Fellowship in Bangkok

Christian fellowship on Sundays in the Philippines or the United States is just simply a way of life or an accepted norm, and finding a group of Christians is as easy as locating a fast-food outlet. 

In Bangkok Thailand it is the opposite. You have to get a map of the city that shows the location of hotels, train stations and churches or you search in the Web and try to imagine the church that you are looking for. The latter option was the one that I tried recently after living in the City of Angels [Krung Thep] for a week.

I will admit that the angels in this city were mostly not from my church, since I honestly had a difficult time deciding which church to attend, notwithstanding the few choices that the Web had on hand. Finding the actual location by public transportation is another challenge because most nationals don’t speak English; much less know about Christianity and the place where Christians meet for worship.

After getting the address in the Web I asked some friends how to get there and then I took off on my own. First I took a red-orange bus #18 that took me all the way to the Victory Monument. Then I took a ride on the BTS sky train and got off the Asoke terminal, which is on Sukhumvit. Then I walked two blocks to Soi 10 were I discovered two vans with the sign “Free ride to ECB church.” When the driver saw me smile as I read the sign, he motioned for me to get in and he drove me right to the threshold of the church. The ushers outside welcomed me in and I was seated in a jam-packed church. Wow, it was that simple.

I found out that I came in midway into the sermon of the first service which started at 9 am. The second service would commence at 11, and so I stayed on and soaked in on the praise and worship. I felt so at home and it was like I never left my beloved ANCF. The only thing that was not like my own was that the band members were stiff and too formal. I also didn’t have the guts to dance and wave my hands for fear of stepping on the toes of the two American ladies who had sandwiched me and were standing taller than I am.

God is good and I came out refreshed and recharged. I retraced my steps through the same rides, this time more relaxed and now with a praise song in my heart. Next Sunday will find me worshiping God again, even in the “Land of Smiles.”

Krung Thep [City of Angels] a.k.a. Bangkok

You won't see any angels here though. This album will show the uniqueness that is Bangkok. From transportation, food, temples, etc. I hope blogger could invent a way to display the scents/odors in this album. That would be a better way to know what Bangkok really is....

City Adventure in Krung Thep

Trying to get lost in some big city like New York or San Francisco is not easy. But why try to get lost in the first place? Getting lost is the last thing that anyone who is new in a strange city would want to do. It’s like being dropped from a helicopter in the midst of a thick forest and trying to find your way home. You’re lost the moment your feet touches the ground.

Getting lost in New York is not easy simply because the streets are arranged in an almost straight, parallel and perpendicular manner, and the street names are found on each corner with readable and understandable English. People you meet also understand what you are asking for and readily give you the directions that you can comprehend.

On the contrary, finding your way around Bangkok is not an easy job, which means that getting lost here is very probable and predictable, especially if you really want to get lost. This type of adventure really beckons to me, and I succumbed to its lure one hot and humid morning. I had all the chances of getting lost; the unreadable street signs and bus routes, the Thai who can’t understand or speak English, the curved and jigsaw puzzle-like streets, and the low hanging clouds to hide the sun and diminish all bearing of east-west orientation.

I decided to leave the security of the house, which is just outside the main city, across the Chao Phraya River, and stake out on my own on foot or by bus. Taxi and Tuktuk would be out of the picture now to make it easier to get lost, although they could be on hand just in case I couldn’t get home by bus and because I finally would have acknowledged the grim fact that I was lost. I made sure that I had enough cash and that my passport was inside a pocket. Breathing a prayer for protection and courage I closed the gate behind me and started to get lost.

My trip that day took me by bus, then train, then by canal boat, then some 3 bus-rides more and a lot of walking in between, while trying to decipher and unlock the mystery of the colors of the buses, their numbers and eye and tail-like figures, and I was finally approaching the familiar bridge that told me that I was just a few miles to home.

This was the most challenging yet frustrating trip I had ever made, because I didn’t get lost. Calcutta? Maybe.

Six Weeks in the Life of an Infant

Neonates born in the hospital are either kept in the nursery [in or outside the incubator] or they may room-in with mom. Most Filipino parents in their overly concern for these helpless and frail progeny keep them in a sterile environment, and even visitors and  well wishers are instructed not to kiss or touch, some sort of a quarantine so to speak. To many parents the outside world after dusk and during rain is taboo for infants, and to go out with the head and limbs uncovered is unforgivable. Love may be the driving force behind such behavior and this is easy to understand.

