HERITAGE

Nestor S. Cuasay

Father, the evening is still young. The cold will still be colder. But it does not matter if the tiny candle I have lit only earlier is about ready to die. It must be as beautiful to sleep out here with you in the open with or without the warmth of fire. Again, Father, I have come to pay homage and to say how grateful I am. Here in this world of silence, where no none can interfere save perhaps the tiny flame here that flickers and some distant leaves humming themselves to sleep, receive anew my thanks. Words I know can only fall short in expressing gratitude, but fill in with your usual benevolence the gap my words will fail to bridge.

Thank you father, for teaching me lessons in the past, without which I cannot now solve today's problems. Thank you for giving me reason to enjoy today's bounty, not the sorrow of mulling over yesterday's debt. Thank you for bequeathing to me hope, not despair; foresight, not blindness with which to look forward into the future with confidence.

Thank you for waiting for me late in the night, then, when in acts of flimsy rebellion I just chose to go astray and for no reason I found out often, as when I searched for excuses in my empty pockets I found nothing there. Thank you for not raising a finger in anger. I will always listen to this lesson in sobriety you wished conveyed so eloquent in what you left unsaid.

Thank you for the kind word, I will make the amends. Thank you for the warm advice, I will make the decision. Thank you for the consolidation, I will do better as I try again. Thank you for the will, I will find the way.

Thank you for a healthy body patterned after your own physique; and for a healthier mind moulded in the atmosphere of love you built.

Thank you for the name I am proud to carry wherever I go.

But above all, thanks for the gift of faith which you helped me find, at home before the evening table, or in church at the confessional where I learned how to win happily over pride in a sweet encounter with the unseen Spirit.

Thank you for teaching me how to fold my knees even when I feel tall; how to discover my worth, by looking at the sky with downcast eyes. Thank you for teaching me the prayers I find cheerful company when sometimes As i look around I find that closest friend or even God seems far away.

Father, look.

The tiny candle I have lit only earlier now flickers even more. And from its wick, white smoke trails upwards, slithering like strands of silver in the dark, bringing back memories of your grey hair. I know the smoke will not linger long as white ribbons in the dark. It climbs up high hurriedly because it desires to form part of tomorrow's sky. And I know why the tiny candle flickers in eager haste to receive your gift, desiring to improve upon this legacy, praying I may if I could multiply it into a hundredfold.

Goodnight.

But tomorrow, I will come back and burn many more candles in your memory.

Sleep now. And allow the warmth of my gratitude to keep your bones company against the cold.

Enjoy the peace you have earned. Enjoy the sleep I dream I may also deserve.

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