Rush of Angels
I enter once more the lair of the Devil, where temptations await and my soul will be tested, as metal would be in the heat of the furnace. I have many struggles and some of them have been lost, a few have been won, but many still are yet to be resolved. Perhaps this moment of abandonment, when the creatures of light lead you to the side of evil, is yet another opportunity to prove to one's self that I do not belong to the dark world. And yet the trials that await for me are too much to bear that I already tremble even before I make my first step across the threshold. I fear the thought of losing myself, my idealism, my principles, the values I guard and promise never to compromise. I would force myself to believe that I can make it but the whispered taunts of the Tempter are as loud as the occasional thunder rolling over the barren plains of loneliness. The taunts are directed towards my self-esteem. Day by day the lies are getting louder and the more I listen to the lies, the more they appear truthful.
It is a lonely road that leads my steps but is there somebody else to blame other than myself? There is none! Not even the God who allowed everything to happen for He only works according to the choices that men make. Indeed it is a divine gift to enter the sullen room of self-inflicted crises, where your identity is distorted, your motives questioned, your capabilities scorned and doubted, your intentions misunderstood. It is in this dark place that I find the opportunity to shine.
But from the point of entering the deepest darkest to the moment of lighting the tiniest wick, it is a struggle to keep the humble flame from dying. Throughout the entire ordeal, there are many questions to answers, many answers to find. Sometimes, there is not enough energy left to even grope for the nearby candle. The eyes are hurting. The hands are aching. The spirit is drying up.
It is in this phase that I long for the rush of Angels. I depend on their intercession. I strain my ears to listen for the soft fluttering of their wings. Yet at times these angels do not come flying from the heavens. They come in unexpected means, like in the faintest footsteps of strangers, in the familiar and almost always dismissed voices of family members, in the quiet speck of light coming from friends beaming through tiny cracks and holes.
Thus while I walk down the road chosen by a few, most of whom are not even sure and confident of such a choice, I walk in prayer hoping for angels to come. I pray for the angel of strength to fill me up with more courage to face the unknown and pass through the trials already prepared for me. I pray for the angel of discernment to fill me up with patience to wait for the right time to come. I pray for the angel of obedience to teach me a course in humility so that I will not deny myself of the trials that lie ahead out of arrogance.
I fancy myself in a situation similar to that of Abraham of the Old Testament, when he was visited by no less than 3 angels, perhaps a representation of the Triune God (Elohim). I wait for the coming of my own 3 angels and like any messenger I wait for their good news. Like Abraham's wife, I too shall laugh wholeheartedly once I hear this anticipated good news. I shall laugh with tears.
So I wait and wait and like everything else, this too, shall pass.
It is a lonely road that leads my steps but is there somebody else to blame other than myself? There is none! Not even the God who allowed everything to happen for He only works according to the choices that men make. Indeed it is a divine gift to enter the sullen room of self-inflicted crises, where your identity is distorted, your motives questioned, your capabilities scorned and doubted, your intentions misunderstood. It is in this dark place that I find the opportunity to shine.
But from the point of entering the deepest darkest to the moment of lighting the tiniest wick, it is a struggle to keep the humble flame from dying. Throughout the entire ordeal, there are many questions to answers, many answers to find. Sometimes, there is not enough energy left to even grope for the nearby candle. The eyes are hurting. The hands are aching. The spirit is drying up.
It is in this phase that I long for the rush of Angels. I depend on their intercession. I strain my ears to listen for the soft fluttering of their wings. Yet at times these angels do not come flying from the heavens. They come in unexpected means, like in the faintest footsteps of strangers, in the familiar and almost always dismissed voices of family members, in the quiet speck of light coming from friends beaming through tiny cracks and holes.
Thus while I walk down the road chosen by a few, most of whom are not even sure and confident of such a choice, I walk in prayer hoping for angels to come. I pray for the angel of strength to fill me up with more courage to face the unknown and pass through the trials already prepared for me. I pray for the angel of discernment to fill me up with patience to wait for the right time to come. I pray for the angel of obedience to teach me a course in humility so that I will not deny myself of the trials that lie ahead out of arrogance.
I fancy myself in a situation similar to that of Abraham of the Old Testament, when he was visited by no less than 3 angels, perhaps a representation of the Triune God (Elohim). I wait for the coming of my own 3 angels and like any messenger I wait for their good news. Like Abraham's wife, I too shall laugh wholeheartedly once I hear this anticipated good news. I shall laugh with tears.
So I wait and wait and like everything else, this too, shall pass.
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