our move to the island (from a wife and mother)
We’ve made it. To that place of our long-awaited plans, holding both dread and excitement for my heart. We’re on the northern curve of an island in the Pacific, one of the furthest reaches of the country of the Philippines. We’re 2 hours, give or take, from the nearest grocery store, and even that description is being liberal. There is no real cheese on the island (and I hold firmly to the opinion that calling processed cheese “cheddar” doesn’t count as cheese), and many of the spices I need to make our kitchen table enticing are not available. Of course, I had all the spices stored and ready for our move, but I forgot to get them, and we didn’t have room in our car for them, anyway. But that’s just grocery shopping
Our refrigerator isn’t working, although the freezer is, so I’m able to keep from spoiling our meat. The most dependable way to get it fixed is to pack it in cardboard, load it on a jeepney, and send it down to the capitol (the 2 hour drive), where it will be worked on at a repair shop there. (Update: the fridge is wrapped in cardboard and waiting on our porch, in hopes that the jeepney, too loaded to take it today, will be able to take it tomorrow.) Nothing is easy.
I knew that before coming here, which is why I was filled with dread. What is life going to be like here, where if I don’t cook we won’t eat? There are no fast options. Yesterday I made two kinds of bread to figure out which recipe I liked best. I didn’t like either. Back to the drawing board. I’ll probably have to bake bread every other day to keep us stocked.
While all our stuff remains in storage we’re borrowing the home and everything in it of our friends and teammates, the Buursmas. They’re on home assignment while we get a taste of their life here in Panganiban (which, if that name is too hard for you, can also be called Payo). They’ve lived here about 6 years and are coming back for another term. I’m in awe of both they and the Martins, who have stuck it out in a place so far from familiarity and ease. And while I’m glad for a chance to taste this life, I’m thankful it’s only a taste. We’re moving to our more permanent location, on the southern part of the island, sometime in April (where there is still no cheese). For one thing, we’re finally in a place that we can call “home,” even if for a short season, so that I can get our toddler back into a routine and get over some hurdles we’ve had, like a crazy and unsatisfying toddler-led feeding routine (about to change, like, now), and finally getting rid of his pacifier. Both of which I wasn’t able or willing to deal with during our recent joyful Christmas tumble with family and friends in the States.
So here we are, officially in an “internship” to learn from the team here and see how we can apply some of their strategies to church planting in San Andres. And while all this adjustment remains a struggle for me emotionally, especially since we’re adjusting right now to something that’s actually temporary, there is a bit of excitement in what we’re doing here.
There’s excitement for our family: yesterday we sandwiched Josiah between us on a moterbike and rode over some coastal mountains to catch a gorgeous jungle view of the ocean. Then Edwin rode Josiah around on a pedicab bike (both motorbike and pedicab are generously being leant to us by the Buursmas while we’re here), which Josiah loved. He sat there like a king while his dad peddled him around town. Not to mention the chickens and roosters that graze casually into our front yard and give Josiah a show. “Chicken!” he hollers. (I’m hoping this will be enough for Edwin to give up his dream of us owning our own chickens.)
And then there’s what we’re really here to do, which is impact the community in the love of Jesus Christ. I’ve been keeping Josiah at home the last few nights while Edwin attends some Bible studies. I’ll go to some starting next week. At our breakfast table this morning he told me a story about some of the local believers here:
Religion in the Philippines is a mix of folk religion/superstition and catholocism. Unfortunately, the truth of Scripture gets diluted and people become misled to believe some things that are not true to any form of Christianity, catholic or protestant. One of these practices is to keep traveling, seemingly powerful, idols in one’s house. There is one, called the “Black Rosary,” an image of Mary, which travels around the Philippines. People are chosen (we don’t know how) to keep this idol in their homes while it travels. For the local people this is a big honor. But when this idol came to town, the local believers, who have put their trust in Christ alone, and do not believe these kinds of images hold any power, were faced with a challenge. One family was chosen to keep the idol in her home. She decided against it, and faced persecution. Many people couldn’t believe she would deny such an honor. For others, it was as if she was denying hospitality to their mother. How could she tell “Mama Mary” she wasn’t welcome here? And one family, who was attending the Bible study of this woman, was forbidden by their mother to attend any longer. They quit coming and since then their brother has been demon possessed. Likely, the family believes the Bible study put a curse on the man. But we believe that instead, the family chose to continue in the darkness of idol worship, and the result has been that that darkness has moved in.
That is the kind of spiritual struggle that exists in this place. It is into that spiritual atmosphere that we’ve come to proclaim:
“He (God) has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.” -Colossians 1:13
a motorcycle-Bible study education
It was bound to happen. Before Kuya Bert plopped his rear behind me on the motorcycle I communicated my uncertainty with a bewildered facial expression and reminded everyone that I wasn’t an avid rider. Heck, I could barely truck Josiah around on the little pedicap of a bike that Tom left behind for us. So when Bert finally got situated with a guitar strapped to his back and both arms thoroughly occupied with Bible Study materials, my butt cheeks perked up in fear of what was probably going to happen to the both of us.
“Lord help us!” he laughed. And off I went, almost sending Bert flying backwards with my unexpectedly quick and not necessarily under-control start. We sped down the gravel dirt road as I tried my best to keep up with the other two motorcycles. For the most part, my novice ability on that little Honda bike wasn’t very obvious…until it started raining. And I mean monsoon rain. Rain so hard that I couldn’t keep my eyelids open. The other teammates stopped to put on raincoats. When they realized I didn’t have one they suggested we stop and hang out under someone’s porch or a tree. But we were out in the middle of rice fields so I stubbornly decided to press forward just as long as Bert didn’t mind.
