The Season to Believe

Summer is hot, autumn is mild and winter is cold. Of all the three, winter is the season that prepares the ground for the next creative process - the magic of spring!

Winter sprinkles the frozen earth with snowflakes, covering the landscape with a white blanket of snow. From a distance the snow-covered ground appears like a primed canvas, worthy of Da Vinci’s brush and Michelangelo’s touch.

Spring comes like an artist with a palette of paint, bringing life to a dead space. It thaws the frozen and restores life. It repairs the faded colors that were caused by the freezing winter. Spring revitalizes the spirit of nature. It gives birth to a new beginning.

It is amazing to witness the brown pasture gradually reverting to its original green. Soon, seeds will sprout and grow. A variety of beautiful perennials will awake from hibernation. New twigs will emerge. Lush of leaves will revive the trees. Tulips in vibrant colors will shoot up from the ground. Wild flowers will bloom to meet the visiting butterflies. And when God is smiling, a rainbow will appear, to bridge the clouds and the open meadow.

God is the Master Artist, the Lord of all seasons. He has chosen spring to show us the work of His artistic hand. Spring is the season when He unveils earth`s hidden beauty. From the fertile ground that hosts botanic life and animals - to the air that caters to the floating bees and butterflies - to the flowing rivers that reflect the magnificent sky, God connects them all and transforms them into one grandiose show-and-tell. A truly magnificent illustration!

Spring keeps us in touch. It makes us feel the energy of fulfilment. What we plant today is the fruit we harvest tomorrow. When we build a dream, we allow the dream to build us. When we practice what we love to do, we become what we love. Musicians are who they are because they play with music.  Likewise, a ballerina finds the rhythm of her motion by allowing her heart to dance with the music. The possibilities are endless as long as we believe in the spring that comes from within us.

Spring is about time. It is the time to believe in hope. It is the time to welcome a new beginning. It is the time to visualize what God has in store for us when He illustrated the most endearing beginning of all the beginnings – the resurrection of Christ.

It is not a coincidence that Easter Sunday falls on spring. Spring is truly the season to believe in the renewal of our Christian faith. 

Alone With God

Rouge Beach looks abandoned in most winter days.

   Breaking a promise is not a good thing. Yet, last Friday, I did just that--without remorse or guilt. Truly, my action did not bother me. Not one bit!  How could I be so callous?

   The truth of the matter is, I was only postponing the promise I made to myself. Three days earlier, I said I would clean up the clutter in my basement man-cave. The chore is long overdue, but the blue sky outside told me otherwise. It was the perfect day to shoot winter scenes at the Rouge. It was also -6 Celsius out there by the river, not to mention the wind-chill coming from the lake. So, I donned my furry Russian hat, Arctic boots and snow suit  With my backpack, I looked like a soldier on a mission, ready to shoot!

In the midst of its serenity, not a single soul in sight.

  

The Rouge River was frozen. The snow was like an oversized carpet, matching the white clouds above. Except for the beautiful blue sky that accentuated the horizon, the landscape could have been in perfect sepia. The place was beautiful, and in the midst of its serenity, I was alone -- not a single soul in sight. The usual quacks from Canada geese were missing in the air and the flying seagulls were nowhere to be seen. The Rouge seemed like it was reserved only for me and my photography.

The cat-tails  seem to be posing for the shot.

   
  The  wind  was also  surprisingly  in  full  cooperation.  It  redirected  itself elsewhere, so the cat-tails wouldn't sway, making them appear like they were posed for the shots. The stillness of  the surroundings  made me see and hear clearly. Then it occurred to me that I was not completely alone. 
Like in a prayer -- I was alone with God!

The icicles look  like ornaments hanging on a princess ears.

    At the Rouge, I was like a student having a one-on-one learning session with the headmaster. God was leading me to the rarely seen face of winter and showing me the season’s underlying beauty.  Patches of ice on the ground glittered like diamonds. The icicles were like ornaments hanging on a princess ears. The snow looked like clouds on the ground. Winter certainly opened my eyes!  My appreciation for the warmth of my coat and the comfort of home had grown deeper. The lifeless ground made me look forward to the green grass, resurrected only by the coming of spring.

The rarely seen face of winter and its underlying beauty

The two-hour solitude at the Rouge was more than photography. It was a spiritual journey; a time to open up; a time to connect; a time to listen and the time to count the blessings.  