Born in the 22^nd of June 2007, Kailee was destined to be on the go, because at the age of seven days she was already out in the opposite side of the city in a party, which lasted until eleven in the evening. She was present in church on the first Sunday after her discharge from the hospital and she enjoyed every minute of the service. She attended three farewell parties, one at the church, one at her great grandfather’s house 18 kilometers away and one at a friends place, and she was smug and relaxed all the while.

Twenty one days after she was born she was on a plane to Manila and then on another plane to Bangkok on the same day. She accompanied her mother on shopping trips to furnish the apartment that they recently moved into, and she was with her on every trip to the market for groceries no matter if it was seven or ten in the evening [shopping malls in Bangkok close at 11 pm] or whether it was raining or gusty. At 6 weeks of age she was practically all over Bangkok by either Chao Phraya Express boat, BTS Skytrain, Bus, or taxi, and she enjoyed every bit of these trips.

This incredible infant at six weeks had traveled through 2 countries, had 2 plane rides, a couple dozen of bus, taxi and boat rides, and it looks like she’ll be traveling all her life. “Well that’s life!” she may exclaim if only she could talk. But she’s only a babe!

Bangkok Exodus

July 14 was the most important day in my recent years due to the fact that we had sold most of our earthly possessions and gave up the house to move to a foreign country to start life anew. It was also to be an exciting one because I would be traveling with my grownup children and my 21-day old granddaughter.

Some weeks before this day, I was already praying that God would take charge of every single detail of this move. I knew I had no control of the many aspects of the trip like the baby’s disposition during the long haul, the flight schedules of our connecting flights, the expenses that we might incur outside of the fare and a lot more. I also fairly well knew that God in his might had all these concerns in focus and that he was just waiting for the right opportunity to display his power to some vulnerable earthling like me.

True to my personality I had everything planned, and executed every detail to ensure that the trip would be the least stressful, and this included the packing of our baggage to the exact weight that was allowed us for free so that we wouldn’t have to pay for excess of the total of 80 kilograms. To do this I bought a cheap China-made weighing scale and meticulously weighed each piece of the 6 bags that we planned to check-in. No matter how much I shifted the contents between the bags I was still at least 13 kilograms over the weight limit, which is about Php 3,900.00, times two plane trips would mean 7,800.00. I knew I didn’t have that much money for excess baggage and yet I couldn’t leave these things behind because we needed them.

I then chose a medium-sized red trolley bag, which I singled out as a hand-carried item aside from a backpack that I planned to carry. The size of this bag was way over the allowed maximum size but which I figured out would fit in the overhead compartment of the plane cabin. It weighed a little over 11 kilograms, which is 4 kilograms over the allowable hand-carried baggage limit. This placed two odds against the ‘wonder’ bag. Three things could happen to this ‘damned’ bag. Either the airlines would demand that I check it in during check-in time or I would be apprehended and forced to check in the baggage the moment I would enter the predeparture area where they have a weighing scale and a measuring device for all hand-carried items or it would escape attention at the two points and yet wouldn’t fit in the overhead storage compartments of the plane cabin.

The first two scenarios never happened and I ‘luckily’ pass through both check points with the bag unnoticed. Boarding time comes and I maneuver towards the plane entrance with the bag in tow. In the boarding tube a uniformed maintenance man approaches me and asks if I would want to have the bag checked in free of charge. Without much thought I oblige and he hands me a claim stub after attaching a sticker tag to the bag handle. I notice that he exits through a side door of the tube, carries the bag down a ladder and heads towards the fuselage of the plane. I try to imagine the scenario of me trying to lift the bag to the overhead compartment and failing to make it fit. A sigh of relief escapes my lips.

Three and a half hours later I am in another airport checking my baggage in for the second and last plane ride to our destination. The officer there weighs and measures it and tells me that the red ‘wonder’ bag was too big and too heavy for a hand-carried item; he also tells me that I didn’t have any choice regarding its passage. So I check in all 6 bags in and inquire from the lady at the desk how much I had to pay for the excess weight. She shrugs her shoulders and tells me that my baggage is just within the allowed weight and that I didn’t have any surcharge to pay. [This made my China-made weighing scale and the digital meter at the first airport look obsolete and malfunctioning] I look up to the ceiling and force back an escaping tear as I realize that my God is not sleeping on the job.

