In one of my short walks after buying a dinner in a fast food restaurant, I came across this little and shabby house made of wood. You can easily distinguish from the pale color of the paint that the owner of the house doesn’t have that much budget to repaint it again. Yet, he still managed to put a set of cheap lights for the house to look and feel as if it was a star rushed away from heaven.
In the place where I currently live, people have different ways of putting those lights to their homes. Some lights are near their house’s gateway, some are on their verandas, and some would put it on a tiny portion of their house’s façade.
I envy them. For me, those lights represent hope which the family embraces. They are schematic evidence of their love for their God, the preparation for the birth of Christ. This is the reason why I help my Aunt’s house put those glistening lights on her house. It’s a little way of sharing the joy we felt over the season, a gesture that would make a street kid stare and point over that shimmering crystal like bulbs. But my father’s house doesn’t have a single ornament that could make someone beam. Not a single representation of our willingness to welcome Him. This and some other reasons make our house as cold as a cemetery.
But I’m still happy. Even though the Philippines is eminent for its terrorism attacks and the growing poverty it faces, there are still hope and bliss that surrounds such tiny and dilapidated houses I see in the corner of the street. A little lantern, be it on paper or recycled wrappers from junk foods, makes me smile and say: Amen, welcome dear God.