Change of Scenery
I was last minute invited on a weekend excursion to the beach. Five volunteers said they had an extra place that I could fill because my last trip didn't end up working out...! So I was able to enjoy God's glory in complete relaxation. It was different glory from the crazy and busy life here in Manila. Good all the same. Except for the sunburn...I learned my lesson with my last beach experience ruined by the suns harmful rays. I was so careful and cautious and aware! Sunscreen and umbrellas and indoors and more sunscreen. Now I just know it is a battle that cannot be won.
Within minutes of our arrival, the vendors take notice and start their approach. Baskets, necklaces, pearls, bracelets, sunglasses, fresh fruit sliced and served; beggars with a simple loose change cup and nothing to offer. All for special price, just for me. All new arrivals. All persistent after rejection.
No thank you, sir. No thank you, ma'am. That's my one-liner-tell-off-attempt as I walk away trying to look confident in my denial but melting inside.
Okay, maybe later, ma'am? I come back later. Tomorrow?
Umm...I say, buckling. And they know and I know and they're happy and I'm angry. I don't know. And they try to catch me with eye contact and I'm still angry. And they still know. Because I'm buckling.
Ma'am? Maybe later?
Okay. I walk away. Maybe later.
And there you go. That's all they want. That's what they know how to do. I always walk away feeling sort of taken advantage of...I secretly want to leave a light aroma of bitterness so they know that I know that they know! But I actually don't know. And it's frustrating and it's tiring. And it's a situation that's simply hard to know how to react to. And it is everywhere: the beach, the markets, the malls, the shops...the everywhere. We drive out into the horrendous Manila traffic, sitting sometimes half hours at a time in the same quarter mile of street.
Young children stand on the very tips of their bare toes, peering up into our windows. Eye contact is made. They hold high above their heads a handful of Sampaguita, the national flower. Three or four of these flower buds are woven onto a string that can hang on your rearview mirror and serve as an air freshener that lasts for a day before withering up and losing scent. Or any other number of purposes. The simple, maybe useless flower necklace isn't supposed to catch your eye, obviously. Tilted heads, inferior eyes, tattered clothing, dirt-covered and bare feet, silent cries. Window after window, day after day, night after night, earning about 8 cents at every sale, seeing about zero cents at the end of the long work day when earnings go to the rightful owners. That catches eyes.
Blind beggars use an escort, following close behind in the shadows of the child street vendors. The escort uses one hand to back and one to support the blind beggar's cupped hand. The eyes of the escort which see stare at you. Don't you see his state? Have mercy on him. The eyes of the blind which cannot see stare at you. Eyes grayed and glazed and dead, they speak for themselves. They beg for themselves.
Never give in to them. It's not good for them. Remind yourself. It's never what it seems. Keep crackers in the dashboard. Don't give in to them.
If you don't look them in their eyes, working or broken, it can make it easier. But they stay and stare into your eyes that are pretending not to pay attention. A quick knock on the window tells them you're not interested. They sometimes move on at that, sometimes just stay. And sometimes knock back or just tap their small or withered finger on the window.
It's what they know how to do.
It's guilt and shame and pity, frustration and helplessness, sympathy, hopelessness, confusion...brokenness. It's everywhere.
A few of the many that seemingly mobbed us shortly after our arrival on Puerto Galera were women native to the beautiful Filipino island of Mindora. One of the women introduced herself, Alona. I was surprised. I heard that name before...and I knew it meant something worth finding out. As we talked, the other vendors seemed to disappear. But Alona and three other woman stood there sharing their beautiful, endless selection of colorful bracelets and hand woven baskets. There was something about their approach or maybe just their overall aroma that held my attention. They were so special.
I ordered an anklet to be made with writing on it and told them I'd buy bracelets when I picked up my anklet later that day.
You met Alona? Kim said to me as I entered the room. And suddenly I connected all of the dots. And I was moved and I was taken back.
