Popong 20 / Life Ordinary

1 Samuel 16:1
Samuel Anoints David
16 The Lord said to Samuel, “How long will you mourn for Saul, since I have rejected him as king over Israel? Fill your horn with oil and be on your way; I am sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem. I have chosen one of his sons to be king.”

1 Samuel 16:6-13

6 When they arrived, Samuel saw Eliab and thought, “Surely the Lord’s anointed stands here before Him.”

7 But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

8 Then Jesse called Abinadab and had him pass in front of Samuel. But Samuel said, “The Lord has not chosen this one either.”

9 Jesse then had Shammah pass by, but Samuel said, “Nor has the Lord chosen this one.”
10 Jesse had seven of his sons pass before Samuel, but Samuel said to him, “The Lord has not chosen these.”

11 So he asked Jesse, “Are these all the sons you have?”
“There is still the youngest,” Jesse answered. “He is tending the sheep.”
Samuel said, “Send for him; we will not sit down until he arrives.”

12 So he sent for him and had him brought in. He was glowing with health, had a fine appearance, and was handsome. Then the Lord said, “Rise and anoint him; this is the one.”

13 So Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him in the presence of his brothers, and from that day on, the Spirit of the Lord came powerfully upon David. Then Samuel went to Ramah.

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I love this passage—ah, the drama! The Lord does not depend on outward appearances, though David was indeed handsome. Instead, He looks at the heart, and it was David’s heart that set him apart.

Yet despite this divine selection, David faced crises, sins, and pain throughout his reign. This reminds us that life will never be magical or a bed of roses. True life is not a virtual experience; its realness is far from the ideal.

I have a good life. I am healthy, I have some financial security with my fixed income and extra work hours, and for now, no major issues or expenses are looming over me. Yet, I struggle. This morning, I checked my stock portfolio and started buying, only to be limited by the 9 AM trading start time. Then I got distracted by a sleek yet inexpensive Casio watch—about to buy another one simply for its design and affordability, despite already owning seven or eight watches, some of which I barely wear.

It occurred to me: having more than enough only fuels the desire to have even more. I had plenty of justifications—the watch was cheap, it would bring me pleasure, it was unique—but I had said the same things about my previous purchases. This is where the wisdom of the Holy Spirit becomes crucial: the wisdom to discern when something is vain and unnecessary, when something indulges the very human folly I criticized just yesterday. The folly of relying on material things for joy—a fleeting joy, an unnecessary one.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on mankind’s relentless quest for more. Material possessions never truly satisfy; they may temporarily fill a void, but that void only expands. It’s like packing a tooth cavity—if the infection remains, the filling won’t heal it and may even worsen the problem.

That’s why I am grateful for the time I had yesterday to read. My current book is about Daniel Suelo, a man who lives without money, in harmony with nature, and seemingly content. His biography allows me to experience his life vicariously. I admire people like him, those who defy society’s expectations—not in a revolutionary or destructive way, but simply by choosing a different path.

It was Suelo I thought of while browsing for that Casio watch. I already own five stylish watches. Realizing this, I abruptly stopped my search, much like how I disengage from social media when I sense its pull into a mindless abyss.

Ah, the lion’s den. It’s been a while since I used that term. I once associated it with the dark spaces of my past—the places that enabled sin. Thankfully, those have largely vanished from my life. But the den remains, now inhabited by different desires: material possessions, social media, investment gains. Yet, unlike before, I can resist these temptations. The pull is not as strong. I can turn away.

Yesterday, I walked five miles in the morning—returning to my old routine. Later, I picked up books I had finished reading, all about AI and technology, and added two more to my reading list.

On my way home, I passed by the park and then stopped at Publix for groceries. I was relieved to find that the homeless people who often approach me for money were absent. For a moment, I considered returning to that park in the afternoons. Its waterways are spectacular. But my relief was short-lived. Though Chris and the others were nowhere to be seen, I eventually noticed Jeff slumped over, his hood pulled low—clearly high. The woman with him, another regular, sat against the wooden fence, eyes closed but visibly intoxicated. They are still there, and they will likely never leave. This park is their home until something—miraculous or tragic—changes their fate.

Perhaps the Lord is sending me a message: Stay put in my usual walking park (JPP), where I can find peace. Or maybe, it’s time to seek new places, places where addicted homeless peoples don’t cast a constant shadow. Not necessarily upscale communities, but different people. I am not looking for the wealthy—I seek those who are homeless by choice, like Daniel Suelo or Mark Boyle, those who embrace simplicity and divine solitude. I don’t aspire to be a radical, nor do I wish to live like a Beat poet. I simply long for solitude and the pursuit of deeper thoughts.

I once desired to be a Catholic monk, but life had other plans—family responsibilities, my own nature, and worldly obligations led me down a different road. For decades, I resisted my love for contemplation, study, and philosophy. Instead, I forced myself into a life of work and service, pretending to enjoy the roles assigned to me. But now, in retirement, I have a second chance.

I am trying to reclaim what was lost. I do this by immersing myself in the biographies and philosophies of those who lived the life I once dreamed of. Through their words, I experience their solitude, their insights, their freedom.

I can no longer live the solitary and adventurous life they had. Age has tethered me, and my survival now depends on careful decisions. But I can still expand my mind, nurture my thoughts, and seek wisdom in the realm of the spirit. The physical pursuit may be limited, but my soul is still free. And that, in the end, is what truly matters.

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This is what happens when money becomes the god of a society. When wealth is the driving force, everything—regardless of its nature or necessity—must be managed based on profit, even when it goes beyond reason. I, too, was once tempted by money until I realized its futility—how it fuels vanity and draws me closer to sin. At one point, I had a surplus of income, and when that happened, it became much easier to spend excessively. What did I spend on? Useless luxuries. Worse, I paid for friendships and artificial love, enabled people's vices and addictions, and exposed myself to dangers and extreme stress. All because I had more money than I truly needed.

This is what is happening in the world today. A few have built mountains of gold beyond necessity, yet they cannot even touch it for fear of erosion and collapse. Their hearts and minds are consumed with maintaining or expanding their wealth.

"Too big to fail" is often their mantra. When a society becomes overly dependent on material wealth—when values are equated with riches, power, and fame, and personal worth is measured solely by these things—people inevitably lose sight of what truly matters.

We are composed of two parts: the material and the spiritual. As a human being, I cannot neglect one in favor of the other. Both must be nourished to experience true joy and fulfillment. This is where I stand today. I have enough resources to live comfortably, and even if I have more than I need, I choose not to be consumed by it. Instead, I devote myself to other aspects of life. I consider myself blessed by God in this regard. With the right mindset, I can spend my early mornings in contemplation and meditation, which fills my soul with immense harmony. This spiritual practice is the primary nourishment for my soul—the driving force of my body.

After meditation, I follow up with a walk or jog in the park. Doing this alone, free from distractions, allows me to witness the Lord’s presence in all of His creation while also keeping my body healthy and stable, a fitting vessel for my soul.

I wish this material-driven world could return to its basic and fundamental spirituality. True spirituality is the most fulfilling experience, offering joy and contentment. Yet, the world has nearly erased the significance of the spirit and of God, denying their existence, relying instead on the false gods of money and randomness.
2025-02-07 13:34:54
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