Life gets better…I am now 53 years old and proud to now have those signs of getting closer to the twilight zone – wrinkles that are getting deeper, white hair, age spots and all. Grateful that I still can do a 30-minute workout a day though no longer the gym rat that I used to be. Time gently robs my strength and agility so as not to freak out, I guess. To age with grace.

I used to pile up empty boxes of bath soaps and toothpastes on our house walls. And once I did a landscape in front of the house – a small garden with rocks and pebbles, dried tree branches and driftwoods for orchids and other ornamentals. “Wala lang” as today’s generation would usually equip. I have always been a salesman – from pandesal and puto’t kutsinta, candies and sweet banana cues as a kid to cellphones and beepers, bath soaps, encyclopedias and water ala Nora Aunor. “Okey lang” because life was economically challenging then. Aside from being an entrepreneur at an early age, I was also an unofficial member of Kilusang Manggagawa ng Pilipinas for having been a carwasher, a Nurse aide, a street worker, a teacher to name a few and, throughout those years, as an assistant to Papa and Mama, the breadwinners of our family. “Sige lang” as Mama would often say. This will pass.

“Wala lang?” I really don’t think so. Life is a school where grades have no value but lessons…to test and to form one’s character. Those years of piling empty boxes, of mounting soils and pebbles must have given me the inspiration to make a difference, must have taught me to be creative and innovative, and must have pushed me to shovel better opportunities and possibilities. Take the risk because there is more to what is.

“Okey lang” even when life gets tough. To survive is a given because of instinct. But to be exposed to the harsh realities of life at an early stage has been a privilege and a blessing. It brought me down to my knees and appreciated God’s compassion and generosity. I have already lost count of the times I was literally empty-handed but, each time, God has always provided for me with. Through the years, He has always been my God of providence.

“Sige lang” since this will pass. This life and everything that it contains will surely pass…here today gone tomorrow. Sorrows and joys, victories and vanities, emptiness and fullness. All will pass. I am not one who sits in a corner when something is not right. I am not known for self-pity. I’d rather shout and dream and plan for what’s next and move on. Life is tough, yes, but it’s so beautiful to incriminate it with negativities. Life has been kind enough to teach me positivity. It’s simply good.

Looking back and looking forward. I am now in the middle of a life that has full of remembrances and still full of possibilities; reminiscing and becoming. I was and will always be the Potter’s clay…grateful for what I have become now and will surely be grateful for what will I become tomorrow.

And to all the people I have met and have helped me become who I am now, most especially the people of Crossroads, allow me to share with you the joy of being blessed. I hope and pray that I have been and will continue to be a blessing to you as well.

Cheers to the Giver of life!

Amazing Stories of Redemption... and Gratitude

He was thrown out of their house at the age of 10 after being accused of stealing money from their own store, a crime he honestly did not commit but by an adult relative, his father’s sister. He had no courage to tell the truth because he was just a kid. His father, unable to control his anger, kicked and punched him no end. He cried out loud and begged his father to stop but the father was stone deaf. His ordeal just started.

He was put in a sackcloth, was hanged on the staircase and was made a punching bag. Soon he decided to stop crying. He was simply too tired. His body was too weak to wail for more.

He was taken down, removed from the sackcloth but only to be kicked out again and again. His father mightily told him to leave the house. He ran as fast as he could, disgusted and bitter, and angry at the same time. Many questions filled his mind but one thing topped them all: where would he sleep? The heavens were seemingly uncooperative as heavy rains started to flood the streets. He was wet all over but he could not care less. His eyes were busy looking for a shelter, and soon after he found one, a street corner that became his home… for a long while. His ordeal continued.

Another wizard of the street was born. It was easy for him to learn the trades: pickpocketing, pagpag-eating, gambling, smoking, sniffing marijuana and peddling anything that helped him survive. A smart kid he became. A hardened heart that learned how to crook, unlearned how to cry.

