2020: Connecting the dots

“You cannot connect the dots looking forward. You can only connect them looking backward.” - Steve Jobs

And connect, they did. 

When you move in God’s favor and grace, things will eventually fall into place. Better yet, when God moves us to His favor and grace, we shall never lack because His power is perfected in our weakness. All the dots are connected by God’s enduring mercy.

This year taught me to embrace life’s seasons and everything in between — including living through a pandemic. When the lockdowns began early this year, I told myself that there was no other time to do the things I had been putting off (sans travel). “Today” finally became the perfect time to do it, because tomorrow was not guaranteed (and never would be). I told my cousins that we weren’t sure if we would see each other again come 2021. All the fears, reservations, and excuses vanished. The things I have been wanting to splurge on, the words I have always wanted to say, the things I have been keeping to myself but have always wanted to share, the love I have been wanting to express and give away but bottling up for fear of rejection. 

Do it now. Do it now. Do it now.

Present, both as a moment in time and a gift, now makes sense. 

Grace, in the form of a new day, a warm smile, genuinely good people, and the smallest acts of kindness, means so much more than ever before. 

I missed nights of meaningful conversations over a cup of coffee or bucket of beer, but I had the most sincere and thoughtful talks over the phone: a 45-minute catch-up with friends, an hour-and-a-half long call about taking chances, a 30-minute work call that turned into an exchange about God’s perfect timings. The list goes on. Not to mention that we also celebrated and shared our milestones via Stories, livestreamings, and snaps of our quarantine birthdays and anniversaries via Facebook and Viber groups with family and friends.

In the middle of all these are answered prayers of some of the people dearest to me: new job, new opportunities, new love, and new life. I find immense joy in seeing them basking in the triumph of their faith and patience after a long season of waiting. 

In a world that witnesses people dying without having the chance to bid their loved ones goodbye, you learn to love without abandon every single day of your life. At a time when our eyes speak louder than our lips, you learn how to read into the depths of other people’s soul — and see that they mean more than what their mouth says. In a world that prides itself in being the first, being the best, and being the fairest of them all, you learn to find peace and solitude in just being human and staying kind.

There are a lot to look forward to. We wait in anticipation of good things and remain grateful for the graces and mercies that are new every morning.  We hope that 2021 brings us into a season of harvest, freedom, and joy. 

“So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

2021. A new dot. A moment in eternity. 

The story of salvation in a pandemic

This wasn’t the year we looked forward to and claimed ours before the clock struck 12 on December 31st. As we looked up the smoky midnight sky sparkling with fireworks all over, nobody noticed a speck of a virus had begun sentencing people to death hundreds of thousands of miles away. Nobody knew we would be holed up in our homes three months down the line when we greeted one another, “Happy new year!” Nobody knew that the year would be happy and gloomy all at the same time.

It came like the proverbial thief in the night. It brought humanity down to its knees and ground the hustling world to a halt. Some said it was God’s way of healing the planet. While the planet healed, people died. Perhaps, Thanos was not completely wrong all along. Somewhere, God might be snapping his fingers to take the people who had had a full life, so that others may continue to live.

When would he stop snapping his fingers to spare the rest of humanity? People intubated, the old left to die, doctors and nurses infected, the frontliners sacrificed. Was this year designed to obliterate half of humanity?

There was something we were missing. Thanos was a villain; God was not. God designed the universe from day 0 without infinity stones to collect and crush. The stones were him all along.

In day x of the creation story, God sent his own son to turn water into wine, feed the five thousand with five loaves and two fishes, cure the paralytic, give sight to the blind, heal the deaf and dumb, and bring the dead back to life.

Then the story of creation turned into a story of salvation. His son broke the bread, drank from the cup of life, and carried the cross to Calvary. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and died on the same, so that we may live.

The story of salvation continued. As the virus ravaged the world and crippled our body and blinded our faith, the son of the living God looked upon us from the cross to tell us that the blood dripping from his wounded body had been healing the sick, while those who were weakened and downed by the disease were crucified beside him to whom he had been saying, “You will be with me in paradise.”

The rest of the world, the living witnesses to the little known miracles of the pandemic, would continue to live to tell the continuing story of salvation for generations to come.

The Weight of Flight

Strong Women, Soft Hearts by Paula Rinehart

This has been sitting idly in my study table for a few years now, basically untouched. During my unholy cleaning of my room on Christmas eve, I found it again—along with a bunch of other books either half-read or unread at all.

I flipped through the first few chapters of this book when Crae gave it to me back in 2012. I was at a different time and mental space, with the younger, idealistic, hopeful me wanting to change the world, touching lives, and making a name for myself (so much for reading about the lives of successful, passionate people in my high school). I didn’t finish the book, obviously, and only read probably a fifth of it.

Eight years later, entering the new year (and a new decade), I found some quiet time to sit down and actually read it from the beginning to end. It felt different—delightful, even—to do so and, in many ways, I relished every word and phrase every turn of the page.

Now, at a different time and mental space, I have had my fair share of trials and challenges, failures and heartbreaks. No denying that God’s bountiful grace also led me to small wins and successes. I made some life decisions that I know made me better, but others turned belly up. Mired in monthly bills, caring for my parents, and saving up for some future big dreams, I have become pragmatic from idealistic, still wanting to touch lives but already finding it not-so-possible to change the world. Somewhere down the road, I lost myself, needing some pasturing—with a dysfunctional compass failing to find its true north.

Finishing this book now is timely. I am far from having a wise heart and a passionate life, but I have come this far—and I am no longer where I used to be. Among the many key takeaways (that also painted a clear image in my mind) is the proverbial butterfly coming out of its cocoon, told this time from the perspective of building strength:

God follows the same pattern in our lives that he has hidden in the secret of the butterfly’s cocoon. A cocoon is not the place of dark nothingness we think. A world of stuff is happening in there. In order to get out, this little creature must wrestle her way. The roll and tumble it takes for her to emerge—to bust her way out—is what builds sufficient strength in her wings to support the weight of flight. Without the struggle of the cocoon, the butterfly would be earthbound.

God knows that the strength that comes from wrestling with our fear will give us wings to fly.

Savoring the last holiday weekend before the official start of work for the new year. I do not know what lies ahead, but God knows. And that’s all that matters. He will grant us the grace to build (and rebuild) our strength and support our weight of flight—as we soar higher.