Tibo could not take his eyes off the brand new baby rattle he had just bought from the supermarket. It was still wrapped in plastic and he was delighted to hear its gentle jingling crisp sound. His thoughts were lost imagining how his first born son would be enjoying the toy that he had saved up for some weeks now. He knew, even though how small it was, his wife was going to be very touched. They were very poor.

They were forftunate enough to make it to one of the city’s charitable wards. Despite the busy Christmas atmosphere the doctors and nurses were surprisingly very kind and entertained their every need.

Tibo was very nervous. He was going to be a father. Even though there was always a first time for everything being a father was quite unique. He wanted to relish every moment of it. “Elain, too was finally going to be a mother,” he smiled to himself as he entered the hospital. He and his wife had prayed for many years for a child.

He had not yet entered the ward where his wife was confined when the nurse taking care of Elain approached him. She was trying hard to put on a smile, Tibo read that something was amiss.

“Mr. Santiago, I have to tell you something...,” her faced suddenly became very serious.

“Why? What happened? Is Elain alright?” he began to panic.

“Sir, your wife is fine. She’s asleep…recovering…,” she stammered.

“Recovering…?”

“…she unexpectedly began to labor… and gave birth…,” she hesitated to continue.

“…and our baby?” he asked.

“The doctors…, they are... trying to revive him… He developed a complication and… they say his chances are slim,” she began to break down.

“I want to see my baby!,” he brushed her aside.

But the nurse quickly grabbed stopped him and said, “It’s impossible to enter the room now…, sir…please understand…, they’re doing everything they can… at least you can stay and wait with your wife…,”

Tibo couldn’t understand what was coming over him. His head was swirling as mix feelings of confusion, anger, anxiety and helplessness were violently vying against each other inside him. Anger prevailed.

A sudden rage overcame him and he threw everything he carried to the ground in a gesture of rebelliousness. Quickly coming to himself, he was too ashamed to apologize to the nurse and rushed out of the hospital. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

He began to aimlessly walk down the road oblivious to the Christmas lights, decors and children singing Christmas carols. He could not accept how things around him were so "good" when things for him had gone bad. They had done so much for this child, and now all their joy, hopes and plans were lost. “We had prayed so much!” he gritted his teeth in anger and disappointment.

The bells of a nearby Church started pealing. The last evening Mass had just ended. Tibo was heading towards that direction, and he began to cross paths with the Church goers. The street was suddenly filled with children’s laughter, cries and shrills. He wanted to cover his ears, it was too much, he couldn’t bear contemplating all that joy when he was about to lose his baby. As the crowd slowly faded away, Tibo found himself unexpectedly entering the Church.

There were still some people remaining inside. Some families went to pray before the life-size crèche. He occupied the pew closest to the door. As he sat down he was surprised to hear a rattling sound. Up to that moment he didn’t realize that he had slipped the baby rattle in his back pocket. He gently pulled it out and admired it once more. He started crying thinking that the baby would never grow up to play with it.

“I can only pray,” he said to himself. “I was stupid to act that way,” he rectified. “I must pray and trust God, He who gives life and takes it away.” He knelt down, his elbows rested on the creaking pew. His huge shaking rough hands were still holding on to the fragile toy.

When he found himself to be the only one inside, he slowly stood up and approached the crèche. Before the manger where the Child rested, he knelt and prayed. “My dear, Jesus…, my only son is dying…, he was to be our gift this Christmas…, he was going to be our all, and we have nothing more, why do you have to take him as well?”

He didn’t know what he was saying. Then as one truly speaking to another he added, “You see this baby rattle, Jesus? I bought it for him. It was going to be our little gift to him. And he won’t even grow up to play with it. But since you’re going to take him to Heaven with you, can you take this as our gift to you, so that you can share it with our son?”

Tibo unwrapped the rattle that let out some gentle clinking. He gently placed it in the Baby Jesus’ hand. As he left the Church, his ears suddenly heard a gentle rattling sound. “Someone’s playing with the baby rattle!”

He returns inside and runs towards the crèche. But the rattling sound has already stopped. Tibo arrives and finds the baby rattle on the ground. He picks it up and observes that  a blue thread was caught in its handle. He looks at the baby Jesus and notices that the statue was wrapped with a blue mantle.

I was coming out from the mall when I noticed a dirty grayish plastic card lying on the pavement. It was a parking card someone had dropped. I picked it up and read the faded printed material on of the card: “500 pesos fine for lost card.”

I tried looking around to see if there was someone luckily tracing his or her way back to find the card to where I was. But no one was in sight. I got into the car and started it. As I engaged the engine, I noticed a lady a few parking spaces away. She appeared to be desperately looking for something inside her car. She leaned sideways, bent backward to check the backseat, and disappeared as if she looked for something in the floor.

