I was feeling bad one day when I thought of flipping the pages of my journal.
In one page I wrote two years ago, I read this line “A confrere-friend shared with me that when he was in the novitiate, he promised not to look at flowers so as not to lose his focus on God. I was awe-inspired.”
Last March, one entry reads “I was gently moved with one aspirant when I raised my voice at him. I expected him to react negatively—to justify his deed, perhaps—but I was surprised when he gently reminded me to correct him in private. My anger faded away.”
Turning to another page, I realized that I jotted a personal observation in my journal when we came back from Tarlac after the thanksgiving mass of Fr. Reggie. An aspirant caught my interest for he was the last person who left the bus. He silently collected the wrappers of bread left by the rest of the community.
On Valentine’s day, my heart leapt when I read this entry. “A 16-year old teenager, a close friend, texted me this text message. He told me that the he’s preparing himself to be consecrated to God.” He was due to enter the seminary this year.
Apart from soothing my wounded soul after recalling these journal entries, I noted one thing common to all of them. All of these are concrete practices of love and they show me concretely what love actually looks like.