And of course he didn’t. He was a leather-necked, industrious worker who spent much of his life in those fields. His brown, tough skin somehow masked his age. Quite backwards however because he looked younger, rather than older (a usual side effect of too much sun exposure), appearing middle aged as opposed to well past retirement, his true stage of life. “Forward march!” he yelled, so I continued, splashing through mud holes and stumbling on large stones.
The rain fell harder and the road more unmanageable for a beginner like me. Trickles of water turned into streams as the land snaked its way upward into the hilly terrain and then quickly down again flattening out into wide open spaces fit for crops of rice. A jungle roller coaster. Suddenly, our trail shot up and curved to the left. I was having trouble downshifting because I’m just not that coordinated and quick yet. The bike couldn’t handle going up that hill on 3rd gear…I couldn’t find 2nd…somehow I skipped and went straight to 1st…and the bike went flying from underneath me…my hand idiotically still revving on the gas. Bert managed to literally jump off of the out-of-control bike as if he were playing a game of Leap Frog. He stayed on his feet, wet as a dog, guitar still strapped and Bible study materials still firmly grasped. The sudden lightened load helped a ton and instead of flying off the 20-foot drop off and into a flooded plain of crops, I miraculously found my balance and kept my butt on the seat. The locals were watching the whole event…embarrassing.
Bert ran to where I stopped, jumped back on the bike and yelled, “Forward!” as if what just happened was as normal as the caribou poking its head into one of the houses to the right of us. I wish I could say that was the last near-death experience, but several times the motorcycle slipped in mud sending the rear wheel out of control and almost fishtailing erratically enough to knock us to the ground. One time I came within inches of slipping off of the trail and down one of the high drop offs. And each time, the only sound that Bert made was, “Whoooops!”
But we made it to the little gathering place, a multipurpose shack with a tin roof overlooking the valley. Bert went from house to house inviting whomever he could. The other guy tuned his guitar, while another one texted would-be attenders (quite odd to see people texting in such a rural area). Finally, a group of youth arrived and God took over.
These rough, truly manly men led prayer, worship and then the Bible study itself. The teens discovered new attributes of Jesus Christ on their own through the Scripture they were reading. I’m quite used to elders preaching up a storm, but not today. These men taught the youth how to discover truths in the Bible for themselves…no preaching.
Watching a 3 year old sit on a hard wooden bench and engage with 7 year olds, 18 year olds and 60 year olds is a remarkable sight. That’s what these guys were taught to do and it’s why so many people have now heard the hope of the Gospel. These men first heard the Gospel themselves almost a decade before from some World Team missionaries. Now, here I was, learning from those early converts about planting house churches that multiplied into other house churches all over the region.
Amy and I are on an unofficial internship for the next 3 months learning from the missionaries and the local Filipino believers. Everyday is a brand new learning experience out here, in ministry and in motorcycle riding.
moving to an island…
January 8, 2012
Jem and I arrived in Virac, Catanduanes early in the morning but not before a pretty arduous journey. After getting a couple of hours of sleep from our travels the day before, his father drove us from Naga City to the port of Tabaco at about 12:30am. It would have been a treacherous drive had I been the one driving. Jem’s father knows the roads well and is experienced driving in heavy rains (without the aide of street lights at that!). It was pitch black out, which is why we actually did manage to get lost, in spite of our driver’s excellent navigational skills.
We made it to the port just before 4am. I was stressed and anxious, trying my best to recite Philippians 4:6-7. Though I’ve taken the ferry once before, bringing a car onboard was a whole other ball game. After falling into numerous lines filled with crowds of people furiously pushing each other to purchase tickets to the last boat departing before the world sank into the ocean, I finally found someone who gave us proper directions. An hour later, several cash exchanges and numerous forms to fill out, we finally parked my vehicle in front of the gate.
The rain poured harder and I was still stressed out because the guards were letting in other vehicles before mine. What if I didn’t get my car onboard? Then came the onslaught of passengers loading the boat. Chaos I tell you. I was a squeaky wheel, annoying the crud out of the dock supervisor but it paid off and I finally drove my car onto the ship…slipping and sliding. The waves decided that they were angry and pounded the boat, making for a nerve-racking experience.
After paying about 35 bucks for my boarding pass and the car fee, we pushed our way through the multitudes and into the air-conditioned section of the ferry. It cost about $1.50 more but meant the difference between being sandwiched among scores of seasick passengers and having your own cushioned bench to sprawl yourself on and fall asleep. Kind of like sitting in first class on a plane…it separated those who had means from those just getting by. But trust me, first class accommodations it was not! To be honest, for the average islander, $1.50 can feed a family of four so why would they frivolously spend money for comfort. I felt a bit guilty at first, but I admit, my seasickness got the best of me and I quickly turned to survival mode and cherished the above average accommodations.
Normally, it would take 3 and half hours to get to Virac from Tabaco. Due to the crummy weather and tumultuous waves it took us over 5 hours. Barf! Seriously, the waves were so high everyone was throwing up.
I was asleep and failed to hear the announcement that all drivers had to be in the loading bay 15 minutes before arrival. With the vehicles in the way, the passengers can’t get out. So there I was, stuck at the very top level of the ferry. My car was three levels down and there were hundreds of people in my way…none of whom had the opportunity to get out because my car was literally the front vehicle blocking the way of everyone and everything!
The announcer came on again, this time mad as a dog demanding that, “the driver of the Toyota Carollo must move his car!” Jem snaked his way through first with my car keys. He’s half my size and didn’t have the massive backpack I was carrying. But he didn’t know how to drive! So everyone waited as I pushed my way through. People were angry, calling me “baldy, stupid and annoying” wondering why I didn’t follow directions. It was a cultural experience I never want to go through ever again.
After finally getting into my vehicle, the crew directed my movement off the ship. The bus in front of me was fishtailing because of the wet floors. So was mine, so the crew laid out some rope for my car to grab traction on. I couldn’t understand their language…quite different from Tagalog. But I could understand their tone of voice screaming, “Go forward, turn your wheel like this, stop…you’re going to get us killed!” The waves forcing the plank to go up and down like a roller coaster was terrifying. But I finally got off the ship.
