting to know things about you that can never be Googled up. I know that this is really getting somewhere, that we are heading towards the Pretty Serious route. And you know what? Take me far away, make me do things I never thought I could do; I don’t care. I am ready to give up everything—my dreams, my insecurities, my Hopeless Romantic reputation—for you.
With too much unruly feelings, I should be quite embarrassed already. But I don’t think so. Because you never were, when despite my let-me-just-fold-myself-into-a-paper-origami-ness, you picked me in the middle of a crowd full of confident girls, and said, “here is someone I love.”
Thank you for making me the heroine of this story. Thank you for being my leading man (with or without a harem).
Thank you for opening my eyes to the right kind of vigorous Love.
I really love you, okay? With all my fangirl and other human capabilities of loving you, I love you.
I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
A Heart to Change the World cover by Jeahan
Oh, by the way.
This is my 24th step to help change the world:
A do-it-yourself, from-a-heart-of-love cover of an unforgettable song from my childhood.
You and I got to have a heart to change the world
Let the song start to sing in every boy and girl
Start to share, start to care, from the heart of love
Let the world know that Jesus loves them.
How will the people know? How will the people know?
How will the people know unless we show them?
Jesus told us to go and share in every land
Over seas, through the hills, across the desert sand
From God’s grace, in God’s strength
We can change the world
Let the world know that Jesus loves them.
This year’s V-Day (Virda Day HAHAHA) theme is all about Unfair Love. Unfair Love means I get the love I have not earned. This kind of love took me in even though it shouldn’t have. It desired me, believed in me, and stuck around from everlasting to everlasting.
It is so overwhelmingly wonderful, it surpasses all of my feeble expectations. It doesn’t measure my worth by wit or by looking cute in a well-edited photograph or by an ability to wash the dishes. This love doesn’t just call my name when there’s no one else to talk to. This love, to the world, is too good to be true that not even the greatest pop songs and romantic movies could ever get close to depicting it.
It’s unfair for someone like me to have it but I receive it anyway, every single day. Because the truth is, the only love we were made for in this lifetime, really, is the kind of love we don’t deserve. A love that will look past the concept of deserving because its concern is something that is beyond human logic.
Unfair Love is why I’m here and I’m alive. I know now. I’m sure of it now.
And yes, Unfair Love in all its glorious beauty only comes from God.
“That Paris exists and anyone could choose to live anywhere else in the world will always be a mystery to me.”
(Source: miafarrows, via beamarquez)
Parting had never hurt as much because you had always been the one who leaves. So when you find yourself tucked under used sheets and staring at the faint light in the middle of the darkness, you think, hey, so this is how it feels like to be the one who gets left behind.
And man, it feels like this is the loneliest you’ve ever felt yet.