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Life Lessons I Learned from June Candelaria |
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What follow is
my own personal impressions of our friend and brother in the Lord, June
Candelaria.
June is a man of a few words. He is most animated when it comes to sports.
For instance, I
hardly watch basketball. Yet I learned from June about the final 16, final 8,
final 4 and final 2 during one NCAA basketball play-off run. I remember
drinking in the excitement in their family room; the air was electric. If you
ever watched a Pacquiao fight-LIVE, you would say, "ah-hah, I know what
you mean." June's enthusiasm is infectious, as with him, I joined the
others watch North Carolina beat the University of Illinois; him and me and
others were glued to their big screen TV. That must have been 4 years ago.
For at least
two years following that, June served as a deacon in the church. I remember him
well during the mortgage-burning ceremony. He had blue jeans on. In some
circles, that would raise eyebrows. Personally, in my head, I thought:
"Cool." Whether it is during leadership huddles or after he missed
one, the amiable look in his eyes through his glasses, his warm smile and
gentle handshake remain the same. At the end of many a worship service, June
would engage me in a classic masculine gesture, a handclasp locking thumbs or
bumping chests with a tap on a shoulder blade; whether the preacher felt he
sucked or the sermon shone, his greeting remained the same, sincere and
affirming. Standing with him is Kuya Flor or Bojet. Now, it would be hard to
look at these men without being reminded of June.
Five months
ago, I text messaged a pastor friend. I asked for prayer as the UofA Hospital emergency
staff suspected cancer. I had the privilege of walking with June when the
diagnosis became official. Through rounds of radiation and chemotherapy, his
courage and will to live never waned. I watched as his immediate family in town
and from far away came together to show their affection. I learned that June is
his family's "go-to" person whenever sibling, niece or nephew is in a
crunch. My admiration for the man of a few words grew.
His faith in
Christ is sure. His sister reports of him singing the classic hymns with his
mom. According to Sally, he recites from memory the twenty-third Psalm to lull
himself to sleep. His uh-hmmms and amens are audible when we pray together. He
prayed Psalm 86 (from the New Living Translation) repeating after me as I read
each line last Tuesday.
Last Thursday
night, the elders' meeting was cancelled. It was a welcome break. It meant an
earlier visit with June at Grey Nuns. I could stay longer. I noticed his
breathing is labored, but his senses were sharp. We were relishing the
conversation. As he moved to sit on the edge of his bed to take his meds, he
prayed aloud: "Salamat Panginoong Diyos sa buhay ko." (Thank You Lord
God for my life.) He prayed another line of praise. As I was leaving, I saw the
familiar amiable look as he thanked me and said, "Salamat... huwag ka
sanang magsasawa." (Thanks... don't get tired [of me, us]) Given the
immediate context, I thought that's what he meant. Little did June know that
given the kind of challenges I face at any given point, his last four words in
Tagalog "...huwag ka sanang magsasawa" (literal translation: don't
get fed up) could have very well been a message from the Lord Himself.
After midnight,
June became restless and the struggle with pain intensified. Throughout the
brief bout with cancer, may I add that he endured the pain quietly? His
determination to prevail is obvious through his brave demeanor. In what would
be his final night, he signaled a two thumbs up to indicate it's all good. He
would fall asleep on Sally's bosom in an embrace. A few short hours later, at
dawn yesterday, Friday October 23, June finally slept, now very still, to wake up
in the joy of the Lord's presence forever.
I text messaged
the same pastor friend again, exactly 5 months and 7 days from the time I sent
my first text message at the UofA emergency, this time I invited him, our
elders and deacons to praise the Lord God that He determined it best to take
June home with Jesus.
The life
lessons I learned from June? I have lots to go if I ever am to become a person
of a few words; to look amiably and sincerely at every one with whom I lock
eyes. Should I ever have to endure physical pain, I hope to replay in the video
screen of my mind June's courage and will to live and prevail in spite of the
pain. To always seize the moment. To determine with full intention to exert the
extra effort even if it seems irrational and inconvenient when the situation is
literally between life and death. To never give up. June's last words to me and
the short glimpse God allowed me to watch in June's life reminds me of a word I
determined to delete permanently out of my vocabulary and that is the word,
quit. By God's grace, I say with June, "Quit? No, never!"
ricky p. mapa, pastor
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