While Watching Them

When I was 16 I joined a team of young adults who ran a program for kids on holiday at the beach. The team were mostly in their 20s, giving up their own vacation to share their faith, their love and their lives with the kids.

I came away from that experience with a new set of heroes and a resolve to live my life like those leaders. It was an experience that shaped my character profoundly from that moment forward. I was inspired to go back again and again to volunteer myself for that program and many more since.

Last night we spent time with Ken's Campus Ministry classmates and I saw the same character transaction taking place in my kids. They began forming heroes that will forever be impressed on their hearts. Heroes that sacrifice their time, their money, their comforts...and so much more...to invest in young people. And my kids are beginning to form their own futures, while watching them. If I came to this country for that moment, it was worth it.

Heart to Heart

We have an amazing selection of Christian worship music in Australia. Hits can be heard not just in the churches of foreign nations but in the shopping malls! Just this past Sunday, the Filipino band was belting out tunes from Australia during the worship time.

But it wasn't hearing English that moved me. It was when they sang worship in their own language that my tears began to flow. There was no difference in the natural - all the songs were beautiful and the band played them with the same finesse and enthusiasm. But something was different spiritually. They were singing to "Hesus" in their heart language, and I could feel it with them.

I'll never forget meeting Bible translators when I was a teenager. They talked about the impact it makes when people hear about Jesus in their own heart language. When history is siphoned through channels that we're byast against or simply foreign to us, it's easy to pass it by. But when we hear a story that speaks straight to our heart it moves mountains.

It makes me wonder what walls are up between the people I speak to and me. They're not just cultural barriers, or language barriers; they're heart barriers. And it made me wonder what would happen if we could speak to each other with no barriers inbetween. If we could speak from heart to heart.

This is the song that moved me to tears...Dakila (Great)

Stories

I keep being reminded of the power of story. The stories of a culture are often one of the first things to be removed during a genocide. Books are burnt. Manuscripts stolen. Attempts to erase history abound.

Last week was full of so many stories. Our family had the privilege of joining a group of homeschooling mums and kids, as they heard missionaries speak from a dozen or so nations. I felt humbled as I heard story after story from each of these women, telling of their lives in nations mostly antagonistic towards Christians. Violently antagonistic. Heads being removed antagonistic. Putting you behind bars antagonistic.

And then there was the homeschooling mums and kids. What a privilege to be a part of a group that organise these events. These kids are regularly exposed to people who are having incredible impact on society. What heroes and heroines they'll have as they grow up! Forget Justin Bieber, baby - they're tight with the next Nelson Mandela.

We had breakfast, care of a mighty campus missionary in training. We were driven there by a development worker who's just returned from Bangladesh, and is now helping with the ongoing hurricane Yolanda crisis. Hosting us for the day was a couple of beautiful Mums who drove us home, blessed us with gifts, and who's kids gave us their missions pocket-money. And they had big pockets!

I wish I had have asked them more questions. I wish I could have heard more stories.

Holding Tightly

The clocks in our apartment all show a different time. I've noticed the same in other people's places. It makes sense. The actual time seems almost irrelevant here. If your boss cares, you'll be planning to get there 40mins earlier anyway. Just in case. You know. Traffic. Every Pinoy nods their head and smiles with empathy.

That's right, they smile! They don't stomp their feet and complain. It's just accepted. If you want to get your kids to school you get up at 5:30am. If you want to meet your friends in the evening you all say 7 and know it wont actually happen until 8...30.

But I've decided there's so much more to elastic time than traffic. There's a shift in priorities. Shower your sweat-drenched bod or leave on time? Shower. Plan multiple detours along the way to make stepping outside worth your while or arrive on time. Detour of course!

In fact anything and everything seems a lot more important than getting places on time. I've found most things have changed order of priority for me here. Healthy eating? Down low. When Olive Oil and Truffle Oil sit next to each other in the gourmet section you grab whatever oil is not! Brown bread - who eats brown bread??

Changing priorities can mess with your head but it does make you fight for what's important. And as I watch once cherished 'needs' slip out of my reach, I wonder what life will be like back in Australia. Some things will never be the same.

Photo credit to Jessica Shin

Everyday Heroes

I've been thinking about heroes. I realised I have a lot of them. I think it's because I ask a lot of questions and when you go digging, there's an abundance of gold out there.

I've bragged about my husband in these blogs, and my church, but there's a whole bunch of individuals I've spent time with here who have heroic qualities.

There's the lovely girls who've helped me look after my kids, sacrificing so much of their time to do a job that's tough enough for me. They've both pushed through obstacles. And they both turned their life journeys into fuel propelling them into mission endeavours in foreign nations.

There's our gorgeous celebrity friends who are taking all that God has transformed in their lives, into the dark world of media and entertainment. And our lifegroup leaders who manage hotels that were once part of a chain of brothels. That was, until their boss found Jesus and turned them into places where people now encounter God.