He grew up to be suspicious and secretive…a man of few words, as they say because everything he kept inside – all the pains and bitterness, his anger towards his father most especially. He blamed his father for forcing him to become the person he never thought he would be – a street dweller, dirty, unkept, full of itches and sores, and always on the run for his precocious life. When will his ordeal end?

How to forgive an unrepentant father? How to let go of an inner rage? How to live in peace? These, among other things, preoccupied his mind…questions of a grown up man but who remained a kid at heart – constantly longing for affection, father’s love and proper attention. He knew somehow that one day he would be facing these issues squarely and maturely. And that day happened when he finally took the first step of being admitted in a recovery program and thereupon entrusted himself to the process of regaining back the self he had lost during his childhood.

It was not an easy journey. He would slip and fall, would sway on the side, or would take wrong turns. But he persisted. He just had to keep on moving forward believing that it was the right thing to do.

He has already forgiven the man who hurt him most and is now living in peace, calmly taking each day as an opportunity to make himself a better man. His cross was over…and on the road he has nothing but his being sober.

Let his name be “Bob”. Slowly and vividly I can still imagine how he opened his mouth and started to share his struggles on drugs and how he has been enslaved by his addiction.

He had almost lost everything and already suffering for being empty-handed. Disowned by his family that could not figure out what really went wrong, he felt somehow hopeless and thought that there was no cure for him any longer. He already lost his wife. His kids did not want to see nor talk to him anymore. His life was going nowhere. He blamed his family for all his miseries. They never appreciated him for all his efforts to be clean anyway. He was despised rather than valued. His sobriety lasted only for two (2) weeks. His utter expression was “I’d rather get high”. Six months ago, he once again made an effort to abate the abuse and to take the good road. His effort lasted for nearly a month. He was totally clean until something happened: his dad lost his watch and was blamed. He shrieked at the top of his voice and said “I’d rather get high”. And so he did.

He talked and talked for hours, then paused for a while and bluntly whispered to me, “Did I mention to you that I was already sober for several weeks now but I went here to get high because I had a fight with my wife. Nobody really cared for me so I’d rather get high”.

Suddenly we heard a huge knock, the door was opened and policemen entered. In a split of a second, I was handcuffed and was on my way to the station. In the station, several hours had passed and I began to wonder where was Bob. Why was I separated from him? Why was I alone in my cell? Loneliness was creeping in.

But the police answered reluctantly, “pot session? There was no pot session. You had no companion. You were caught alone. You can even check the records and crime witnesses, you were alone”. At that point my body shivered and it hit me. I was silent for hours. I was in a state of shock. “What have I done to myself”?

Few months after, I was out on bail. My family has decided that I will have to stay here at Crossroads. We believe that this place will be instrumental for a new life. Now I’m well and reconciled with my family. Addiction is long gone and hopefully I could start anew. Thanks to Crossroads

Bro. Gerome

Nothing unusual on that day. She woke up early in the morning to prepare for her daily routine. Her mind was empty and just went on wherever it wanted to go. Her stomach was empty for there was nothing to eat anyway. What else is new? This has been her life ever since she was thrown out from home by her own family who treated her as a disgrace. For almost five years now, a makeshift in a traffic island along busy streets of Manila has been her home. There she has a great view of cars to dirts and people from all walks of life. Their movements fancy her and somehow occupy most of her time.

Nothing unusual, but not before that day ended. After waking up, she gathered her belongings and hid them behind trimmed ornamentals. She covered her head with a worn out piece of cloth, took her child in her arms and covered him with malong exposing only his tiny face. He was still asleep and soundly for hours now and for more. Their role of the day was about to begin…as beggars…she with a child for sympathy purposes, if only to survive. The day was almost over when a car stopped in front of them, rolled down the window, and someone from the car talked to her for few minutes until the traffic light turned green. The car sped fast and gone from her sight. Her child was gone too.

He was brought to the hospital for treatment. He has been drugged by his own mother to stay asleep while begging. Enough of the sedation.

