I don’t know about you, but I always feel a certain kind of magic in the air the moment Christmas Eve rolls around. It may be because it’s the last morning that I have to wake up at a very early hour for Dawn Mass ((Misa de Gallo)), or because it’s a non-working holiday and I can finally (sort of) rest, or because I can finally open the presents waiting for me under the tree ((At least, this year, I promised not to open any present until Christmas. It was kind of sad that I didn’t have any more presents to open last year when Christmas came, so now I’m working on my EQ. :P)). Or maybe, maybe it’s because Advent is all about waiting, and Christmas Eve somehow feels like it’s the end of all the waiting for this season. Christmas is tomorrow, friends!
But can you imagine this: what if it’s just Christmas Eve…forever?
I’d talk about Groundhog Day here, but since I haven’t watched that movie (Don’t hate me!), I’ll go for something a little more familiar to me. There’s this Sweet Valley Twins book with the same idea, where Jessica was stuck in Christmas Eve for several days because she was so self-absorbed and ruined everyone’s Christmas. The only way she can get out is if she makes it right on that day, and eventually, she did break that time loop, with a bigger heart for Christmas and everyone else around her.
How frustrating it must be, to keep on waking up on the same day, never reaching that day you have been waiting for.
Even more frustrating, is how sometimes we thought we did things right, but end up still stuck in some kind of Eve, never arriving to where we wanted to be.
Sometimes, it feels like life is like that. We wait for something for a long time, and then when you thought it’s already here, it turns out it’s not. And you end up having to wait some more. And more. Sometimes we want to give up on waiting, so we do things: we try to make it come earlier by celebrating earlier, we distract ourselves with other things that require less waiting. Sometimes, we pretend it doesn’t matter. Sometimes we get tired of the waiting that we just give up.
Sometimes, it feels like we’re stuck at the Eve and we would never get to the Day.
But the thing about Christmas, and Christmas Eve, is that we are assured of the promise that Christmas will arrive. That the Messiah will come. No, wait, scratch that — that the Messiah has come, and He is born, and that God is already with us. All the waiting, the anticipating, and the frustrations come to a halt when Christmas morning comes, because Jesus is born. The prophecy has come true. God’s promise is here.
Emmanuel. God is with us.
I think one of God’s reminders for us today is to trust in His faithfulness. It may seem like we are and we have been waiting forever, like we’re stuck in some sort of Eve all our lives. But remember Christmas. Remember that day when God came down to the world for us, and became one of us. We have been waiting for a long time, but we have a God who is true to His word, and with Him, our waiting is never wasted.
O come, Thou Dayspring from on high,
and cheer us by thy drawing nigh;
disperse the gloomy clouds of night
and death’s dark shadow put to flight. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!
One of my closest friends is about to get married, and she called us, her entourage, at their house one weekend so we can practice the short performance they planned for the reception. I could have opted out, but I didn’t have anything to do, and besides, she gets married only once (and she’s the first to get married in our group). So I went.
By the time evening rolled around, I had laughed so much at their friends, people I met (and danced with) just a few hours ago. I was perfectly content listening to them talk, even if I had no idea what they were talking about and who these people were. It was such a fascinating conversation to listen to, I said several times, and to that they all laughed and made jokes and tried to ask stuff about me so I can be a part of the conversation.
I barely knew these people, but they exuded so much warmth that it almost felt like I wasn’t different from them. Like I know them just as well as my friend did. They made me laugh, they tried to set me up with someone (that my friend totally disagreed with), and they started talking about having a karaoke session with me. I barely knew them, but that evening, it felt like I did.
It feels like some sort of grace, to be around people like these whose souls just glow so bright that they managed to light mine up. We may not see each other again after the wedding. Or maybe I’d end up being friends with them. I don’t know. And I don’t really mind not knowing. It was enough for me then, and enough for me now that I saw them and knew them and heard them. I got home that night, pondering all this, and carefully cupping the light they left with me, like how you’d protect a candle’s light from the wind. It’s like the light was a little piece of me that I was looking for, and it showed me the things I’ve been missing for a while. It’s not completely bright yet, but it was light. Right now, it’s enough.
* * *
I’ve been thinking about people recently. Or, to be more accurate, I’ve been thinking about humans, and humanity and the things that make us what we are. I suppose it’s because the year is ending, so I get all introspective and existential at some point.
I’ve also been thinking about the season of Advent, and how this year feels so different from last. Not that I was expecting it to be the same, except maybe last year was a little bit busier, and a little bit crazier, except this Advent is just a little less crazy but still that, in a different way.
But I’ve been thinking about humans, and Advent, and how this entire season is described as waiting. Mostly, I found myself thinking of how Advent preludes Christmas, which is when God came down to the world and became one of us. He became human, to be with us. Emmanuel. God is with us. I’ve glossed over this fact over and over in the past year, but now it seems like an important thing that I’m trying to get a grasp of.
A few weeks ago, I wasn’t feeling my best. I called it a storm brewing inside me because it felt like it, and this storm kind of wrecked havoc in my heart later on, in ways I didn’t think it would do, in ways I didn’t think it would happen. And as this storm brewed and hit and left, I kept on going back to what my friend said when I talked to her because I was just so, so tired:
I was running an errand when I read that, and I remember having to rush to the restroom when I read that because the tears just started to come. It was like the words released the waterworks and all I wanted to do then was cry and thank her for throwing me this piece of truth. That it’s okay for me to feel the way I feel, to be so tired and sad and angry and to cry, because I’m human.
I’m human.
I’m weak. I’m flawed. I get angry, I get sad. I cry, and I get tired. I get happy with the smallest things, and I get the happiest when I make other people happy. I lash out and fight, and I notice the smallest things even when I shouldn’t, and I think a thousand miles an hour, too much for my own good. I try to stop that, and sometimes I do it, but other times I don’t. I am all of this and more, but most of all, I am human.