These stories send tingles down my spine. And they are everywhere. Everyone seems to have a story of impact, a dream that inspires me in my own. It doesn't take a governmental army to transform a nation, it takes everyday heroes. And heroes are everywhere.

Shared Memories

I have a theory about why family bonds are stronger than others...it's the shared memories. Literally 1000s upon 1000s of memories are made and can be drawn upon at any time.

When we came to the Philippines we knew we'd be ok, because we were coming to family. Spiritual family. Church family. People with a shared history; shared memories. We've been to the same conferences. Read the some of the same books. Attended the same classes. Supported the same missions. Heard similar sermons. We know a lot of the same people. People with stories that move us beyond belief.

So when sickness struck and my church family started rocking up out of nowhere and laying on the love, I realised these were the memories that would stick. In 5 years time when we look back on this experience, it won't be the dusty rides back from the supermarket with 4 kids and shopping hanging off a trike, or the continuous lugging of gallon bottles from the water station, the rain that suddenly appears and floods the walkways, the scary power-points or even the dripping of sweat 10 minutes after you've just showered, that we will remember. No, we will remember that people I have only just met cared enough to come with groceries, meals, finances, transport, medication, babysitting offers and friendship. All because they are family. And those memories we've shared will last a lifetime.

The Pointed Finger

I saw a crash in our carpark a couple of weeks ago. One of the women repeated her disbelief over and over again. I wasn't surprised though. I've been wondering when I'd witness a collision amidst all this traffic.

I remember once I was at the scene of a crash a few years back and I was asked to testify, but I refused. I hadn't actually seen whose fault it was. I couldn't stand up in court and say anything really, just that one lady was seriously mad and screaming about her car.

It's hard to know who's really at fault in tough situations. In fact I can't remember many situations that have made me furious and I've actually pointed the finger in the right direction. Often it ends up pointing back at me. Not because I'm into self-flagellation; just because I can do something about my part. Generally. Hopefully.

We were at a Pandasal stall the other day. It's like a bakery...but super-cheap. The kids love it because they ask Mum for 3 brownie slices each and she actually says yes!

A man came up to me and asked if I could buy him one too and I said yes to him as well. Not because I was guilted into it; not because it made me feel like a wonderful person; just because it's the little acts of kindness that change the landscape of this world. When everyone's pointing fingers at who's to blame, giving a man some lunch can make him feel human again.

This Guy...

Can I brag on my husband for a moment?  Now this guy is not not your average city-dwelling Aussie. He comes alive around street food and muddy roads.

I remember when he first started really flirting with me. He was on a mission trip to Vietnam, that ended up being a mission trip to Cambodia, when he was kicked out of the country for trying to deliver Bibles to the Hmong tribe. True story - ask him to blog about it.

But my husband, he doesn't blog. He doesn't even realise that his life is packed with these incredible stories that people want to hear.

So anyway, after nearly being shot by stray bullets from a political riot in Phnom Penh, Ken started emailing me beautiful letters wooing me towards him. I guess that kind of lifestyle brings something out of him that can conquer the world!

So here we are, living in Manila and my husband gets up at 6am to work on assignments because that's when the internet seems mildly accessible. He then gears up for a usually stormy 4k ride along traffic congested C5 and up the hill into the Every Nation building.

Surrounded by campus ministers half his age and speaking Tagalog, he soaks up his studies then finds the cheapest place to eat, usually where the taxi drivers take their lunch. Why? That's just Ken. He comes alive when he's in the places he knows God's called him to. And for now, this is it and he's thriving in that.

I told him I wanted to blog about him and he laughed and said his Dad used to walk for miles in jungles with a massive backpack and carrying artillery. This is nothing, he said. Ok Ken.

Angels in Manila

So, I came down with Pneumonia this week. It inflamed my asthma so I ended up in hospital, breathless. They wheeled me off to Emergency and stuck a bunch of tubes in everywhere. I think I was in shock. Actually it felt just about as scary as I remember transition in labour.

The staff were awesome but when you're having an asthma attack, every word that's indistinguishable is surely related to death in your head. They may have just been talking about the weather.

It all would have been too much except there beside my bed stood two angels. One was my Lifegroup leader, who drove me there, and the other was her Pulmonologist friend, who just happened to have a clinic there that day.

Between them they quickly organised oxygen, asthma meds, bloodtests and an xray within moments. Seriously, they xrayed my lungs while still in bed. Let's not tell our Aussie doctor friends.

So now I'm home with a nebuliser and a pile of meds, staring at a table full of groceries that were delivered here by a family I've never met before, thinking, if my life again flashes before my eyes, I'm so deeply grateful that I'm surrounded by angels.