It's a New Season

It is a sunny Saturday morning. I am home and finding it quite strange that I do not have exams to check or papers to read and mark. I look at the pile of exam answer sheets and reflection papers that I have checked and marked in the last two weeks and I couldn’t help but smile. This is it. The school semester has ended for me and I am just waiting to turn in my students’ grades.

I have seen six end-of-the-semester seasons of madness. I remember nights when I would stay up late reading not-so reflective papers. I remember days when I would have to forego going out with friends because I had to check papers. I remember crying in frustration after MS Excel generated my students’ final grades and there were a couple who did not make the mark. I remember being annoyed when students who never show up for five months suddenly appear at the end of the semester expecting to have a passing grade. But this semester it is different.

What makes this sixth end-of-the-semester season different? Because this is my last.

A year after I got my bachelors degree in Psychology, I enrolled in the UP College of Education to get my masters degree. In a reflection paper for a class called “Teaching Creative and Critical Thinking” I wrote:

I delight in the knowledge that as a teacher I am given the chance to mold the minds of those I teach. I want to make a difference in the lives of students as I impart to them the things that I am passionate about… I believe that a teacher is given the honor and the privilege of shaping minds, nurturing souls, and igniting a fire in the hearts of students… I think that all teachers can be catalysts. Someone once said that a catalyst is consumed in sacrifice. If a teacher is willing to be a catalyst, consumed in sacrifice, then the impact is change in the lives of the students and the people these students meet. (November 2006)

In June 2007, I started teaching in an academic institution for higher education. There was a sense of nervous excitement on my part. A university took a risk in hiring me—someone without any teaching experience. I did not want to let the university down. I could only imagine what went on my students’ minds as they watched a twenty three year-old walk into their classroom introducing herself as their Psychology instructor.

In another reflection paper for the same class, I wrote:

When I become a teacher I think that one of the most challenging tasks that I would face is to know my students beyond the warm bodies sitting on their chairs. I think that the most effective teachers are those that connect with their students beyond the intellectual level. It will require a lot of emotional investment, I suppose… Who knows how many souls I would touch? It might very well be the souls of our country’s future leaders that I would inspire to make a difference simply because I took the risk to invest in them emotionally. (November 2006)

Investing in people’s lives and building relationships. This is something that my students taught me in the three years that I was an instructor. Emotional investment. Something that was taught in theory in all my educational foundations classes but found depth in practice.

Nothing compares to sharing in the lives of others. The first batch of freshmen I taught will be seniors come June this year. Yes, I have seen three batches of students fresh out of high school eager to know what college is all about. Three batches of giggly sixteen year-old girls and three batches of cooler-than-thou sixteen year-old boys. Over a thousand students in three years.

I wasn’t very successful in getting to “know all of my students beyond the warm bodies that sat on their chairs.” I do not think three years is enough to build a relationship with depth if one has a thousand students. But to those I have known and grown in relationship with, I can say that it has been very rewarding.

My students taught me so much about myself. I have grown and developed in character and not just in my skill as a teacher through them. From those who seemed to find joy in talking while I discussed Freud, I learned patience. From those who found difficulty in turning in reflective papers, I learned grace. From those who were always negligent in fulfilling requirements, I learned firmness in the way I disciplined.

It is my joy and privilege to be a part of their lives as well. I have seen them rejoice as they passed difficult subjects. I have prayed with and for them when they struggled. I saw couples get together and I have seen a fair share of couples breaking up. I have listened to stories of their families. I have seen tears of frustration. I have shared in laughter over their silly antics. I have received thank you notes, surprise visits, invites to debuts, and even food from former students. Nothing compares to the knowledge that you have ceased to become a person who merely shared information with your students. You have become a person who shared in their lives. For this privilege, I thank all of my students.

This is my last semester in an academic institution. I wouldn’t be in this kind of setting for a while as I am embarking on a new adventure. One that will let me invest in people’s lives and build even more relationships. My new job with Indigenous Emergence (iEmergence) combines my passions for education and teaching, indigenous peoples and indigenous Psychology, and field research and travel. This is such an awesome job.

So... It is a sunny Saturday morning. I am home and finding it quite strange that I do not have exams to check or papers to read and mark. I look at the iEmergence job description and my MPI (My People International) employment application form that I have had with me in the last two months and I couldn’t help but smile. This is it. It is time to invest in the lives of peoples, nations, and generations.

It’s a bigger mission field out there. More learning, stretching, and growth. Can't wait.

The Power of the Spirit withstands the Floods*

It was a powerful week of giving. CRL members came to give off their resources and most importantly their time. We give you a picture of what it was like to be a volunteer during the CRL weeklong relief operations. From packing relief goods to driving around the metro to praying for church members and communities, CRL’s visitation teams got the chance to be God’s hands and feet.