After bottoming out, scraping my muffler in front of a large crowd and enduring their chuckling and heckling (directed toward the obvious out-of-towner), I sped my way down a one-way street, going the wrong way. I was so frustrated that I almost jumped for joy after seeing the brand new addition to the island: a Jolibee restaurant…the restaurant I loathe the most in the entire world…but a restaurant to find refuge in.
My first day on the island.
Driving my car to the island…
It’s 7pm. I’ve been up since 3am, out and driving since 4:30am. Not a big deal unless you’ve only been sleeping a few hours a day dealing with jetlag and an equally frustrated child. We arrived in the Philippines a couple of days ago. Shortly after getting supplies ready, we packed up and I left for the 2-day ordeal of getting to the small island of Catanduanes. Amy will be leaving on Monday, flying out with Josiah.
Jem and I just arrived in Naga City. It was a ten-hour drive. Jem has been a lifesaver, being a native Bicolano. I feel safe with him as the navigator, even though we still got lost. It could’ve been a much shorter trip but I missed one pesky little right turn. That cost us 2 incredibly demanding hours. And now I’m sitting in the lobby of a cheesy hotel, half-awake but too tired to sleep in my creepy closet space of a room.
Let me say this. Our drive was the most spectacular and beautiful road trip I have ever taken…and I’ve done a ton of driving and traveling around the world. The Bicol region of the Philippines is gorgeous. Except for uncountable near death, head on collisions, I enjoyed our trip.
I guess I’ll turn in. I have to be up at 1am to drive to the port of Tabaco, 2-3 hours away. We’ve got to get my car loaded up on the ferry and sail for several hours before landing in unfamiliar territory. Let’s see what happens.
Give us strength oh Lord!
California Dreaming
When we arrived in Oceanside, California the night before Thanksgiving, we hit the ground running. I mean, by the time we left we had fulfilled over 26 appointments. That doesn’t include preaching at New Song Community Church 5 times in 2 days (see previous video post), speaking to the youth ministry one evening and reporting to the congregation of Oceanside Community Church for a Sunday service. Steve and Suzanne Duntley blessed us with a place to stay. They pulled up their massive, luxury RV…equipped in a fashion that outdid our living situation in the Philippines! Debbie Hayward lent us her brand new Toyota Camry. (Sidenote: We were hit by a car who ran a stop sign. Thank goodness for USAA insurance.) And our brothers and sisters in Christ made sure that our bellies were stuffed the entire time we were there. When God provides, He provides abundantly.
I (Edwin) tell people that, for us, living anywhere outside of Oceanside is a result of obeying God, not a personal decision. I consider it my hometown even though I wasn’t born there. If you know my story, you would understand why I say I was raised there. My spiritual family resides in that area. I had a blast being involved in ministry in years past and there is certainly no abundance of workers, so it would be easy to make a life there as ministers. And Amy worked hard and waited years to return after leaving as a teenager. We fell in love and were married in that great city. Again I say, we are following God’s call on our lives, not our simple desires. Oh Oceanside, we miss you already.
Anyways, after almost 10 days in the most beautiful city in the world, we took a road trip up Interstate 5 and headed for the Bay Area. The day before leaving, my brother flew down to LA to hang out with us and to join us on the trip up. Bonding time. It was awesome. My brother lives in Oakland…it’s cold there in the winter, especially if you’re coming from the Philippines. So is San Francisco. But it was a chill that Amy and I enjoyed. We met with a ton of family members, enjoyed more Filipino food than we were used to eating (and remember, we live in the Philippines!), and took tons of pictures.
Amy and I will be involved in missions for the rest of our lives. However, we don’t know how long we’re going to be on the mission field. We may one day be called to the San Francisco Bay Area. Lord knows they need Jesus. After spending time in that part of California I realized that life there would be hard both emotionally and financially. It would have to be an unusually strong call/shove from the Lord to take us there because like I said, Oceanside, California is the dream.
We left after a week there and are now in Mississippi for the remainder of our vacation…
Through Josiah’s Eyes – Ministry in the Philippines
We created this video for our supporting churches. It’s a fun video that Josiah narrates (actually it’s Amy).
When Humiliation Transforms
I was given the privilege to speak at New Song Community Church this past weekend. Here is the video of the service. Praise the Lord!
We’re looking for teammates!
Edwin just returned from the National Assembly of the Philippine Council of Evangelical Churches (PCEC). While there, he was encouraged and challenged by Filipino leaders from all kinds of denominations, organizations, and initiatives. We feel more confirmation than ever before that our main job in the Philippines is going to be mobilization…of Filipinos.
We are getting ready to move to a small island with one Filipino on our team, but we are praying for more, because our hope is that we will not be in the “front” of this ministry at all, but that the leadership will from the start be Filipino. Our goal: start a church planting work that can be used to mentor and train missions-minded Filipinos so that if they do church plant overseas or in another province, they have practical experience in church planting and cross-cultural ministry (because a city Filipino going to the province is definitely cross-cultural!). So I’ve begun praying, almost constantly, for at least one married couple to join us to be our team leaders. And of course we desire more singles to join the team, as well!
Lord God, we believe you gave us this vision for a mobilizing church plant, and so we ask you to make it happen, for Your glory! And! Please give us Filipino leaders so we can get out of the way and put our efforts where they are most effective (training and mobilizing).
Please pray with us. And if you know a Filipino (single or married) who is praying about serving God as a missionary, direct them to us!
~a
The Technohub Project!
We’re only months from launching this new church! Check out this teaser video and get excited! Super, duper excited. It was done by one of our core team members, Keng Arreola.
