of the sacred and the mundane

“Since the things that lie in our immediate path have been ordered by God, who shall say that one kind of work is more important and sacred than another?” - J.O. Fraser

“You know, I never get to talk as much when I’m with you,” I said.

Without missing a beat, Ate Cha replied, “That’s because I’m more talkative than you.”

And because she always knows which hard questions to ask whenever we get to talk, i had given her that right after a drunken episode and an even worse hangover seven years ago in Baguio. I’ve also given her the permission to slap the sense out of me every time she thinks I need it. In return, I promised her that I wouldn’t try to hit her back.

We had just turned our backs from the breakwater and started walking back to PICC forum. The sun had set over the mountains beyond Manila Bay just an hour before and the stars were already out. It wasn’t the first time that it had dawned on me that this would probably be the last time I’ll get to talk to her like this for at least 20 months. I won’t even be able to email her to wherever it is she’s going.

I tried not to think about it and just focused on the swishing of my dress around my knees and how much walking hurts as my slippers rubbed on the sides of my feet. I wish I could’ve said more, but I always found that even as I stumbled over the words of my answers, she always knew how to get to the core of whatever it was that I was trying to say (and not say) and would pounce on it.

We talked about being burned out with writing. My argument was that writing takes up most of my time that I don’t have a ministry anymore. However, she stopped me right there and explained writing is my ministry too, as well as the time I spend with my sisters, brothers, and parents.

She quoted a writer who had once said that the secular work is our full time ministry. Or something like that. There is no difference between her—a missionary going off to a far flung area somewhere in southeast asia—and me, the writer who spends most of her days indoors, toiling away in front of the computer monitor. We both live by faith in our God– for our material provisions and for the strength to go from day to day. she pointed out that my ministry can be found in my big sister talks with the sibs, the woman to woman camaraderie i have with my mom, my daddy’s girl affection for my dad. i’m in God’s service when i use the money i earn from my PR gigs to help out other people in their ministries. and there’s the Xchange. ok. so there goes my major complaint about life right now and i shut up.

“i guess this is why I have a hard time calling myself a fulltime missionary,” she said, because all Christians are missionaries in the first place. yeah, but not all of us are leaving our families to go into the forest to reach out to people who haven’t heard about God a thousand miles away.

“Are you scared?” i asked, when she finally paused for breath.

“of course i am,” she said quietly. “but i have to do it. i’ve lost my taste for everything else but that.”

“wow.”

she guessed what i was thinking. “you know, it’s ok to look up to people and admire them for what they have chosen to do for God, but He has a plan for you too. look at yourself and see how God’s been working in your life and be amazed.”

i smiled and said nothing more about it, suitably admonished. i wanted to hug her, but we were never really the hugging type. only as greetings and good byes. we’re so much alike and yet our roads are now taking us far from each other. my road, as far as i can see, leads into a jungle of concrete, glass and steel, while hers is taking her to a river far away, where she has to learn to live with the mosquitos and mud.

I’ve always believed that God had sent me to Baguio for a good reason– just like He does in every other place that I’ve been in– but more so Baguio. I still can’t figure out how I ended up there since I never really liked the city before going there for college. But still, for two years, I was there– away from my family and friends to chart whatever path God had in mind by myself.

When I saw Ate Cha waiting for me along the driveway of Glorietta 4 that Sunday, it suddenly dawned on me that here’s one of the reasons He had tossed me in Baguio– so I can meet her. our conversations afterwards further cemented that fact. God knows how much blessings He has poured out for me through her, and if she hadn’t stepped in at just the right time back then, things would have been really different now. I don’t know exactly how different, but i doubt if it would be as good.