A couple of months ago in May, my sister Katy and her two friends Jaime and Emily ran a booth for Jefferson High School's 2008 Diversity Day. They did the same thing for the 2007 Diversity Day. Different booths are supposed to represent different types of diversity whether it be culturally, ethnically, spiritually...anything diverse...which is everything. When I was first introduced to the idea of going to the Philippines I heard about a ministry called Threads of Hope. It was founded on the hope to rescue this small island from the state of desperation it was in. Bracelet making and selling was not enough to survive on, resulting in resorting to prostitution, selling kids into prostitution and barely surviving even then after ultimate sacrifice of innocence and life itself. The story in its entirety is really amazing, you can read the account of the missionary, Alex Kuhlow who had the vision of revival and acted upon it here: http://limelight-designs.com/threads.htm
Kuhlow bought thousands of bracelets and over time has dispersed them all over the Philippines, all over America...all over. He brought the bracelets with the story woven into everyone of them and has moved thousands of hearts.
Katy, Jaime and Emily ran the booth: Philippines. Hundreds of these bracelets laid out over their table, they told the story of the women of Mindora to the students at Jefferson High School. From desperation to revival. And students remembered the booth and were still wearing the bracelets from the previous year.
I sat at that booth watching in complete adoration those three girls representing something so worthy of representation.
Today I said goodbye to the very women who sat and wove every single one of those bracelets. The ones on the wrists and ankles of students at Jefferson High School and other students, campers, people alike all around America and here and wherever else they've made it to by miracle. Only God knows where each has landed. And the ones that are with me now. The ones my sister and I picked out for each other in knowledge that we would be separated for a time.
What a beautiful picture of Hope. And the truth in miracles of victory over hopelessness. Glory, glory, glory...for Light in the darkness. For connections connected. For Alona and all of Mindora. For revival.
Prologue
I am in a place I remember being some time ago…in more ways than one. Besides the obvious physical factor in being in the Philippines before and being here again now, a similarity much more prominent is weighing on me. The combination of the lifestyle of this culture and the lifestyle of this ministry, so much is going on always. Always moving, always busy, always changing, always adapting. Merging back into all of this took and is still taking a lot of trust. It is a constant pursuit of a constant focus in order to attain only the surface of this unnatural action called trust…or surrender. I find overprotective guards up in places unexpectedly protected and unexpected exposure to powerful vulnerabilities.
Clarity unfortunately is not a pledged constant. Courage is frighteningly much more than deciding to go. The beautiful promise of victory isn’t ease during inevitable battle.
Times like these make me wish I were a singer/songwriter. I feel being that would then somehow allow me to get it all out. The whole process is real and raw and fascinating. Experiencing the initial inspiration. Interpreting the inspiration poetically, lyrically, and musically. Working through the strife of rewriting, rewording, re-noting. Only letting hope and faith and belief in the inspiration uphold the melody. And finally, singing your heart out singing your song out with the passion in your voice supporting every purely composed lyric. The magical blend of a deeply personal journey and sharing the glory of it all.
I want to and will talk all about the Philippines…but I haven’t set my focus yet enough to. I haven’t figured out how to interpret this inspiration. In this place before, I fought redundancy always. The same words itched to surface; making sense in everything, encompassing whatever idea.
Cling. Truth. Journey. Revel. Glory. Story. Song.
Looking forward to the many tales sure to come from here and everywhere, honored and newly humbled every time, I draw back and hold tight to the inspiration.
Cling to the truth in the story of this journey and revel in the glory of the song it is writing.
His grace is sufficient, his glory is everywhere.
In clarity and in mystery. In courage and in terror. In victories and in battles.
Always and forever.
Reunion
I couldn't fight fear Thursday morning as I prepared to reunite with the little ones. I was worried about whether or not they knew I had come back...whether they would be excited or play ignorance...whether or not every worry in every thought would come true. Breaking my pacing feet and racing mind, I see Rachel Langefels. She and her husband are the assistant directors of the Children's home, familiar faces and blessings of friends for me here. Our greeting was wonderful and much needed.
