John invited his mother over for dinner. During the meal, his mother couldn't help noticing how beautiful John's roommate Julie was. She had long been suspicious of a relationship between John and his roommate, and this only made her more curious.

Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between John and the roommate than met the eye. Reading his mom's thoughts, John volunteered, "I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Julie and I are just roommates."

About a week later, Julie came to John and said, "Ever since your mother came to dinner, I can't find the beautiful silver gravy ladle. You don't suppose she took it, do you?" John said, "Well, I doubt it, but I'll write her a letter just to be sure."

So he sat down and wrote: "Dear Mother, I'm not saying you 'did' take a gravy ladle from my house, and I'm not saying you 'did not' take a gravy ladle. But the fact remains that one has been missing ever since you were here for dinner. Love, John"

Several days later, John received a letter from his mother which read: "Dear Son, I'm not saying that you 'do' sleep with Julie, and I'm not saying that you 'do not' sleep with Julie. But the fact remains that if she were sleeping in her own bed, she would have found the gravy ladle by now. Love, Mom"

Filipino Catholics imbue their Holy Week celebrations with a special kind of fervor. It is a time for spiritual cleansing, religious street theater and processions, penitentes or flagellants and passion plays.

Holy Week begins on Palm Sunday and culminates on Easter Sunday. On days in between, each region around the country holds its version of the different significant rites. On Holy Wednesday, ceremonies reenacting the washing of the feet of the apostles are held in churches around the country. The devout visit as many as seven churches on Maundy Thursday to mark the Bisita Iglesia or church visitation. Good Friday is a solemn day wherein priests give a sermon on Christ's Seven Last Words after which a late afternoon procession called the Santo Entierro is held honoring the dead Christ depicted in an image usually referred to as the Santo Sepulchro.

Beginning Holy Monday, wooden images of Christ and the saints are paraded through the town's streets to be finally held in the church on Good Friday. Each icon is owned and cared for by a different family.

This year, my friends and I with hubby joined the thousands of devotees and decided to go to Laguna Province. We visited its old churches (most of them built between 1500-1700). Here are pictures of some of the churches we visited.

When I was in college, I had to stay in a boarding house because I lived thousands of miles away from my school. Most of the time I was left all alone in our room on weekends. I would spend my weekend going out with friends from other schools but there was this one weekend that I decided to just relax. Having nothing to do, I tried rearranging the furniture and while doing so I stumbled upon one of my roommate’s scrapbook. It had beautiful colors and designs on the cover which made it very tempting to read. What was I to do? I had always been jealous of my roommate who happened to be also my classmate. I had been used to getting the attention of my family and friends back home for my talents so when I joined her in this room, I started feeling uncomfortable to have as a roommate someone whose endearing personality and many talents made her my board mates’ favorite. I competed with her tacitly and grew to resent her natural abilities. I felt it necessary to shatter her shadow with achievements of my own. It reached a point when we stopped talking to each other except when we were with the group. Her scrapbook lay there within my reach, and I was deciding whether to open it or not.

Since, all she did was tell beautiful stories of her past, I picked up the book from her writing desk and opened it, fanning through the pages, hoping to see the other side of her. She had lots of pictures of her high school days with detailed descriptions of the people and the memories she shared with them. After going through many pages, I came across pictures of my board mates and me. As I read the captions written under my picture, the blood ran from my face. I felt faint and slouched to the floor. She portrayed me as the person who has inspired her most. I started to cry.

I was her hero. She admired me for my personality, my achievements and, ironically, my integrity. She wanted to be like me. She had been watching me all the three years we have been together, quietly marveling over my choices and actions. I ceased reading, struck with the crime I had committed. I had expended so much energy into pushing her away that I had missed out on her. I had wasted years resenting someone capable of magic - and now I had violated her trust. It was I who had lost something beautiful, and it was I who would never allow myself to do such a thing again.

Reading the earnest words she had written seemed to melt an icy barrier around my heart, and I longed to know her again. I was finally able to put aside the petty insecurity that kept me from her. The day she arrived from her weekend break, I decided to go to her - this time to experience instead of to judge, to embrace instead of to fight. After all, she was my friend.

Thankful Thursday: What VIAMARIE is thankful for this week For having JOY when those around are discouraged and discontent. For demonstrating SELF-CONTROL when those around have none. For practicing PATIENCE when those around are hurried and frantic. For exuding PEACE when those around are anxious. Links to other Thankful Thursdays (If you participate, leave your link in the comments and I'll post it below; or, you can post in the comments)

1) no_average_girl 2) Beckie 3) Tyra 4) Annette Burkett

A water bearer had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole, which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one-and-a-half pots full of water to her house.

Of course the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect for what it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I'm ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. I have been able to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The bearer said to the pot, "did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I've always known about your flaw, and I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you've watered them.

For two years I've been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house."