(Full article published in Laymen Ministries News, 2003)
I stood on a large boulder and looked up at electric blue sky peaking through the jungle overgrowth. Colorful butterflies flitted among the bright green foliage and birds twittered somewhere out of sight. Below the boulder, a babbling creek danced into the arms of a strong stone dam that carried the clear gurgling water into a channel carved in the jungle floor. This lovely place is the water source for the village of Pinagbayanan, on the island of Mindoro, Philippines.
Nearby were my companions from the Digital Video Department of Pacific Union College. We had come from PUC to the Philippines carrying digital video equipment to document the missionary work that Laymen Ministries is doing in the villages. Our goal: to take back to America stories that would challenge hearts.
The residents of these remote seaside villages in Occidental Mindoro were accustomed to slashing and burning the jungles to flush out food. As a result of this and illegal logging, the jungle was becoming depleted. The indigenous people were often hungry and many were indebted to the wealthier class who moved into the villages from the cities to capitalize on them. Our hosts, the Laymen Ministries missionary team, in addition to providing an education, were teaching the villagers how to plant and sell rice, and this irrigation ditch provided water to the rice paddies.
I stood on a large boulder and looked up at electric blue sky peaking through the jungle overgrowth. Colorful butterflies flitted among the bright green foliage and birds twittered somewhere out of sight. Below the boulder, a babbling creek danced into the arms of a strong stone dam that carried the clear gurgling water into a channel carved in the jungle floor. This lovely place is the water source for the village of Pinagbayanan, on the island of Mindoro, Philippines.
Nearby were my companions from the Digital Video Department of Pacific Union College. We had come from PUC to the Philippines carrying digital video equipment to document the missionary work that Laymen Ministries is doing in the villages. Our goal: to take back to America stories that would challenge hearts.
The residents of these remote seaside villages in Occidental Mindoro were accustomed to slashing and burning the jungles to flush out food. As a result of this and illegal logging, the jungle was becoming depleted. The indigenous people were often hungry and many were indebted to the wealthier class who moved into the villages from the cities to capitalize on them. Our hosts, the Laymen Ministries missionary team, in addition to providing an education, were teaching the villagers how to plant and sell rice, and this irrigation ditch provided water to the rice paddies.
I looked at the sparkling water and thought how different it was from another village we had seen. Their little stream, used for everything from toilet to laundry water, was discolored and foul smelling. The small bamboo huts and the earth around them was littered with debris. Afraid to release spirits from the earth, the villagers do not bury their feces, leaving them exposed to spread disease. I remembered little faces covered with dirt and mucus, some with crusty pinkeye and raw upper lips from rhinitis. Insect bites, scratched and festered, left little legs pocked with scars. Big terrified eyes followed our every move, but when we spoke to them, they hid bashful smiles behind their mothers skirts. Many of them wore little tags with the names of their church, with the understanding that God would recognize them and prevent sickness.
All too soon we began our trek back down the canal, which made a pleasant path until we reached the narrow trail several yards below the dam. Once again we pushed through the sharp grass and twigs that clawed our bare legs, and once again we came into the clearing where the bright blue sky shines off the shallow water in small rice paddies. But this time it looked different to me. In my mind’s eye I saw wiry brown men bent, digging and sweating to bring a new life to their families. I saw men clearing trees and hauling rocks, building dirt dikes and plowing stony soil. I saw water--fresh, life-giving water from the source on the mountain--rushing headlong down a shallow ditch, lending a bit of itself here and there to fill these small fields. I saw little green sprouts, touched by this source of life, pushing their way to the sky, sprouting their heads of fruit that would be harvested, eaten, and sold. I saw life, growing, thriving, spreading, all from the one little mountain stream.
We continued down the mountain to where Ma'am Ann was teaching in the schoolhouse. The children had come at the first ring of the bell, and I watched as 15 or so swept and gathered the leaves from around the mission house and schoolroom. I marveled at how well they did their work, without direction from the adults, and with their eyes fixed on the strange white people. Their eyes were big, but not frightened, and when I said, “Good morning,” they responded “Good morning, Ma’am!” with a smile on their clean faces. Their clothes are clean, and most of them are free of lice and parasites.
It began far across the sea in America, when the ultimate Source of Life was poured out on a man who determined to carry it here to the Philippines. Flowing through this living channel, the living water distributed itself among these young Tagalog families, who in turn carried it along its course, into the jungle villages along the coast. In Aglimasan village it flowed from the missionary into the heart of a quiet girl, who now says, “When I learned [that God was my friend], I knew there was hope for me.”