The entire trip took two mini bus and two plane rides between two countries for a total of 9 hours, and the baby was as comfortable as though she was in her own room all the time. We were able to manage through two “poopoo” diaper changes in flight and a lot of breast feeding, and it was if she was sedated. A few days before the trip someone suggested that we drug her to minimize the crying and bawling, which is expected of babies who are not comfortable. I tried to entertain the suggestion but I realized that it would be tantamount to trusting a drug to take care of this particular detail of our trip and leaving God out of the picture. The drug could either fail or manifest an adverse effect but God never fails, I reasoned out.

God proved it again! He is awesome!

Balabagan

A rustic town that knew better times in the 50’s, situated in a stretch of land that is partly beach east of the Moro Gulf. It could be accessed via a riverbed of a road from an inconspicuous junction at the Narciso Ramos highway in Lanao del sur. A highway that is punctuated every few kilometers by armed checkpoints and stern-faced military personnel.

This town has an unkempt bodega-like municipal hall manned by officials who have better constructed houses in the metropolises of Davao, Manila, or Cagayan de Oro and who most of the time manage the town affairs by remote control. Public services are either insufficient or virtually non-existent, notwithstanding the up-to-date disbursement of money budgeted for these operations, by and for employees whose names are aliases of the officials themselves.

With these facts one could imagine the plight of the residents who by this time have accepted this fact of life and have learned to “live and let live,” but when it comes to their hated ‘infidel’ Christian neighbors it should be “live and let die.”

Into the picture comes “Kalilintad 2.” A team organized by the Mindanao Peace Volunteers on a tour of the Muslim villages to give humanitarian assistance. The team arrives dressed in the traditional Muslim garb on board an open-bed truck outfitted with church pews. The truck maneuvers through a winding cow-path under the coconut palms through cassava fields to a village called Magulaleng. The villagers have been informed beforehand that a team of this sort would be arriving and in a few minutes the team is surrounded by mothers with their children and some gun-toting men.

Today would be a different day in the lives of many who have long been suffering from physical ailments but didn’t have the money and the means to see a doctor. Many would also be freed from a nasty tooth or two by a lady dentist who had the stomach to withstand the red betel-nut-stained smiles and the frequent spitting of the patients. The children would also have their first taste of a nutritious and palatable porridge, and the men would be taught how to make a garden that could always supply nutritious vegetables for the table.

At the end of the day the tired yet elated team members are treated to a bath by the light of some fireflies in a cool clear creek that is home to some innocent turtles. The following day sees action in the beach where the team intends to have a picnic, but which is cut short by the arrival of four young men with assault rifles who fire their weapons in the air in what they perceive is a display of courage or marksmanship, but to the team is a threat and necessitates a hasty retreat and a search for a better and safer place to have lunch.

Balabagan, you are held hostage in the grip of your own sons who have the intentions of keeping their constituents in ignorance and poverty, but Kalilintad has opened your doors and the future will be bright if only you will realize the truth of the gospel. May Allah smile down on you.

Malikongkong

Time was when the mountains north of the metropolis of Davao were robed in dense virgin rain forest, and where the deer, wild boar, the great horned bill and the monkey-eating eagle outnumbered the occasional scantly clad Matigsalug hunter. This particular mountain flanked on one side by the grand Davao River and a pointed steep hill on the other, had a sweet water spring gushing from one unusually high point to run a tortuous and steep course, disappear and take a subterranean path and again resurface and then crash pell-mell into its final ascent into the Davao River.

It was this unusually large spring that inspired the naming of the mountain by the Matigsalug who came way ahead of the unscrupulous and greedy loggers of the 40’s and the 50’s, who then stripped the mountain bare and deprived the wildlife of their habitat. The natives were no match for the gun-wielding loggers whose chainsaws not only crashed the centuries old trees but also sent the tribesmen scampering for safety.

Words and names have a way of suggesting their associations and links to the mysteries of their origin. Some words defy the articulate movements of the tongue while others have a way of warning us to go slow and careful on unfamiliar language terrain. The Matigsalug had no idea that the name that they christened the mountain with would evoke such complexity. To them it was an endearment and a way of conveying the idea of an easy and peaceful existence beside the life-giving spring.

