Grease Me

It never fails—Pinoys laugh at someone who mispronounces a word like buffet, like it were a crime. What we don’t realize is, we are all guilty of the charge.

We mispronounce everyday words: We say bug when we mean bag. We say mom for ma’am; dah-di for daddy; geef for gift. Can we really say the word pronunciation correctly?

I don’t remember laughing at mispronunciations. It has nothing to do with being holy. It has to do with circumstances.

In Pangasinan where I grew up, my name Grace May is Grease Me. Then in my phonetics class, I learned that the Filipino language has only five vowel sounds: A, E, I, O, U. English has twelve, with the letter “A” alone having four sounds. Which is probably why we, as a people, mispronounce English vowels without knowing it.

For me, words are not about pronunciation, but about essence. Dah-di is always my or someone’s father; I hear respect when I am called mom instead of ma’am, by people other than my children. Geef is something given and received, even if it is not pronounced gift. And bug is that indispensable woman’s security blanket, bag, where our marketing money, receipts, and credit cards are kept.

Grease Me when addressed to me is my name, Grace May.

In UP, college friends shortened Grace May to Grace and pronounced it as spelled. It has been that way since. Except when I go home to Pangasinan or meet friends from other regions. Then I am Grease, Gris, Gres, Gresh, or Gays. And it doesn’t make any difference. It doesn’t alter my soul or our relationship. It is my name.

Grace is a name for which I will forever be grateful. A name I am careful and try hard not to sully as it is a very important word in the Christian world. A word so important philosophers, writers, psychoanalysts, and theologians have been trying to define and dissect its essence for generations.

One often quoted is M. Scott Peck in the Road Less Traveled, “(Grace is a)… powerful force originating outside of human consciousness which nurtures the spiritual growth of human beings.” Peck stresses that although this force called grace is real, it cannot be measured.

My favorite definition, and which comes closest to my understanding, is what I heard as a little girl from our Ilocano pastor in our small-town chapel, “Unmirited geef from God.” (Unmerited gift from God).

I asked him what that gift might be.

“Ibryting and inyting good!” (Everything and anything good!)

“That’s too many!” I said unbelieving.

“Countliss,” he answered.

When I woke up next morning, the sun was shining, it was a holiday—my sister and I could play all we want, our mom would buy us bibingka from the market, and… Countless good things, I thought.

Fast forward to half a century later. Countless grace indeed from “…Him who is able to do exceeding abundantly beyond all that we ask or think….” (Ephesians 3:20).

It has been thirteen years since my husband’s colon cancer surgery, twelve years since his heart attack, and four years since his quadruple coronary bypass.

Early mornings, he nips the rose blossoms from our garden for our breakfast vase; the sun shines; the rain drenches us; artist friends gift me with their paintings; my three grown-up sons, healthy and brusque, are minding their own business; despite a frozen shoulder, I can play on the piano, by memory still, How Great Thou Art; I have ample time to write about the word grace, and…

Hey, who’s counting?

As the word continues to be dissected, its definitions will multiply. But so will the stories of God’s grace—even more rapidly. In whatever words these powerful stories will be told—or pronounced—their essence will be the same.

Posted on December 12, 2006

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