Ladies and Spices

The empty tomb was first discovered by women with spices.

They were early ... not really to capture a risen miracle.

They were there to pour preservative fragrance to a dead man.

They were startled by the rolled stone.

There was no corpse.

There were angels seeking to clarify.

Women always get what is true by intuition.

If I were to invent fiction right after crucifixion, I would not include ladies and spices.

Back in the days, no one listens to women chatter.

God has an uncanny sense of wit.

Just like when little girls do easter egg hunts. They ignore the shells.

They chase nothing but the good hope of what's hidden.

photography: Charlotte Mangona-Champigny

Official Job

Work is vocation.

It is a sacred calling.

God initiates the hiring.

He sustains the doing.

My work as father involves being involved.

I get this strong feeling that I had nothing to do whom to father.

I just know of it as holy.

I was merely favored to join God in raising Kara and Nika.

Sweet but Brief.

Kara: Dad, guess what?

Me: What's up?

Kara: I just got my New York State License!

Me: What happens now to your Texas one?

Kara: Yup, I'll miss that one ... they took it away.

Me: Uhmm.

Kara: Your little girl is officially a New Yorker now, Dad!

Me: I'm officially missing you ... now.

Holy Hole

I finally get it.

Holes are meant to be filled.

I've had too numerous of these to mention.

Doctors tag it with fancy: depression.

Friends whisper about our deep issues.

When it hits, we lose our name.

I was hit by its fury two years ago.

When this catastrophic squall breathes you down, the only escape seems to be death.

Thus, I have joined the league of those who have imagined such terminal release.

I feel the cry of the apostle who despaired even of life while being rocked to its dregs.

The hellish hole is too strong. Its fury is unrelenting.

When a man gets smitten by this deep dark night, one merely hopes for an angel.

My daughter saw through my veneer:

Nika: Dad, you have to get out of that hole.

Me: (slumbered in bed, pretending to be merely tired) What hole?

Nika: I know this Dad, trust me. I was in a hole myself. Do I need to remind you who pulled me out?

Me: (in silence, my thoughts race back to the empty tomb of Easter.)

Today is Christ's Resurrection.

It is the day when holes were granted the option of holy.

God's hole flung open and out came the Risen Messiah.

I was resected.

My clock reads the time as Redemption.

It was all because of that Sunday when death was fully filled by Eternal Life.

photography: Paolo Esquivel

Paul at Damascus

The fascinating narrative of Paul of Tarsus begins with a gripping light-blinding episode in the book of Acts. When the Risen Lord sets his mission on course, even the worst enemy is recruited and transformed into hero.

It is Black Saturday and I wonder about this designation.

Splintered in between Good Friday and Glorious Sunday, the seemingly insignificant weekend flaunts nothing but a wait.

When the first century Christians took to the streets, the impunity of social ostracism flared like hell. Saul was at the helm of its loot. He was a man obsessed in killing young roots. He signed approval sheets of death. All that believers could do was wait for God's hand of merciful protection.

Then the remarkable confrontation at Damascus Road happened. The Alpha and Omega stood strong inciting Paul's immediate surrender.

Saul was renamed Paul. His vision was altered forever.

I know of one Paul whom I first met while I was preaching in Dallas. One thing I recall: he left abruptly while I was sharing the sad news of our loss ... our baby boy did not make it. Heaven had to be his home.

The next time I heard from him was a phone call. It was an invitation if I may officiate his desire to lead in marriage and plant a family.

I am currently witnessing God's amazing hand in his young life. The road he took is a kindred hike.

When Christ showed up at Dallas, Paul was called never to be the same again.

The unabridged joy in his family serves as Powerpoint to a resplendence that will never have to wait for anything.

Blood Marks

Daniel doesn't speak much. He works much.

Each time I visit the gym, the young gentleman keeps up a beam that gives the hint that purposeful work is preeminently joyful.

His tattoo reveals his heart: propulsion for detailed glory.