Deciphering the Fear of 13

Of all the numerals, 13 is the only number that can spell out evil. It is often associated with bad omen and fearsome destruction. Its frightful significance is beyond any mathematical calculation and the negative energies that it perpetuates deep into our minds are never ending.

To the superstitious, number 13 is taboo, but to the skeptics it is just a number. I personally, have never paid much attention to the number 13 except for the fact that it is the count between 12 and 14. I have always looked at it that way --- until recently, something really odd happened that stirred up my curiosity in search for logical explanations to this so much feared number.

Is it a coincidence? A warning perhaps, or is it a sign? These were the questions I asked when I came upon a recurring number 13. It happened five times on the same day! What is the chance of that happening?

It all began on a Sunday afternoon at the Metro Convention Centre where a volleyball tournament was taking place.  I was there mainly to watch my daughter play, but the action-packed hall was also a great opportunity for sports photography. With balls flying back and forth between frog-like leaping players, the shots were just too hard to resist!   

During the elimination rounds, every time the game was moved to another court, the ambient light would also change.  This lighting fluctuation would also force me to adjust my shots accordingly, which also meant finding the right camera exposure settings with at least three test- shots. These tests were just random shots for my own analysis, but the resulting photos yielded the unexpected. All the three exposures captured thought-provoking pictures of number 13!

The first of the three was of a player sporting the dreaded number on the back of her uniform. The next photo was of another athlete also wearing the number 13. Hmmm. . . Coincidence? maybe. But how do you explain the third shot? It was a scoreboard of the game which read 2325. (23 in red for Team A and 25 in blue for Team B) The sum of these four digits is 12, but strangely enough, next to number 5 is a water bottle which can also be seen as number 1. The final total? A shocking 13!

In addition to this growing phenomenon, during a break in the game, a player from my daughter’s team whom I have never met before approached me to say hello. I would soon realize when the game resumed that she too was wearing the number 13! Bizarre? Whatever you want to call it, but this occurrence had me scratching my head in awe.

Finally, at the end of the tournament, I thought I had enough of 13's for one day. I was wrong! The spooky number was unrelenting and persistent. It seemed to have followed me, determined to give me more of what it started.

That evening, while relaxing at home, the mysterious number 13 unfolded once again. This time rather than staying visual, it chose to verbalize itself. The voice of number 13 manifested in the dialogue of the main character in the movie I was watching. It was about a convicted Roman soldier from the 13^th Legion who was thrown into the arena of gladiators. He was tired of all the killings. He refused to fight and just wished to die. But the other gladiators provoked him by mocking the 13^th Legion that he highly revered. Forced by the ignited anger, he unleashed his terror on all his aggressors, annihilating all of them as he yelled, “Thirteen!” numerous times, to bring honour to the 13^th Legion.

Now, looking back to all five incidents, it was like a game of connecting the dots. Clearly, whether all these were just a mere coincidence or a meaningful message, there was definitely a strange pattern that had taken shape. Is there a need to be afraid from here on? What is the number 13 telling me? I wanted to know. The urgency to understand the underlying message had prompted me to do some research. Thanks to the internet. Google’s search engine has provided some substantial views on the subject. One of them is a Christian interpretation which also made perfect sense. Its spiritual value has been the key in unlocking the mystery of the number 13.

 It is quite liberating to know that the number 13 is of spiritual significance as opposed to what Satan had led us to believe. At the Passover Meal (better known today as The Last Supper) in the midst of the twelve disciples, Jesus was the 13th person in the room. He was also the One destined to be crucified and to triumph over death with His resurrection.

Jesus is also referred to as the Water of Life. Could this be the meaning of the bottled water standing next to the volleyball scoreboard? I would like to believe that. What about the player with the number 13 who came to me to say hello?  I see that as a sign of connection. As long as we keep our hearts wide open to Him, we will receive God’s whispers; we will not be in the dark; we will see the path to where He is leading us.  

It is mighty clear now why God chose the volleyball game to illustrate His message. The sport’s aspect of victory and defeat is a good analogy to Life and Death. Death as we know it represents loss. It signifies full surrender. Life on the other hand is about gain. It simply means winning. We live to learn from our failures as we strive to win.  As long as we can still breathe, the chance of winning will always be there.

