Buried beneath Sutanas and the scent of incense, while the tinted stained glass windows touch his cheeks, Benedict sighs softly with a quiet hum. It has been days since he last saw the fluorescent rays of the walls shine down upon them. Rain had poured outside the walls of the cathedrals for days without end, wind whistling through the trees at noon, then the downpour plummets down to the ground.

February greeted the convent with a howling storm, bearing the thunders of heaven. Yet no rainbow waited at the storm’s end, only a soft glare of sunlight peeks through the clouds at heart’s day itself. From morning to night, the brothers walked through the mud to tend to their keep, their Sutanas stained from the hem as they ran through the gardens.

Today is Valentine’s day, and the cathedral’s hidden gem lost its luster of flowers, while the priests pray for its majestic revival.

“At least we were able to salvage some flowers. The garden is beat-up, it is best we let them recover from the storm,” Fr. Herbert said.

Benedict stood in front of the altar, clutching his prayerbook.

“It seems there are no flowers this season, at least the warmth is back,” he said to the crucifix before leaving the chapel.

The flower enclosure was a beloved local tourist attraction, housing a tiny cabin that sells handmade bouquets and seeds, produced by the brothers themselves in their free time. Fr. Herbert gave authority to Benedict’s green thumb and “gentle hands” to work in the garden anytime he pleases.

He passed through the small gate connecting to the garden enclosure, inhaling the scent of wet leaves and muck. Then he reached for the flower hanging from a constricted vine to untangle it, only for it to fall into his palm.

“You are free,” he whispered to the flower before putting it in his pocket.

Passing through the drenched flower path, he sighed. It was their time to rest.

(Artwork by Charlize Tichepco/TomasinoWeb)

When he approached the front of the cabin, he noticed the door slightly ajar from the last time he left it. Though the storm had torn the awning on the front patio, no rain could reach the key and unlock it from the inside. There was someone.

In the form of a furry friend curled up near the counters, Benedict was in awe to see Pollen, his long-time assistant, back in the cabin. Her paws resting on the floor, she jiggled before squirming to get up and greet Benedict. The storm had rendered cats unable to move, some finding shelter in unused areas.

“Did you stay here the whole time? Sorry, I wasn’t able to visit.”

Pollen lay flat on her back, the fluff of her belly inviting Benedict to pet her.

“She was with me,” a familiar middle-aged man entered with a grin on his face.

The man was a seasonal sponsor of the congregation that visited during his free days, often helping with the stipends for the brothers. He is particularly close to the priests, as he was once a seminary student in the same congregation. Benedict seldom sees him, but he was Polen’s constant companion other than him.

“I am visiting to see the animals. Consider me as an instrument of God that pulls the animals back to Noah’s ship,” he sheepishly said, which made Benedict roll his eyes.

I heard from Fr. Nolan that he hasn’t seen any of our community pets these days.”

“Yes, I haven’t seen her since. I thought she would stay somewhere she’d be able to eat.”

He leaned down to pet her head. She squirmed once again and began circling around his legs. She likes him. She points her nose into the bag he’s carrying; she knows it is for her.

“I brought her favorite kibble, Aozi,” he says, pouring some on her bowl and leaving it by the counter. She hopped towards the bowl and made a low “mewww” sound before gobbling up her food.

The man then nudged at the door while looking at Benedict, leading them both outside.

The breeze outside became warmer than the time Benedict entered the cabin, even if only minutes had passed since then. The breeze carried the loose leaves toward the ground in a gentle layer, and the flower petals interlaced with the wind.

This is a form of warmth itself, Benedict thinks.

The man took three steps back to meet his speed, their feet parallel to each other.

“How’s the congregation lately?” He asked.

“Nothing new. Except there are no flowers left for Valentine’s Day. No sale.” Benedict motioned to the withered flowers and the bath of petals in the pond.

“Fr. Herbert must be disappointed.”

“Of course. Unless God grants us a miracle, we’ll all be stuck reaping what we haven’t sown. There’s nothing we can do.”

“It’s unfortunate that weeds survive through winds and storms, yet the beauty of fragility withers with one touch,” he said.

“That’s why it should be taken care of, then.”

“Then we should take care of each other,” he said. Benedict shot him a glare, then the man clarified that he was pertaining to the community.

“God will take care of us,” Benedict replied, plainly.

The man wore a satisfied grin on his face and then said, “Yes, the only right answer.”

Benedict’s pace began to slow down, circling back to the Cathedral entrance. He puts distance between them, as some of the brothers may misinterpret his “close” relationship with the man.

“Why didn’t you pursue priesthood?”

He explained that Fr. Nolan was the only person who knew him enough to say that he was a good person but a “misguided” servant. He was almost infamous for disobeying orders. Priests often scrutinize these individuals because of the “lack of obedience,” which prompted them to leave or switch congregations.

However, Benedict looked at him straight in his dark brown pupils when the brunt of his next words hit him: “I left the congregation because someone has to work in the middle of the clergy and the people. I don’t have to choose between two worlds when I am called to connect them.”

It was never about blind obedience or adamancy, but about constant choice and choosing God at every path.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” He said, wearing his cheeky grin, and began to walk farther away from him. Benedict watched him from afar as he bent down the kneeler and looked up to the crucifix.

Benedict attended to his usual routine. He scrubbed the cabin from inside and out, cleaned the room, and visited the Adoration Chapel for “one-on-one bonding” with the Lord.

He ended the day with a journal entry with opening lines: “Rebirth is not about flowers gaining life again, but giving life to others. Valentine’s is the day of hearts and flowers; thus it is, as always, His.”