Independence Day
“And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” – Hebrews 10:24-25
Living outside of the United States during the 4th of July is a bummer. I am a very patriotic guy. Maybe that comes from the fact that I served with the military or maybe it’s because I am the fruit of immigrant parents who found hope and opportunity in America. The bottom line is that I am grateful for the U.S. of A!
So it was a delight to spend time hanging out with Americans eating grilled bratwursts and hamburgers for the holiday. There was a moment during our hang out that struck me in an awesome way. All the women were talking “girly” things (j/k) while all the guys circled ‘round. All of us had a plate of barbequed goodness in our hands. As our kids ran around we talked about our future ministry endeavors. Some of us would be traveling to remote places or getting involved in somewhat dangerous adventures. As we listened to each other’s stories and plans my mind flipped over to a scene in a movie.
Five missionaries and their families were enjoying fellowship in a jungle in South America in the movie “The End of the Spear.” As they joked around enjoying food and friendship, the men brainstormed plans to reach a lost tribe while their kids played in the background and their wives talked girly things (j/k). I remember watching that film and dreaming that I would one day be in their shoes.
Sure, we weren’t in some remote jungle, but all of our hearts are in the same place. We have a desire to reach the lost. And yes, we have internet access, we’re all bloggers and utilize Facebook and Twitter…but the root of what we do also existed in those five missionaries in that jungle who ended up sacrificing their lives – the root of God’s love and His message of hope.
Sometimes I forget that as a missionary, I have decided to shed desires that don’t pertain to reaching the lost. It is when we gather with other missionaries that we remember our ultimate purpose in this country. I was grateful for our July 4th gathering because it renewed in me my excitement to sacrifice everything for the sake of obeying our Lord and Savior. And sure, that excitement shouldn’t occur only when we’re with our missionary friends…but I’ll tell you one thing: Being with likeminded believers can bring encouragement and needed inspiration to change the world.
-Edwin
humbled by flood victims…
Our regular Monday morning prayer walk took us to a part of the community that had just experienced some major flooding. Many of our church members were evacuated and just yesterday were the residents of Bagong Silangan allowed to return to their homes. Waters rose as high as 6 feet, some areas covering the entire first floor. It was an experience that greatly humbled, depressed and disgusted me so much so that as I write…I still feel a bit uneasy.
Our first stop was Sister Vangy’s house. A couple of years ago, Typhoon Ondoy came through and dumped months worth of rainfall in 6 hours. Her two-story cement and plywood home was completely submersed. However, this past storm only covered half of their first floor. We sat in her living room listening to the story of how they protected furniture and household goods from the inevitable floods right before being whisked away by officials to an evacuation site nearby. I sat on a wooden bench that was completely underwater just a couple of days ago. Scrutinizing the room, I realized that I could hardly tell that it had been flooded. The only sign was the watermark left on the doors inside.
Just outside, the courtyard shared by half a dozen other makeshift homes was covered by thick mud. Stray cats and dogs, chickens, roosters and frogs made me want to yak for some reason. Other residents talked to us…not of the flood, but of other problems that daily plagued their poverty stricken lives. As a young teenager limped his way over to us wondering if we had any clothes to donate, I tried to keep a straight face because the smell of sewage and fecal matter was overwhelming my senses. I tried to smile like the rest of our prayer team but couldn’t do it because the flies landing on my lips and the aunts biting my feet were getting the best of me. Our prayer team is tough and I am inspired by their passion in thinking of others in spite of their own discomfort.
We carefully walked through thin alley and waterways, stepping over streams of sewage and trying to avoid dog and cat waste to no avail. Those thin, disgusting passages actually led to the front doors of many homes. Arriving at another church member’s shanty, we again listened to the household’s flood experience. All stayed safe throughout the ordeal but one of the children developed an infection and was fighting a fever. She was probably 8 or 9 years old and shivered and cried as we prayed. The ants were biting harder this time and crawled up my legs. Admittedly, rather than focusing on the prayer, I remained distracted by the insects.
We visited several other households. On the way we noticed all the pedi-cab drivers, peddling away with passengers. Today, their tricycles were in full operational use. A couple of days ago, they were slowly floating from one end of the street to the other. But like I said, it was difficult to tell that major flooding occurred. The streets were bustling, people were cleaning the roads, music was loudly playing, children were running and almost everyone was smiling.
If a flood hit my neighborhood in the States, I would be devastated for a long time. I would take a week or so off of work to clean…long after going through self-pity and depression for my possessions getting wet or destroyed. I’d probably seek government/insurance assistance and if I couldn’t receive anything I’d complain until finally receiving a handout. I’d probably remain resentful at everyone else who didn’t experience the flood, demanding that everyone stop what they were doing to help me out. And I certainly wouldn’t be thankful…for anything or to anyone.
Yet today, I experienced what it was like for Filipinos to survive typhoons and floods. These guys press on with a smile. And it’s not a fake, “find the silver-lining, there’s nothing we can do anyways” type of smile. It’s a genuine thankfulness that at least they still had a home (albeit, a little wet) and their lives. Filipinos continue on with their days, not missing a day of work (because without work, people literally go without eating). They return to their homes immediately after the waters recede to at least ankle-deep, clean up, put furniture back in order and move on without skipping a beat. And they don’t sit there waiting for someone to rescue them…especially the government. They expect nothing and believe everything that comes their way is a blessing.
One of the flood victims told me, “You know what Pastor. The evacuation volunteers even gave us a small bag of rice. For free! Praise the Lord!”
World Team Asia Conference in Bali
What a blessing it was to fly to Bali and fellowship with 150 missionaries (including children) from all over South East Asia! It is a rarity to gather that many people from Cambodia, Taiwan, Indonesia, Philppines, and Singapore. Many of us were reluctant to go because of the intensity of our respective ministries, but once there, I believe that all of us were relieved to experience such a great time.