The kids won't stop asking where's Tita May-gone? When is she coming? Rachel said to me. Relief and refreshment rushed over me, taking away heaviness that should never have been on my heart. I know how much of a vulnerability I have, it's hard to displace that target and name it what it is. I decided to act on my new found excitement and confidence quickly before disbelief swept in for the kill...I made my first steps toward the Children's Home.
The gate was slightly opened, the angle I stood at allowed no one to see me and allowed me a few extra seconds to breathe in...out...in...out...enter. I realize that not one picture would have been possible for me to take because my hands, arms, back, ankles, legs, neck were tied up; and I also realize that my recollection of this is far more grand than pictures I could have attempted to take, but I do wish somehow I could share this picture with you. Old smiles, new haircuts, old jokes, new faces. Destiny was in this reunion.
The little miracle babies, Daniel and Jacob, have grown in size, in hair length and in number of sprouting teeth. They are wonderfully delightful and accepting the fact that their days with us at the children's home will soon be numbered is painful. All the kids have grown, in fact. Cyryl and Princess Aya went home while I was away as well. Princess Aya, who would grab your cheeks, look you in the eyes and say, you are very beautiful, but you will never be as beautiful as me. The two sisters went back to their home in Boracay with their mother who had loved them enough to surrender them for three years, only in hopes to better their lives. A sad thought on the surface, but the depth of selflessness that must have entailed is incredible. The social workers are too good for our own good...whether it be finding and reuniting lost and broken families or lining up the adoption process properly. It is a hard celebration to cheer for, although it is ultimately what we're here for.
School starts Tuesday and I had my first teachers training today. The path has quickly transformed into a lush, green jungle. On both the left and the right of the narrow way to school, gorgeous, rain-derived life has sprung. I am compelled to say, as cliche as it may be, this was a metaphorical picture for me to see of the upcoming school year and all newness God has in store.
I find myself worrying by wondering if the kids will accept and approve or if I'm really fit for this role I've entered into. I should, and pray I will, learn more deeply the truth in faith without seeing. I am thankful that the Lord blessed me like He did with this reunion I never could've imagined, even despite the worry or distraction. Fear swept clean by either quick or long awaited relief reminds me of and refocuses me to my Audience of One. Worry, change, growth, loss, newness...all for Glory.
I am here!
I have officially arrived in Manila, Philippines. My flight and all transitions were wonderfully smooth. I was attacked by giddiness...sorry if the words "I was attacked" scared anyone...when the vehicle pulled into Cuatro Community, I figure that is a good sign.
My roommate, Daisy, will be returning to Manila tomorrow. I am excited to see her again, quickly catch up, and move forward together into this next year. I will also see the children tomorrow...bright and early. As I typed that out, my heart danced. I figure that, too, is a good sign. And lastly, on my way to see the children, I will be walking through Cuatro Community once again. I replay what their shout-outs and hugs were like only in remembrance now. But tomorrow morning I will be reliving those blessings in living, beautiful color.
Only one thing went wrong today and I haven't yet let myself get too far down about it. There will be no picture updates quite yet, for I have left my camera on the airplane in Tokyo, Japan. That is both a prayer request and a just-so-you-know. A sad one.
I am wide awake, ready to eat lunch...but it is one in the morning. So I am on my way to force myself to sleep now.
Much love from Manila!
1 Peter 5:6-11
1 Peter 5:6-11
Humble yourselves therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking some one to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of sufferings are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To Him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen.
On the plane, six hours have gone by. An entire day on this slightly cushioned, foot-and-a-half by foot-and-a-half seat is not the most comfortable day ever spent. My neighbor, 52-J, and I haven’t quite figured out how to share these armrests. That gets awkward. I am feeling a bit fidgety and anxious at this point…this halfway point. That is where I’m at.
