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i came across this story years ago from the column of Ricky Lo (Conversations With Ricky Lo at The Philippine Star).  According to him, Rio Diaz who was still alive then, sent this story to him.  The first time i read it, it gave me goosebumps.  It made me cry.  It brought me closer to God.  It renewed my faith, my hope..  So right then and there, i decided to cut it out and to save it, to store it in between the pages of my Bible.  Every now and then, I’d read it, and I’d still feel the same effects - goosebumps and tears.. 

so now, i am sharing this beautiful story to you, not only because it is Lent, but more so that all of us will come to trust in God, especially when things do not go our way.  Believe in Him, and never give up.

Once, there were three trees on a hill in the woods.  they were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, “Someday, I hope to be a treasure chest.  I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems.  I would be decorated with intricate carvings and everyone would see my beauty.” 

     Then the second tree said, “Someday, I will be a mighty ship.  I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world.  Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength in my hull.” 

     Finally, the third tree said, “I want to grow to be the tallest and the straightest tree in the forest.  People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching.  I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will remember me.”

     After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees.  When one came to the first tree, he said, “This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter,” and he begun cutting it down.  The tree was happy because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest. 

     At the second tree, the woodsman said, “This looks like a strong tree.  I should be able to sell it to the shipyard.”  The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship. 

     When the woodsman came upon the third tree,  the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down, his dreams would not come true.  One of the woodsmen said, “I don’t see anything special on this tree, but I’ll cut it anyway.”

When the first tree reached the carpenter, he was made into a feed box for animals.  He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay.  This was not at all that he planned. 

     The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat.  His dreams of becoming a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. 

     The third tree was cut into two and left alone in the dark.

     The years went by and the trees forgot about their dreams.

     Then one day, a man and a woman came into the barn.  She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do.  The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

     Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree.  One of them was tired and went to sleep.  While they were out in the water, a great storm came and the tree didn’t think it was strong enough to keep the men safe.  The men woke the sleeping man and he stood and said, “Peace…be still.”  And the storm stopped.  At this time, the tree knew it had carried the King of Kings in his boat.

     Finally, someone came and got the third tree.  It was carried to the streets as the people mocked  the man who was carrying it.  When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of the hill.  When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the hill and be as close to God as was possible because Jesus had been crucified on it.

MESSAGE:  When things don’t seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you.  If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts.  Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they imagined.  We don’t always know know what God’s plans are for us.  We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always the best.

Coping with loss, loneliness with the help of ‘P.S., I Love You’
By Melahnee S. Maliwat-Calica
Sunday, November 19, 2006

P.S., I Love You by Cecelia Ahern was the first book I read after my husband left in May to work aboard a cargo ship as a seaman. It was then that I saw the world through a veil of tears – everywhere I looked, there was always something that reminded me of him. There was no escape; everything simply tugged at my heart, forcing me to go through each day overwhelmed by loneliness and misery. Memories, whether they were good or bad, brought out torrents of salty tears from my eyes. With the way I cried and cried, you’d have thought I had swallowed the reservoir of water from the La Mesa Dam and ran it dry.

Thank God, my sobbing phase lasted for only a week; otherwise, I would have led myself to dehydration. Plus, too much crying sucked out the glow from my skin and left me in a state of constant exhaustion. However, it was not my ugliness that alarmed me. It was my emotional state, as I was fast slipping into depression. It would take more than a barrage of vitamins, sleeping 24 hours a day, pigging out at eat-all-you-can restaurants and gulping drums of water to cure my heart and soul. It would take (sigh) my husband Erick to be here with me, beside me.

Thus began my camaraderie with Holly, the heroine in Cecelia Ahern’s P.S., I Love You. Unlike me, however, whose husband just went away for a job abroad, Holly’s separation from her husband Gerry was permanent. He died of a brain tumor at the early age of 30. But other than the manner of our husbands’ leaving and the ending of our stories, everything else felt somehow similar.

Both of us were struggling to cope with a life of having been left behind, of wondering if life was worth living now that the person we loved had gone away. Or worse yet, if there was still life ahead for us.

When Erick kissed me goodbye that fateful night (even though I knew he would come back home to me after 10 months), I felt my body weaken, as if my spirit left me to go with him. I was gripped with so much pain. As the days passed, the intensity of this vanished with time; yet the loneliness stayed.

Holly drifted from room to room while she sobbed her fat, salty tears. Her eyes were red and sore and there seemed to be no end to this night. None of the rooms in the house provided her with any solace. Just an unwelcoming silence as she stared around at the furniture.