Today is Good Friday.

What is good about the Golgotha massacre anyway?

The goodness ripples from the details of divine passion.

As Christ bled through Via Dolorosa, His heart signed in for unparalleled Glory.

Each time He checks His pulse, He finds the prompt of His Father ushering Him to finish well. It was with with deep joy that He obeyed to die..

At the cross of Calvary ...

Christ did not speak much.

He worked towards His last breath to declare ...

... that all that I need to do to be saved has been finished.

The Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world has been slain ... for Me.

His blood marks have been spilled on my soul.

tattoo artist: franciscosanchez

Free from Guilt

Jason is an incredible human being.

Whatever he set his sights on is engaged with unbridled tenacity.

He climbs.

He fights.

He contorts.

When he began attending church, he registered his initial trepidation yet grew with each ascent.

When a person demonstrates such weight of willing determination, the sky is usually the limit.

I was in conversation with him just the other day about the unfathomable mystery of deep relations. He rehearsed the agonizing reality of pain. We hurt deeply only when we love in depth.

I have wept in shrieking silence several times over halted friendships. The investment of soul always creates a hole when it is finally over.

While burying my faithful dog and warrior, Stuart .... I just dropped on my knees with heaves of lament. I still could not delete my dad's number considering his death a few years back. I still bleed each time I get reminded of a dear friend's decision to block me from any further advance just because of ideology. I guess, our hearts simply recognize execution as it regurgitates from lost connections.

When Christ hung on Calvary, there was a kindred anguish. His cry however was nuanced beyond comparison. While we wail from termination ... His pule comes from eternal rupture. He has always been with His Father through eternity. To be forsaken at the cross reveals the incomparable groan of His cry.

He died to confront the haunt of all our cumulative guilt. Humanity is flawed with perdition. This is why every conscience finds a hunting arrow for each transgression. The Sacrifice of Christ shatters the abysmal cuff.

Jason's inward countenance is without pretense.

He gets pulled up and out by the ONE who declares that ... Yes, He died just for his freedom.

Dissecting Mercy

I really deserve the wages of sins.

How can I even start the count?

The heart is most deceitful at its best.

The mind follows like a mindless slave.

I have lied a million times.

I have killed with jargon razors.

I raped innocent trust.

I stole cisterns dug by the poor.

I have worshipped golden calves.

I cursed my parents.

I blasphemed the name of God to spit gunk.

I have trampled Sabbath with zest.

I loved myself over and beyond God who pursues me unconditionally.

There is just no way out.

My guilt follows me like a shadow beamed from the specter of my soul.

But ....

There came the Friday when God met my disgrace with a scandal ... too pure to name.

Christ took my blame and granted me His name of Mercy.

Used with Permission. Photography: Yen Baet

Brother Tiger

In China jungle resides the Black Tiger.

Vincent is my wife's cousin. He is several times world champion in Muay Thai. He is Adjarn (Master Instructor) to MMA students in Beijing.

I salute him for following a path that leads right back to his passion. 

The way of wisdom reveals a specific plan determined by the Wise Creator. As we seek training through this grid, we find ourselves thrown in jungle but safe and sound.

The only thing that matters is cognizance of the Guide.

Story is told of the youngest Spartan.

One day, a florid teen barged through the ranks seeking initiation. As he was quickly dismissed, the Captain quickly thought how to decimate his arrogance. He was told to show up in the morning at Death Jungle.

Now this trap is a graveyard. No one ever enters through this forested hull. The fanged demons were too ferocious to consider any allowance.

The young man showed up much to their surprise. He was ushered to the entrance with a dirge.

After several hours, much to the astonishment of the Spartans, he appeared in the egress. Bloodied but alive! The Captain with bewilderment asks "How were you able to handle the wild beasts?" To this he replied:

"My father accompanied me all the way. He had his sharp sword. He told me not to veer to the right or left, but stay rigid behind his back. He did all the fighting ... I just followed his lead. He is one of your Spartans. You never required an unaccompanied journey."