No one knows exactly when this mountain was given the name Malikongkong. It could have been a century ago or even just a decade or two before this writer came into this world. That moment is not important or even worth a sentence of thought. What matters now are the barefoot, half-naked, sunburned and malnourished children who come running to greet the panting and sweat-drenched doctor who just reached the clearing on the top of the mountain after a backbreaking, knee-buckling and lung-bursting climb from Maluan.

These kids know nothing about the implications of grasping my hand to bless me with their sticky hands that had just wiped the slimy yellow fluid perennially dripping from their nostrils. Their innocent minds only care to show love and respect, and their simple way of saying thank you for visiting us again. To hell with microbes and delicate stomachs.

Malikongkong, your past is painful while your present is an aching reality. The future may seem bleak with all the prospects of the exploitation of your resources and your children. But you will survive and your stubborn resolve will somehow usher you into an era of peace and prosperity.

Assa-lamu-alay-Kum

This Arabic phrase is probably the most commonly used greeting considering the Islamic population, which is one of the biggest in the world today. “Peace be with you” may be said with sincerity and honesty, and yet to this writer it is an empty phrase, void of substance and depth. Let me take you on a tour into my jaundiced and prejudiced mind.

Decade 70’s: I am a growing adolescent living along the highway connecting the cities of Davao and Cotabato. I see convoys of military trucks heading for Cotabato and I am told that a conflict between the Muslims and Christians is brewing. A few days later these same trucks pass by again carrying the dead and the dying. Some few months later a friend joins the “Ilaga” and is killed in the battle. His body was only retrieved after two days. The reason: Muslims.

Decade 80’s: I am a medical student caught up in some extracurricular activity. Due to some dietary restriction in my religion I befriend a guy who also doesn’t eat pork. We become best of friends and maybe because of this closeness he lectures me on the ‘virtues’ of his people. He tells me that as a Christian I should never trust Muslims because they have a tendency to be traitors. A year later due to some trivial thing of which I wasn’t even directly involved, he cocks his pistol and points it at my head in anger. One slight movement of his finger and my brains could have splattered on the pavement. Who was this guy? A Muslim.

I am a young physician assigned in the emergency room of a hospital in Iligan city. We have many cases of soldiers being ambushed and many of them don’t live long enough to be discharged from the hospital. Who killed these young men? Muslims.

Decade 90’s: Much of the Islamic world is in turmoil. It is either ethnic cleansing in some European country or a border dispute between a Muslim and a non-Muslim country. Countries in Africa, Bali, Sri Lanka and Indonesia are not spared. The conflict in the southern Philippines only shifts from one peace negotiation to another, which only gives both sides the chance to replenish armament. The reason? Muslims.

Decade 2000: the symbols of the free world are shattered and destroyed. Two planes crash into the World Trade Center and reduce them to heaps of twisted metal and charred bodies. Its very shocking to me due to the fact that before it happened my wife and I had the chance to be at the top floor of this structure to celebrate our being citizens in a free world. Who destroyed the symbols of our freedom? Muslims.

May 2007: I am on a truck with about a dozen Muslim young people, all volunteers to a medical outreach [Kalilintad 2] in Balabagan Lanao del sur. It is my first time with them and as usual I regard them with suspicion and wariness. We reach our destination where we begin treating the resident Muslims there. What is very conspicuous is that some the patients have guns and even lay them beside me as I go through the motions of giving them a medical checkup. The following day we head to the beach for some swimming and lunch, but we are forced to cut short our picnic due to the arrival of four young civilian men in their early twenties or late teens carrying assault rifles. One even tries to impress us by throwing a coconut in the air and firing at it to display his marksmanship. We hurriedly board our truck and flee onto the highway and we find another place to have lunch. Who were these guys? Muslims.

At this point the reader can conclude that this writer has some sort of distrust towards the Muslims, of which I will not even rebut. But before the story ends let me tell you how God in his wisdom and love set me free from this bondage.

About an hour after that incident at the beach, we are again on the road at the back of open-bed truck and it starts to rain. Five Muslims boys beside me [Acmad, Nasrudin, Abbas, Tahir and Sammy] start singing and they are singing praise songs, the same songs that we Christians sing. They sing in a very sincere and animated way while gesturing to the heavens. My heart melts and my tears blend with the rain. They cannot notice that I am crying. I finally realize that I still have a lot to go through before I could finally be set free from this bondage of hatred.

