24/06/2025
THE HOUSE WITH MANY ROOMS
There once lived a couple, Manuel and Teresa, in a sleepy provincial town, where mornings began with rooster calls and evenings ended with whispered prayers. They fell in love not for what they had, but for the dreams they carried.
They started with a sari-sari store attached to their modest wooden house. Teresa would manage the store with a baby strapped to her back, while Manuel delivered goods to nearby barangays using an old motorcycle that coughed every time it moved. Life was hard, but they had laughter, shared silence, and each other.
In the span of 12 years, five children came into their world—Elena, Marco, Luis, Andrea, and Joel.
They were loud, messy, full of questions, and always hungry for attention. Manuel and Teresa would stay up late to sew old uniforms, plan birthday surprises even with little money, and hold hands under the table when bills threatened to drown them.
But they had a dream.
A perfect family.
Not just with love, but with comfort, stability, and everything their children could ever want.
So they worked. They expanded. They turned their sari-sari store into a general merchandise shop, then into a hardware, then a chain of supply stores across neighboring towns. Soon, they had a fleet of trucks, bank accounts that could sleep easy, and properties in their name.
Their children went to the best schools in the city.
Marco became an engineer in Dubai.
Elena managed a company in Makati.
Luis studied medicine and moved to Canada.
Andrea got married in the States.
Joel, the youngest, became a pilot.
But the more the business grew, the less the family sat around the table.
The old Sunday lunches turned into bank meetings.
The birthday cakes became bank transfers.
The laughter? Replaced by phone calls saying, “Sorry, I can’t come home this time.”
Teresa began to forget how her children laughed.
Manuel often stared at their empty dining table and asked, “Wasn’t this supposed to be for them?”
Years passed. Their mansion on the hill had ten rooms—but only two were occupied. The others remained untouched, preserved like time capsules: trophies on shelves, old toys in boxes, curtains still printed with cartoon characters long outgrown.
On Christmas, only the helpers were home.
One night, Teresa whispered as she looked out the window:
"What’s the use of a wide house if no one comes home?"
Manuel replied, "We built an empire for them... but lost the kingdom of us."
They realized too late:
They gave their children everything—except their time.
They wanted a perfect family, but chased perfection in the wrong direction.
And so, the couple who once had nothing but each other, now had everything—except the laughter that once echoed in the halls, the sticky kisses of toddlers, the messy mornings, the noise, the chaos, the love… the memories.
They had money. But no moments.
They had rooms. But no return.
They had built a perfect house… but forgot to build a home.
“A perfect family isn’t made of full plates and fancy homes. It’s made of time, love, and the noise you’ll someday miss.” 💔
Sad story right? so unfair... 🤢🥲
BUT WHAT IF I TELL YOU THAT GOD ALWAYS HAS AN IMPERFECTLY PERFECT PLAN... What if it was a different story...carefully crafted by the almighty..what if the youngest FAILED ACADEMICALLY?
THE MISFIT WHO STAYED
In every family, there’s often one who doesn’t quite fit the mold.
Not the achiever. Not the star. Not the one with medals, promotions, or passports.
Just the blacksheep. The quiet one. The one who stayed.
His name was Joel.
The youngest of five.
While his siblings soared becoming doctors, engineers, entrepreneurs, Joel chose simplicity.
He didn’t chase cities or careers. He didn’t own a house, nor did he dream of luxury.
Instead, he stayed in the very home he was raised in—his parents’ aging house with creaking stairs and fading walls.
He worked odd jobs. Sold snacks. Repaired appliances. Whatever was honest and enough.
When people asked why he didn’t “try harder,” he’d just smile and say, “I’m trying where I’m needed most.”
He fell in love with a woman who didn’t mind shared rice and small dreams.
Together, they raised children inside the home Joel once ran barefoot through, his parents'
And in those walls, laughter returned. Toys reappeared. The smell of sinigang filled the air again.
His parents, once surrounded by silence, now woke up to giggles and tiny footsteps.
Joel was the one who carried his father to the bathroom when his legs grew weak.
He was the one who massaged his mother’s back after long, sleepless nights.
He brought them medicine, cooked for them, he scheduled with doctors to make house visits.
He never gave them riches.
But he gave them presence.
He gave them his time.
And through his children, he gave them joy.
While his siblings from across the sea though worried, can't come home to visit but offered to shoulder everything, Joel offered something they couldn’t wire through remittance: companionship.
He was the disappointment who became their comfort.
The misfit who became their anchor.
The one they once underestimated… became their greatest blessing in the end.
And when his father whispered with a trembling voice one afternoon,
"Annak... I thought you were the least of them. But you are the one who gave us life again."
Joel didn’t reply. He just held his father’s hand. And smiled.
Because some roles are not meant to shine in the eyes of society, they’re meant to serve quietly in the will of God.
He was not a failure. He was the fulfillment of a divine plan.
A living proof that in God’s great story, even the smallest chapters hold the greatest truth:
Sometimes, the misfit is the miracle.
And the one who stayed… was never behind. He was exactly where love needed him to be.🫶🥰🙏
