Every morning for the past 31 days I have sat in the rocking chair that sits on the front porch of the guest house, where we are staying, watching the gate. The scene is never the same, though the same vendors are set-up selling their goods in the same spot each morning; Out those bars I watch the Filipino world go by. Hundreds of people cycle up and down the street. I hear vendors blowing horns, roosters welcoming the sunrise with their familiar voices, children laughing and running to school in their yellow and blue uniforms. Every now and then the gate will open, and a man or woman will come in with a blue jug to fill at the water spigot that sits a few feet from the rocking chair. I usually greet them with a “Good morning” or a “Hello” and am pleased to receive a warm smile in return. The sound of the metal latch opening and closing, and the creaking of the hinges each time it is swung open play over and over in my head now.
I’m going to miss the gate when I leave here tomorrow. For the metal door itself does not leave me reminiscing, but rather the world beyond its frame and the people walking through its passage I will miss dearly. I will truly miss rocking in that chair with a cup of coffee in my hand each morning, waiting to see who is going to enter through the gate and into my life that very day. I will miss the world that will move along without me after I am gone.
I’ve never before been so thankful for consistency. I found comfort in a metal door.
It’s time to walk through the gate for the last time in this season of my life. My team is flying to Phnom Penh tomorrow night; a new month of ministry awaits us. I reckon I will find a new gate, though it will probably look much different. One thing I am certain of: It is sure to offer new scenes behind it’s bars, and I can only pray that the people that walk through that gate will be as beautiful as my friends in the Philippines.
