Unsung Heroes
This entry was posted on Sunday, July 8th, 2007
This is not my story, for I write, with much pride, in behalf of the heroes of my group. But no, we are no Justice League, nor Fantastic Four. We own no suits of imaginable powers; no nifty gadgets, wired enough to save the fate of mankind from the evils that lurk. In fact, we were once labeled “colorless,” to refer to an uninteresting, unimpressive brood of varying individuals, bound together by one ordinary thing– a heartfelt smile immortalized in this one priceless photograph.
And so I write about my heroes… these ordinary bunch of “colorless” heroes. I write, lest their story would remain unsung, troubled that no laurels will ever be bestowed upon them, for their heroism is of a rare kind, one that figures only in the hearts of those who hear, and in the eyes of those who feel. Indeed “only they who can see the invisible can do the impossible.”
I write that their story may form part of a ménage of many other stories, already written, already appointed by Him, even before the race began, the race to build a far bigger boat for the ever-growing “fishers of men.”
It was in one of those Saturday mornings in June when my heroes were up and about way before daybreak. I too was up – lying in bed, physically far from the hustle of it all, but wide awake nonetheless, fondly thinking of amiable Tita Fho, my hero #1.
I can see her in mind’s eye, hurriedly packing away the 10, yes, 10 loaves of homemade egg sandwiches she lovingly prepared the night before. I can see her piling them away in convenient plastic bags; and then I wished I was in Makati, just within the neighborhood, to pick her up and help make the transport to the stadium a lot easier. But I was not. I felt a pang of guilt, thinking she would have to hail herself a cab, or wait for Ruthlyn, my hero #2, to pick her up in a cab she would have hailed from her own place farther down the road. I knew it would be a cumbersome task transporting these goods…but then I knew better…. that cumbersome as it may seem, this was nothing to Tita Fho. Tita Fho is a caring mother who takes delight in cooking for the group, or fixing coffee for the Sunday churchgoers. For her, this was a form of worship, of stewardship. And it was all that mattered in her heart.
Ruthlyn called me two nights before the run. She was nervous, and so was I. She told me how much she wanted to swim for the team, but that she simply could not. I say the same, for I had been practicing my strokes and had already conquered several short laps even before she called.
You see, I am not exactly a swimmer and I had to take the Thursday night off to practice with a friend. Yes, I can dart from one end of the pool to the other, but only by holding my breath the entire lap. I was practicing how to lift my head to catch some air, but I simply could not get the hang of it. My friend was coaching me, giving me tips. She knew how badly I wanted to swim because I kept saying, “Gusto ko, one day, masasabing kong inilangoy ko ang Sunday school ng anak ko.” But then she knew better, 50 meters was going to be a difficult feat for me.
So I told Ruthlyn I might have to beg off. I felt bad, but then I simply lowered my head and whispered to Him, “Lord God, please know I tried. I tried to swim for your cause. Can you just honor my iron will, my determined spirit to swim it through, because much as I am willing, I am disappointingly unable to swim.” I was not feeling good about it, but Ruthlyn helped ease the frustration by announcing that her niece was all too willing to cover for us. I think of Ruthlyn, frail and motherly. I think of how she’s that kind of fighter who’ll do anything to take part in this race, even if it meant recruiting a proxy. She was not the least after the glory, the recognition of being hailed “one the runners” or “one of the swimmers.” Never mind if she stayed in the shadows. All she had in mind was helping the team run the race. And it was what held more weight in her heart.
As I tossed in bed, I remembered Ma’am Amy, my hero #3. I figured by now she would be on her way to Amoranto Stadium, to be at the venue long before the groups start pouring in droves, if only to make sure everything is set as needed. Ma’am Amy has the heart of a servant leader. She’s the kind who will pull projects together at the snap of a finger. Organizing church projects while mobilizing troops is mere second nature to her. Last Tuesday, while we were discussing the race in our small group session, she was so wary about running. She was worried she was not healthy enough to cover all of 400 meters. But hesitant as she was, she displayed a commanding spirit, rallying the group to take individual roles in the race set before us. She becomes a real inspiration when she does this, sharing her confidence in finishing whatever insurmountable task is before her, how she displays how big projects hardly seem to unsettle her. Now I know why she leads an all important ministry at church. Later that Saturday, I would learn how she conquered her lap with a beaming smile and a big, full heart.
