FROM “AMAZING FACTS” TO AMAZING GRACE: A Couple’s Story
By Renee and Lorenzo Sereno

(This article was featured in the March 2006 edition of the Central Clarion, the monthly newsletter of the Modesto Central Seventh Day Adventist Church.)


February 11, 2006. The atmosphere was hushed and festive. In the upstairs dressing room, church women were fussing over us, much like local tribeswomen, preparing virginal young brides for their wedding day. And in many ways, it was indeed a wedding ceremony we were anticipating, as we stood there, in single file, all clothed in white. At least it was, for me.

It all began about four weeks before, when I noticed an interesting flyer in the mail. “Bible Prophecy Seminar”, it read. I put it aside to show to my husband, Lorenzo. I was saved and baptized in a Baptist church when I was just twelve, and I remember that my favorite sermons in my youth were the ones concerning bible prophecy and the end times. I knew Lorenzo would find the subject just as fascinating as I did.

I showed him the flyer later that day, and he seemed interested enough. The promise of free child care and free parking in what I could see was a downtown address made it even more enticing. “We won’t beg you for money,” it said. What did we have to lose?

I started attending on the fifth day of the seminar. Lorenzo joined it two days later. All it took was one session, and we found ourselves coming back for more. There was something very earnest and appealing about the way Tyler Long conducted each lesson. He struck us as sincere and approachable, and his direct, no-nonsense presentations were very effective. We also enjoyed learning new things about the Bible and its teachings, and we looked forward to learning more “Amazing Facts” as the seminar progressed.

While all of this was going on, it was comforting to know that our three children were also being taught about Jesus and his saving love. We could never thank Teri Johnson and the other Children’s Program volunteers enough for taking such good care of Lance, Troy and Reanna, whom they literally fed, both in body and in spirit.

As the weeks passed, I found myself having to unlearn many of the things I thought I knew, about the rapture and the “tribulation saints”, and about death and the Sabbath. It gave me a greater sense of urgency to witness to my loved ones, knowing there would be “no second Chances” after the Rapture. And it made me watch myself more closely, knowing for certain that there was no truth to the statement, “Once Saved, Always Saved.”

Because of the seminar, I finally became serious about my daily devotions, and I am beginning to notice the awesome power of prayer in my life. I can now think of my late father, grandmother and grandfathers with peace in my heart, knowing they are just lying in sleep, waiting for the Lord’s return. All pork and shrimp products have been exorcised out of my home, and my refrigerator and larder are noticeably lighter, coinciding with my new lightness of spirit. I’m still working on burying my bothersome habit of saying “Sunday” when referring to the Sabbath, but I know the Lord is patient with me, and that, too, will come in time.


The white line of women begins to move toward the baptistery. I am beginning to feel the unmistakable flutter of nerves at the pit of my stomach. I hand Verla Thorn, my ultra-chic ministering angel, my towel. She hugs me to calm my nerves, and it works wonders.

Finally, it’s my turn. I see my husband, Lorenzo, and Pastor James Scarborough, waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, both of them resplendent in black. Verla gives my hand one last reassuring squeeze as I walk down into the warm, soothing water. Pastor James introduces my husband and me to our new church family. Suddenly, I hear a child’s voice, yelling from the balcony.

“Hi Mom!”

It’s my daughter, Reanna, 19 months and irrepressible as ever. Her older brothers, Lance and Troy, are waving to us with big smiles. We wave back to them, using our special “I love you” hand signal, thankful that they are in Donna Bearden’s capable hands.

The ceremony begins. Pastor James baptizes Lorenzo first. I could see my husband trying to hold his emotions in check, and I am touched beyond words. Then it’s my turn. As I rise out of the water, I hear the congregation clapping, and my heart warms at the sound of their acceptance.

There was only one other time in my life when the sound of applause made me feel the same kind of joy I felt that day, and that was just after Lorenzo and I were pronounced man and wife. Indeed, in a way, our re-baptism was just like a renewal of our wedding vows, except on this occasion, it was a marriage of three, as both Lorenzo and I joined the Bride of Christ, waiting for the Bridegroom as He gets our heavenly mansion ready for us.