We discussed the vision of World Team and the desire for our organization to be innovative, progressive and relevant to the rest of the world. Leaders from our sending countries were present and we had the opportunity to converse with them. It was also exciting to hear about new ideas and projects that each field was engaging in. We plan on using some of the ministry ideas we heard in our own projects. We watched videos created by each field and many stories and testimonies were told. I felt like I was reading one of those missionary biographies I was required to study when I was in college…but this was real life…and I was a part of it!
One of the most valuable moments of the conference was our group interaction. We were divided into different table groups where we had the opportunity to interact with questions and discuss our struggles and highlights of ministry. I was in a table group with a bunch of “older” missionaries. At first I was jealous of some of the other groups with younger people in it, but I quickly realized how valuable it was to be mentored by such wise servants of God. There was even a pastoral team present to meet with those of us who wanted to talk. Amy and I attended a marriage seminar and even had lunch with the counselors.
The best part was engaging in worship with all those missionaries. We listened to inspiring messages…I’m telling you, it’s a hard to spiritually feed yourself when you’re the one plowing the ground and you can’t simply go to a church to hear a good speaker.
Unfortunately, Josiah developed a fever that lasted the entire length of the conference. The team that came strictly to minister to children did not have the opportunity to experience Josiah’s crazy personality. But we did however have a great time bonding as a family. We enjoyed the sight and sounds of Bali and truly enjoyed each other.
Amy and I were the emcees of the final night…we had a Luau. It was soooo fun and a great way to say goodbye. So until the next conference (probably 3-5 years from now), we will relish our moments in Bali.
World Team Mobilization Video
Amy made a video for our mobilization team. It outlines our journey from the call to our current ministry in the Philippines. Check it out, especially if you’re thinking about getting into missions.
The Techno Hub Project
The Techno Hub is a fancy commercial stomping ground for “call center workers.” You know who I’m talking about…the guys that North and South Americans, Europeans and Australians call whenever their Dell Computers, XBox’s, Citibank accounts or Emerson products are on the fritz. Even when most corporations selling to the West swear that their customer service representatives are undeniably from the English speaking world…your are most likely going to talk to a Filipino and not even know it.
I’ve conducted many Bible Studies and discipleship meetings at the different restaurants and coffee shops within the Techno Hub. Ever since I arrived in the Philippines, there was always a place in my heart for the people who frequent this area (and no, it wasn’t entirely because of the Starbucks and Coffee Bean). Life as one of these workers is unforgiving. Self-dubbed “vampires” due to graveyard shift hours, they seem completely disconnected from the rest of the waking world. At the end of a long and frustrating shift, it’s hard to stay away from the soothing calls of alcohol, the rambunctious fun of a night club or the warm arms of an already married co-worker. Temptation and sin abound, not to mention that there are thousands upon thousands of unchurched Filipinos just looking for real hope.
I wanted to start an outreach here long ago but never felt right about the timing. So though I continued to meet with scores of people at one of many Techno Hub shops, it wasn’t until a Filipino- Canadian colleague, Jonathan Edralin, arrived that a work was finally underway. He’s at the helm and is full speed ahead in making sure a church plant sprouts.
This morning we met with a group of young adults who had interest in joining a core team to start a project at the Techno Hub. We can actually rent a high-tech, high-profile, state of the art conference center smack dab in the middle of the craziness. And it’s surprisingly affordable. I found out today that what most call center workers are searching for is a place to de-stress…a place to talk about problems and joys, to connect with real people about life, to have healthy fun and to somehow experience God in the chaos. Basically, they were looking for a community to belong to. The local churches are having difficulty catering to this group. If there was an attractive faith community with open doors ready to receive these stressed out workers after their night shift was over, how much impact and life-transformation could go down? Imagine leaving work with a group of co-wokers/friends and instead of entering Starbucks to hang out they went next door and experienced what God had to offer, minus the expensive coffee.
It was an exciting morning as the team leader, Jonathan, cast vision and we facilitated the brainstorming of a brand new church plant. I won’t tell you what we came up with because we’re still processing all the ideas. But I will tell you one thing: It’s not going to look like a normal church.
*I’d like to take a moment to thank JayPee and David for being the true facilitators of the meeting. Jon gave me the assignment of making sure the recruitment and brainstorming session flowed well, but I really just stepped aside as the two took our conversations to soaring levels. They knew how to properly communicate everything we were trying to get across.
The Bishops and Amy
Mark Williams, a dear friend of ours, came for a visit. Though we weren’t the only reason for traveling thousands of miles away from his home in Oceanside, it sure felt like it. Actually, Mark is the Vice President of Dynamic Church Planting International (DCPI). They train thousands of indigenous pastors in over a hundred nations to effectively plant reproducing churches. His organization also happens to be Amy’s former employer.
Due to Amy’s connection with the organization and our ministry partnership with Bishop Efraim Tendero (Overseer of thousands of churches in the Philippines), Amy was able to secure an important meeting to discuss a future partnership. Bishop Ef invited Bishop Manny who is the head of a network of churches called Victory Christian Fellowship…one of the most successful megachurches in the Philippines. Also in attendance was Bishop Cesar who is a part of the Baptist General Conference and has been influential in hundreds of church plants. He is also in charge of researching the state of the church in the Philippines. Alex Pacis, a Filipino World Team missionary, overseer of a large network of Filipino churches in Canada and considered a bishop in many instances, also graced us with his presence. Another Bishop in charge of church planting for the Philippine Council of Evangelical churches came later.
After some small talk, which I thought was much too short for normal Filipino meetings, the Bishops quickly fired away at DCPI’s curriculum. The Filipinos were on the offensive having encountered many different types of church models and approaches that proved to divide the church in the Philippines rather than help it. Quickly, academic backgrounds and ministry experiences were laid on the table…probably to give each person credibility to speak. Man, it was tense. The Bishops were frustrated with the state of the church and the harmful effects of western teachings. I really felt like they were going to reject everything Mark was going to say.