God does not want us to lose. It breaks His heart to see us fail. But there are times when we are like that Roman soldier. We are tempted to think that putting everything to a halt is the easiest way to end our grief. We lose hope and we give up.

With God, we are winners. When we fail, He strengthens us with our own weakness just like what He did with the Roman soldier who could not resist defending his revered 13^th Legion. We too have our own 13^th Legion and that is Jesus, the 13^th who led the 12 disciples. When we abide by His teachings, we become victorious.

And together we will say, “Thirteen! Thirteen! Thirteen!”

The Race

   In the second letter of Paul to Timothy, Paul wrote a concise yet powerful description of his faith in Christ. He compared it to a grueling race. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” 2 Timothy 4:7 

Our Lord, Jesus also had an earthly race. It started from a manger in Bethlehem to a cross on the hill of Golgotha. With His resurrection, He completed the race.

    
   When we accept Jesus, we too, enter a race. It is a race where endurance matters more than speed. Through a gauntlet of temptations, the weak will fall and quit. Others will rest, but the faithful will remain undeterred by the devil’s deception.

    Fuelled by our faith, we push the limits to reach the finish line where God does not rate the fastest and the slowest. In God’s eyes, it is irrelevant who comes first and who comes last. In heaven, we are all victorious when we complete the race.

    Race Tracks come in many forms and lengths. When we find God’s purpose for us, we should commit ourselves to stay on track and go the distance. Mine started seven years ago during a pilgrimage to The Holy Land. I call it “Photography for Christ.”

   In Jerusalem, at the courtyard of the Church of The Holy Sepulchre, I captured the defining moment of my calling. There, before me was the collective silhouette of my fellow pilgrims highlighted by a bright wall lamp shining on them. Their radiating shadows seemed like a hand reaching out to me. The image was heartily engaging; it penetrated my soul. It made me stay still, listening in silence. It was speaking the words of Jesus, “Let your light shine before others so they can see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16

   That evening, my race began. I would follow Jesus through the lens of my camera. In the Word, I would see the picture and in the picture, I would hear the Word. Through the art of photography I would spread the message of Christ.

   Proclaiming God’s Word is like running an uphill road. Along the way, the winds of rejection, dissuasion and other negative energies have pushed me back. They may have slowed me down, but I held my torch up and pressed to move on. Guided by the Holy Spirit, I produced compelling photo-illustrations of the Word that inspired many, brought hope to the discouraged and caused awareness of God’s love to those who are distant and lost.

   Today, the race is far from over. Each day is a continuation of the race. In every morning sun, I hear God’s Word, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”Jeremiah 29:11. With God’s reassuring words, how can anyone not stay on track and not complete the race?

photography for Christ

photography for Christ, a set on Flickr.

Unshakable

  

   Just like a revolving door, people come and go in our lives. Some are easily forgotten; others we try to forget. But there are those who leave a sweet imprint in our hearts for a simple thing they have done. A seemingly insignificant act, yet beautiful and powerful.

The Master Plan

The outcome of any given project fully depends on its planning or the lack of it. Without the well drafted blueprints of engineers and architects, the construction of bridges, roads and buildings would be in chaos. To simply put it, one must have a plan or at least the understanding to follow one.

Dare to Standout

   Human eyes have that embedded curiosity that draws them to whatever visually jumps out of their line of vision. They zero-in on the subject, focus on it and shift our train of thought to the re-composed perspective that now becomes the focal point.

   Whether you like it or not, whatever it is in you that grabs the eye, would most certainly pull you into the spotlight. You could be the best, the worst or perhaps just simply different from the rest, the attention would be on you. There is no escape.

   Here is a story of a fourteen-year old ambitious girl

Spring

As the mild weather of March melts the dreaded snow, have you ever wondered why the season after winter is called spring?

The word “spring” as intransitive verb can be defined _ ‘to move back rapidly to an original position after being forced in another direction.’ The definition makes perfect sense. Spring brings back the colors that the cold winter had erased. The trees regain the lost leaves on their dead-looking branches; once more the grass turns greener ; the beautiful vibrant tulips emerge; and the perennials in the garden come back to life in full bloom as the returning birds chirp the coming of spring.