I seek to follow the trek of the brave.

My True Warrior beckons me to stay safe while His blood spills with victory.

Avocation

Work is vocation.

Monday mirrors the initial set up of creation where craft happens from the fiat of God.

The introduction of God in Scriptures reveals Him as working. The first thing He grants to man is vocation. The co-regency in the Garden provides the paradigm of purpose.

While the work week ends on the sixth day, the significance of the seventh is deep. Sabbath actually infuses the necessary push for work to excel. Thus, to work without rest is a colossal exercise in futility.

My wife has always been a Disneyland fan. In 1995, on our first week in the US, we just had to take the kids to the happiest turf. Well, she was really one of the kids. I am not your Disneyland-kind-of-a-guy. I would sling a back-pack with five books and just read under some tree while sipping the lemonade slush, waiting for them to tire.

Two weeks ago, we visited Mom in California. As empty-nesters, my wife suggested a frolic at her park. Since it was quite a milestone, (Disneyland without kids), I thought the proposition was pregnant.

All day, we decided to take on the real kiddy-rides (Peter Pan, Indiana Jones etc.). I began noticing an internal recalibration. I was transforming into a boy.

Before long, the day was done. We passed by the Pixar Cars attraction (Radiator Springs Racers) ... I could not resist nudging my sweetheart for a final hop.

The rest was pure bliss. I was the race car driver zooming past asphalt and desert views. What was mere 64 km/h seemed more like 240 mph! I caught my grin reaching both ears. As I walked away from the tracks, I was mystified by the feeling of readiness.

Avocation is the inverse of work. It breaks the cycle of toil and redirects the soul to its center.

I found God in the play of tracks and spotted Him working to keep my hum.

Iron Sharpens Iron

Sandy is the regular guy who happens to have been blessed with geeky intelligence. His Chinese orientation and Numbers Analytics equips him with spot-on business integrity. I have never met a man so sought after just because of his impeccable industrial ethics.

I take it as a privilege to walk alongside in his passion to grow in faith.

Whenever I need some breathing space, I drive three hundred miles to Houston just to reset in his company. We play hoops and I always lose. This man is a beast in winning. His iron flexes mine to the limits.

He recently got into the triathlon bug. As I observe him with delight, I find much strength in following the tenacity of his disciplined approach to start and finish each and every challenge.

I mentor him.

He mentors me.

As of this writing, my colleague is preparing for a 45 mile bike run. I prayed for him yesterday while we signed a contract to formalize a small start-up that seeks to replicate what Christ does to his disciples: He trains his disciples to live the story of redemption while observing the rigors of commitment and of its dominant hope.

Maximum Cover

My faithful friend and associate is gifted with auto vogue. The first time we met, I was quite humored by his swell. He was then a top junior executive driving around a sexy Acura Legend. 

I never quite figured the interface of his passion for cars and outreach. The moment he landed in Dallas, he bought an expensive house and turned it into a watering hole for hungry souls. The Well became the hangout capital of our Young Adults ministry. On Thursday nights, about 75 young pros would gather to fellowship around the Word.

It was an ordinary afternoon, when Voltaire almost died. He was on his way to a tinikling (Filipino Folk Dance) practice which he formed as platform for the gospel. His car was crumpled to its grave. He had multiple broken ribs and a wound that missed his aorta by a hairline.

It was in the valleys when God called him out of corporate to His consulate. He proceeded to Dallas Seminary and poured his craft into missions. He now serves as Director of Strategic Initiatives for Camino Global.

I am honored to serve as his mentor while on-hone for pastoral work. His passion to join Christ in facilitating redemption is white hot.

Just like any undercover specialist, his outrageous Maxima is listed tonight as top bet for Dallas Hot Import Nights (Dallas Market Hall). I will be attending the crazy car-fest. His steed will surely disturb the show.

