Happy New Year 2009

Last year we watched the New Year countdown and fireworks from the 84th floor of Baiyoke Sky Hotel in the heart of Bangkok. This year we watched it from the 54th floor of the Pattaya Park Hotel.

This album will show the fire and the gastronomic works that went back-to-back.

Christmas cantata @ ECB

The Evangelical Church of Bangkok staged a Christmas cantata and I was honored to be a member of the choir, which had a representative from all the continents worldwide. It took us some 2 months to get our act together and those months were really trying since we were mostly amateurs, albeit with a lot of guts.

The first twelve shots were taken during practice and rest were on the final day of performance [Dec14]

The pictures were taken by the most able tenor - Nuboaki Onashi, a handsome and spirited Japanese. He was actually my inspiration because I tried hard to come up to his volume with my squeaky voice in comparison, which was a futile attempt I should say.

My Last Will and Testament

“In common law, a will or testament is a document by which a person (the testator) regulates the rights of others over his or her property or family after death.” [Wikipedia]  Reflecting on this definition I realized that I could not make use of a “last will” for the simple reason that after I have exited from this world, the only property that I would live behind would fit in a large bag, and this certainly would not need the services of a lawyer, much less the anxiety over who gets what.

So what I am writing about? Actually the title was merely employed to catch your interest and generate a little intrigue. 

The most interested would be the guys who have been dogging my shadow and praying that I would retrace my steps and retract the ‘blasphemous’ statements I made against the church of my birth or see the world events unfold and point out that I am wrong. This is far from it and I might take you even farther.

The title should really be “When It’s My Time to Go.” Some would want it by a plane crash so it would be quick and instantaneous. Others would opt for a slow painless cancer-caused death so they could set things right and be ready for the judgment day.

Five years ago I was faced with a dilemma that would determine my financial future. “Would you lose your job for Jesus?” was the question and I answered it with a big "yes." Three years after that reply I lost my job and up to this moment I am yet to land one. Some of my friends answered that question with a "no" but insisted that if the question was “would you die for Jesus?” they would not doubt affirm it.

Of the 12 disciples 5 were crucified, 2 were speared to death, 2 died by stoning, one was beheaded, another hanged himself and one died of old age in exile. One thing they all had in common is that they died for their master, and that is how I would want it to be for me.

I would not dictate how it would go, but for sure I would not want to be on a soft and cozy bed or anywhere inside my comfort zone when my time comes. Jesus died for me in the most gruesome, horrifying and painfully slow death. And his death not only took me out of my sins, it also started me out through timeless eternity.

I have been praying to God about this and I know that he will honor my wish – fighting to the end against the principalities of darkness as a soldier of the cross and nothing short of a martyr’s death.

Santa Claus' visit

Santa is for kids! So what is an old grizzly like me doing with a write-up on Santa? Not that I was forced into this or dragged into a confrontation with this jolly old feller with a contagious holler. It’s still November and he should be up in the North Pole making a list and checking it twice, while making sure that Rudolf has enough hay to prepare him for the long flight.

I think he took a break long enough to come to Bangkok for a visit. This time he drove a Honda Civic and landed on the parking lot at Yanhee hospital. Even if the hospital has a chimney, I know Dr. Supot won’t like the idea of a Christian icon crashing into his Buddhist edifice. 

Herr Santa as I found out has an achtung-sawasdee khap accent with a fine holler of a laughter. He stands at least 6 feet tall, has short-cropped hair and doesn’t have the flowing white beard, just a couple of a few days-old stubble of an unshaved chin. 

What was he doing in my house? Well he ate dinner with us and exchanged some news about what he has been doing up north, which included the discovery of about 300 orphans just across the border into Burma from Mae Saang. After dinner we had a few Beerlaos and then he left with a big and warm handshake. That handshake made no mistake that he was indeed old Santa, coz he left some crisp paper with the image of King Bhumibol in my palm. 

Last Christmas I did a write-up about my predicament and how I would spend a very much different Christmas from my usual. This year would not be the same coz I would be able to give some presents to my family and some poor neighbors on our soi. Thanks to Herr Santa and to the God that we both serve.