Is it a coincidence that the celebration of the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus falls in the spring? Did God plan it that way so we can easily relate the season of coming-back-to-life to Easter Sunday? From every angle, no matter how you slice it, all indications point to a thundering, Yes!

To us Christians, Easter Sunday is not about bunnies and children hunting egg-shaped chocolates. Neither is it limited to God’s message that His son died for us to save our sins. It expands far more  than that. We should see beyond the tomb where Jesus sprung to life. Resurrection has the underlying message of awakening - bringing back to life our goodness that was deeply buried in our selfish thoughts.

All of us have been hurt at one time in our lives. Some of the pains that we harbor are so agonizing that we have forgotten to forgive the aggressor who had offended us. We have been immersed in our failures and self-pity that we turned to blaming others and overlooked the power of prayer. Our potential in making more money to pamper our endless whims has made us lost our grip in our Christian values. We have neglected the importance of giving and have taken for granted  the  quality time with our families. We have given in to the abundance of man-made comfort, making us less energetic and allowing our bodies to erode away. We have become so content that we have missed the big picture of spring - its splendor and its meaning.

So come spring, when the birds are singing, stop whatever you are doing. Pause for a moment and listen. Wake yourself up. You have been in hibernation for too long. Pick up that shovel and start digging up the buried goodness in you.

Spring time is the season for all of us _ to reconnect spiritually  and  rediscover our good old selves.

Wireless Connection to the Heart

In this day and age of the so-called high-tech society, Wi-Fi or Bluetooth is the way to get connected. Cables and wires are slowly getting discarded to their demise by more advanced and newer gadgets. But is wireless technology really a new thing that man invented out of the desire to improve life? Hmmnn…. That is a good question.

Since the creation of man, God has communicated to us without wires. Through our hearts, He speaks and calls us; sometimes we hear, sometimes we don’t. To those who stay connected, the spiritual message is upon them; others who are preoccupied listening to the digital sound of

Borrowed Time

In the world of the living, the topic about dying is the most eluded subject of conversation. The word death could easily spoil a rather fun-filled evening of socializing. We are so huddled up in our own comfort zones that we decline to talk about it. Is it because of its morbid connotation? Or are we simply in denial?

Life is sweet. We love it too much, we forget that we are just living in borrowed time. We can control how we live and choose a lifestyle that suits us, but we cannot deny the fact that we are all just passing through. Sooner or later, the clock of life will stop ticking and death will come knocking at the door.

Angels Within

In the sleepy barrio of San Miguel, nothing really spectacular ever happened that was capable of putting it on the world map. If not for my grandparents who lived in the barrio and the chapel where I found my childhood superhero, the place would have nothing else that could entice me.

When I was about six, my father took me to San Miguel to stay a week with my grandparents. They were thrilled to have me.

My grandmother was tender and tolerant. She was the one who would lift the restrictions imposed on me by my parents. I loved her for that, giving me the chance to release all the energies of a restless boy. She was the best.

My grandfather, on the other hand, was a man of few words but

The Reluctant Pilgrim

Amid disturbing world news that highlights the never-ending hostilities targeting Israel, one would think that it would be complete madness, if not suicidal, to travel to such a volatile place. And yet, I found myself in Milan International Airport, staring at an electronic sign with its colorful pixels glaring back at me, spelling out the Air Alitalia Flight departing for Tel Aviv. Along with my wife, I would soon board the aircraft, together with the other pilgrims from St. Thomas More Church. We were to fly to The Holy Land.

Three weeks earlier, there was a great battle going on in my head. As much as I wanted to visit The Holy Land, I was also dreadfully aware of the potential danger that could ignite at any time along the way. My wife had to persuade me to join the pilgrimage. Her persistence and the irresistible opportunity to photograph the biblical and historical places were instrumental in somewhat overpowering my reservations about the trip.

As we waited for the shuttle bus that would take us to the tarmac, the fear once again managed to creep into my veins. It was corroding my nervous system. The “what If?” revived the old nagging thoughts. Maybe there is a terrorist on board? A suicide bomber perhaps? What about being blown up in the sky? Whoa!! The self-induced paranoia was choking me. I needed something to divert my thoughts. I took some candid shots of our group who seemed undeterred by what was happening in the Middle East. Thanks to my camera, it calmed me down. Before I knew it, we were airborne and there was no turning back. I heard myself praying, “Dear God, I know that The Holy Land has been photographed countless times by many talented photographers. What I will be shooting are just repetitions of their work, but if there is something you want me to shoot, lead me to it and please deliver me back home safely so I can share it too. Amen.”