I know this doesn’t excuse the times I act out of selfishness when I should know better. I don’t like using the excuse, “I’m only human” when I make mistakes because I believe in taking responsibility and all that shiz, but sometimes I think I forget to cut myself some slack. I don’t mind telling others — especially the ones closest to me — that it’s okay if they stumble because they are human, and it happens but I often forget to tell that to myself. That it is also just as okay if I stumble sometimes because I am human, too.Â
It’s funny how sometimes our humanity is the hardest thing to accept about ourselves. I guess it’s true that often the hardest person to forgive is yourself.
I’m human.
And all this time, while I sat and pondered on this fact that I have known all the time, I think of Advent again, and Christmas. How God sent Jesus to become human so He could be with us. How Jesus was born in a stable, laid on a manger, born and raised by human parents. I think a little more and imagine how Jesus must have grown up — how Mary must have held him as a baby and cleaned after him and fed him. How he must have tried to play with Joseph when he could run, and how he must have tripped and scraped his knee and maybe even cried as Mary treated the wound with some medicine that stung. I think of how Jesus helped with the chores at home, talked to other people and read and played and walked like everyone else he knew around him.
I remember wondering, after I read Anne Rice’s Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt, if Jesus knew who he was and what he was supposed to do when he was younger. And if he knew, what would he have done? I’d like to believe that maybe Jesus didn’t really know about it until later. Yes, Jesus is sinless and he sought God’s will…but it didn’t mean he knew what to do exactly, and what would happen to him. Why would he even have that agony in the Gethsemane if he knew what he was going to go through, right? Perhaps at some point in his life, Jesus was just as lost, confused, sad, tired, angry and terrified as we were in our lives. That Jesus also got cheered up by the small things and did big things to show his love for the people he cared for.
If Jesus, who was just as divine as he is human, can fully embrace all of this craziness, then why can’t I do that, too?
* * *
So I think of my humanity, and these new people who filled me with light recently. I think of Advent and waiting and Christmas and Jesus. I think of how messy life is, how flawed and imperfect everything is. I think of all the big and small victories, the times I’ve tried my best to be brave, and all the mistakes I’ve made in the past year. I feel bad about them, and I am really, truly sorry for not being a better person when I know that I can be one.
Then I gather them all up, and offer them to Jesus, like how the wise men came and offered what they had to the newborn baby on that first Christmas. I know what I have is not much, and it’s probably a really terrible offering. But I’d like to believe that when Jesus sees it, He smiles and tells me: “It’s okay. You’re human. I understand. I’ve been there, too.”
Yes, I’m still on a break. But I’m here again, because I came across some thoughts in the past days that made me dig through my old blog, knowing wrote something about it. I found it, and I thought I’d repost it here, because I think it’s relevant, and God knows how much we/I need a reminder of this sometimes. So this isn’t really a real post, except maybe it also is, but whatever, right? :P
One of my favorite verses about love is on today’s first reading:
There is no fear in love. Perfect love drives out fear, for fear has to do with punishment; those who fear do not know perfect love. (1 John 4:18)
Sometimes, when I think of love (especially the romantic one) objectively (which is how I think of it, more often than not, heh), it’s very easy to see it all in a straight line — I’d do this, I’d do that, I won’t do that he did and I will never do what she it. But when I hear and read stories from other people about love, I realize yet again that it’s not always black and white. If anything, it’s full of gray areas. Crossroads. Both roads seem the right thing to do, but which is really the most loving thing?
You know how people often wonder how you’d know if you love another person? Well, I think that verse up there is really the answer. I remember back in college, when we would have these kinds of discussion, we’d often bring up what St. Paul said to the Corinthians:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)
We used to say that when you can replace all instances of “love†there with your name (unless of course, your name is Love), that’s, well, love. But that verse only describes what love is and love makes us do, which I know once a person loves someone, they’re really willing to do all these, no matter how difficult it is. But how about when you’re not sure if you love the person already?
I think I may be going in circles there but hear me out a bit. How would you know if it is love? Maybe when you don’t feel any fear, just as what the verse states. Maybe it’s when you think of the future with that person and although it’s very uncertain, you feel secure, knowing that you’ll have someone. When you think about jumping and making a risk, you feel afraid but you still do it anyway, knowing everything will be all right in the end. Maybe it’s when you’re secure with yourself and in the person, knowing that no matter what happens, no matter how you look, no matter how chaotic everything else around is, even if the world is ending, the person will still be there, loving you.
It’s a tall order. And more often than not, people fail. But that’s why we just have to keep on trying, right?
Bringing it closer to home and in a non-romantic way, perfect love is there when:
a mother calls to console their scared daughter about her upcoming thesis defense, and tell her that it will be okay no matter what the outcome is.
a father tells his tired and worn out sophomore teen that they will finish the project on time, even if he is very tired himself.
a brother takes the time to cook for his sick sister and make her drink her medicines even if she feels like she’s getting worse.
a brother goes out of his way to meet his sister at a mall and bring her laptop to the service center to have the adapter fixed, and then drop his sister off to the dorm on commute just to make sure she gets back safe.
friends listen to another friend who finally takes a step away from a destructive habit and promises no judgment.
Perfect love drives out fear. And God is love. Ergo, God drives out fear. :) Comforting, isn’t it?
Wherever you are, whatever you are going through right now, may you find peace in God’s love.
I had to laugh at how that post up there seemed so naive, but also a little wise in some ways. I have no comment over what I wrote there about romantic love because I still don’t have any answers to what I said there four years later. There’s so much I didn’t know there. And there’s still so much I don’t know now.