The House

A recent introspection revealed that I am presently living inside a house with many doors, some windows and with a big gaping hole of a roof. Further survey shows that many of the doors are sealed shut while some are open, most windows are open, and the roof not only leaks - it pours to the point of flooding.

What a place to live and it certainly would take a lot of courage and faith to keep up with the demands of such a house. How does one understand this riddle?

I came to comprehend this as I realized that only a few days separated me from the second anniversary of my losing a job that I held for 17 years because I chose to uphold God over a day of the week, and remaining jobless ever since. This will tell you that come November 30, I will be 2 years without a paying job.

What a depressing story to write! Prozac couldn’t help and neither could a psychiatrist. So how does a hard worker and the head of the family like me cope? How could someone who has been earning since childhood and benefiting from his sweat and pain all these years endure sudden loss of steam and profit? Let me explain the house first.

The closed doors represent paths that lead to opportunities for financial gain. This would tell you that throughout the recent two years that I have been through, I have never seen an open door to a paying job. I couldn’t recall how many application letters, resumes and CV’s I have sent out. Some of them to companies who needed my expertise and who were very happy that I was applying, but nothing materialized.

The closed windows are the black spots in my spiritual visual field that prevent me from seeing what God has in store for me. I just simply cannot see through these closed windows.

The open doors represent gates that allowed me to get out and work for the underprivileged at my own expense and without pay. These doors led me to the Muslims in Balabagan Lanao Del Sur and Midsayap Cotabato, the Matigsalug in Malikongkong and other villages along the Davao River , the Moken Sea Gypsies in Koh Phayam Southern Thailand, the Karen and Hmong tribes in Northern Thailand, three orphanages in Northeastern Thailand and the poor in Vientiane Laos.

The open windows are the promises in the Bible that I am holding on to in faith. From these windows I can see that my almighty Father in heaven is in charge of my future and that I have nothing to fear.

The big gaping hole in the roof represents the point of entry of blessings from heaven. These include the providential jobs that opened for my wife and two children in a country that has a lot of opportunities for us to work for God, the baby - my granddaughter, that God sent to keep me busy, happy and inspired, and the congregation of Christians at Evangelical Church of Bangkok that has nurtured my spiritual growth. We have more than enough clothes for ourselves, more than enough food on the table and just enough money to enjoy life one day at a time. Our health has not failed and we have all the time to bond as a family in spite of the mature ages of my children. As you will note this paragraph is the longest of all and if I don’t stop writing about our blessings the computer might log out by itself.

I may be projecting myself here as a very positive and strong-willed person living in a very unusually odd house of many doors and windows. What I almost failed to mention is the bathroom with a cold shower, which I could stay under when I feel like crying. When that does happen I will be tapping on this keyboard again while asking, “Lord, what will you have me to do?”

The Karen, the Hmong and Me

The plan for this encounter with the Karen and Hmong hill tribes of Northern Thailand was hatched some 5 months back, but due to some important matters that Ralf had to attend to, the wings of this plan were only strong enough to fly just recently. As soon as I got Ralf’s green light I hurriedly packed the medicines and some used clothes donated by Jed Abordo, Yangyang and Kailee, and the other Filipino nurses at Yanhee and boarded a 999 VIP bus for Chiang Mai. As a kid I had read much about the Karen people of Burma in books written by Dr. Eric B. Hare, and this trip was a chance for me to have a firsthand encounter with the Karen that the great missionary of the early 1900’s loved so much.

Ralf, my German missionary friend and missionary to the Karen was at the Chiang Mai bus terminal to meet me. That same morning we proceeded to the mountains in Ralf’s 4X4 pickup with two lady volunteers who had interesting backgrounds. One young bespectacled Fraulein was introduced to me while we were loading the pickup, and she was very courteous and professional with a bright outlook in life. I soon learned that Stefanie was a flight attendant for Eurowings, which is a partner of Lufthansa Regional that flies the skies of Europe. She was in Chiang Mai to personally see for herself the projects of Ralf and how she could help.