The book is worded simply. It kept me company during those first days of soul-wrenching loneliness. I could have chosen any other book, but this one simply penetrated my heart like no other story could. Holly’s feelings mirrored my own. While reading through its pages, I felt like I was reading my own narrative, seeing myself as Holly, smelling her husband’s clothes, roaming around their house aimlessly, sleeping poorly and feeling just plain miserable.

This was the fifth time my husband had gone to work abroad. One would think I would have already adjusted to the life of a seaman’s wife in which the husband leaves for months or years, then returns for a few months of vacation, only to leave again. The cycle continues.

But no.

Every time Erick left, he went away carrying my heart, thus I was left incomplete, broken and aching. During those months he was away, I struggled to put my life on its right track again, collecting and putting pieces of myself together. The process was always agonizing, for, most of the time, I usually did not know where to search – or if there was something out there at all that would somehow fit the hole that our separation had carved in my heart.

Throughout the lonely, ungodly hours that I lay awake, Holly kept me company, giving me strength from her strength. Her struggles to move on with life became my inspiration.

Months after Gerry’s death, Holly receives a package of letters that he’s left for her, instructing her to perform a series of tasks…

One letter per month, starting March to December, Gerry helps Holly continue to live, giving her strength and reminding her he loves her through each task. These letters push Holly to get up each morning and face the challenges that come her way and often the process and results are hilarious, spiced up with the help of her loving and crazy family and friends.

As Holly lived each month for Gerry’s letters, I, too, lived for my husband’s text messages and phone calls. Each message from him, each call, had the power to bring sunshine into my dreary life. Though I could not touch or see him, Erick’s communications somehow bridged the distance between us and I could feel him beside me.

Through this contact, both our husbands helped us feel we were loved, thus boosting our spirits to loosen and slip free from the grips of emotional breakdown.

P.S., I Love You, a book about death and how it leaves you shattered, lost and aimless, is about the torments of grief, loneliness and depression. It reminds its readers that life can end anytime, regardless of age and sex, despite the wonderful dreams you made, or how many people loved you and you loved in return. It will make you cry. It will make you sad.

And yet. Nobody’s life is filled with perfect little moments. And if they were, they wouldn’t be perfect little moments. They would just be normal. How would you ever know happiness if you never experienced downs?

P.S., I Love You is a book about finding and having life again after death. It tells us that, no matter how broken you are over losing someone you love, there are always opportunities out there for you to find happiness; that no matter how bleak your world has become, at one time or another, the sun will always come out shining, bringing life and hope. It’s about dealing with being alone; recognizing that we need friends and family, people who refuse to give up on us after we have given up on ourselves. It reminds us of Helen Keller’s words – that when one door of happiness closes, another one opens; that if we remain focused on that closed door, we could miss seeing the other doors opening. It points out that when faced with problems, we cannot dwell on them for too long; we cannot hide; we cannot ignore them; that at some point in time, we have to face these obstacles or they will take over our lives, sucking out our will to live. It is about dealing with the past and getting on with the future by living each day, taking one step at a time.

Reading this wonderful book made me smile and laugh. I found myself giggling and gaining courage to deal with my pain.

"P.S., I love you." Gerry always wrote this phrase at the end of each of his letters to Holly.

"Honey, I love you," Erick always tells me that at the end of his calls or texts.

If you, too, want to find inspiration and strength to deal with whatever difficulty you are facing now, read Holly’s story and see how Gerry never stopped loving her after his death. It will fill your heart with sadness, then laughter, and then love.

NOTE:  I POSTED THIS ESSAY (AHEM, IT WAS CHOSEN AS WEEKLY WINNER FOR THE ESSAY-WRITING CONTEST CONDUCTED BY THE NATIONAL BOOKSTORE AND THE PHILIPPINE STAR AS PUBLISHED BY THE SAID NEWSPAPER ON THEIR NOVEMBER 19, 2006 ISSUE) HERE

BECAUSE, ONCE AGAIN, I AM SUFFERING FROM LONELINESS;

BECAUSE ONCE AGAIN, MY HUSBAND IS OCEANS AWAY FROM US;

BECAUSE THIS BOOK IS NOW A MOVIE (PLEASE READ THE BOOK RATHER THAN WATCH THE MOVIE..SORRY HILARY SWANK!)

BECAUSE, WELL, I’M STILL VERY PROUD OF MY ONE-TIME FAME AND PUBLICITY..  HEHEHE..

I’ve always been moved by this excerpt from the short story, "FIRST LOVE (A CONFESSION)" by Frank Harris.  i don’t know why.  not that i suffered, or am suffering, from a case of unrequited love; after all, i got my man, married him, and bore him a beautiful son..  but until now, after more than a decade since i came across this excerpt (by the way, i don’t like the whole story, just this part), i still feel a little tug at the heart whenever i read it.  maybe it’s the passion of the woman-character, or her longing for the man who was so oblivious of her presence, or maybe, i am just sucked in by the drama of it..  i don’t know..  maybe if i share it with you, you might share, in turn, with me your comments about this..  (feel free to post your thoughts here.)

here it is.  enjoy every word… (by the way, i hope Mr Harris will not be insulted that i used our dog, an-na, as my model here.  i rather think this picture, with her dramatic pose, is perfect with the excerpt.)

