A Story in the Lamb's Book of Life

Well, I'm finding it's hard to keep up with this blogspot. For one thing, it seems like stuff happens too fast and I can't even keep focused on all the things I am seeing before something else happens. Also, it seems my days just fly by with little time for sitting and thinking and writing and things like that. But the stories I hear and the things I see are amazing, and I want to share one story with you that just shouts of God's provision, mercy and grace. Last Tuesday, we joined MMP-the group of pastors who go out to start churches and provide assistance to the poorest slums in Manila. At the end of the day, we stopped at a slum site where a pastor wants to start a church and wants to partner with MMP. Pastor Larry shared his life story with us. At six years old, he ran away from home. His alcoholic father had come home to their tiny shack where he and his six older siblings and his mom were waiting. Being the youngest, he couldn't escape his fathers hands, and his father put him in a bag, hung him from the ceiling and used him for a punching bag. When the bag broke, he ran for his life, vowing to kill his father when he was older. He lived on the streets, hiding during the day and washing jeepney's at night to get money for food as no one would give him money when he begged. He knew he needed to go to school so that he would be able to defend himself in court when he killed his father, so he paid a man to act as his father and get him in school. At seven, someone found him asleep in a jeepney, took him to church and told him that if he believed in Jesus, he would go to heaven. Compared to where he was living, he decided that going to heaven sounded good. He attended church each week, where he was told by the usher to stay hidden under the stairs so no one would see him and not to leave till everyone was gone. But he enjoyed listening to the pastor and once a week he would take the leftover communion bread and juice and go out and "preach" to his street friends, telling them they wouldn't get bread unless they listened. At an early age, he started drinking and doing drugs and smoking. At night, he would stand on a jeepney and cry out to God "send an American to adopt me." But then God spoke to him and said "you don't need an American to adopt you because I adopt you as my son." And so at the age of 12, Larry gave his whole life to Jesus. Later, he found his father and begged for forgiveness. His father embraced him for the first time in his life and also asked for forgiveness. Two years later, Larry led his parents and family to the Lord. At 16, Pastor Larry started his first church. Today, he is married, has seven kids, and takes care of his parents. He has started many churches and trained many pastors. Twice a week he gets up at 4am to go find the street kids in Manila, wake them, give them milk and bread, and give them a touch and tell them Jesus loves them. He has prayed for people and seen the deaf receive their hearing and sick children healed. His faith and joy and the story of God's work in his life left me overwhelmed. It is hard to think of words to say in response to this story. All I know is that all around me, I am met with people who have surrendered their lives to Jesus and would think of nothing else but to give all they have to serve Jesus in areas where the need for him is great.

Where am I?

This is the question I almost had to ask myself last night, as I experienced the Filipino mall. As Jason and I walked around (the girls blessed us with a night out, no kids), it was easy to forget that I wasn’t in the states. The mall (which isn’t the largest mall) was four stories of every kind of store imaginable, air conditioned (I even got to put my sweater to good use), with a food court and all. Of course, the food court was different—tons of stalls all serving a variety of Filipino food, rice included. But if you walk around a bit, you can find Wendy’s, Pizza Hut, KFC, Dunkin Donuts, or Burger King. Some movies are in English, with new releases being shown. Signs are in English, and most of the employees in the stores speak English. The differences? For one thing, we were clearly the minority, and people definitely noticed us. Things seem to be cheaper, especially food (you can get a fast food meal for $1-2). Movies only cost $2 with $0.70 popcorn (yum). If it’s an American brand, however, it’s definitely more. When you walk into the department store, it seems that every rack of clothes has an employee waiting to help you. Oh, and another difference that I’ve noticed in all kinds of establishments (from banks to fast food restaurants), there are armed security guards standing watch at every entrance, sometimes even doing a quick body or purse search. Not bad, just different (this is the phrase we are trying to instill in the kids as they experience life here). Another thing we noticed is that it didn’t seem like many of the people walking around in the mall were there because they were making purchases (we didn’t see a lot of people carrying shopping bags). Which makes sense—it’s a great place to come and get away from the heat, but most people probably can’t afford to shop at the mall. Jason went to a cultural training class the other day, where he learned that there is a small percentage of elite wealthy in the Philippines. These people generally don’t like to associate themselves with the common Filipinos, so they speak mostly English and try to create places that feel more western. The mall definitely felt western. In the end, we enjoyed our time there for the reason that most people probably enjoy their time there—getting a break from the heat and everyday life. But it was one more thing I’ve found to add to the contrast that mixes the rich and the poor.

