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Down the Path to the Well—a thought to remember along the way

"Clean is clean"—depending on who’s speaking! If it’s my sons claiming they’ve "cleaned" their rooms, clean is NOT clean in MOM’S eyes…and when they hung him on the cross, he was not clean either. He was a thief condemned to die—but not for long. For during those excrutiating hours, he recognized Someone hanging next to Him who in a split second of time would forever change his sentence—not man’s but God’s. Men still saw him as the dirty thief; Jesus saw him as a clean child of God. That’s grace, God’s amazing grace!

And it avails for you today. The second you confessed that sin to your Lord and asked His forgiveness, you were forgiven. Give no thought to the tempter’s taunts. He’s a “liar, the father of lies and the truth is not in him.” Your past is forgiven, forgotten and forever washed away. You’re cleansed and declared righteous according to heaven’s records. You are clean—heart, soul, body, mind and spirit—and “clean is clean” in GOD’S eyes! That’s what really counts. Believe it—and have a praise-filled day!

Delight in a Word from the Well—a refreshing in the Water of His Word

"And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.

And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with me in paradise
(Luke 23: 42,43).”

"Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you (John 15:3)."

"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins,
and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).”

Draw from the Well—a prayer for renewing strength for this day

"Lord, I’ve confessed it a million times—and it continues to haunt me. You heard me the FIRST time—there’s no need to keep feeling the condemnation of the enemy of my soul. Lord, I refuse the harrassment and accusations—I am clean, by Your Blood—and like the thief on the cross, I receive that perfect cleansing this Holy Week, In Jesus Name, Amen."

(Source: peggiesplace.com)

Posted: April 04, 2012
Under: God, devotion, holy week, queue, scriptures, text post,

For more than a century, the pinnacle of golf has been to score 59—a score that had been recorded only three times in PGA Tour history before 2010. Then, in 2010, Paul Goydos scored a 59—only to be equaled a month later by Stuart Appleby’s 59. Consequently, some sportswriters speculated that the most coveted achievement in golf was now becoming commonplace! It’s amazing to see two 59s in the same season, but it would be a mistake to begin to view this as ordinary.

For those who follow Jesus Christ, it is also a mistake to view the remarkable as ordinary. Think about prayer for instance. At any moment we can talk to the Creator God who spoke the universe into existence! Not only are we welcomed into His presence, but we are invited to enter boldly: “Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16).

There is nothing ordinary about access to God—yet sometimes we take this privilege for granted. He is almighty God, but He is also our Father who loves us and allows us to call on Him at any moment of any day. Now that’s extraordinary!

Our prayers ascend to heaven’s throne
Regardless of the form we use;
Our Father always hears His own
Regardless of the words we choose. —D. De Haan

God is always available to hear the prayers of His children.

(Source: odb.org)

Posted: April 02, 2012
Under: God, devotion, holy week, queue, text post, scriptures,

Decent and modest walk, laughing with hands covering the mouth, sitting with legs crossed, no kid-like mannerisms, not mosquito larvae like when bored. Those are the characteristics of a matured woman. A legal and matured woman which is contrary to her characteristics. She’s fond of babbling a lot when bored, chatter excitedly when she has nothing to do, sitting with her legs also in the chair, baby talking, kiddy-like mannerisms, dancing like crazy in public. She got all of the worst things a woman shouldn’t have. She is lacking of what others called, maturity.

Maturity, how to achieve that thing? Can it be achieved overnight? In a minute? In a second? In a week? When? How? The countless questions are bugging her. Everyone is comparing her to other girls. Girls who’s more matured and can handle themselves and every move with chastity. Can act in their most decent ways.

Why others can’t accept the fact that it’s her? That, it’s really her. That it is her personality. That she didn’t like boring things. That she get bored easily. That she don’t want dull moments. Why they can’t accept that?

But in fact, she’s trying. She is trying to fit in. She is trying to absorb what others tell her to do. She is trying to act just like her age. She is trying cope in the world as it gradually change.

Maturity cannot be achieved in an hour or so, neither in a month or year. It is by process. People should understand it, really.