It was His Master who finished all the necessary details. Mission Impossible is happening.

Young and Wise

The Book of Kings exposes a most astonishing history:

Josiah was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem thirty-one years. His mother's name was Jedidah daughter of Adaiah; she was from Bozkath. He did what was right in the eyes of the Lord and followed completely the ways of his father David, not turning aside to the right or to the left. (2 Kings 22:1-2 NIV)

I recently met an incredible millennial, who at 21 rocks my senses with his wit. A most kind and simple guy, his choice for cars reveals much of his character. I asked him why he picks the luxury wheel ... his answer was on-point: I just care about extreme interior quality.

Just a couple of days ago, I had the privilege of being introduced to his equally staggering girlfriend. While sipping coffee, I got to discern the vacuum that runs his preference. Just like King Josiah, the young JP craves for a true center.

Our conversations led to the necessity of recognizing the bankruptcy of all human effort and that of God's invitation to consider the offer of Christ's largesse. 

The aftermath was two souls disembarking from their driver seats ... wonderfully discovering that all that glitters is God.

Transformed

Nicolo is pure eagle.

I remember him as the little tyke from Manila who once told his parents that he'd like to be like "Pastor Butch" (that's me).

After fleeting years, we met in Chicago. No longer a teen-ager, he was a young flyer eager to find his place under the sun.

Like most, he was ushered into the mythical script that all that is abroad deserves every desperate climb. But Chicago offered him nothing but fast cars and half-hearted relations. When he visited me in Dallas, we had a long chat on God's will.

The problem with such conversation is not about its depth but about its acuity. How can one grasp the mind of an unseen God?

This is why we agreed to limit our search on Scriptures. If the Bible is God's Word, then all that He values must have been written there ... and that is exactly what it claims, by the way.

Nicolo is currently serving as missions pastor in Asia. He leaps walls and develops pure connections.

I do not even know the charming princess beneath, but I am quite sure, she is one of those smitten by God's imprint in this fine young man.

The transformation of life begins with a resolve to quit conformation with popular fairy tales. It begins with a leap of joy in seeking to do nothing more, nothing less but God's will in our lives.

Crucify Me For Not Lying

There is a strong possibility that this will be the last blog you will read from me, just because you might think I am lying.

I will risk it anyway, just because I will tell you the truth.

During my grueling surgery of 2013, my right fibula bone had to be harvested to serve as donor material to replace my lower jaw. While there was involved procedure that lasted for 12 hours, I came prepared for the aftermath. The doctors warned me discreetly about the possibility of sectional paralysis. I was told to practice smiling with my eyes. There was insinuation that my speech will be severely altered. I will have to train my core to compensate for the lost balance from the misaligned leg.

By the Lord's grace, my miracle hit all three with astonishing wonder.

I smile wider now. Yes, I lost my Asian accent (It turned quasi-British) but I now speak rather audibly. The balance issue is not that pronounced: I lose my stance often, but my core pings it. There is just this one little thing that I keep in secret: my right toe got stuck and won't move.

On the 5th day of Creation (no matter what that means), God created the great sea creatures. One of these was the Wild Alaskan Sockeye Salmon. Previously on the 3rd day, He spoke to existence all good fruits and vegetation. One of these is the Wild Blueberry.

I never thought of what these two pin-point creatures would do to affect me.

A caring lady from my church recently introduced me to an incredible claim. An extract has been formulated that allegedly facilitates at least 9 good things to the immune system, digestion, inflammation, cardiovascular health, cholesterol, cognition, overall circulation, sexual health, and energy. I was gifted with a sample, just because I seemed weak and in need of boost.

In the past three years, due to my condition, I was forced to resort to juice and soup diet. I remained healthy, but limited in strength.The reality of my physical challenge was well represented by my hidden toe. Since it no longer moved, it sort of signaled my entrance to the era of Old.

Until ... I took the strong medicinal concoction.