We have arrived!

An update at last…

It’s Tuesday night, one week since we left home. We don’t have internet set up at home yet, so I’m actually writing this on my computer, not sure when I’ll get to an internet café to post it. I know we are on the other side of the world, I guess I didn’t think I would feel that far away from home. It almost feels like time must have stopped in Tampa, and in some ways it feels like I’ve been here a lot longer than one week. It’s 8pm, and I’m actually fighting to stay awake. The sun goes down here between 5:30 and 6 and comes up at the same time in the morning. It’s bright, too, so we have been waking up early, and feeling ready for bed by 8. It’s hard to know where to start with putting into words all the things I have taken in so far. Our flight over was fine. The whole trip, from doorstep to doorstep took about 33 hours. The longest leg was on China Airlines, where each seat had a personal TV with movies and games—the kids loved it, and I even got almost seven hours of sleep. We arrived around 10 am and crammed all 19 of us plus Joann’s aunt and a driver into a van that had 10 seats (which worked, prompting us to buy our own van to get around in). On the 1 ½ hour drive to our new home, I think the thing that stuck out to me the most was the clash of poverty and wealth, all mixed up. One minute you see the Mall of Asia (which is the largest mall in Asia) and the next you see rundown homes with tin roofs all crowded together. When we got home, we were greeted with large amounts of food put together by Joann’s family. Later in the day, Joann’s aunt, Ate Merli, took a few of us to the wet market. My body was already fighting exhaustion, so I felt overwhelmed at all there was to take in. We got there by tricycle—a motorcycle with a side car, one of the common modes of transportation. The market itself was filled with people, meat, fish, and vegetables. Some smells were good-like fresh fruit, but others weren’t so good-constant fumes from the hundreds of tricycles coming and going, and the smell of raw meat and fish. I looked above me at one point and was amazed at the number of power lines/cables stretching across the street. We bought some meat, thinking that being a vegetarian might not be such a bad idea (as we watched the butcher shoo the flies off the meat). But we ate it, and our stomachs are holding up! On my second trip to the market, I already was feeling much more comfortable. Our neighbors are wonderful, and on Sunday, Mark and Lorraine (brother and sister) came over and offered to take us to the market. They were wonderful. Everything I asked Mark, he would translate in Tagalog, and then teach me how to say it. They showed me how to buy fish (find the ones that are still alive, flopping around on the table, so that they are very fresh), and they offered to teach us how to steam them. In fact, that night, Mark came over to help us cook a Filipino chicken dish, and it ended up being him and his mom cooking dinner for us, bringing over their pots and spoons and even ingredients that we were missing. It was so nice. They have been so kind and welcoming. There is also a man across the street, named Boyet, who has taken us under his wing. He has fixed our van (which has its problems), fixed the few house things that have come up broken, and has filled us in on many cultural tidbits. It really feels like he’s just watching out for us. Yesterday, we went to Ate Merle’s house for Joann’s uncle’s birthday (Kuya Peter). The big event of the party was when their friends surprised Kuya Peter with a whole roasted pig, fresh of the fire. After getting over the fact that I looked the pig in the eye (dead, of course), I tasted some really juicy and delicious pork. I need to end this for now. I realize I am skipping all over the place, but there’s just so much to tell about. I’ll try to write again soon. Sige!