It was Sunday, March 6, 2011.
The countdown started.
In about two minutes, the service would officially begin with the Praise and Worship team leading the people into the holy courts of God. People greeted their friends and acquaintances with hugs and kisses as if they had not seen them for years. I am not complaining, though. This, actually, is one of the reasons why I have loved this church; everyone is treated like family.
Familiar faces appeared.
“Hi, Pat! Kamusta?” A dear friend asked me while giving me a simultaneous hug and beso. This scene happened to me for three to five more times, but with different people.
I sat and looked around and…observed. Some were moving. The ushers delightfully directed incoming people to available seats. Some filled the entire venue with loud cheers and stories. Even Mar, my boyfriend, and I took part in it as we gladly spoke with some friends.
And soon before most of the church members could notice, the countdown ended.
Immediately thereafter, the musicians inaugurated the evening by creating heavenly sounds while the singers translated the same into divine words.
Everyone rose on his feet. Some hands were clapping. Some hands were raised. Some lips were singing. Some lips were uttering prayers. Some just stood and rested their hands on the part of the seats where one's supposed to rest his back against. And I was one of them, actually. I could not sing. I could not clap. I could not raise my hands. There was like a thick barrier that restricted me. It was mainly made up of guilt and shame.
While most of the people praised, I started to look around and observe again.
I saw different faces, different expressions. My guilty mind began to wander farther. Asking myself about their problems, happiness, weaknesses and prayers, I spotted people and thought about the matters they were thinking about. And when I could no longer answer my own queries, my mental expedition ended with me; I thought of what I was thinking.
“I should do well in the finals.”
“This week, how many times did I give God quality time? To begin with, was it with quality?”
“Kin is here. I have done so many mistakes at school. I wish he does not focus on that.”
“Liz is not here today. I wish to see her next week.”
“I have failed God in so many ways this week.”
And these things could go on for a day. I was troubled, preoccupied, and aimless that day.
But...
I came to my senses. I began to realize where I was, the reason why I was there – JESUS. I ransacked my mind to segregate the healthy thoughts from the unhealthy ones. I asked, “God looks at the heart, right?” Right after interrogating myself, I rephrased the question and turned it into its declarative form: GOD LOOKS AT THE HEART. RIGHT.
I appreciated this light bulb moment with a follow-through, a prayer. I prayed for wisdom to be excellent in school and the grace to do what God wants me to do. Because of my propensity to sin, I prayed that people would not fix their eyes on me, but on God. I prayed for His loving mercy to wash away my iniquities.
Though my mind fought, I raised my hands, opened my lips, and sang His songs of praise.
The guilt and shame were dispelled. The barrier crumbled. That day, I was a freedwoman of God.
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1 Samuel 16: 7
But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
Galatians 5:1
Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.