With all my skepticism in full alert, I had no argument for the sudden movement of this stubborn little stub. While I am writing this, I am literally flexing my toe up and down, just to make sure I am not day-dreaming. When something had not moved for 3 years and suddenly springs into mobility, it is probably safe to say that it is a miracle.

I thank God deeply for creating life and providing all that is needed to sustain it.

Only for the Curious: Download the app: Team Fusion (http://teamfusionwebsite.com/mobileapp (click "Guest"). Enter code: russelldiwa

Share Only The Optimum

Coined words abound. The early 21st century word "Zumba" is described in Oxford dictionary as thus:

an aerobic fitness program featuring movement inspired by various styles of Latin American dance and performed to Latin American dance music.

The gifted Colombian choreographer Beto Pérez spiked the wild craze. More often than not, someone better hides in the background, silently optimizing what looms commercially.

Such is the case with a wonderful human I met. Raised by grandparents, he broke through the lines of social paralysis with disciplined tenacity. I stumbled upon Nick in the most unlikely locus: the marketplace.

Before I was called to ministry, I did business. Years of teaching minutiae of microeconomics instilled a deep awareness of the dance of mammon. Alas! money is never a neutral commodity. The buck is driven by forces that always advance an agenda.

My recent conversations with this young man, reignited my passion to offer nothing more and nothing less but optimum. Nick surpasses Beto in Zumba points. When he speaks, there is a genuineness that reveals rare integrity.

It is quite a gift to meet persons who are humble from a sincere core. While he is a young and powerful entrepreneur, his teachability throws me off.

I always pray for my own willingness to learn for I am often shackled by my oversized ego. This is why it is so refreshing to stumble upon someone who carries such open swag.

Just yesterday, Mr. Soto invited me to help him build his spiritual muscles. I responded with a trade: "I will mentor you in the paths of God if you teach me the elements of your last name."

#SOTO {Share Only The Optimum}

Slow Wit

Winston Groom saw through the jewel of simplicity when he wrote Forrest Gump. In his remarkable portrayal, Tom Hanks wonderfully reenacted little bits of heroisms done on very ordinary days.

I was the invited speaker at a Young Professionals retreat. During the avocational break, we were at a spring pool. There is something about organic ponds that is truly relaxing. Everyone was unguarded and aqua-socializing.

Through the murkiness, I just decided to take some laps. On my third turnaround, my left foot hit some kind of flesh underneath. When my right foot paddled down, it hit the same. I decided to turn and dive through with curiosity.

My wife was a varsity swimmer. She once warned me about the dangers of rescuing drowning persons. A host of good people have been locked in arms of panic to their demise. I totally forgot this lesson.

As I lunged, I felt two hands pull me abruptly with adrenalin force. Before I knew it, there was a face writhed in confusion ... her contorted grab was so tight ... we were plummeting down fast! It was then that I figured to play dead to court her release. When she realized that I was nothing but dead weight, she freed me. I hit rock bottom and while standing at the pool base, I spotted her two restless feet about three inches above my head.

I grabbed both and with whatever little strength I had, propped her up to as high as I could. The leverage was all that she needed to surface her head above water.

When I finally surfaced to the concerted applause of the crowd, the young wife (whom I later learned was three months pregnant), kept on hugging me with gratitude for saving her life.

I was in daze for this. I had nothing to do with the rescue. I was just there ... due to the simplicity of the Life Saver who made sure that three lives be spared that one ordinary day.

It was such a Forrest Gumpy moment.

Who Are You?

The Lion King saga depicts Rafiki with a query of identity. He strains to ask the most significant question: the determination of one's true nature.

Denrick has always been a nomad. His life is a continuous search within the world's jungle. Whenever I get to spot the chase, I find a most unique poise: he is actually rested amidst the rumble.

While playing the part of a wise baboon, his countenance shines through. The wisdom of this man is sourced deep from the Lion of Judah.

