With a sore body in a humid tent, I sit up recollecting this year and where it’s gone. From Central America, to Africa, to Nepal, I have somehow been dropped off on an island at the end of my race. I have traveled for 7 months to be here, which means God has been prepping my heart for quite some time now to be in this sticky tent tonight. And I’m thankful because no matter how many unusual situations I find myself in, living the life of a Christian radical/vagabond never gets easy.
I am in a rural village on one of the southernmost islands in the Philippines. I’m part of the second group of Americans ever to come here. I am stared at, asked for photos and even autographs by kids sometimes. I’m a guest of honor everywhere I go. I’ve received this treatment before but you never quite get used to being famous for the color of your skin.
I have to flee from my tent every morning after sunrise, or I’ll bake in the heat. From there I draw some water from the well to take a shower, which consists of a gallon sized bucket tied to a rope I pull up and dump out until my shower bucket is full. And then it’s time to get to work. In the mornings we spend 4 hours on manual labor; today we dug up ground for what will soon be a church. And at 1:00 we break for lunch. Since we’re so far out, we don’t make it to the supermarket often. My stash of food is running low, so today for lunch I ripped the moldy parts off my last two pieces of bread and ate them with some crunchy peanut butter. I snacked on some dry corn flakes and my box of raisins until dinner time.
In the evening we train in martial arts. Yep… you read that right. Dave is a grand master black belt (or something like that) and is training my team and I over these three months. He has the ability to validate us and says we’ll be coming home with orange belts. Towards the end of our time here we’ll be teaching kids martial arts as a platform to share the gospel.
I’m thankful for a life and a God that keep me on my feet. I wake up and I never know what’s coming, which I’ve learned to love. Just a month ago I was in Nepal, praying about the Philippines and asking God to make a way for my dad to get here, (see my last blog). Less than 24 hours after those prayers, my dad and I were supported with over $3000. One family in particular who gave the last donation was aware it would put me over the top and have decided to bless me with the excess money for any need I have. (God is GOOD. Thank you guys.)
Just a week ago I was in Manila, seeing my dad for the first time in a year and diving into one of the darkest types of ministry out there, human trafficking. And just a few days ago I said goodbye to my dad, and parted ways with my hotel room’s AC and comfy bed. I boarded a 30 hour boat ride in the underneath of a ship on a small bunk in the same room as 400 strangers. We arrived on the island of Negros Occidental and were bused to the village we’re living in, where I sit in my tent now.
We have no electricity, no beds, and no running water. We have no wifi, and limited access to civilization. But we have plenty of work to be done. There are a whole lot of people to be Jesus to. And really, that’s all we need.