I felt awkward because it felt like I didn’t belong in that room with such powerful people. But whether Dr. Mark knew it or not, I think communicating our relationship to them helped. He told the story of how he knew me before I became a Christian and how Amy and I first met at New Song Church. Then, Bishop Ef made sure to tell the other Bishops that Amy and I were one of his church planters working in an impoverished community. And Alex Pacis chimed in saying that we were colleagues at World Team. That immediately put Amy and I in a neutral position.
Amidst the bombardment of scrutiny, questions and doubt, Amy was able to express the importance of DCPI’s training in the Philippines. Our current experience in church planting at Bagong Silangan and the exposure we’ve had with Filipinos hoping to church plant has brought us to the conclusion that unless you have the time and money to go to seminary, your church planting training will remain lacking. Amy eloquently but confidently spoke to these powerful men arguing for the need of training in church planting essentials. By the end of our meeting, the Bishops felt a little better.
It wasn’t until after lunch, however, that I found out how impressed they were with Amy. They said they look forward to her being one of the trainers. (Amy is a master trainer with DCPI.) Before everyone left, a date was set in November to conduct a 4-day training for 50 ministry heads throughout the Philippines. Pretty amazing. Who said missionary wives were only effective at taking care of the family?
Sacrificial Dinner
I can’t get tired of expressing how proud I am of our little faith community. Sure, we’re small and newly formed but there’s a lot of power in that group of believers. Last night was the culmination of a couple months of hard work. We had a fundraiser that was aptly called a “sacrificial dinner.” Those in attendance agreed to purchase tickets for a meal hardly worth the price of a bus ride. In fact, the meal is commonly consumed by the impoverished. In Tagalog it’s called “lugaw” but to make it sound more exotic, a change of spices gave us permission to call it “congee,” the Chinese counterpart.
Those in attendance shelled out 10-20 times the price of the actual dinner as a donation to fix our building’s roof and to add a ceiling. Without the repairs the congregation would continue to endure leaks from the monsoon rains during worship service and intense heat upwards to 105 F in the summer months. In all reality, Amy and I could have shelled out the cash, but for those of you involved in any type of compassion ministry, you know that doing such a thing would devastate a movement. We didn’t want to create a sense of dependence so we assisted in the arduous task of planning, preparing, marketing, selling and setting up the event. I observed looks of accomplishment and satisfaction among our church members as the event took place…an achievement that will propel this poverty-stricken community to serve the Lord with as much fervor as those with means.
In the midst of our regular community outreach events, Bible studies, prayer meetings, worship services, leaders’ training and fellowship gatherings, our fundraising committee met to ensure the sacrificial dinner would go off without a hitch. And it did. With almost 100 people in attendance we raised enough money to secure the repairs needed.
So I’ll say it again. I am proud of these guys. To see a ministry among the poor thrive as if they had the resources of the rich is a blessing given only by the God who provides in an overwhelming fashion.
a youth gospel
Daily Vacation Bible School (DVBS) started the morning Karen left. For those of you who don’t know her, she is a dear friend who used to be an intern with Frontline Ministries. Now she teaches children in South Korea. We’re quite proud of her, having seen her spiritual growth through her college years. She’s a great example of what can happen to a young person when they fall in love with Jesus Christ. Anyways, she came to visit for a few days, which granted us a much needed break from our relentless schedule and energized us for the week to come.
We dropped her off for her 1:30am flight and went home hoping to catch a few hours of sleep. Jem, a friend of ours who recently graduated college and is now working with a big corporation in the financial district, was already at our house. He serves with us in outreach as I mentor him (he’s headed to the island with us as an intern) and often spends the night especially before an early day…6am.
Unfortunately I came up with a gnarly case of dysentery and couldn’t make it to the first day of VBS, but Jem covered for me. Actually, I was out for the whole week. Though I ended up making it to the week-long event, I was rendered useless. Fortunately, God is sovereign and knows what He’s doing so He totally prepared our church workers for the task. We had 35-50 kids depending on the day. Many of them surrendered their lives to Jesus and are now attending our church. A few parents are also now attending. But the best thing about the DVBS was that it gave us a good reputation in the community. Now, we can go into slums and neighborhoods and feel welcome whenever we ask people for prayer during our weekly outreaches.
I love youth ministry. I can’t seem to get away from it. My first experience in ministry was with the youth in California, then in Mississippi and now in the Philippines. Two of my favorite people are committing to serve Jesus overseas, in an undisclosed location. They are the fruit of youth ministry I got to be involved in. Sydney Darling came out for an internship…the culmination of years of hard work that began when I knew her in the high school ministry. Another one of our friends plans to come out as an intern with World Team…we knew her in the college ministry when she started volunteering with us in Frontline.
When we got to the Philippines I vowed not to do youth ministry…mostly as a joke because it seemed like everywhere I went, I got pulled in to reach out to children and teenagers. Just the other week we had a living room full of young adults spending the night. I thought becoming a missionary meant reaching out only to adults. But recent experience has reminded me that my passion and joy comes when ministering to the youth. So why fight the feeling?
dread
When you grow up in relative prosperity, a two-car garage, filled, and a family pet, poverty strikes you hard. Times were lean for my family sometimes during my childhood, but lean for middle class America is ultimate riches for shanty-town children. There’s a weight I’ve been carrying, a constant awareness of the injustice of poverty, especially the poverty that strikes whole communities of people. It’s unfathomable, and it’s bitter. It’s bitter to those who drink it with their contaminated water and recycled trash meals, and it’s bitter for those who, having, let the reality of injustice sit in their mouths for a while.
It makes me ache.
