Because we decided to remain within Metro  Manila throughout Holy Week, the first time in a long time, we realized how much more relaxing and spiritually nourishing our experience has been. Freed from traffic, the high cost of gasoline, and the overall tiring frenzy of driving here, there and everywhere, we finally had time on our hands just being home and doing nothing.

Richard Reynoso

In the afternoons, when the sun was less fierce and punishing, we walked to church to take part in the many Lenten activities lined up. Communion with God felt so good and so profound this way, we discovered.

Holy Week has also been an opportune time to come across an essay written by a friend of ours, Richard Reynoso, who opens his soul to the world on social media in praise of our Lord. With his permission, we are sharing his article in this column today.

Here goes Richard in his own, heartfelt words. “There was a moment in my life when I truly understood what it means to surrender everything to God.

As a singer, my voice has always been my greatest gift. Through it, I have expressed love, pain, faith, and gratitude. It has also been the way I provide for my family and live the calling God gave me.

But a few years ago, that gift was suddenly placed in danger.

I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. And my first thought was not only about survival.

It was about my voice.

Would I still be able to sing?

Would I still be able to do what I was born to do?

The days leading up to my surgery were some of the most humbling moments of my life. I was afraid — not only of the illness, but of losing a part of who I am.

The night before my operation, I had a very honest conversation with my wife. I asked her something that had been weighing heavily on my heart.

I said, “If I can no longer sing… if my voice is affected… will we be okay? Will we be okay financially?”

And my wife looked at me and said something that gave me great peace.

She said, “We will be okay. What matters is that you are alive. We will face everything together.”

In that moment, I realized something powerful.

My security was never just my voice.

My security was my family.

My security was my faith.

My security was God.

The day before my surgery, I went on Facebook Live to tell people about my illness. Not for sympathy, but because I needed prayers.

And before I ended that live broadcast, I sang one more song.

Not for an audience.

Not for applause.

I sang for God.

The surgery lasted several hours. When I woke up in the recovery room, the first thing I tried to do was speak. And I could.

Then I softly tried to sing. And I could.

Later, my doctor told me something remarkable. The nerve affecting the voice — the one they were most careful about — was left completely untouched. He said it was clearly visible and protected during the operation, which he described as a very rare occurrence.

At that moment, I felt something deeper than relief....I felt grace.

Cancer did not take my voice.  Instead, it gave my voice deeper meaning.

Today, when I sing, I sing with gratitude. Because I know that every note is a gift, every breath is a blessing, and every day is another chance to inspire someone who may be fighting his own silent battle.

And if you are going through something difficult right now, I want you to remember this: "Your story is not over. Sometimes, the moment when we feel the weakest is the moment God is asking us to trust Him the most. To place everything in His hands. Today, I stand before you not just as a singer… but as a survivor. And every time I sing, I remember that my voice was never truly mine. It was always a gift from God. And so, I sing not for applause…but as a prayer of gratitude.”