Another young and equally lanky German lady with a great love for God and the needy came on board the pickup just before we left the city. Julia was just out of high school and was spending a year with some missionaries in Chiang Mai before she would get into college to pursue a medical course. So this makes up the four of us and we get underway in the trip, which I would describe as a roller-coaster ride to Mae Na Chorn. It is obvious that Ralf knows the roads like he was born on it, and he goes through the hairpin turns at high speed, just barely clipping the fenders of oncoming vehicles. In a few minutes I get into the rhythm of Ralf’s driving and I excitedly imagine myself doing the rides at Six Flags. The ladies at the back think otherwise, and if it were not for the flight attendant’s savvy on managing air turbulence they could have puked their breakfast over us in the front seat.

Mae Na Chorn is 150 kilometers from Chiang Mai and we made it in 3-4 hours with occasional stops at a waterfall or to make deposits in public restrooms. The beautiful primeval forests of gnarled teak trees and the great breathtaking million-dollar views gave me enough reason to praise God that morning.

We got to Mae Na Chorn Orphanage where I am introduced to the staff and their charges and to another German by the name of Thomas Singer. He is an industrial engineer who worked in a factory in Germany that manufactured parts for Mercedes Benz and other European cars, but decided that the poor kids in Thailand needed him more. I was shown a room where I would sleep that night. Workers were busy renovating the Coffee shop and there was a lot of construction activity going on with the boys helping the carpenters. Later in the afternoon some patients arrive and I set up clinic. After dinner I do physical check up on the kids and the staff. Almost all are in the pink of health except for two who I advised to be brought to the city hospital for further workup on a lung and thyroid problem.

The following day we drive higher up the mountains to Mae Hae Hostel where a whole village of Karen tribesmen and their families have gathered at the Hostel to see the Filipino doctor. History taking was a very unique experience, because between me and the patient were two translators translating from English to Thai and then to Karen. I was imagining that some important information could be lost in the process and I was praying that God would minimize the Babel effect and produce good results, which turned out really good to the praise and glory of the Great Physician.

It is three o’clock in the afternoon when the cold wind starts blowing and the chill goes straight to your bones. That night a fire was lit in the living room to give us warmth and we retired under mosquito nets. Ralf and Thomas opted to sleep out on the open porch without the nets; it was too cold for me. Early the next day some more Karen folk start arriving and I resume clinic. At 1 pm the medicines are almost gone and the patients have all been seen, and we bid the Karen goodbye.

We head back to Chiang Mai and managed to make it before the last bus left for Bangkok. It was a ‘generic’ [colorum in the Phils], air-conditioned, double-decker bus painted with bright cartoon characters. This was not a regular bus plying this route but it was the best that the stranded passengers can get. I got a seat beside a young Buddhist monk who couldn’t speak English, and all we did throughout the trip was to bump each others heads as we dozed off. The driver obviously wanted to please the restaurants on the way and made frequent stops.

The return trip that day from Mae Hae to Bangkok took 15 hours and resulted in a sore butt, painful pressure on my herniated nucleus pulposus, numbing pain on my thighs and legs, some degree of vertigo and a plugged colon. But that didn’t dampen my spirits at all. I had been to the mountains and had seen the Karen and Hmong rejoice because they were treated by a doctor. Their smiles, hugs and handshakes were more than enough balm and inspiration to keep my spirits high until I make another trip, again. I can never thank God enough for giving me all these opportunities to bless others, and I only live to serve him more.

HOT COFFEE

ich wünsche, dass ich Deutsches sprechen könnte, möglicherweise in naher Zukunft

Who would imagine that out in a remote and lonely mountain road you would see a coffee shop with great tasting freshly ground hot coffee served by english or german speaking Karen and Hmong kids?

This coffee shop is part of the Mae Na Chorn orphanage and it is actually a "Bed and Breakfast" project to help support the orphanage and to train the orphans as cooks, waiters and room maids - something like Hotel and Restaurant management.

I cant remember how many cups of coffee I drank, but believe me, Starbucks couldnt come up to the quality of the coffee here.

visit their website: http://hotcoffee-th.org