Having my previous trip behind me, travel logistics included, helped a lot with the inevitable anxieties that come hand-in-hand with anticipation. I could follow whatever memory I had left of the route I took just five months ago, taking the same venture. Print ticket…check luggage…security…finally making it to gate G-4 after wonderful and tearful goodbyes. Bittersweet goodbyes. I sat among the same vast sea of Filipinos that flooded this same gate in January. An extremely large group of Filipino students were crowded together in several different cliques and huddles. Parents sat watching their kids run around, weaving in and out of each and every chair in each and every row…their last chance to embrace the somewhat open area before the first plane ride of twelve hours. Their last chance to exhaust their soon to be confined children. A group of about fifteen all wore neon green t-shirts and walked around together. They basically sum up the Americans on this flight. I boarded, fighting how surreal it all felt, found 52-H, sought and found help with my overly heavy carry-on, and settled into this slightly cushioned, foot-and-a-half by foot-and-a-half seat.
‘On the plane.’ I text my mom. I look up from hitting the Send button on my phone, and Jeff Long was walking down the aisle of the plane. Jeff Long, the Director of the Children’s home and all of Kids International Ministries, who I had no idea would be on this flight. He stopped, as did most of the plane, when I shouted, JEFF!?! But he was not walking to say hello to me. He was walking to greet the neon green t-shirt group because they are all on their way to Manila. More specifically, they are all on their way to Cuatro Community for two weeks on a short-term missions trip, serving alongside Kids International Ministries. I could have cried when I saw Jeff…it wouldn’t have been hard seeing as my emotions were and still are shaken just from leaving. Instead, I just laughed. I had to be confident in travel logistics from Minneapolis to Tokyo, Tokyo to Manila. I was, too…but lightly put, those neon green t-shirts are nice checkpoints to have. And a bus is picking up them, Jeff Long, and me in Manila on June 11, 2008 at 10:50 p.m.
All seventeen of us.
It will be impossible for me to get lost.
I watched the first movie of the trip, What To Do If We Crash, located my nearest exit (keeping in mind that it could be behind me), checked my buckle, and watched the life size Land of the Free momentarily turn to Lego set size. I turned on my iPod and reveled, once again, in the ways of the Lord.
My first Blog when I arrive in Manila will again be a tale of the very first miracle in the very first moments of my journey…unexpected as always. Glory, glory , glory…as always.
Restore.
Confirm.
Strengthen.
Establish.
To Him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Two Weeks and Counting...
I am excited to start this blog as a tracking of this adventure so soon to come. I will be landing on Filipino grounds in little over two weeks from this day. I remember before I left in January how consumingly surreal this time is, leaving in the not-so-distant-anymore future. I'm not sure if I find myself counting down the days in excitement or fear, but there is a lot of anticipation. A lot of wonder.
A couple of days ago I sorted through the unbelievable assortment of donations that have come in to be sent to Manila. So much of me was caught up in trying to fit everything inside these boxes with precision, I probably packed and unpacked and repacked and unpacked and reorganized and unpacked six times before my dad swept through and made everything fit like a glove.
Before my dad came to save the day, I sat on the driveway taking the packaging off of over 50 glue sticks and over 100 pairs of scissors; stacking and packing over 200 notebooks, 100 binders, 4,000 sheets of construction paper, 200 writing tablets; vacuum packing what would have been at least 2 boxes worth of clothing before the compression; staplers, staples, calculators, tape, dry-erase markers, pens, pencils, graph paper, record-books, and so much more. Over 280 pounds of supplies were before my eyes; an obvious coming together and outpour of a blessed community that I know and love from this world, for the cause and sake of a broken community that I am so soon to know and love from another world.
I pray that in this journey, the Lord will always move in my heart what He moved in the hearts of all the people who have given all that has been prayed for and provided for. And all that is stuffed in those boxes.
In Manila, when I next see those heavy boxes, I will have a crowd of Filipino students and teachers around me. They will be 'practicing their patience' with wide-eyes, twiddling fingers, jittery feet, and anxious squeals...just dying to see and use whatever may be inside. Replacing old with new, bringing fill to what is missing...meeting simple, desperate needs.
That will be glory.
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