All too soon we began our trek back down the canal, which made a pleasant path until we reached the narrow trail several yards below the dam. Once again we pushed through the sharp grass and twigs that clawed our bare legs, and once again we came into the clearing where the bright blue sky shines off the shallow water in small rice paddies. But this time it looked different to me. In my mind’s eye I saw wiry brown men bent, digging and sweating to bring a new life to their families. I saw men clearing trees and hauling rocks, building dirt dikes and plowing stony soil. I saw water--fresh, life-giving water from the source on the mountain--rushing headlong down a shallow ditch, lending a bit of itself here and there to fill these small fields. I saw little green sprouts, touched by this source of life, pushing their way to the sky, sprouting their heads of fruit that would be harvested, eaten, and sold. I saw life, growing, thriving, spreading, all from the one little mountain stream.
We continued down the mountain to where Ma'am Ann was teaching in the schoolhouse. The children had come at the first ring of the bell, and I watched as 15 or so swept and gathered the leaves from around the mission house and schoolroom. I marveled at how well they did their work, without direction from the adults, and with their eyes fixed on the strange white people. Their eyes were big, but not frightened, and when I said, “Good morning,” they responded “Good morning, Ma’am!” with a smile on their clean faces. Their clothes are clean, and most of them are free of lice and parasites.
It began far across the sea in America, when the ultimate Source of Life was poured out on a man who determined to carry it here to the Philippines. Flowing through this living channel, the living water distributed itself among these young Tagalog families, who in turn carried it along its course, into the jungle villages along the coast. In Aglimasan village it flowed from the missionary into the heart of a quiet girl, who now says, “When I learned [that God was my friend], I knew there was hope for me.”
From the students this water flows into the tiny grass huts and warms the hearts of the parents. It distributes little bits of itself along the way in every kind act of the missionaries. It touches dry hearts and starts life wherever it pools.
We spent the weekend in the city of Sablayan, where Laymen missionaries conduct the prison ministries. We attended Sabbath services in four separate locations, and it was clear that the river of life is flowing through the Sablayan prison as well as the jungle villages. In the first services I watched Tony, a young man who is a new attendee, as he shared what he had recently learned in the Bible. He was so glad, he said, that he had learned about Jesus in prison.
“If I had not been put in prison I would probably be dead now," another inmate shared, “I’m so glad I came to prison so I could learn about God.” At one point the quiet girl from the village stood to share, and I could see the water of life flowing through her to the eager, upturned faces of the men before her.
“Jesus my Lord will love me forever...” a group of inmates sang. How incredibly beautiful it is when the water of life touches dry roots and causes growth like the rice plants, and the joy I saw on these faces. Another man stood to sing. His face was wrinkled and leathery, but behind thick glasses his eyes sparkled with life. Most of his teeth were missing, and he lisped a little when he sang in a thick accent, but I'm sure I'll never hear a more beautiful rendition of the hymn:
“God sent His son, they called Him Jesus. He came to love, heal, and forgive.
He lived and died to buy my pardon, and life is worth the living just because He lives. Because He lives I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone.
Because I know He holds the future, and life is worth the living just because He lives.”
High up a jungle mountain the electric blue sky peaks down at butterflies dancing among the bright green leaves. A shiny black and yellow spider sits in the sunshine on top of a boulder, overlooking a clear splashing stream. Not so far away, perhaps even as you read this, heaven looks down on small heads bent over schoolbooks, or a gathering of tough inmates singing, “I just keep trusting my Lord, as I walk along....” And so the water flows on, never ceasing, always seeking empty places to fill and overflow with new life.
We spent the weekend in the city of Sablayan, where Laymen missionaries conduct the prison ministries. We attended Sabbath services in four separate locations, and it was clear that the river of life is flowing through the Sablayan prison as well as the jungle villages. In the first services I watched Tony, a young man who is a new attendee, as he shared what he had recently learned in the Bible. He was so glad, he said, that he had learned about Jesus in prison.
“If I had not been put in prison I would probably be dead now," another inmate shared, “I’m so glad I came to prison so I could learn about God.” At one point the quiet girl from the village stood to share, and I could see the water of life flowing through her to the eager, upturned faces of the men before her.
“Jesus my Lord will love me forever...” a group of inmates sang. How incredibly beautiful it is when the water of life touches dry roots and causes growth like the rice plants, and the joy I saw on these faces. Another man stood to sing. His face was wrinkled and leathery, but behind thick glasses his eyes sparkled with life. Most of his teeth were missing, and he lisped a little when he sang in a thick accent, but I'm sure I'll never hear a more beautiful rendition of the hymn:
“God sent His son, they called Him Jesus. He came to love, heal, and forgive.
He lived and died to buy my pardon, and life is worth the living just because He lives. Because He lives I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone.
Because I know He holds the future, and life is worth the living just because He lives.”
High up a jungle mountain the electric blue sky peaks down at butterflies dancing among the bright green leaves. A shiny black and yellow spider sits in the sunshine on top of a boulder, overlooking a clear splashing stream. Not so far away, perhaps even as you read this, heaven looks down on small heads bent over schoolbooks, or a gathering of tough inmates singing, “I just keep trusting my Lord, as I walk along....” And so the water flows on, never ceasing, always seeking empty places to fill and overflow with new life.