The following days are like getting out of prison. I confront the group with my testimony and they readily forgive me. God also gives me that great feeling of forgiveness and I forgive myself. With this change in my life I can now face the new challenges of being a missionary for God, and I can truly say with sincerity and honesty. Assa-lamu-alay-Kum! Allahu Akbar!

To Minda, Sailina, Omega, Jahara, Merriam, Sarah, Nena, Nora, Tonina, Noraisa, Analyn, Pinky, Fatima, Abbas, Akmad, Sammy, Nasrudin, Talib, Tahir, Tato, Abner, James, Mark and to the other team members of the Kalilintad 2, I say, Sukran.

The Rock

Jesus is the Rock of our salvation, and all Christians will testify to this truth. However, there is also a thing such as a rock of destruction, as will be demonstrated in this story.

 This particular rock was not really a large one that was situated in a treacherous stretch of white water rapids near the mountain village of Ugyaban by the Davao River . There is no question about the fact that when God created this world and placed this rock in the river, he already predestined that two men in the distant future would be touched and strengthened greatly in their faith with the aid of this particular rock. On this fateful day four bamboo rafts carrying volunteers to the Tribal Mission Foundation International Inc., on an 8-day medical and church building mission to the villages along the river were negotiating the numerous rapids that dot this river.

 On the first raft were the raftman, Pastor Dodong – an experienced native rafter of this river, and seven passengers, which included Katie and Rex [both American volunteers], Bheng, Jhie, Pastor Ban, this writer and Isaac [a rooster scheduled to be sacrificed for the next meal]. This raft was the leader-raft of the convoy considering that its raftman was the most experienced of all the four. Based on all the rapids that the rafters passed on this trip, this particular one was steep and wild and so all on board were tense and ready as the raft started its descent. At this point no amount of steering would change its course and raft and its riders were at the mercy of the angry river.

 Suddenly a rock that was lying underneath the foaming and crashing water materialized and without warning the raft banged smack into it sending the lead raftman plunging out ahead into the white water. The rushing water now pushed the raft to a precarious perch threatening to spill everything on board into the swirling froth. The raft splintered but somehow the bamboos stayed together, although the cargo started falling off and were swept away including a camera belonging to Rex. It was a medium-sized camera and it was inside a carrying case enclosed in a Septic bag and another striped red and white plastic bag.

 Rex had his hands firmly gripping the unstable and disintegrating bamboo raft, but his eyes were following the descent of the bag that held his precious camera and all the pictures of the past week, until it was swept through another set of rapids, down the bend and out of sight. Someone tried to run after it to see if it would get caught by a rock, but returned after a while empty-handed. The remaining three rafts took on the rapids but this time steered clear off the submerged destroyer rock and stopped by the bank below. A rope was secured to the marooned raft and one by one the survivors were led to the safety of the riverbank.

 It took about an hour to repair the raft, which now could only take 4 persons on board. While the repair was being done this writer distanced himself from the group and found a shady tree where he began praying to God. To him the tragedy at the rapids was not really life-threatening considering that as a growing boy his family used to live by a river with a wilder temperament, and he and his friends considered the river as part of their playground. But now as a three year old ‘spiritual child’ he was intrigued by the turn of events in the trip and so he had to turn to God for some answers and explanation regarding the tragedy.

 It was then that he realized that God wanted to reveal something to him and to use this event to strengthen his faith. God made him realize that someone on the raft needed spiritual awakening, and that God also wanted him to witness a miracle that would make his faith grow by leaps and bounds. God was saying that floating a heavy axe-head in the Old Testament era was no big deal, and that floating a lighter camera in modern day was comparably an easier miracle.

 The ‘injured’ raft was reloaded and the trip resumed. All eyes were now scanning the rocks and the riverbank for the camera, and all the natives by the river were asked about seeing a plastic bag with a camera, and their answers were negative. Each swirling bend and each crashing rapid sank their hopes about finding the camera lower and lower. The river got deeper and faster and everyone was telling Rex that he would no longer see his camera again. That was everyone except this writer.

 After about a set of about five or six angry rocky rapids and many swirly and whirlpool bends the occupants of the first raft saw a group of natives picnicking on the bank and asked them the same well-worn question about the camera, and they got the equally well-repeated negative answer. That was when this writer spotted the red and white plastic bag that was just a couple of meters beside the natives, half submerged in the water. He shouted, “There’s the camera,” and one native quickly ran to check it out.