Pastor James pronounces a blessing over the two of us, and we hold each other close, both of us giving way to our emotions. Our sins had just been literally washed away, and we were starting life anew, in one with the Lord.

What a wonderful gift He has given us: a new life, once again made spotless through His redeeming love!


Last Word from Lorenzo. As Renee and I walked back to our respective dressing rooms, I couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of sadness that my two older boys, Joey and Chris, couldn’t make it to the ceremony. After all, I had my whole family with me, (them included), when I was first baptized, shortly after our wedding six years ago.

I have always maintained a close bond with my older sons, even after my marriage to their mother ended. I knew it was important for them to still have a father in their life, having experienced the opposite when I was growing up. My father was a merchant marine, and he used to be away from his family for years at a time. While I knew that these prolonged periods of separation did not diminish his love for us, there were still times in my life when I wondered if he could have exerted just a little more effort to be there for us when we needed him most.

This question must have made it back to my mind again that day, just after I was re-baptized. Because as I was changing back into my church clothes, a strange quiet seemed to descend upon me, and I heard an unmistakable voice coming from within.

“Lorenzo,” it said, “I am your Father now…”
“And I was always there for you.”

REDEMPTION

I know it's been a while since I've updated any of my blogs, and here's why:

For the past four weeks, my husband, Lorenzo, and I have been attending a life-saving seminar five nights a week, which has greatly increased our knowledge, enhanced our marriage and improved our walk with the Lord.

Our lives have been changed since. We strongly recommend this Bible Prophecy course, which you can take online. It's even available in Filipino/Tagalog!

Be prepared to learn so many new and wonderful things. You will be amazed!

SCROOGED

I received this short and sweet Christmas greeting from "cleng", a.k.a. Cleo Barawid of Sapporo, Japan on Christmas Day, no less:

"...i wonder what your motive is for posting this here, after all it happened to you long time ago. are you still bitter about it? and there are two sides to every story, right? i just think that it's kinda superficial to attack a person's physical appearance. are you pretty? 'coz from your pix i could see that you are on the heavy side. merry xmas."

I guess my previous post, "NEMESIS", touched a nerve. I am now sharing my response to her comment with all of you, in true Christmas spirit. After all, "'Tis the season for sharing!"


"Dear "cleng", a.k.a. Cleo Barawid of Sapporo, Japan:

Obviously, you chose to ignore the WARNING disclaimer I posted at the beginning of my article, where I clearly stated my motive for writing this piece.

Nevertheless, catharsis has already taken place, and all is well in my world again, so I won't even bother to waste my time asking you where I "attacked" anyone's physical appearance.

I hardly think the words "female", "short", "dusky", "flat-chested", "buck-toothed", and "administrative assistant" are offensive. Descriptive, maybe, but not derogatory. If you happen to think otherwise, then I think you're the one who has issues here, not me.

You obviously think that one cannot be considered "pretty" if one is "on the heavy side". Don't you think THAT reeks of superficiality as well? Shame on you.

I can only guess that you took it upon yourself to attack MY personal appearance, on behalf of all the beleaguered short, dusky, flat-chested, buck-toothed, female administrative assistants out there. How very noble of you to champion their cause.

But just so you know, I also have a lot of friends who happen to be female, short, dusky, flat-chested, buck-toothed, AND administrative assistants. The only difference here is that none of them has ever tried to steal my husband.

Which brings me back to the whole point of the article, which you quite obviously missed. Self-righteous indignation sometimes does this to people.

Assuming you meant it, Merry Belated Christmas to you too."

NEMESIS

(WARNING: With this article, I am exorcising demons (demonesses?) from my past. If you happen to be an administrative assistant, female, short, dusky, flat-chested, buck-toothed, or any combination of the above, please do NOT take offense. I had some very definite people in mind when I wrote this, and chances are, they do not include you.)


Beware the short, dusky, flat-chested Administrative Assistant. And if she happens to have bucked teeth, run for the hills with your boyfriend in tow.

Twice in my life, I have been cheated upon, with older women sporting prominent overbites, straight from the Nora Aunor cookie-cutter, playing the much-despised role of The Other Woman.

The first time it happened to me, I didn't know what was coming. A single phone call in the middle of the night and I was broadsided with information overload that made me regret taking the call in the first place.

