The hand of God
Truth can be as wonderful as any fairy tale. Human history over the centuries since recorded time is replete with legends that mirror the most sterling of mankind’s values his heroism, his love of life and family, his ingenuity, his dogged instincts to survive setbacks, his hopes for the future and his realization that a Being higher than himself has a hand in his destiny.
In fact, true events can indeed be more wondrous than any urban legend. Let me share with you one of my favorite stories that happened way back in the 1940s.
A humble congressman’s wife wished to make good use of her time between official duties and tending to her brood of nine children. So she decided to learn as much as she could about the fine art of “sewing.” After all, she had kids of her own to practice with. She enrolled herself at the Maffei Institute of Fashion in Malate, Manila. On the eve of her graduation, World War II broke out. Her husband, a reserve officer, left Manila for Bataan, to join MacArthur’s staff as Judge Advocate General.
He served with distinction and won a battlefield promotion just before the army surrendered to take the notorious “Death March” to Capas Concentration Camp. Many months later, he was released, but sadly came home to die of malaria before his 44th birthday. The young widow of 30 was now alone, with nine small children to raise all by herself.
Thank God, she had learned a skill to support her family with- the art of sewing. She then recalled what St. Matthew had said in that very Sunday’s Gospel (in 6:8) “Your Father knows what you need even before you ask Him.” God knew, and knowing, He had made her ready for it.
Apparently, God continued to watch over her family. The young mother opened a sari-sari store at the ground floor of the family home on Herran (now Pedro Gil) street, tended to by the elder kids, while she took in sewing orders. The Jesuit Philippine Province gave her the task of sewing up the white cassocks of all its priests and scholastics, including the American Jesuits under detention. At least, this put food on the table, while the children won scholarships to get on with schooling.
But there was more in life in store for the family. One day in early 1944, just over a year after she lost her husband, the mother was at the confessional with her Father Confessor, Rev. Joseph MacCaffrey, a blind Jesuit priest in his eighties. She was startled when he suddenly said: “Pelang, I know it’s you by your voice. Listen, I have a message for you. When you go home from here today, tell your children to pack up as much as they can carry. Bring the family back to Ilocos, where you were born. There you will be with relatives and friends, and never go hungry. Something terrible is going to happen here, and God wants you and all your nine children to survive.”
Taking serious heed of his warning, this woman of unwavering faith rushed home to give her children what she believed were God’s marching orders. Her second son, a talented 10-year-old boy, cried over the piano he had to leave behind, pacified himself by packing up his favorite toy soldiers. Meanwhile, her eldest son, aged 12, quickly gathered up his precious journals. It took all of three days to organize their belongings and find a relative to look after the house while they were gone. Before the third day was up, they were all on an open-air cargo truck bound for the north, sitting on top of their luggage.
The rest is history. Early in February of 1945, the holocaust of war fell on southern Manila, where the family home was sited. American and Japanese artilleries rained death down on it. Enraged enemy patrols went from door to door, shooting anyone they came upon. The Spanish Consulate next door burned down around those who had mistakenly sought refuge there. Another next-door family was decimated, leaving only two surviving members Esty Juco (who later became congresswoman for the Disabled, having lost an arm and an eye) and a younger sister.
Don Elpidio Quirino (destined to become President of the Philippines) who lived nearby, survived with only two of his children, Vicky and Tommy. The Marquez sisters, who ran the corner “Farmacia Marquez” were both killed. All the houses in the area were razed to the ground. Coming back from Ilocos a week after the Battle of Manila, the family found three blackened stone steps, all that remained of their home.
Today, the close-knit family of the late mother of our tale numbers way over a hundred individuals, ranging from one to 81 years of age. They are engaged in practically every field of human endeavor. Among them we find bankers and businessmen, lawyers and CPAs, educators and engineers, a priest, an opera singer, honor students, realtors and journalists but not a single politician.
To think that none of them would have been around today, but for what can only be described as divine intervention, some people would ascribe the turn of events for this family to “good luck.” To me, it was clearly a case of “good God.” Was this family just lucky or were they blest? I say “Deo Gratias,” thanks be to God. I should know that family well. I married into it.
The 10-year-old boy who lived to share this precious tale is none other than my dear father-in-law, Guillermo V. Soliven, whom we fondly call Papa Willie. He is the second son of the late Pelagia V. Soliven and Assemblyman Benito T. Soliven.
Today Papa Willie, at 81, is most grateful for his wife Ofelia, his six children Benny, Philip, Dennis, Bookie, Ginette and Carla, plus six children-in-law, 13 grandchildren, his siblings and all their families.
He thanks God every single day for his happy, blessed life.
(Love to hear from you at miladayjewels@yahoo.com.)