 It was Rex’s camera alright inside the now open Septic, swimming in the water inside its case. The Septic waterproofing mechanism was no match for the many rocks and the crashing water plus the great distance that it was carried from the site of the tragedy. At first glance anyone would say the digital camera was doomed and that Rex would have no use for it anymore. But this writer knew that when God made a miracle it would be complete and thorough, and nothing short of his perfect handiwork.

 It was a miracle that the camera survived banging the rocks and the crushing water, and that it floated in spite of its weight and its being soaked. To top it all Rex had his camera functioning the rest of the trip while saving all the shots that he had taken.

 That was really something for Rex, but unknown to him and to many in the group something greater happened that day. One was the awakening for the lead raftman, Pastor Dodong. Some time even before the team arrived in his territory Pastor Dodong had decided and verbalized to his wife that he was quitting the ministry. He was discouraged by his sloppy finances and by the slow pace of the progress that the gospel was making in his area, and he thought that God was not blessing him enough. He decided that this would be the last raft trip that he would make with the Tribal Mission, although he never mentioned it to anyone in the team before the tragedy.

 Another wonderful thing also happened for this writer. Two months before this fateful trip he was terminated from a job that he had held for 17 years as the Medical Director of the Strahle Medical Clinic and Hospital, which is owned and operated by the Seventh-day Adventist Church. Three years prior to his termination God led him through the bible and he became a born again Christian. This decision was a great insult and tragedy for the church that his father was a pioneer and an ordained minister of. 

 After three years of persecuting him the SDA church finally found the right alibi and kicked him out. His wife, the HRD of the same company also lost her job, and two fruitless months of trying to find a paying job was eating at his faith. With his eyes on his dwindling bank account he was greatly in need of an act of God to tell him to stop looking at himself and keep focused on his faithful and providing creator.

 God had to use a rock in the Davao River to bring two men to their senses. It took a rock under the swirling current and crashing water in a remote mountain river to teach a lesson of service, devotion and faith in God. It needed an insignificant yet destructive rock in the river to point these two men to the Great Rock – Jesus, the author and finisher of their faith.

Wilderness mission

I lost my 17-year job with the SDA church in Nov 2006 due to my bold stand on my faith in the bible truths. From that time to June 2007 I worked as an unpaid volunteer to the Tribal Missions Fndtn Int'l Inc, the Universal Commission and the Mindanao Peace Volunteers. God took me to the wilderness among the Matigsalug, Manobos and the Maranaos. I consider this experience parallel to the Median experience of Moses, and figuratively God gave me my own "burning bush," which made me realize that he was calling me to serve the poorest of the poor, the marginalized minority and the outcasts.

All that you will see and read in this album is my way of giving God all the glory and praise for saving me and accepting me into his kingdom. The photos are scarce coz the camera that I brought malfunctioned and I had to get these photos from the website of my friends.

Laos Medical Mission

“We are going by bus, the railway employees are on strike.” This was the worried and apparently agitated voice of Leah Sason on the other end of the line. Oh no, my aching back was telling me that this is not possible. You see I have a bad back, the result of a slipped disc accident that happened some ten years ago. I knew that the 12-hour trip to Nong Khai Northern Thailand while seated on the bus would be insult to my injured back. When I bought my train ticket a few days earlier I made sure that I got a lower berth on the sleeping coach so that I could snore supine all the way to Nong Khai, and now the bad news.

This odyssey started some four weeks before the call, when I received an email from a non-acquaintance, Leah Sason. She introduced herself as the coordinator for a Medical Mission of the Christ Commission Fellowship [CCF] in Ortigas, Pasig , [ Philippines ] and she was inviting me to join her team, and like all true missionaries - at my own expense. She got my name from a member of her church and she was told that I was an unemployed doctor residing in Bangkok . If I consented then I would rendezvous with them at the Hua Lamphong train station on the afternoon of October 31.

“God is still interested in me,” I mused, and I breathed a prayer of thanks for the chance to serve Him again as a volunteer. You see I lost my 17-year job with the Seventh-day Adventist church ten months ago due to my stand in faith, and since then I have been volunteering to various mission groups in the Philippines. When I and my family moved to Bangkok four months ago I gave my name to the Evangelical Church of Bangkok hoping that they would use me as a volunteer to some outreach.

