ABC STARS Inspires

'Hey man, David! I am the Guardian of The Garden. Berihun Schutzengel is my name. That is an Ethiopian name meaning "let him be our gate/our guidance.' 'Do not worry, here you get to relax a bit.' Berihun aimed at the left portion of the aviary and pulled the trigger of his weapon. It was a blank bullet. Then a thousand white, immaculate doves flew towards their direction, just about thirty meters above them. "Big wow!" were the words he could say, David was bedazzled. He noticed the doves leaving a trail of luminous blue light. "They need a little training. They are part of the Blue Army. And I am one of the Generals. Berihun dissolved into laughter. 'Let's go man.' 'This is The Garden. We will have  refreshments with someone special. He wanted to speak with you, David.' 'David, It is my great honor and privilege to introduce to you Saint John Paul II.' 'Hello,

'Spes !' 'David... Welcome to the realm of the unseen! I am Von Schutzengel. It has been a long journey for you. We will enter the Gate of Hope shortly.' David noticed Von's striking green eyes. It seemed that he felt hope. And he recalled from long ago that Von is a name of Norse origin that means just that— Hope. 'You have to put this around you, David. It is the Cloak of Faith. You will be only allowed to see things and places and talk to spirits that have been selected and prepared for you. All of which will be imprinted in your memory. It will guide you once you are back on earth.' 'One of those who perished in the accident is your older brother, Henry. You will see him now just like as you see him on earth.' "Henry. My brother," he said as he hugged him. "You died. Tears fell from his eyes. I am so sorry. I did not mean to... " 'Little brother, it is great to see you. I am glad I was given the

'David! Wake up... ' He struggled to open his eyes and saw an angel in full battle gear. "Who are you?" 'Well, Sir, they call me Preben Schutzengel. I am in charge of the series of battles. Good news David, we have won eight battles so far. You may not be aware of it but I have a legion of ten thousand angels under my command.' "That is numerous!" David was in awe and, "Thank you," he spoke humbly. 'The accident was unexpected. It was not supposed to happen. You are our messenger on earth and your mission is of utmost relevance. We have been trying to do a wired chastisement. And from your corner of the world you have been, successfully, carrying out your mission.' Preben motioned with his hand pointing to the panoramic view of the wide glass window. 'Here in the waiting realm, it always rains. It is cleansing of the mind and spirit.'  'People are suffering, crying out to the heavens.'

♪, ♫ Two old friends meet again Wearin' older faces And talk about the places they've been ♪, ♫ He checked his watch— a quarter past two. The bilingual announcements from the Frankfurt Airport speakers detailed the arrival of the Lufthansa Flight from London-Heathrow in thirty eight minutes. Luke Ritter could not contain his excitement, he was, finally, going to see Stella Graham. After fourteen years or so. Stella was the first one to spot Luke from her vantage point. She almost did not recognize him. His hair was salt and pepper. 'Luke!' It was music to his ears, Luke saw her. She was stunning. He beamed ear to ear. His eyes lit up and said, "Honey, I missed you so much. Beyond words." They decided to have a little something to eat at one of the airport restaurants. "Remember when we got lost in Bangkok?" 'Yeah,' she said, in between sipping her coffee. 'It was my idea to get a map,' she laughed. 

' Pax Romana ! David Lancaster... ' He paused as David began to trace where the voice was coming from. All he could see was a radiance of blinding light. The glass of water, he remembered. It fell from his grip and shattered into myriad pieces. And there was a heavy downpour. Now, by the river he could feel the slight drizzle but his clothes were still drenched. Although he was trying to figure out what happened. Echoes. A crash. Then complete darkness. A sliver of confusion about time and places. "Who is that?" he mumbled while he scanned the bare hospital room. Then, ever so slowly, the light became muted and his sight, intermittently, began regaining its normal focus. He was startled. 'Hello, David. My name is Fullbright Schutzengel, your guardian angel. You have been in a coma for three months. Your van crashed into the river while you tried to avoid a speeding bus. Sadly, your three friends drowned and your two other friends survived.'

'Entschuldigung Sie bitte... ' and a barrage of more Swiss German sentences. I was just standing there like a lamp post waiting for my family. But maybe, I was, strategically, positioned like an information booth for lost people with the intention of asking for directions. The old Swiss man seemed bewildered as I got lost in translation. I was at The Zürich Hauptbahnhof or The Zurich Central Station. It was teeming with people in a frenetic atmosphere with trains coming and going. He was carrying a seemingly heavy duffel bag and I was speechless. I did not understand what he was talking about at all. And I was trying to remember the Swiss German phrase for, "I don't understand you." Being a writer, I guess... exudes an air of confidence that we know everything... ha-ha. As a tourist though, I was confounded that I could not help him and left me confused and, understandably, helpless.  Unlike what I experienced in Singapore, where I stood out. In

"Why do you always do that?" his celestial sister inquired, finally, after all these years. "What?" he asked amused. "When you write, you always look out the window... " "Oh. That. Grandpa told me that a looong time ago when he was still alive." You know writers, well—at least some of us, we are almost always in solitude. We thrive in the silent stillness of a quiet room. The only way for us to be part of the world are occasional glances or glimpses of the view from our chair. Somehow, we feel connected and interwoven into God's grand design. And when a reader digests our words, he or she feels that our work, at least we hope, that it is meant for him or her alone. No one else. That exceptional feeling is priceless . When the reader realizes that the inspiration which a writer had put into words is the magical communication such is essentially — a gift — that they can cherish and share with others.  Having said th

DEDICATION To: BERNARDITA September 6, 1933-August 19, 1994 My fondest, fairest face in all the world. Beloved wife and mother of fourteen, lovely grandmother of nine (so far) and loving sister to all; whose thirty-nine years, three months and fifteen days of life upon this earth shared with me—God's gift—was the most elevating excitement of my soul. Poetry in its pristine purity. —jamc

THE BIBLE is not a collection of myths and legends as the "intellectuals" of today would like it to be. Genesis, for instance, is on the contrary a capsulized form—what twentieth century intellectual could better such a summary—of the fact of creation. The Book of Genesis, in the language of science today, could well be— In the beginning, at Zero-moment when time began, there burst forth the Ultra Nova. And there was light. The amazing nova is a sudden stupendous outburst of energy which increases the brightness of a star temporarily up to 100,000-fold; in a supernova, up to several billion-fold. The Crab nebula in the galaxies was found to have been the remnants of a supernova in 1054. Astrophysicists had long discarded the Collision Theory and the Planetary Nebulae theory on the origin of the Earth. Energy, as the basic concept of Physics can neither be created nor destroyed but may ultimately be lost by imperceptible dissipation. It is known by man today

THE EVOLUTIONISTS are not wrong when they illustrate all life on earth as a tree — the "Tree of Life". The question, however, is the consistency and completeness of their theories. For they omit the characteristic that makes a tree the highest specie of the plant kingdom—the seed bearing fruit. For precisely, if life on earth is a tree, each part is to remain as it is, a root as a root, the trunk as a trunk, and a leaf as a leaf, that the tree be a tree. A tree which in the fullness of time produced as the fruit, the crowning glory of creation—Man. Man, the seed-bearing fruit whose source is neither root nor trunk nor branch, but the Maker of that tree. And the science of Genetics (which we owe largely to the Austrian monk, Gregor Mendel) confirms this. For a branch by itself cannot produce (evolve) the seed-bearing fruit of a tree even though, to all appearances, it seemingly does. Nemo dat quod non habet . No thing can give what it does not have. Non sequi