Sundays with the Beatles

The Beatles have been playing for the last four hours at the Starbucks in which I've been studying.


It reminds me of those Sunday mornings when my dad and I drove to church, and we listened to "The Beatle Years" on FM101.1 the entire 30-minute ride there. Every Sunday, without fail. I could still remember him singing along to "Come Together" while dancing in the driver's seat and slapping his hand against my knee to the rhythm of the song.

And how I got so tired of listening to the same station, same kinds of songs every week. How I told him to stop dancing, put his hands on the wheel, and pay attention to the road. How I wanted to listen to KIISFM instead. How I thought, "Wow, is this really how it's going to be every Sunday? Am I going to have to listen to it every Sunday?"

And now, how "The Beatle Years" doesn't play on FM101.1 anymore.

He had big shoes.

Today, I looked at the admissions requirements for attending Fuller Theological Seminary's School of Theology (just for fun, I am still wildly unsure of my future!).  My father went here and during that time wrote a book: The Effects of Colonial Mentality on the Religious Consciousness of Filipinos. Here's an excerpt from the "Ackowledgments" section:

My journey towards achieving the goal of a Ph.D. degree has been one of constant struggle characterized by recurrent episodes of illness of varying kinds and severity, instances of intense trials and tribulations, periods of despair and deep anxieties, and the daily pressures of pastoral ministry and family responsibilities. Through it all, God’s truly amazing grace was more than sufficient for all my needs. Especially during those times of severe testing where, at day’s end, giving up seemed to be the only option left, the Lord’s faithfulness was proven again and again, in that “morning by morning, new mercies” I did see. It is but fitting then that all gratitude and praise be given to him first.

I remember when he was writing this.

I remember those days when he couldn't sleep.

I remember when he couldn't walk for two weeks.

I remember when he would drive in the middle of the night to talk to his congregation member in need.

I remember when I spilled his coffee all over his floppy disk, which contained his only copy of this 320-page book, and he still gave me a goodnight kiss that night.

I remember when we prayed together each night.

My faith is my own, but I will never forget the man whose life made me believe.  My eyes burn with pride and uneasiness when I reflect on the legacy that my daddy has left me to continue.

My feet are too small for this.

To the Glory of God?

"So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God." I Corinthians 10:18

This hit me hard. Why? Because I've realized the magnitude of the charge in this verse, and even more I see how miserably I've failed to reach it.  I mean, do I glorify God

when I worship?

yes.

when I pray?

check.

when I eat?

uuhh...

when I whine about how much homework I have?

definitely not.

And how can friendships be for the glory of God, and not just to feed my desire for belonging? What characterizes a romantic relationship that is glorifying to God? Is the way I approach my schoolwork glorifying Him?

i want to be on fire for you!
to be so consumed by you,
that these feelings i have just burn away.

i imagine writing each and every one of these depressing thoughts and saddening feelings
on a piece of paper
and then lighting each insignificant piece on fire
and watching them disintegrate into ashes
and fly away and leave me forever

i pray right now for protection against the advances of the enemy into my mind
for renewed vision for You
for discipline, discipline, discipline
and the ability to RESPOND to you


God, i'm so out of it.