Because while there are things I can do, things we can do, to combat destitution, there is nothing I can do to eradicate it. The poverty I’m speaking of I’ve not even yet seen with my own eyes. Edwin has brought home pictures and storiesfrom his recent prayer walks at the trash dump at Payatas. He told me today that there’s even a deeper level of poverty he’d never seen before. While some squatters (people who don’t own the land they live on) are still able to acquire cinder block building materials and make sturdy homes for themselves, there are poorer squatters at the dump. They build their houses out of whatever scraps of tin or board they can find. Edwin said they live in such deplorable conditions that their skin is full of pox marks from festering skin sores that never fully heal.
Their food is sold to them out of what is gathered from the garbage, and if theycan’t actually afford the gas to cook it, they eat it “raw.” Edwin was told that doctors have warned these people they’re going to die from eating the refuse, but, he was told, they’d rather die with full stomachs, whether or not the food in their stomachs is what will kill them.
I just ate chocolate chips for my “something sweet” after dinner. I fed my boys a fresh dinner of fresh vegetables stir fried. All the while I’ve had the “untouchables” on my mind. For that’s really what they are, in this covert caste system that I’ve observed in the Philippines. Or perhaps they’re really more appropriately called the forgotten. To get to their trash dump home, several layers of society are crossed: first the upper class Fil-Invest homes; then the community of Veterans, a just-above-squatter community of the urban poor; then a squatter community of narrow cinder block-lined allies; and finally, the trash-heap dwellers.
And so, what do I do? There are the obvious answers: pray, help those who you can. But I still have this lingering heaviness in my gut. Why am I living in relative wealth while there are people living in such filth? Sometimes our actions get ourselves where we are, but sometimes we have nothing to do with getting where we are. I could do a sociological survey of poverty through history, and the sins of culture and country that lead to such overwhelming poverty. But that would only ease my intellect, and not my feeling.
Yet I’m afraid the feeling is only going to get worse. Edwin has lined up another prayer walk this coming Thursday. He wants me to go. I’ve been able to, honestly, hide behind Josiah to keep me from confronting this deep angst, but I have no excuse this Thursday, as Edwin thinks we can bring Josiah along. There’s a side of me that doesn’t want to go because I don’t want to come across as a gawker, but since we’ll be praying, and more specifically than I could do away from the site, I feel compelled to be there to pray. I want to be there to carry, even for a few minutes, their burden on my spiritual shoulders. To stand for those with whom I have nothing in common.
It’s a strange and difficult feeling, because we are here to serve the people of the Philippines. And yet, I do not want to go this deep into poverty, to face injustice that I can’t change. It’s a feeling of helplessness that could paralyze action. But I will do something. I will go, because the people at Payatas dump are loved by God. And we don’t know what He wants to do there.
The Road to Emmaus…dumpsite (Easter Videoke part 2)
The Monday after Easter, several members of the church joined me in prayer walking. We were tired from the activities, traveling and sun exposure the day before. In fact, none of us wanted to be there. I wondered what the disciples felt the day after Jesus’ resurrection? Surely, they were tired too…until Jesus finally presented Himself to them like he did to the downcast Cleopas and his buddy after walking on that road to Emmaus. That’s what we needed…to see Jesus for an extra umph of motivation.
We drug our feet to a few houses to call out other church members to join us. Eventually, the Lord led us to an area just a few minutes down the road. To my surprise, we ended up next to the infamous Payatas dump. It’s known for a horrible incident years back in which several hundred squatters living on the landfill were killed when a mound collapsed on their shanties. To this day, many of those people remain missing. Additionally, squatters still sift through the trash looking for recyclable material to sell. They even scavenge for scrap food with the intention of re-cooking it and selling it to other squatters who can’t afford a decent meal.
This is where Jennlyn, the teenager who was baptized on Easter, resides (see previous post). We dodged streams of sewage, fecal matter that were like land mines to us, and entered narrow alleys barely large enough for one person at a time to walk through. Her home was missing a door and the family was still asleep at 7:30am so we simply called out her name. One of the church members reached into the living room, his feet still planted outside and nudged her awake. Surprised, she jumped up with her brothers and they quickly put away their sleeping mats.
Maybe it was just me, but I’m pretty sure all of us forced ourselves to smile. We were tired and the deplorable conditions of our environment were sickening. But then, Jennlyn grew excited, telling us how happy she was to go on our little Easter excursion. She wanted us to visit the friends who tagged along that day. After more polite conversation, we prayed for her and her family.
She joyfully guided us to several different homes all the while talking about her new life in Christ. We met with overjoyed youth recounting their fun-filled day, some of whom were also baptized. Parents were elated that their kids got to experience such a wonderful time. One set of parents even told us that their child was trying to “convert” them. They laughed…we were surprised. We were led to sick and disabled residents and asked to pray over them. Energy was beginning to climb within our exhausted bodies.
As we walked back up the road, we talked in excitement about all the cool interactions we had. There was a little bit of uneasiness as we were reminded that the path we took was known for bold daytime robberies. But as we continued to talk, ideas poured forth from some of the disciples. By the time we made it to the end of the road, this is what we came up with: 1.) Holding a daily vacation bible school for the youth on the second week of May and 2.) Providing a warm meal once a week for that area of the community and 3.) Start a new Bible Study for the parents
I am soooo happy to be a part of a church that seeks to reach out. Did I mention that most of the members of our church make less than 2 dollars a day if anything at all?
Thousands of years ago, two disciples were walking down a road headed to a village called Emmaus. They were talking about all the different things that happened when Jesus was crucified. Suddenly a man came out of nowhere and started to talk to them. They didn’t know it, but it was Jesus. Later they recounted how their hearts were burning while the unrecognizable Jesus talked to them. I guess a lot of times I forget that Jesus walks among us…even talks to us and he may simply take the form of a squatter that gets our hearts burning.