I hate how some people tend to go overboard sometimes, or most of the times. They’re going on extremes at what they are saying when they saw something incorrect from you or from what you are doing without minding that you are human and you also have feelings. I hate how some people have too much confidence with their self as if they can do anything without making just a single mistake. I hate how some people do everything just to shove to your face that they are way better than you and you can’t just stood up to his level. I hate how some people degrades you even if you yourself know that you didn’t do something wrong.

I hate how some people became too perfectionist and can be insensitive at times.

Posted: January 09, 2012 with 1 note
Under: personal, text post,

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she’s not that good-looking. She doesn’t stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn’t young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a “girl,” properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She’s the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there’s a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you’re drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I’ll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can’t recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It’s weird.

“Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl,” I tell someone.

“Yeah?” he says. “Good-looking?”

“Not really.”

“Your favorite type, then?”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts.”

“Strange.”

“Yeah. Strange.”

“So anyhow,” he says, already bored, “what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?”

“Nah. Just passed her on the street.”

She’s walking east to west, and I west to east. It’s a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I’d really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we’d have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

“Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?”

Ridiculous. I’d sound like an insurance salesman.

“Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?”

No, this is just as ridiculous. I’m not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who’s going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. “Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me.”

No, she wouldn’t believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you’re not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I’d probably go to pieces. I’d never recover from the shock. I’m thirty-two, and that’s what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can’t bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She’s written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she’s ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She’s lost in the crowd. 

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started “Once upon a time” and ended “A sad story, don’t you think?” 

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

“This is amazing,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you’re the 100% perfect girl for me.”

“And you,” she said to him, “are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I’d pictured you in every detail. It’s like a dream.”

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It’s a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one’s dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, “Let’s test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other’s 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we’ll marry then and there. What do you think?”

“Yes,” she said, “that is exactly what we should do.”

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other’s 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season’s terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence’s piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don’t you think? 

Yes, that’s it, that is what I should have said to her.

(Source: faroffdistance)

I ain’t even ready. Seems like everything is fine and celebrating about the birth of Jesus and the coming of the new year are the things we look forward to then suddenly with just one blink of an eye you will realize that school is coming again. School, school, school. Why can’t everybody just  love it? Sure I do love it but not the stress it brings nor the works that it will give but the enjoyment with friends and the different experiences that you’ll gain and so the learning. But.. no tons of works and I’ll surely love it 100% but that would be impossible.

So, goodbye for now vacation. ‘Til next time again bum life, late-night internet (FB, Twitter, Tumblr), never-ending foods, sleep all day. See you after 3 months. Now, I have to face the reality and do the responsibility of being a student. As a psychology student to be much more specific.

Sebastinians, see you tomorrow!

Posted: January 03, 2012
Under: personal, psychlife, text post,

Let me describe my 2011 with the overused “rollercoaster ride” with lots of ups and downs that you almost can’t count using your two hands. This year had lots of twists and turns that made me explore more and helped me discover many things not only about myself but also the people around me.

Don’t forget the countless blessings and guidance of the Lord, my savior. This year, I accepted God wholeheartedly, I always feel His presence around me and never doubted His existence for I know whatever I’m doing and whenever I am He’s just by my side.

I also want to thank all the people who’s been with me since day 1 and never left me. To my parents, my brother, my boyfriend, Carlo labs (Haha! He want to be called by that so be it.) and my best friend, Denise. You guys made such an impact in my life. 2011 will not be great without all of you.

This year may be tough but I thank God for giving me the opportunity to know things I can handle, to all the wounds that left scar and learning, to the pain and struggles I’ve surpassed.

I believe that by God’s guidance, 2012 will be much nicer. I’m keeping my hopes high for more opportunities, for more discoveries and for more lessons to be learned.

So long, 2011. Au Revoir!

I hope everyone is enjoying this night. I hope everyone is happy with their family and loved ones.

God bless y’all! :D

Posted: December 24, 2011 with 1 note
Under: Christmas, text post,
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