Twice touched by angels

The last thing any woman would do is part with her personal things except when an unmoved, non-sentimental force like a "husband" would hector her to do so. I solved mine by filing each piece of paper that has been labeled "too nice to throw away." The result? Four steel cabinets brimming with mushly, apple-pink blossom, honey-dripping, ant-swarming, and lactose-laced stuff!

Sifting through them, I came across a folder labeled "Jebo’s essays" written when my son was a boarding student in Ojai, California. One paper caught my attention. It read:

Touched by Angels By Fredrick "Jebo" J. Lopez

It was in the wee hours of a cool Saturday morning when Fredrick Mark J. Lopez was born on January 14, 1973. That’s me, "Jebo"! I was deemed a Roman Catholic even before I was aware of my faculties and surroundings. My baptism sealed that.

I was taught the biblical stories, the sacraments, and basically just about everything a good practicing Catholic is expected to know. What we learned at home was complemented by what we learned in school. As I grew older, my curiosity about life and everything in it grew stronger. Religion was a daily fare.

I clearly remember my mother coming to my room before bedtime. She would hold my hand and pray for and with me until I was old enough to do it on my own. "Please bless Mommy, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa, my cousins, friends, etc. Simply put, prayer meant two things – asking something from and thanking God for.

I also remember the Sunday Masses with the family. I disliked going to Sunday Masses when there was the swimming pool or the soccer field waiting for me. But one experience changed all that. I had a "conversion."

We were still living in Manila, Philippines. I had visited my cousins in a small neighborhood called San Lorenzo Village and I decided to spend the night with them. It was warm and breezy and there was a full moon; its beam was so bright that it cast a clear, romantic glow on the streets and the trees. Even if it was close to midnight, my cousin Luigi, his other brother Jason, my Uncle Leo and I were wide awake. "You are all hyper," said my Auntie Monette.

We decided to teach Luigi how to ride a bike. I was Luigi’s anchor, running and holding the back seat as my other cousin Jason, and my uncle Leo, walked behind. We almost got to the end of the street when Luigi fell sideways to his right. I ran to his aid but he didn’t respond. He was sitting upright focusing his eyes at the sky and then he pointed slowly upward. I was dumb-founded! Luigi and I saw three silhouettes of... angels. It was spectacular! The vision was clearly etched in my mind.

It was like a painting: The moon was big and round. It looked like you could reach out and touch it with your bare hands. To the west were three silhouettes. They were white and they had well-contoured wings. They flew directly towards the bright glow of the moon. Their eyes were round and big. Luigi and I stared at this phenomenon for a long time. It was like watching a movie – in slow motion. It seemed to last forever. I could hear my cousin Jason and my Uncle Leo running towards us. They were worried that Luigi was hurt. Instead they were confused to find us staring at the sky. Like in a trance, Luigi and I pointed to what we saw and all that my uncle and Jason could see was the moon. At this point, two of the angels smiled and waved at us before slowly vanishing behind the moon’s glow. I felt something light, a radiance that was most uplifting, something that I had never felt before. I felt peace and there was a strong surge of well-being. Wow! It was great. From that moment on, I believed in God. I was only 11.

Months passed and Luigi’s family left for America. We also moved to New Zealand. I grew apart from Luigi and I didn’t get a chance to see him until four years later. I went to the States to visit our relatives in Los Angeles along with my parents. I stayed with Luigi for a week. One night, when we were playing Atari, Luigi turned to me and asked, "Do you remember that night in San Lorenzo Village?"

We looked at each other, finding a common bond which confirmed that this rare experience happened to us. It was not a dream. Once again, I was filled with inner peace.

I am definitely not going to be a priest nor do I intend to trek off to Tibet and become a monk. Religion does not do that to me although I find that it influences my goals and beliefs. I believe in the goodness of man so it makes it easy for me to be open and honest with my feelings. I love animals too and believe that they deserve to be set free in the wild or cared for with compassion. I still go to Mass every Sunday, say the rosary and keep one in my pocket all the time, receive the Holy Eucharist as often as possible, pray before and after meals, and more.

Practicing my religion has made me more tolerant and understanding of other religions especially since I have made friends in school who come from different ethnic, cultural and religious backgrounds. There is much kindness, beauty and tenderness in other religions like Islam, Buddhism, Taoism and Judaism. I don’t practice their ways, but I certainly respect their beliefs.

Would my understanding (or tolerance) of the diversity of man’s beliefs come any easier and faster if my "conversion" didn’t occur? Hmmm... hard to answer.

It was a joyous moment and, most humbling too. I still think about it from time to time. The wondering has not stopped.

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Is it any wonder why I can’t let go of sweet stuff and things and all nice ding-a-lings?