My Darling May Bud

pexels-photo-1007228.jpegMy May Bud

How precious you are, dear daughter of mine,

And if my heart were a garden of roses —

The Lord planted you in its bosom where

The rays love

to sit first thing in the morning.


Ruth Solitario

Last night, I told my daughter a big truth. It is this: Her life is not her own. And this is good for her. Even in bad times knowing this would be good for her.

Before you were born I set you apart to serve me. Jeremiah 1:5

Someone Almighty, it’s God, the Lord of heaven and earth, is orchestrating the events of her life, and this is something to be thankful for, eventually, everything should end in gratitude or despair…

Before I was born the LORD chose me to serve him. He appointed me by name. Psalm 139:16

That she is not the master of her fate, she’s not the captain of her soul, and this is good for her, although this truth may not be appealing to men and women who are doing great, but I want her to remember this, and if it takes me my entire life to teach this to her I would do it — and learn with her for I am still in this school of learning this myself, that even when life is great or we are in pain, I want her to know that life is more than pleasure, life is more than pain, there’s more to life than what we feel, or think, eat or possess.

I am sure that the One who began a good work in you will carry it on until it is completed. Philippians 1:6

I guess not a lot of people who are on the road to self-actualization will like being not in control. I didn’t like it. But one day, things changed. I gave the control to the God I trust. I began to hate that road and I am thankful I left that road before I crashed.

My sheep listen to my voice. I know them, and they follow me. John 10:27

I know, I’ve been there, it sure feels good to gain a little bit of credit for what we have become, are becoming…

Lord, I know that people don’t control their own lives. They don’t direct their own steps. Jeremiah 10:23

Or, it might be wonderful to have the cosmos to blame if they are on a downward spiral from bad to worse, or, they to justify self-inflicted pain when they turn to themselves and attack themselves for their misfortunes, or for the sake of having to attribute the evils of their life, they can turn to their idea of God and raise their fist against Him if they believe or profess to believe a supernatural being who is almighty, omniscient and omnipresent. That is rebellion, but it would be pointless, actually.

Those who trust in themselves are foolish. But those who live wisely are kept safe. Proverbs 28:26

And another thing, I tell my daughter that she was not born a good person. A lot of people, well-meaning ones, of course, would probably try to cheer her up or boost her ego one day. I hope she will not fall into the trap of believing them. I hope she remembers the Word of God.

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord. Proverbs 6:23





Blossom Friends


When God made friends,

was he looking at flowers

with lovely colors

and splendid scents?

Flowers grow from seeds

that sprout from the ground;

friendships abound

because of kind deeds.

Flowers are pretty and

charming, too —

friends make days blue

a little sunny.

When God sowed seeds

Flowers grew…

me and you

among the weeds.


Ang Bato / The Rock

salin sa tula ng makatang Slovak Immanuel Mifsud
salin sa eleganteng Filipino ng makatang si Roberto Anonuevo

May isang bato na ibig kong itago mo.
Nakatago ito sa aking dibdib na kumikirot.
Ibig kong kunin mo iyon, gawing bulaklak
upang bigyan ng mga kulay ng iyong anyo.

Lumuluha ang bato tuwing takipsilim
at bumibigat nang bumibigat nang lubos,
bumibigat sa dugo, bumibigat sa pighati,
at bumibigat sa umiikling paghinga.

Hinihintay nito ang iyong pagdalaw.
Hinihintay yapakan ng hubad mong paa’t
luhuran, nang mahagkan ang iyong tuhod
para sa araw na aangkinin mo ang bato.


Translated by me from the Pilipino translation of Roberto Anonuevo
of Immanuel Mifsud’s poem in Slovak

There’s a rock that I pray you’d keep.
It is hidden inside my chest, aching.
I long for you to take it, make it a flower,
to furnish it with the colors of your form.

This rock sheds tears at sunset
and becomes increasingly very heavy,
heavier with blood, heavier with anguish,
and heavier with shortening breath.

It is waiting for you to walk by,
waiting for the weight of your naked feet,
and knees upon it, to kiss your knees,
for the day when you will possess the rock.

Ruth Mostrales
March 1, 2010