I emailed Leah back and told her to wait while I contacted my sister and her husband based in California about the prospects of their sponsoring me on this trip. Their response was fast and assuring and from then on I knew that God was in control. “Praise God” was all I could say as I made preparations, which included informing my wife and children about the trip. All three of them are employed and I’m the one left at home with a 4 month old granddaughter and a helper. This means that if I leave for 5 days the situation at home might be chaotic. Their response was a reluctant positive, which is affirmative just the same, and an indication that God was still in control.

Laos, as my research revealed, is still a communist country in spite of the collapse in the ideological systems of the communist giants like Russia and East Germany . I also noted that her neighbors, China , Vietnam , Myanmar and Cambodia still shared the same styles in governance. Upon arrival in Vientiane , capital city of Laos , I was informed that conditions have improved lately and the people were free to worship, with conditions of course. These included a “NO” for personal evangelization, because that would be tantamount to encroaching on the freedom of others, and another “NO” for public worship because that would cause public disturbance. These all shows that there was still no complete freedom at all.

These guidelines narrowed all our chances to act as ambassadors for Christ, and therefore our public activities were rigorously restricted to medical and dental services. In this paragraph I mentioned a title, “ambassador.” And I am itching to expound more on this topic if only it would not jeopardize a servant of God and a true ambassador of the Kingdom of God stationed in Vientiane . She is the epitome of a fearless and dedicated anointed child of God, and I could clearly see that God is right by her side.

We checked in at a hotel – Laong Dao Hotel, and I was informed that I was to share not only a room and a bed, but worse yet a blanket with someone else. I looked around and counted towels to make sure that we didn’t share the same towel. I was relieved to count three regular sized towels and one super giant towel. I found out later that the giant towel was our blanket. Whew! This is great, I thought. So I went to the task of getting acquainted with my unlikely bedmate.

He [not a she, praise God!] was a dermatologist a year younger than my 51 years, a graduate from the University of the Philippines and has a clinic at the posh Forbes Park village in Makati . He is also in the circle of trusted and close friends of the famous Dr. Vicky Belo, and is a cousin of the first gentleman of the Philippines , no less. That’s it, I was to lie beside a rich and respectable man who I just met a few hours ago. He had his expensive stuff with him and he started to go through the motions of getting himself ready, which to me was a regimen of things which were not akin to my simple wash-wipe methods. I have spent 7 months in the mountains of Mindanao sleeping with the Manobos and Maranaos, sometimes next to a dog or some chickens and now I was getting a taste of class. God is great – Allahu Akbar!

We started a conversation, and then he exploded an unexpected bomb. He said that he was a former SDA but left the church after being confronted by the biblical truth, and he also conversed well in hilonggo, a western dialect I am much at home with. That bomb dropped all my guards and pretenses and he became like a long lost friend to me. The three nights in bed with him were like sleeping next to a brother who didn’t care if I farted or snored. God was in control all the while and he knew what was best for me.

Food in Laos is another challenge that the team faced, and my bedmate was quick to point out that there were a lot of dead cells, MSG, Sodium Chloride, aluminum, sugar, free radicals and a host of other entities that would cause Alzheimer’s and cancer and shorten ones life. I tried to concentrate on my food while keeping all the noxious substances he mentioned out of mind. Putting it simply Laos food is Asian food made spicy, which is not actually very far from our usual Filipino diet. Note worthy are the Baguettes or French bread that are stacked up like firewood beside the road.

We spent two days treating a myriad of physical ailments at the Naxai Thong District Hospital , a rundown structure in the suburbs north of Vientiane . More than 600 hundred patients received medicines and advice or were relieved from a rotting and aching tooth. It could have been a lot better if we prayed for these sick people but we had to function within the restricted code.

The last night was a dinner at the residence of the Philippine Ambassador to Laos . Among the invitees were some government officials, officers from the WHO and other agencies, and we were treated to an array of mouthwatering Laos and Filipino dishes including freshly roasted lechon. This affair was apparently a much looked forward to event because my teammates were in their freshly pressed expensive barongs, which they carried all the way from Pinas. I had to settle for a yellow “I love the king” t-shirt, which was the only shirt with a collar that was unused in my backpack. I was not informed of this affair.

When I entered the hall the gorgeous Ambassador greeted me and I had the chance to shake her hand and to apologize profusely for not being able to come up to the dress code. She too apologized graciously and explained that this was not supposed to be a formal affair, although she was dressed too formally. At the start of the dinner she delivered her welcome speech and made it clear to everyone that this affair was an informal one. I knew in my heart that she did it just to put me at ease, because I could see that everyone was dressed to kill and I was the only one in t-shirt and faded denims in the hall. God bless her heart.