She seemed too desperate to notice that I was observing her from the window side. I gently tapped the glass and she turned around quite surprised to see me waving the card before, “Madame, did you happen to drop this?”

Her face suddenly changed from being desperate to total relief. She lowered the window and said, “Thank God, Father. You’re reeeally heaven sent!”

“You’re most welcome, ma’am. Drive safely! And God bless you and your family.”

* * *

Every Christian has received a divine mission to be a witness of God’s love and mercy in the midst of the world. If the person takes this mission to heart, he will always be heaven sent –a gift of God– to those around him. But this means that he or she is personally heaven bent.

To be heaven bent means struggling to overcome all forms of spiritual sloth, complacency, mediocrity and lukewarmness. In the supernatural life, one can never say he has believed, hoped and loved God enough. The gift of every day offers us a great opportunity to renew our desires to take a concrete step towards Heaven, and naturally our ever-increasing desire to bring more souls with us as we advance.

Being heaven bent is rooted on three principal convictions of our faith. Pope Benedict XVI says in a General Audience last 12^th of December, that the first is “the certainty that Jesus has resurrected, and is with the Father and, therefore, is always with us forever. And no one is stronger than Christ (…) Therefore we are more sure and we are not afraid.” Second, is “the conviction that Christ is with me, that from Christ the future world has already began. The future is not something obscure towards which no one is headed.” And third, “the Judge who will come –Judge and Savior– has entrusted us with the task of living in this world following His life. He has given us talents. Thus, our third attitude is: to be responsible toward the world, as brothers, before Christ and, at the same time, with the certainty of His mercy.”

Being heaven bent is expressed in the petition “thy Kingdom come” in two ways. First, that we must strive to establish God’s kingdom here on earth as the mission entrusted to us through our baptism; and second, that we must personally desire to obtain God’s kingdom since He has made us for Himself and for Heaven.

Our Lord Himself, on repeated occasions, referred to how His kingdom is being attacked with violence. St. Mathew writes: “From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and men of violence take it by force.” The words “suffer” and “violence” reveal the zeal of the saints to get to Heaven while they are still here on earth.

In more familiar terms, how can we be more heaven bent? Perhaps, these few ideas may help:

• pray Heaven – Don’t think, pray! It isn’t at all selfish to pray about Heaven at least once a day. This helps us to realistically place ourselves in God’s presence. To pray about Heaven isn’t only limited to thinking about the archangels and the cherubs. It’s about asking God in the first place, to give us the grace to get closer to our Heavenly home, our loved ones and others.

• speak Heaven – we must also show in our speech that we are men and women who are aware that their Father God is constantly watching them from above. Thus, we must exude peace, serenity, understanding and a kind word that transmits a “piece of Heaven” to those who hear us. This also requires that we struggle against complaining, criticizing and above all gossiping.

• give Heaven – is there someone that we can give a “piece of Heaven” to? Surely with the many concerns of everyday, we cannot end the day not having been able to serve our neighbor, give thanks, ask for an apology or to forgive, etc.

• receive Heaven – like little children, who are the ones fit for the Kingdom of God, we ought to be daring and excited to receive that daily “heavenly surprise” from our Father God. It may be something material, but more often it comes in supernatural gifts and even sometimes in the shape of the Cross: pain, illness, misunderstanding, etc.

• suffer Heaven – Heaven, as previously stated, may come in the shape of the Cross. After all, it was opened for us through the Key of the Cross on Calvary. Thus we shouldn’t shun the trials and sufferings that life may bring, because they in fact, purify us further from our attachment to worldly things, our past and present offenses against God and neighbor.

His was a conversion story that was moving and unforgettable like many others. But it struck me during our conversation when he said, “Well, Father, you know that I didn’t really take my Catholic faith seriously because I was simply a Christian by default.”

Man is a being of remembrances. One look in our homes will immediately recall to our minds many things of the past that are close to our hearts. The walls are decorated with wedding photographs, trophies and framed laminated graduation diplomas of our children, souvenirs we have kept of our travels or those given us by friends from abroad.

Their mother was out for a one-week seminar, and the kids immediately thought of welcoming her after a "long absence." A card? A song? Some home baked cookies? The five siblings racked their brains all night as dad amusing himself with such a touching scene. "What about a Power Point presentation?" Paula suddenly suggested. Everyone became silent, and after a few seconds they voted for a digital welcome.

Dear Friends and Readers,

 * * * CLARIFICATION ABOUT ALIKABOOK * * *

ALIKABOOK = TAGALOG for "DUST"

(actually spelled ALIKABOK);

but playing with the word to mean poetically,

a SCRAP-BOOK of my stories, articles

and dusty mental ruminations.