Blessed to be a Blessing: The Sunday Special Offering
Last Sunday Pastor VJ talked about birthing new lives. In order to birth new lives one must be willing to make adjustments, with time and budget. It was with this exhortation that Pastor VJ called for a special offering for those who were affected by typhoon Ondoy. CRL members’ generous giving yielded more than Php100,000 and numerous relief goods. Most importantly, such giving became seeds with which the visitation teams could plant the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Two Generations: Packing Relief Goods
It was a blessing to see two generations of CRL members come together in unity to answer to God’s call. Mothers came with their sons and daughters. Spiritual fathers came to support and guide spiritual children. No one was too old or too young to help in packing relief goods. The youngest volunteer was seven years old! Everyone—big and small, young and old, had the same heart.

God Allows Detours: Stories on the Road
There is a special place where individuals who hardly know each other get to interact and build relationships, i.e. inside a car stuck in traffic going to Provident Village, Marikina. There is also a way of reaching a community that has never been reached by government or by television network relief operations, i.e. driving around Cainta and randomly picking Barangay Marik as a drop off point.  

It was a week of great humor and awesome adventure. New friends and unexpected places make relief operations more exciting. Relief operations became a joy as God allowed “detours” to reaching those in need.

Seeing Through Christ’s Lens: House Visits
Listening to stories is very important. It gives the story teller a chance to impart his heart to whoever cares enough to listen. To the CRL team members that were deployed to visit church members in Cainta, San Mateo, Marikina, and many others, it was a chance to get the heart of other church members. Visitation teams got to share in the lives of those who were affected by the calamity.

The physical world shows damage to physical property, but the Christian spirit sees the restoration that God can do. In the mud one sees dirt and muck alone. A Christian sees clay with which God can form new things. The world sees a physical hunger in the people. The Church of the Risen Lord satisfied this and fed their spirits as well. It was a time of valuable learning as CRL members shared stories of the extent of damage but were still joyful and very optimistic about their situation.

One Body: Networking with Other Churches
It is in these trying times that the Body of Christ gets the chance to show the world the unity Jesus prayed for. It was a joy to be able to bless various churches that were in need. Not only was CRL able to give relief goods to these churches but was also able to sow in the ministry of these churches to their respective communities. We believe that individuals in the communities where partner churches are based will be reached for Jesus Christ.

Pressing On: Continuing God’s Work
There are still a lot of people who are in need. CRL continues to give its members opportunities to help. Members who would like to be part of next week’s clean up operations are very welcome to be God’s hands and feet by cleaning up houses of church members affected.

We do not end in just giving relief goods to communities. Beyond the dole outs, it is our hearts and our Savior’s love that we give. We are in the process of identifying areas where CRL can lead small groups and eventually have small house churches similar to the early church in Acts. We will continue to do God’s work of Kingdom-building even after the flood.

*Special article for the Church of the Risen Lord bulletin (October 6, 2009)
Edited by Cookie Calaguas (who put up with the major dips in my brilliance. haha)

Finding My Heartbeat and That Which Makes My Heart Beat

Beginnings: Flashback, four months ago

I wave goodbye with tears freely flowing from my eyes as I enter the departure area of the Davao international airport.  It felt like I was leaving a very large part of me behind and not knowing when I would be able to go back was heart wrenching.


Chapter Endings: Fast forward, September 11

I cry buckets of tears as Carla, a very dear friend, the younger sister I never had, gives her testimony during the church's prayer gathering.  She shares what going to Davao did to her and she bids farewell to us who have been her family in the seven years that she was away from home.


Somewhere in Between

I think majority, if not all, of us have been tempted to skip to the end of a book we are reading.  There is that anticipation and desire to know how things end that make skipping to the final pages very tempting.

But reading just the beginnings and the endings never make sense and it somehow robs one of the joy of experiencing the opportunity to completely involve and engage one's self in a story.  This testimony is what is "in-between" my beginnings and chapter endings of my Davao saga.

In the time between April 14 and August 18, I got to convince three of my closest church friends to go back to Davao and walk the mountains that showed me what my heart was made of.

It was very easy to convince one.  Cookie, being the very supportive friend that she is, readily ran with my heart.  I had to use the "travel the Philippines" card on Bobbie.  And on Carla, I had to get down on my knees to pray that she would decide to go as she was going through difficult times in her life and was prone to "change plans" out of the blue.

Why was I so bent on having my sisters in church go back to Davao with me?  I wanted them to see what I saw last summer as I walked the majestic mountains of Davao.  I wanted them to feel what I felt last summer as I lived with the Matigsalugs.  I wanted them to see the God of tribes and nations who was so real in the life and worship of this people.

Why was I so bent on going back to Davao?  Because it was in Davao that I found my heart.  And in any story of a journey to self discovery one always wants to go back to the mirror that showed a person his reflection.  I wanted to look closely into the mirror to see what else was in me.

God did not disappoint; He showed me His heart and I heard my heartbeat.

We were participants in the trial run of the Osmosis Project.  There couldn't have been a better opportunity for me to look closely at my reflection than this.  The Osmosis Project's goal is "to draw out from the participants their own desires and vision for holistic transformation of indigenous communities and to engage the participants' imagination so they might see what is possible for themselves as individuals, for the team as a whole, as well as for the community and social contexts from which they come and to which they will return."