As I looked out the plane’s window, the clouds below were like huge formations of fluffy cotton. I was marvelling at their beauty when suddenly something strange caught my eye. Out of nowhere, a glint of colors appeared then magically transformed into a circular rainbow. The circle of colors was captivating but when the shadow of our aircraft mysteriously revealed itself inside it, I was mystified. My heart started pounding heavily as I asked myself, “Is this an omen? Is God telling me something?” I sensed something very special was happening. The circular rainbow enclosing the airplane’s shadow was like God’s way of saying that His angels were escorting our flight. The very thought of it reassured me and dispelled all of my fears. The ghostly sign lasted approximately six seconds, but in that brief duration, I was able to quickly snap a picture of it before it drifted away in rays of light. The mystical experience left me wondering if there was an underlying message somehow connected to the unforeseen events of my life.

“Blessed are those who come.” That was the heading of the brochure that was provided by the travel agency. It does feel that way when one’s foot touches the Holy Ground. Walking along the path of our Lord’s footsteps was spiritually uplifting. Any Christian would feel the presence of Jesus in every step of the way. The journey to The Holy Land was like a homecoming. I grew up knowing about Nazareth as if it was my hometown. The city did not appear exactly the way Hollywood portrayed it in movies, but just like other biblical places in the region, it made me feel welcome. From Bethlehem where Jesus was born to the hilltop of Golgotha where He was crucified, the pilgrimage re-defined my Christian faith. I gained a deeper understanding of Jesus. And for the first time, I felt the pain of Mary, the mother who witnessed the rejection, humiliation and torture of her Son, who died for our sins.

The first five days of the Seven-Day tour of Israel earned me hundreds of beautiful images of The Holy Land. From those shots, I could easily merge photojournalism and travel photography to create a good slide show presentation of the pilgrimage. But, I still felt empty. Something was missing in the shots.

On the sixth day, towards the evening, God filled the void. Before me was the most compelling picture of all. At the courtyard of the Holy Sepulcher Church, I shot the perfect photographic interpretation of a verse in the Gospel of Matthew. “Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven.” It was the collective silhouette of my fellow pilgrims that was highlighted by the bright radiating light in the background.

In the afternoon of the final day, the tour guide took our group back to Jerusalem for personal free time. The majority of the group took my wife to explore the souvenir shops, while I wandered around on my own, taking more photos. And just when I thought I had shot enough, I saw two cute little Jewish schoolgirls walking together from a distance. In a game of catch-me-if-you-can, the bubbly one in the red dress sprinted ahead of the other girl. At this point, my reflex took charge and nailed the flow of her motion in three digital shots. It was the second frame that best captured the expression and running action of the little girl. Her happy innocent face was a mirrored contrast to the hostilities between her people and the neighboring countries. Why can’t there be a lasting peace in this land? I paused for a moment, thinking of an answer when in my subconscious I heard the words of Jesus, “Let the children come to me, and do not stop them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” This verse from Mark's Gospel summed up what is required from us in order to become the perfect followers of Christ. If we could only have the nature of a child, then hatred and vengeance would have no place among nations. Our faith in God would be unquestioning, unwavering and in full surrender. Then it occurred to me that the photo of the little girl was the shot. It was the shot I prayed for. God answered and led me to it. Unlike the massive walls of Jerusalem, God’s message has neither form nor shape, but it took the face of a child to make it clear and visible.

By the time we left Israel, I had more than three thousand digital images to take home, but only three of them can sum up the spiritual maturity that I gained from the pilgrimage. The photos of the plane's shadow in the rainbow, the pilgrims, and the little girl are the key images that unlocked the door to the wonderful gift of seeing. The images widened the perspective of the way I see things around me. While my art in photography found a new angle to focus on, I discovered a new color of the rainbow. And that is the color of God’s unconditional love for me and the rest of the world.

Now, 6 years later, I produced God's Word, a 5-minute video presentation summarizing my spiritual journey in finding God's purpose for me - spreading the Word through the art of photography.