By Baby Hofileña

When Baby Hofileña shared some of her ‘journey’ a few issues back, she never mentioned that she is a member of the Focolare Movement. The Focolare Movement does not preach very loudly in words but it does affects the lives of the members so I asked Baby to tell us something about this hidden but powerful movement which is having such an effect throughout the world. (Ed.)

I am Baby, 71 years old, and my husband, Cris, is 76. In the January-February 2000 issue of Misyon, Fr. Niall O’ Brien published an article of mine entitled, The Best Time is Now. It showed how one’s wrong attitudes and behavior, with God’s grace, can gradually be turned around into seeking His will and discovering His love. I owe this to many graces but in a special way to the Focolare Movement which I came to in midlife.

I went to the ‘City of Mary’

Focolare came to the Philippines in 1966 and Tagaytay has become the seat of the Movement is Asia. I first met the Movement in 1976 when two Focolarinos came to Bacolod from Manila and gave a little morning talk in a Catholic college in Binalbagan, a town south of Bacolod in Negros Occidental. They did not say anything much other what I already knew, I thought. But their simplicity in sharing how they were living the Gospel concretely was what struck me. They invited us to attend a Focolare three-day summer gathering called Mariapolis (City of Mary). I went.

That’s when I heard about Chiara Lubich and her special spiritual way centered on the gospels a way of life. And it was that way of life that helped me through the various crises which befell me about ten years ago. Once the children were safely on their way – more or less – life became a bit more tranquil till I came up against a serious health problem – my heart. Then followed a series of heart attacks which had a special significance. That was when the spirituality of Focolare meant so much to me.

Heart Attack

October 28, 1991 I had a myocardial heart attack followed by a potassium collapse four months later. What did not happen at the hospital happened at home about two months afterwards when I had my third and most serious heart attack again – dawn of Easter Sunday 1992. It was a  fibrillation cardiac arrest and I was asleep when it happened. Luckily my husband heard me making unnatural sounds and I was brought to the hospital before the point to no return. But the resident physicians couldn’t revive me. They called my personal doctor Susan Logronio and informed her that I seemed ‘gone’. Good thing she lived just nearby and after telling them not to give up trying, she was beside me in no time, in coat dress and slippers only. Dr. Ernesto Namin – another personal Doctor – arrived a few more minutes later and together they ‘butchered’ me – as my daughter-in-law would describe it – cutting through main thigh arteries, gory blood and all, without anesthesia (no time and no need for it anyway) to let it tubes that would bring medicine direct to the heart. I couldn’t care less as I was dead out.

Happy Easter!

My heart started to beat again after all that and six electric shocks and as I emerged it was early dawn of Easter Sunday! The whole period for me was almost literally like a sharing in Christ’s Passion and Resurrection, I was in blissful coma for three days not knowing that Dr. Namin had been preparing the family for the worst, himself not knowing if or when I  would come out of it and, if I should,  what my condition would be. However I did come out of it on the fourth day but I was oblivious to everything around me. in short, for another week, I was in a state of amnesia.

Letter from Focolare

A short letter to time from Cebu Focolare – the word means fireplace in Italian – reap simply, “We entrust you to God. Embrace Jesus forsaken.” It was enough. Scripture says, “All things work out for good to those who love the Lord.” Perhaps it does also work out for those who want and try their best to. For me all these turned out to be a blessing. I was spared from experiencing and remembering any trauma or discomfort during those critical days. Slowly as my faculties returned, they were all normal as if nothing happened.

Everyday can be Easter

No one can fathom the mystery, the wonder and the beauty that God works in and around us when we put ourselves in His hands trusting Him like a child completely dependent on his father. It had helped me so much to be relaxed and even cheerful in moments of great suffering. A slow recovery and convalescence followed. Easter Sunday will always have a special meaning for me – a rebirth both physical and spiritual. I realized that each time I die to myself, my ego, my pride, my selfishness, and even my ideas for love and unity with my neighbor, I overcome death; I rise and live again with the Risen Lord. Everyday can and should be Easter for us all.

What can I say about all these wonders that God has done for me? No one can deserve such love. Those who know me would say that I still have a mission to do. I laughingly told Fr. O’B that he is making that possible by putting my story in Misyon. To think that I am just here in my little place but able to reach thousands of readers, even across oceans.