I knew her voice right away. She with the trying-hard English. This woman was the sort of receptionist who said "Hold on please", the "please" here pronounced "plehs". It made me shudder to hear her butcher this common phrase.

I honestly wondered what my boyfriend saw in her, although I had no doubt what she saw in HIM. After all, he was this Spanish-speaking cono-kid from La Salle who lived in SanLo, his family owning two more homes, in Dasma and Ayala Alabang no less, which they rented out to foreign diplomats. Yes, they had money.

She proceeded to tell me to "let go of A. because his girlfriend was pregnant". I thought she was out of her mind. After all, to the best of my knowledge, I was still A.'s girlfriend, and I sure as heck wasn't pregnant!

And then the sordid reality of her message hit home and my world crashed all around me.

I called up my boyfriend and broke up with him. And then I called my best friend, Coco Quisumbing, who came straight from her late-evening newscast to pick me up, ferry me over to her nearby flat, make me tea, ply me with tissues, and let me cry all over her designer jacket sponsored by ShoeMart.

Of course, when I broke up with "A.", he quickly ended his relationship with her, and proceeded to ask me back.

As for the baby? Well, Ms. Receptionist mysteriously had a "miscarriage" after that was over. I honestly doubt there was a baby in the first place. Yes, some women will stoop this low to get what they want.

Unfortunately, this pattern was repeated in subsequent relationships of mine, with Caucasian men who had dalliances behind my back with the La Aunor type. I guess, just like my former tisoy boyfriend, they also equated "short, dark and homely" with "exotic".

Since then, I have sworn off relationships with men whose skin was fairer than my own. There were simply far too many women out there who were shorter, darker, had flatter chests and no orthodontists, and who could therefore be considered more "exotic" than me.

It was my present husband who broke the mold. Lorenzo happens to be darkly handsome, sporting a rosy moreno hue which I find so sexy. And the best part of it all? He loves the fact that I am maputi.


We all have our nemeses. Mine is the short, dusky, flat chested older woman from Administration.

Bucked teeth optional.

SUNSHINE

Sunshine
in my eyes
can make me cry...
--John Denver

It was supposed to be a happy day.

After all, it was Lorenzo's first day of work for a multinational company recognized the world over.

But on that morning, I received an ominous call from my mother-in-law. Her older sister, whom we fondly called "T'ya 'Wanag" was in the hospital, and Nanay feared she wouldn't linger on for much longer.

I had always been fond of T'ya Liwanag. She and her younger sister, my husband's Mom, Ginhawa, shared nationalistic names with the rest of their siblings, Bayani, Maghirang, Ligaya and Mahinhin.

But her daughter's mother-in-law, who lives in Oregon, had such a hard time pronouncing her name that she decided to call her "Sunshine".



I received the news with surprise and sadness. I didn't even know that Lorenzo's aunt was in the hospital. Her health had been failing for the last couple of years but she always managed to bounce back. In fact, she had become such a fixture in my in-law's home that I couldn't imagine going there without seeing her familiar figure seated around the dining table.

I told my mother-in-law that we would try to get there as soon as we could, but I knew it would be difficult. With the kids off to school and Lorenzo at work, I knew it would be hours before we could even make it to San Jose, a two-hour drive from Modesto. Judging from Nanay's tone of voice, I honestly didn't think we would be able to reach the hospital in time to say goodbye.

Sure enough, we got the call at around two-thirty that afternoon. T'ya Liwanag had passed on.

I was genuinely saddened to hear this. She was a lovely person with a big, kind heart. I could still remember her, still bald from chemotherapy, fussing over us during a visit to their household, serving us food and making sure my family was comfortable when she should've been resting. We were just there to drop off an invitation but she insisted on feeding us, and wouldn't take "no" for an answer. This was quintessentially T'ya 'Wanag.



I will miss hearing her play the piano. I will miss sitting on her left at the mahjong table. I will miss her sweet, savory spaghetti with the carrots and pickle relish which I have tried duplicating but could never succeed at, no matter how many times she'd given me the recipe. But most of all, I will miss seeing her smile indulgently at my children, whom she always lavished with praise. Too bad I never got to tell her how much her kind words warmed my heart.