"The truth is very simple", she said, "and very hard to tell.  i loved you.  it transformed me; the tide of it swept through me, and ebbed and flowed in me, and bore me a way out upon it until sweet tears scalded my eyes and made my heart ache.  i invested you with every grace and every power;  you were the lay figure, i was the artist.  you brought me the wild fresh air of struggle and triumph into my close narrow life, and i made a hero of you…  i’ve stopped in the hall to talk to your coat.  how i used to kiss and  stroke it and put my cheek against it and whisper sweet things to it! ‘Tell him, dear coat’, I used to say, ‘that i love him, and he mustn’t be sad or lonely.  tell him - tell him that i love him.‘"

well, what do you think?

for so long,

we waited for you…

9 years of praying,

of waiting.

9 years of disappointment.

then when all hope seemed lost,

and our hearts could no longer summon an ounce of strength

to wish and expect one more time,

YOU CAME…

You entered our lives,

bringing sunshine and boundless joy.

now as we cuddle you in our arms,

we beam with pride as our hearts overflow with love for you.

for we know, we do not only hold a very precious gift from God,

but in our grasp is our own flesh and blood,

more than a wish came true,

more than a prayer answered,

more than a dream realized,

but our own child,

OUR OWN SON..

this afternoon, i did a very terrible thing to my son, something that i never thought i could do, especially so that he was just 6 months old..  and until now, i am so laden with guilt that i cannot breath without feeling remorse for myself for having done that..

o god, please forgive me, please Lord…

yes, i was tired.
yes, i was sleepy.

and maybe, i was a little bit depressed.

but these were not enough to excuse me for being a terrible mommy, even if it was just for a few seconds…

what happened then?

we just arrived from town, having bought groceries for his needs this week.  after changing to clean clothing, i turned on the air con and readied ourselves to settle for an afternoon nap. 

then, he started crying. 

i tried giving him milk, he just brushed it aside.  thus, i tried water.  that too, he brushed aside, and quite angrily, might i add.  by this time, he was crying his heart out, his wail so loud that his face began to darken. 

with soothing words, i scooped him in my arms and rocked him back and forth,slowly massaging his back.  still, that did not have any effect on his crying.  my mind was then racing with thoughts on what could i do to stop him from this terrible tantrum.  i even tried changing his diaper.  tried showing him pictures, talking animatedly, making funny faces..  everything i did, nothing worked. 

frustration was building up inside me as his cries accelerated to screaming wails.  then, my patience ran out. i took him by the shoulders and suddenly shook him out of his wits.  it was a deed so unexpected that it took us both by surprise.  how could have i let my emotions, my anger get the better of me?  there was simply no excuse to have done that.  it could have broken my son’s bones or worse, his neck could have snapped.

o god, please forgive me.  please lord…

he stopped crying after that.  though there was not a trace of fear on his face, i was, however, pained on the way he was looking at me.  it seemed, with his innocent gaze, he was telling me it was okay, that he had forgiven his mommy for her bad, bad deed. he was still so achingly trusting, his bright, round eyes were still filled with love for me despite of what i did.. 

right then and there, i wanted to pull him in my arms and hold him tightly.  but right then and there, i was too afraid to touch him, not trusting my hands to even go an inch near his small body…

for a few seconds of uncontrolled anger, i had forgotten how precious my son was.  for a few seconds, memories of how much we prayed and wished and longed for him for 9 years, and on how hard we had fought for him during a very difficult and dangerous pregnancy, had been erased by a sudden bout of rage and frustration. 

tsk..

it might take a long time for me to forgive myself for putting my son’s life in danger. 

or, i might never be able to.

o god, please forgive me.

please Lord?

i am whispering your name,

yet it is not i whom you are calling for.

i am longing for you,

yet it is not i whom your heart is missing.

i am thinking of you,

yet it is not our memories that are flashing in your mind.

i want so much to touch you,

yet it is not my hand you want to hold.

i want to bask in your embrace,

yet it is not my warmth that you want to feel.

i want to talk to you,

yet it is not my voice you want to hear.

i want to get lost in your eyes,

yet it is not my soul you want to glimpse.

i want to see your smile,

yet it is not i who could give you happiness.

i want to share my dreams with you,

yet it is not my future you want to see.

in short,

i want you to love me,

yet it is not i

it may never be i…  JESUS CHRIST