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.

You are Appreciated

I think I've always been a people-watcher. When I used to travel to Uni on the train, I would wonder about my fellow passengers, where they were going, who they would meet, what their home-life was like, their dreams and fears. As more and more responsibilities and activities have been added to my thought-life, I guess it's one pass-time that's diminished.

But here, with these new surroundings, people-watching has resurfaced, and I'm as inquisitive and charged with emotion as ever. Each morning I notice the caretakers of the vacant land next door, feeding about 20 very vocal roosters and chickens. They appear to be living in huts made from corrugated iron and have been tasked to keep squatters from moving in.

As I go running outside our estate, 30 or so maintenance men line up outside each residential area, ready for their days work. They start arriving around 7am and I wonder how far and how long they have travelled for this job. What time will they reach home in the evening? Do they have families? Do their loved ones work every day as well?

The Ya Yas (Nannies) don't line up at the gates - they mostly seem to live with the families they help. In fact I don't think I've seen many actual residents around our estate - they tend to leave very early and return very late from work. Everybody is working very hard in this hot and sweaty heat.

I wonder if everyone knows how much their hard work is appreciated. That's one advantage of people-watching - you tend to notice what otherwise gets lost in the busyness of everyone's day. So, to the Ya Yas, the Maintenance Crew, the Cleaners, the Jeepney Drivers, and the White-Collar workers, whose days are just as long and full of stress, we say thank-you! Because you do what you do, we can do what we do, our kids can grow up and do what they'll do, and our community continues to flourish and thrive.