There is an invitation for us to consider recognizing who we truly are. Our quest for selfhood only reaches its finality when we seek help beyond the heights.

The Maker of heaven and earth towers with majestic grace. He beckons all who are weary and tired to a halt. It is in this holy pause that we find God with a name granted to us.

We have never been monkeys nor beasts. Darwin is unwittingly wrong: his gaze only saw the fallen mask. He should have rested to discover the genius of creation and the Grand Director who wrote it.

Broadway Narrow Way: A Musical Journey

A Most Unusual Mind

Every now and then, salvation implodes in the most unlikely setting. Mine took place inside my head.

If I follow the kerygma of Paul's New Testament thought, alongside his disclosure of regeneration in Christ, he makes references about emancipation from ourselves. The theological jargon was sanctification. The daily slang is evacuation.

I was hit by a depressive storm.

Anyone who has gone through this deep dark night of the soul recognizes the utter loneliness of its unseen yet brutal incarceration. No one speaks of its looming reality. One can be at the eye of its swirl while camouflaged.

I know this by heart: I roamed the earth with cunning invisibility.

I slept through its tectonic murmurs hoping for breath to snap. It was a hole too deep for hope.

If it were not for God's extrication, I would have long been gone. He used a most unusual rescue operation: the mind of a stranger:

I do not quite know him well, but ...

He loves vintage.

He spits words that are best processed by dissertation proctors.

He is young and restless.

He longs for sabbath every single day.

He is depressed by this world.

He is addicted to thoughts.

He is a pseudo-modern monk.

He is broken and healed.

He is quite unaware that perhaps, through his own struggles, God had used his moorings to keep me afloat.

It is amazing how a mind so little can affect a prodigious gloom.

I recently peeped into the metrics of my blog and was amazed how 30,000 viewers might have actually been affected by my puny thoughts just as I was altered by AJ's inklings. 

Please forgive me, for stealing this shot from your crib.

Seeking Recreation

The first thing we discover about God pertains to work.

In the beginning, God rolls up his sleeves to create.

After six days, He sits back to drink of all the ordered beauty of creation.

The metrics reveal glorious goodness.

When we got ushered into existence, we were endowed with industry. It is through God's regulated tasks that we find deep expression to our passion. We work from the vantage point of divine joy and so we produce gladness.

Prior to the fall, there was no room for burn-out. There was nothing to burn. All efforts came from God and were directed towards Him.

Work is worship. We offer our utmost to His Highest.

With this wonderful arrangement comes the gift of leisure. We were granted six days of toil. We were blessed with a day of rest.

Work was designed to exist symbiotically with recreation. We crave for disport because it is a divine craving. We are called to celebrate the staggering imprint of God's technical support in all our labors.

Thus we take time for a walk, run a few miles, do some kayaking ... not to recharge nor take breaks. We enter into Sabbath ... in order to recognize the beauty of our Creator and all that has been lavished to us for faithful stewardship.

Visiting Mother

The glee that mother exudes when her children visit comes with intense significance.

Through the years, her deep joy is found in mere presence of family. When we are gathered, she seems like a mother-hen, satisfied in her posture of affection.

Mama was not quite the person that she is now. She used to be so detached in her own world. I remember growing up with a deep sense of inquisitive mystery on who she is to me.

It was life itself that ushered her towards a radical shift. Through her scarred challenges, faith grew to serve as anchor.

When Christ takes front, end and center ... a person's orbit truly spins to a halt and enters a new galaxy.

The beauty of Carolina lies in the depth of her growing selflessness. I experience Christ's heart  each time I get the chance to pop in.

Just the other day, she intimated her desire to gather her brood to a Mediterranean Cruise. She said "Son, it will be such a delightful time ... we will experience the bliss of just being together ... dining, dancing, and laughing."

She is well along in years. She has reached some apex of wisdom.

Her perception is right: we were crafted simply to dine, dance, and laugh for eternity.