how could i forget you...

remember camp....the first blog i wrote. all those dirty little street kids...now that i look back on that i dont really think that i knew how to think, or what to do with those feelings when i saw them that week. The idea of a street kids was different...i am pretty sure that america has nothing like the street kids here. i will admit that i kept my heart distant from these kids...until these last few weeks, where i have had more time to spend with them, to get to know them. those kids found a way into my heart whether or not i was ready. saying goodbye to someone you will not see again is an odd feeling, but inevitable non the less. BUT i have seen about ten of the precious little kids again. two of them are at the home we have been going to for over a month. we have seen about 8 more at a feeding we went to last week... that made me so very excited. i loved seeing the smiles of recognition on their faces when they realized that they knew me! i never thought that i would see them again...and it was a surprise of all surprises. and i loved getting to see their smiling faces again.

The homeless man shared his cardboard

I guess to be completely fair he has a home. or at least the place he sleeps at night is in the same place. he has a cart that holds all his belongings...including his cardboard. he roles his cart up to the closed furniture shop every night. pushes and pulls his car until its square to the wall...giving him and his wife some privacy than he strategically uses pieces of cardboard to completely enclose this concrete corner. erin, the one who started this out reach about a year ago has known the family for some time now and as always when white people travel in number we attract attention. so as we rounded up the faithful kids to come and sit in front of this shop the man pulled out a long piece of his cardboard and pushed it until it was under all of our feet. we wouldnt be sitting on the hard ground tonight. the man retreated back into his fortress but every now and again we would see his head pop up as he listened in on our lesson for the kids.
it amazes me that no matter where we go, those who have nothing still give. i have a feeling that this man lending us a piece of cardboard was a little more of a big deal than anyone in america could imagine. here in the philippines everything you find on the streets you can sell. it serves as a way of surviving, a way of life. i appreciated that mans sacrifice more and more as the night went on. card board isnt really that bad...

grace

In the distance was the sound of the devout catholic women- their chants came in waves through the cooling night air. i slowly stirred my instant coffee filled with sugar and creamer. My eyes wondered to the light hanging from the tree. Its glow lit the table we gathered around. The bugs swirled around the bulb, their soft wings illuminated on their quest. The conversation changed from US politics to sermons to the plan for the next few days. My thoughts wandered as the conversation continued. "What am i doing here?" Every day i ask myself this seemingly unanswerable question. But mans answer will not satisfy, only Gods can. And as a selfish human being i dont always like Gods answer, nor do i actually know it. Like now. i now sit on my small cot in a very small school room asking myself the same question. The walls are covered with old posters of now dimly colored letters and numbers. God. That is the only answer my stubborn mind can seem to find. I took the ten hour bus ride up here to stay with a random family , in a place i i have never seen, to witness a lifestyle fare different than the one i know. My body sweats in my jeans and t-shirt but cringes at the thought of a cold bucket shower. Its only God. Only God that i am not back on an airplane on my way home to what knows so well, the way of life i held so closely. My family, my job, my bed, hot showers and the thoughts of food i crave only tease my head. It is amazing how often your mind will dwell on things you miss so much when they are taken away and replaced with such a contrast of things. the constant sounds of a language you dont know fills your ears. the unending streets that point in every direction quickens your heart beat as you struggle to remember a landmark to guide your travels. the sights and smells overload your senses everyday, making it easier to wish it was all just a dream you would soon awaken from. but then you think about the need that is so easily seen here. The dark hardness in the childrens eyes. The life they now live or the one now in their past seems to cloud their vision. Their desire to see beyond this hopeless dump they now live in is invisible. their pasts that weigh upon their shoulders seems to keep them from skipping a few steps. how easy to come here and open my heart to these people? from the other side of the would my answer would be that it is easy.But from this side of the world, in the midst of it all, standing at the half way point, my answer has changed. the work it takes to see a smile in a picture instead of a gang sign is worth it in the end. the storied of the boys will never leave me, neither will their beautiful smiling faces. the hours i spend with them are something i soak in.we laugh together as we make rubber band stars. or as we eat fried bananas for snack, calling each other monkeys. as they open up to us, it turns my days around. i recently read in my school book that everyone knows God in a different way, so as we cross cultures we should keep that in mind. in every story these boys share my eyes are opened to see who God is to that person. His power and His lobe shines thru in all the words spoken.
In all reality i thank God my stomach is full, even if i am not sure with exactly what. or that i have cold showers that most likely help me sleep at night. i thank God i was on that bus for ten hours, because i saw many more miles of this world rather than if i wouldnt have. i am thankful that my feet are always dirty because that means that i am out there. or that i am constantly itching because i have those fun or meaningful conversations at night, long after the sun has gone down. i am thankful that i am here bu the grace of God, and i remain here only by that grace.