Scarred by this horrifying past, he tried to live as normal as possible with his foster parents. He was provided with anything that will make him happy and secured. He was sent to good schools. He was prioritized. He was sheltered and showered with nothing else but true love. But anything or anyone was never enough for him. The past continued to haunt him. He was too weak to break away not only from the trauma, but from the drugs that must have been in his system since infancy. He craved for it and soon after he became its slave.

Life at Crossroads was a rest for him. He was simply too tired to run away from his past that broke his being, and run after the drugs that enslaved him. The traffic light has turned red…time to stop and not just for a while.

He stayed at Crossroads for a longer period of time. There were too many to sort out and his young age cannot just do the sorting at once.

One day at a time.

Hang on.

All good things come to those who wait.

Trust God. Trust yourself.

Let go and let God.

Unwritten philosophies he has learned to keep and believe.

Nothing unusual on that day. His son woke him up and requested for a cereal. Thanks to his son, his daily alarm clock. He is always on time for his office works.

Bata pa lamang ako ay kilala ko na si Father na nagmimisa sa kapilya na aking pinaglilingkuran bilang miyembro ng choir. Ngunit mas lubos ko siyang nakilala nang ako ay maging isa sa kanyang mga iskolar. Sa una, ako ay nagkaroon ng agam-agam kung ako ba ay karapat-dapat na maging iskolar dahil una, isa lamang naman akong pangkaraniwan na mag-aaral, pangalawa naman, ako ay nag-aaral na sa kolehiyo na may kursong edukasyon at higit sa lahat upang maging iskolar ni Father Clifford, kailangan ay Sikolohiya ang aking maging kurso na kung saan hindi ako pamilyar. Sa tulong ng ilang tao na nagkumbinsi at para na rin makabawas ako sa gastusin ng aking mga magulang sa pagpapa-aral sa akin ay kinuha ko ang oportunidad na dumating sa akin. Isinantabi ko na rin ang posibilidad na ako ay maging guro, at inisip ko na lamang na marahil ay hindi ko tadhana na makapag-turo sa mga bata. Naging maayos ang pag-aaral ko sa unang taon ko bilang isang iskolar, ngunit naging mahirap sa akin ang mga sumunod na taon. Maraming beses na sumagi sa aking isipan na “kaya ko ba talaga ‘to?” Pero sa tuwing ako ay nag-aalangan sa aking sarili, lagi namang nariyan si Father Clifford na naniniwala at sasambitin ang mga katagang “kaya mo yan, ikaw pa ba?”

Nang makapagtapos naman ako ng pag-aaral, sinabi sa akin ni Father na ako ay magiging Guidance Counselor sa school na kanyang pinapamahalaan. Nang magsimula na ako sa aking trabaho, sinabihan ako na kailangan ko ring magturo sa pre-school. Nagkaroon na naman ako ng pag-aalinlangan bagaman may 18 units ako sa edukasyon, hindi ito ang aking nakasanayan lalo na’t sa mga bata ako magtuturo pero narinig ko na naman kay Father ang salitang “kaya mo yan, ikaw pa ba?”. May isa pang pagkakataon na nawalan ulit ako ng tiwala sa sarili ko dahil nagkasabay ang activities sa school at yung panahon na kailangan kong kumuha ng licensure examination para ako ay maging isang ganap na Psychometrician. Pero dahil ulit sa dasal at words of wisdom ni Father, nalampasan ko ulit ang pagsubok na dumating sa akin.

Sa kanyang ika-53 kaarawan, hindi man sapat ang salitang Salamat sa lahat ng tulong at tiwala niya ay nais ko pa ring magpasalamat sa kanya dahil ang maging iskolar niya ang isa sa mga itinuturing kong magandang biyaya na natanggap ko. Sana ay mas marami pang biyaya ang matanggap niya nang sa gayon ay mas marami pa siyang matulungan na tao na higit na nangangailangan at maging inspirasyon sa ibang tao na nahihirapan sa buhay. Happy Birthday Father Clifford and God bless po!