Last weekend, we stayed over at the Bay Area for the viewing. It's been a while since I'd seen the whole family together. The last time we had a comparable turnout was for my nephew's wedding a year ago.

It was good to see everyone again, rallying around each other as we sent off one of our own to that place beyond, where she could wait for us at the other end of the divide, free of disease and pain.


During the memorial service, I watched the kids while Lorenzo and other family members took their turns in front, sharing special memories they had of their Aunt and Mother. And after all was said, everyone congregated around her, as if drawn together by invisible arms, surrounding her in a tight semi-circle for one last cry.

As we surrendered to our emotions, feeding off everyone's collective grief, it was both cathartic and uplifting at the same time. You could literally feel the air clear as emotions were slowly spent, like the sun shining tentatively after the storm clouds have dissipated.


And then the people retreated to their own little groups, hugging and comforting each other, forgiving past mistakes, forgetting petty squabbles...



...and rebuilding bridges.




Just as she would've wanted it to be.


(NOTE: Just a few days after T'ya Liwanag passed away, T'yong Boy, her last surviving brother, also succumbed to a lengthy illness in the Philippines.

I would also like to remember my Daddy, who celebrated his sixth death anniversary on October 18th. I had been reminding myself about the date a few days before the 18th, but when the day actually came, I totally forgot about it.

Perhaps this was the way he wanted it.

I love you, Daddy, and I still miss you so much. R.)


(PLUGGING: "Color My World", the latest in The Prada Mama Chronicles.)

PAYING IT FORWARD

He was very dear to me, and he was sick.

Nobody knew what it was. Even the doctors at the U.P. Infirmary were baffled.

He thought it might've been an insect bite. Whatever it was, the skin on his leg was getting worse. The doctors suggested it might be cellulitis, and sent him to St. Luke's Medical Center for further tests.

He ended up staying for about a week. I visited him as often as I could.

His wife was at his side for the duration of his confinement, missing work at the U.P. Islamic Center. This didn't come as a surprise. She was particularly devoted to him.

I could see that she loved him very much. I honestly thought she was one of the best things that ever happened to him. She was kind and gentle and very patient. And she took very good care of him.

I visited him on his last day at the hospital. He was in good spirits, happy to be going home again. I could see the relief in his wife's face as well.

I secretly wondered how much this hospital stay was costing them. I knew it must have been a considerable sum. St. Luke's was one of the best and most modern hospitals in the Philippines, and it certainly didn't come cheap.

Yet they weren't rich. Both of them worked for a living because they had to.

I knew they must be scrambling for any means to help pay the bill, but they never once brought up the subject of money to me. I also knew that of all the people in their inner circle, I was in a better position than most to be of any help.

I gently asked how much money was owed. She gave me a nervous smile, almost reluctantly admitting they were fifty thousand short.

I went out of the room to make a phone call. And then I wrote St. Luke's Medical Center a check for fifty thousand pesos. It wasn't a debt, it was a gift.

She smiled her shy smile and held me close, her voice breaking as she thanked me.

I could see he was touched too, and that was enough for me.



Six years later, I was the one in dire straits.

My husband had just lost his job. We were relying on our savings to tide us over, and they were dangerously getting depleted.

But despite our financial worries, we were still rich in love and blessings. Indeed, during our darkest moments, The Lord would always help us clear the hurdles somehow.

And then two people very dear to us came to visit. We sorely missed the presence of another to make us complete, but she was unable to make it from the Philippines.

Nevertheless, she sent some money over, not just to my kids (who were her godchildren), but to me as well.

And when the others told her of my financial situation, she went ahead and sent me a thousand dollars more. Just like that. I was touched at her kindness.



I never asked her for money. I don't even remember mentioning any of my problems to her when we spoke on the phone.

The irony of it all didn't escape me. While most of my kababayans sent money back to their families in the Philippines, here I was, one of the few exceptions where the opposite was true.

I could only see it as a gift from The Lord. And she was the vessel He used to deliver it.

Just like He chose to use me on that day, more than six years back.


(To YOU...you know who you are...thank you so much for your kind and selfless gesture, which meant so much to me and my family. And to YOU, who helped, using your own money to send it via Western Union, our sincerest thanks as well.

I love you guys so much. R.)