The next day was praise and worship and then goodbye. The bus ride to Bangkok saw me sleeping like a babe, and when I got off the bus after the nightlong ride my back didn’t ache a bit. God was in control all the while. Hallelujah!

The Interpreter

Medical mission to a foreign country has its challenges, and Vientiane Laos was no exception. The moment we got off the bus in Nong khai, northern Thailand , and boarded the van to Laos , the challenges confronted us in the form of one of our drivers who didn’t speak or understand English.

I wouldn’t take time to deliberate on the other challenges like eating spicy food or sharing one bed and blanket with a stranger. These challenges have their own paper to fill. What I want to tell is about the greatest barrier to the success of the mission – language. The Tower of Babel incident happened many thousand years ago and yet its reverberations are still felt and manifested today.

Let me tell you frankly. It is impossible for a Filipino who doesn’t know the Laos language to conduct a clinic in Laos . There is no way that the doctor or the patient could verbalize his intent in this situation, and gesturing will only compound the problem. I tried it many times when my interpreter had to take a break and my futile attempts came to the point of hilarious.

The day before we opened clinic at the Naxai Thong District Hospital , we were introduced to our interpreters who were mostly medical students and dental practitioners in Vientiane . A dentist who is also a Christian pastor was assigned to me and we bonded perfectly. The first day of our clinic was not flawless but yet it was a success. The following clinic day was already into full swing and he was nowhere to be found, and so a non-medical person was assigned to take his place. This new interpreter’s English was almost next to poor and so I had to spend more time breaching the language barrier than treating patients.

On the afternoon of the final clinic day our interpreters were already tired and bored and some of them had to leave for a seminar on discipleship. This left me and the two dentists without interpreters and so we had no other choice but to close shop. Well, that could have been my last sentence about interpreters but God had a situation prepared for the next day to show to me His power as He has done marvelously ever since I became a Christian.

Sunday was the last day of our mission to Laos and it had to be spent in giving our hosts, the Laos Christians, enough spiritual food to keep them in high spirits as they shared the gospel and endured the persecution. This was the job of Kuya Jim [an American] who had to keep to his laptop while the rest of the team toured the city.

The time for worship came and I entered the hall that was crammed with chairs. I saw Kuya Jim feverishly tapping on his computer and obviously concentrating on his sermon. He explained that he had to make last minute changes in his prepared piece and I could see him sorting out his PowerPoint files. I was quick to think that this guy was a procrastinator. He had all the time months back in the Philippines to write his sermon and a few minutes to start he was still at it? And yet I realized something that also previously happened to me. I realized that God was redirecting him towards a more fitting and appropriate presentation. Maybe some encouragement that a specific person present in the audience was in dire need of, and there Kuya Jim was obeying the promptings of the Holy Spirit.

That’s when my hair follicles started to tinge and my tear glands started to swell [I always feel this when I am certain that God is concocting another miracle for me]. I sat back and waited to be surprised.

Kuya Jim starts his sermon but something is amiss, he didn’t have an interpreter. This is unthinkable, I said to myself. The Laos audience couldn’t get the message without an interpreter, and I imagined that the most important part of our mission would go to waste. I approached some of our teammates and told them to pray that the Laos audience would somehow get the massage notwithstanding the situation.

I was imagining something really far out. Maybe Kuya Jim speaking in a different tongue or the PowerPoint showing Laos characters. About five to ten minutes into his sermon somebody who wasn’t previously introduced to us raised his hand, and Kuya Jim acknowledged him. He was volunteering to translate Kuya Jim’s sermon into Laos . Wow, this is great I thought. Now let’s see what this guy can do. The sermon resumes and the interpreter proves his worth, something I didn’t see in the past two days of our mission. He was not only translating very well, but even better than all our previous interpreters, and he was actually even adding some lines to make the presentation fit the Laos culture. I could imagine that he was sent by God to add the icing to Kuya Jim’s cake.

Here was the best interpreter for the mission, and God obviously saved the best for last. At the most crucial time that a good interpreter was needed, he was there. Kuya Jim’s sermon was done, and in my heart and in the hearts of our Laos brethren God’s word was stamped forever. Hallelujah!