Easter Videoke part 1…
Meet Jennlyn Ramos. On Easter Sunday she accompanied us, along with 66 other members of our church, to a river in a nearby province. Meeting at dawn, we boarded a bus generously provided by missionary Alex Pacis and his connection with the owner of a certain busliner. After our remarkably fast hour and a half trip (with normal traffic it could take as long as two and a half hours), we unloaded our gear and food on tables underneath bamboo and palm covered shelters.
Our little shelters were located in the water so when we commenced our worship service, we were ankle deep in a slow moving current. Jennlyn sang with us as best she could, though all the songs were new to her.
After a short Easter sermon given by yours truly and an explanation concerning baptism from Alex, I waded out to the middle of the river along with a leader in the church. Our background music was beautiful. The members were singing worship songs and…I dunno…it just gave me goosebumps.
Jennlyn was the 6th person to make her way out. Her joy was contagious and in spite of missing several front teeth, her smile was beautiful. She shyly professed her faith in Jesus Christ, turned to face the congregation, crossed her arms and we dunked her into the water, baptizing her in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
Immediately, the congregation clapped and shouted for joy. She joined her friends and a ton of cell phone pictures were taken. The rest of the day consisted of eating, swimming, playing games and of course…videoke! At 5 pesos (11 cents)
per song, this was a treat rarely to be had. Only later would I find out just how much this day meant to her.
Filipino Funeral – Honoring Nanang Nena
Nanang Nena is my grandfather’s sister. She is credited as the woman responsible for bringing the first of our family members to the States which includes my father. Without her…I probably would never have been born because my dad met my mom in the States. As the story goes, she arrived in the U.S. with 20 bucks in her pocket (after going through a grueling immigration process). Her wealth increased exponentially after that.
Our family exhibits her DNA in the form of a hard working mentality and intellectual go-getting attitude. Most of the people in my family represent the typical immigrant story: Rising from poverty to success. So it was no wonder that an entire town showed up for her funeral including many relatives who flew in from the States.
I had the privilege of speaking to the mourners before her casket was transported to the Catholic Church. I was thankful for this moment because I was able to present the Gospel to many of my family members. Where else would I have an opportunity like this? Additionally, I think I impressed a bunch of my relatives with my Tagalog. I usually get made fun of for not speaking correctly but several family members told me that my Tagalog was better than theirs!
Anyways, check out this video because it is a glimpse of what a Filipino funeral looks like. And you’ll here me speak in Tagalog toward the beginning.
Blessings to Nanang Nena’s legacy and I pray that her descendants will fall in love with Jesus Christ…being adopted into the Kingdom of all Kingdoms!
prayer wandering
When I announced that I would be prayer walking every Monday morning, only one or two people had a clue what I was talking about. I wanted people to join me but some of our church members couldn’t hold back their chuckles imagining me walking with my head bowed down, eyes closed. “People are going to think you’re crazy” or “you’re probably gonna get run over” were responses said in jest…but you know what they say…90% of truth in every joke (or do I just say that?).
Finally, a bunch of my friends got excited about it. They thought it would be a great way to get some exercise or to get them up and going for the day. They chose the time. “7am. If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right!” I on the other hand am not an early bird. When I was with Frontline, I dreaded our 5am start time for our outreach programs and now that I’m the big “THREE-OH,” having to get up by 6am is getting harder and harder.
So about ten of us met up at the church, chatted over coffee and pan-de-sal around a big table in the courtyard and about an hour later (Filipino time), we were on our way. Even though I was the one leading and had the experience of how to conduct prayer walks, I didn’t have a clue how to go about this. I gave them one instruction. We were gonna walk around and pray for any and everyone…with our eyes wide open! I actually thought it was going to be awkward and instead of walking I expected us to simply wander around, not knowing what to do.
But the Holy Spirit led us. As a group we stopped by as many tindahans (small outdoor stores selling anything from meats to plastic wares). We asked venders if they had any prayer requests and as a group, we prayed for them. We stopped by houses, knocked on doors and prayed for entire families. We walked down alleys and entered squatter areas more impoverished than the neighborhood our church is found in. At one point, we discovered hundreds of people living in a maze of narrow alleys. We stopped and prayed for men leaning on walls smoking their beadies . We entered compounds and prayed for tenants. We stopped in the middle of the dirt roads and prayed for entire neighborhoods.
Wow, it was amazing. I thought we were just gonna walk around and silently pray for things as we saw fit. But God moved in the hearts of the church members and they initiated conversations. People wanted us to come back, everyone asked about our church community. From what I was told, a simple event like this never occurs in that housing project.
We’ll be doing this every Monday morning at 7am. You wanna join us?
Amy teaching in Tagalog
Earlier this afternoon, immediately after church service, Amy gathered the women leaders to talk about Biblical principles in a relationship. This was more than just a Bible Study…it was strategic. Our church has very few men in attendance. Most of them believe that the church is simply a woman’s domain even though most of the leadership is male oriented. Husbands refuse to accompany their wives to church because, “it’s the only time I get a chance to relax away from my spouse,” or so one wife describes her husband as saying. Amy believes part of the problem is in the home. Though admitting that it’s not the women’s fault, she told them that there was so much they could do to get their men to church. She encouraged the women to love their husbands into the church.
Check out this short clip of Amy teaching in Tagalog!
Medical Mission Bagong Silangan
This post is exactly a month late. On February 26th we had the privilege of coordinating a medical mission in the community surrounding our church. Over 240 patients were seen for services such as: Pediatrics, Ophthalmology, Dental, Ob/Gyn and General Medicine. People were presented the Gospel in the waiting area and dozens surrendered their lives to Jesus Christ. We started 2 Bible Studies and the church has grown because of the efforts of the members of the church. Praise God!
the Adventures of the Samsons 