And then there’s Rachel, my hero #4. Rachel may appear to be timid, but she’s definitely not. She’s that bubbly young woman you see every Wednesday and Sunday, standing by the doors of OnStage, always ready to give you a warm, welcoming smile, even though her task is to tell you you’re too early and you’ll have to wait around a bit, or that service has started and you’ll have to take the upstairs door. Rachel is our group’s swimmer. She seems to be the only able swimmer, though confidence in herself sometimes defies her. We assured her Tuesday night that she’ll manage; and manage and more than deliver she did on that momentous Saturday morning. I was told she even covered the rest of the lap for a fellow team swimmer from another small group who couldn’t complete his turn … because that is basically Rachel. She’ll go the extra distance for you, like offer to cover your module book, offer to carry your other bag, offer to do at least something for you. Rachel has a humble heart that longs to do a little extra, that others may be a little more comfortable.
Harold, my hero #5, is practically new in the group. He joined us on the third module but has since established himself as a well regarded young man with firm Christian beliefs. Harold, who works for one of those ubiquitous call centers, speaks with a tone of admirable confidence, his fine English diction giving away his nature of work. One time, he shared how he was struggling at work, worried for being perceived as a non-performer, all because he refuses to employ his colleagues’ adverse measures to exceed his quota. It was Tita Fho who lovingly explained that there is dignity in being a rightful doormat, for out of humble doormats, the Father yearns to create great men of influence. And so Harold, on that Saturday morning, I learned, ran more than one lap for the group. They were running out of players. All those meant to carry the baton on paved grounds had all but taken their turns. It was Harold who took on an additional lap, without much prodding, with an understanding that it is not the race, but the labor of the heart and the fruit of the completed laps that mattered in the race to build the bigger boat.
Eric is my hero #5. Eric was first to volunteer as a runner the moment Ma’am Amy asked for players. I could sense the excitement in his voice that Tuesday night we gathered for the first time in his humble abode. He asked eager questions then. What time were we needed at the venue, what would we wear? What did we need to bring? Was there anything more he can contribute? It was Eric who gave me insightful feedback after the run. In his eager eyes and animated stories, I saw the drama unfold before me. He talked about runner #1, who had the arduous task of crossing through paved and unpaved ground to complete a lap. He talked about how the runners were right under the heat of sun, drenched in sweat, while the swimmers were by the pool, blissfully cooling themselves down, but that all these didn’t really matter. It was the excitement that hung about the air, it was the determination of men, women and children, to run, and swim, , cheer and serve that mattered most in his fatherly heart.
Mario, my hero #6, is the youngest in the group. He had just come from the Young Adults’ Mountain Chillout and you can say his cup is teeming with stories of lives transformed. There is a renewed spark about him these days and you can sense that an unseen movement is propelling him to go much farther than he himself can imagine. Mario was our runner too, and was a dedicated one at that. In fact, his dedicated fortitude was poignantly captured in one of the photographs in the post-event MTV.
I was sitting silently by the 3rd row of OnStage the Sunday after, waxing nostalgic as I watched the AVP with much envy, when I caught a long glimpse of him with his hand to his chest, and I was once again reminded of his keen sense of grounded spiritually. In this day and time when guys his age are into selfish pursuits, Mario doesn’t mind “old fashioned gestures” as these. He doesn’t mind missing out on gimmicks, or not-hanging out with “cool guys” in his office. He does not mind at all because he sees something that, sadly, most young people don’t see. All because he walks by faith and not by sight.
But my list of heroes does not end here. While my heroes 1 to 6 were the champions that Saturday morning, a couple more heroes were behind them… in spirit and in silent revered prayers. Bless, Mandy and Tita Emma are my heroes too. In our weekly Tuesday meetings, they open up my world beyond borders I could never reach on my own. With the stories of their lives, their triumphs and joys, their struggles and disappointments, they help me take deeper root with their own unique SHAPEs.
So later that Saturday night, I got a text from Ma’am Amy. We were an unstoppable team. The group, combined with Ma’am Ruth’s and Sir Tony’s small groups, completed a total of 13 hard-earned laps and managed, by God’s grace, to finish second in the cheering competition. They weren’t expecting to win, they later remarked, and they almost backed out of the fight when they saw other groups, armed with props, chants and matching uniforms, practicing their well-choreographed cheers.
I can imagine them worried, so unsure of whatever little preparation they have had. But then again, I know it was not the winning that mattered, it was about speaking with voices loud enough to knock on heaven’s doors, storming the stadium with different thoughts and different cheers, but all for a single-minded purpose, of building a bigger boat for the ever growing fishers of men.
The event MTV was once again shown the Sunday and the Wednesday after. And for each of those viewings, I would get a different kind of high. It would remind me of the heroes in my group and their little unsung sacrifices. It would make me feel I finally belong to a family that dreams big and acts big. It would tell me that it is indeed taking shape right before my very eyes… it is happening, and it is Project Mosaic.
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