On to the Other Side

Gypsy: You grew up without a father figure, how does this affect your perception of Father God?
Dear Gypsy - I needed to go back before I could answer this question. I will answer the rest in the next blogs. Thanks for asking.


Beginning 1992 and up to the earlier months of 1994, I lived in my small house in Cavite, alone. Phase 14 wasn't yet as crowded as the rest of Pag-Asa subdivision. Behind me was a huge rice field and during weekends, it brought my eyes ample relief. For the first three months, my mother helped me to get my bearings, but later on after that, my only noisy companion was a radio.

I remember coming home after three long rides (Boni to Imus) to a bright white house with a bed, a table, a stove, my ironing board and the radio -- all giving me the quiet collective sigh of a near-haunted house. But I often conquered the gloom by turning the radio on to DZAS and listening to Chuck Swindoll's happy sermons. He made his congregation laugh and I laughed with them during those nights. I could remember coming home very tired from the highly congested coastal road traffic but I kept myself busy. Right after changing clothes, I would be immediately occupied with either scrubbing the tiles, waxing the floor, washing my clothes, cooking for a three-day meal -- while listening to the radio -- before I rested, which was after I've exhausted all the night preaching.

In our house, since my mother was also a father , she taught us to depend only on ourselves. So it wasn't difficult for me to be on my own. In fact, before I lived in Imus, I had lived in 8 different rented spaces.

My mother had always prided herself on living just on her own, solving her own problems, making ends meet by sheer guts and will. As a nay-tay she probably had a hard time disciplining us. As our punishment for various naughty acts, the ultimate sanction had always been to "do five or more Our Fathers, Five or more Hail Marys etc." depending on the gravity of our offenses. All three of us, first siblings would end up sniffing in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary mumbling our "prayers" lest we get the rod. By rod, I mean "bakya, or tabo, or walis tambo, or a heavy rag -- in fact whatever her hands would find close by. Each of my sibling had his and her own vivid scenario of this "light" torture. Of course we're laughing at those times now, but we all can't forget one time when my brother, only five years old, pleaded our case and said, "Nay bingi na naman po ang Diyos."

Now, I think that mothers should be the disciplinarian in the family. I simply took it for granted that a father should play a role in that. Had my father given me even just a whack, I would have, at least, a memory of one intense interaction. But my Father was only a word within the word family. If you ask me to define father, he would be the one who caused you to be born.

God the Father used to be just a phrase in my prayers: "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy spirit...." I grew up not minding God the Father. He could be anyone who was remote, up there, beyond the clouds, farther than the moon and the stars. I thought that if Jesus was the one nailed to the cross, and he is God the Son, then He couldn't be God the Father. But I never worried myself about God the Father. I simply just rattled off the Trinity "label" at the beginning and end of my "prayers" because that's how everybody did it.

Unlike Mary who, at least was a kind of shock absorber whenever we were forced to pray looking at her statue, God the Father didn't even have a name! He was "Our Father" probably in the most public sense. Much much later on of course, I would learn about His attributes and His Names. But back then, completely ignorant and indifferent, I went to church knowing nothing about the God we often invoked in our chants. It was like we knew we had a father, but so?

Needless to say a father was a non- issue to me. A father to me may not exist; I was sanay na walang tatay.

It took a long time before God healed me from this apathy. I realized that indeed, I missed having a father. The Word of God showed me that I had a real, accessible, knowable Father in heaven. Amy Grant had a popular song in the 80s which goes:

I may not be every mothers dream for her little girl,
And my face may not grace the mind of everyone in the world.
But thats all right, as long as I can have one wish I pray:
When people look inside my life, I want to hear them say,

Shes got her fathers eyes,
Her fathers eyes;
Eyes that find the good in things,
When good is not around;
Eyes that find the source of help,
When help just cant be found;
Eyes full of compassion,
Seeing every pain;
Knowing what youre going through
And feeling it the same.
Just like my fathers eyes,
My fathers eyes,
My fathers eyes,
Just like my fathers eyes.

If I should have my Father's eyes, I should know How I am My Father's Child. One by one, as I searched the Word of God, the revelations came, but not all at once.

During my isolation in Cavite, as I went through an emotional crisis, I dreamt about crossing a river but I couldn't do that. Somebody offered to carry me over to the other side.

I had to allow him to carry me over to the other side. I had to depend on him. I had to submit to his gentle persuasion. I had to leave all my baggage behind and allow only myself to be hoisted up on his shoulders. I had to stop worrying about the future. I had to be brave and resolve not to go back. I had to let him see myself cry. I had to let him help me. I had to open my ears to what he's saying, "I'm here. I'm your father. Trust me."

Before that time, I had long decided that I would follow God. But the dream was clearly telling me to loosen my grip about everything, letting God carry on from there.

In the morning this was the verse I read from my Bible: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you. (NASB ©1995) Isaiah 43:2

That was my Father in heaven speaking directly to me, telling me gently, "Come!"

Finally, I prayed, "Yes, please, carry me over." Up to now, I know that it was one of the most important decisions of my life.