We were to do what the Matigsalugs did, listen to their stories and dreams, and share ours as well.  Listening to and sharing of stories or what we call "pakikipagkwentuhan" might sound unproductive to many.  Admittedly, there is no tangible output after an hour of "pakikipagkwentuhan" but it is in the "pakikipagkwentuhan" that people's hearts get to connect.

It is in "pakikipagkwentuhan" that a mutuality of relationships is established, hence the prefix "pakiki".  It is in "pakikipagkwentuhan" that another person's dreams also become your own, another person's struggles yours, and another person's heartbeat the rhythm of your heartbeat as well.

God showed me His heart through "pakikipagkwentuhan".  I heard of stories that made my teacher heart bleed.
These are stories of children having only two school days because the teachers are not able to spend the whole week up in the mountains.  I heard of stories of mass promotion and no clear measurement of a student's readiness to be promoted to the next grade level.  I heard of stories of school children trekking under the heat of the sun everyday just so they can go to school.  I saw classrooms badly in need of repairs.  I saw torn textbooks and textbooks left to rot at the jeepney drop off point at the foot of the mountain.

After hearing these stories and seeing these things, I heard my heartbeat.  God birthed dreams in my teacher heart.  Tribal Mission Foundation is starting to develop a curriculum for pre-school indigenous children.  They call it Foundational Learning for Indigenous Children or FLIC.  I saw the opportunity to help and be part of something as grand as shaping the minds of young indigenous children, to help them be proud of their identity, and to spur them to claim their own destiny.  FLIC is something I would really like to work on and be a part of.  This is one of the reasons why I wanted to become a teacher and why Cookie and I want to put up our own school in the future.  This is shaping the mind of a whole generation for national transformation.


Chapter Endings and New Beginnings: Love and My Heartbeat

It is funny how going to Davao always amazes me.  It is easy to go on missions trips and say you are helping and giving because you happen to have the financial capacity to do so.  But in the two occasions that I walked these mountains, it was always I who went back to Manila with so much more.

The first time I went up, the Matigslugs taught me to open my heart and risk it in order to build relationships.  That was why I was crying four months ago.  I opened my heart and it fed on the love that easily flowed in the Matigsalug community.  I did not know if I would ever be able to experience such openness and love in the busyness of Manila.  Today, it is something that I experience with old and new friends, with students and co-teachers, with current and future family members.

This second trip showed me that the heart doesn't just have to be open but that it must beat in synchrony with other hearts.  To reach that point wherein you no longer keep count as to who is giving and who is receiving but the focus is on whether or not you have the same heartbeat.  And that is why I was crying last Friday.  The idea of missing the cadence of Carla's heartbeat was painful.

But that is the way of the heart, I guess.  You risk, you love, and you feel pain when there is loss.  Because pain shows you that what was lost was of value.  But it doesn't mean that you will lose that rhythm, for "the heart in its purity knows no other thing but to connect and beat in synchrony with other hearts" (graffiti in a train seat as cited by de Guia, 2005).

Until I walk the mountains of Davao again and be reunited with the Matigsalugs, I shall be content with listening to the cadence of my heartbeat.  Right now, I like the way it sounds.  It has the rhythm of dreams that have just been birthed and visions that are waiting to come to pass.

I would like to take this time to say "thank you" in behalf of the whole team that went to Davao last August 19-26.  I thank you, Church of the Risen Lord for supporting me, Cookie, Carla, and Bobbie in this missions trip.  Thank you, Pastor VJ for sending us with your blessings and your covering.  Thank you to the missions board for your willingness to support and send us out into the missions field.  May God bless our church as we partner with Him in fulfilling the Great Commission.  And may we have even more opportunities to sow seeds and harvest souls in the vast mission field.  Amen.

Of Walks, Journeys, and Roads that Lead to the Heart

When I was still in college, studying to get my undergradtuate degree, I had a class called Psychology of Language. It was in this course that I learned about the different meanings a word could take in a particular culture and context. It was interesting for me that a word can take on many different meanings and connotations depending on how it is used or who uses it.

I think the words “walking” and “journeying” would be very good illustrations for this. One might say that the two words have similar meanings but if we look closely, the two are very different from each other.

“Walking” conjures up a picture of feet in motion. “Journeying” on the other hand conjures up a vision of a destination. A goal. A Promised Land. It is possible that one walks for years yet there is no clear direction or that one is merely walking around the wilderness. On the other hand, it is quite unfathomable for a person to journey without reaching a destination.

A destination doesn’t always have to be a physical place. One could journey to the deepest recesses of one’s heart. It is possible to journey to one’s soul. One’s desires. One’s hopes. Interstingly, we cannot say that we will “walk” to our hearts. It just seems inappropriate to “walk” matters that pertain to the heart.

In a journey it is quite expected that one would come across demons that have to be faced or even slain. This is probably why, as we journey to the deepest recess of our heart, we get the opportunity to face our personal demons and slay them. It is also in a journey of self discovery that one experiences miracles. We either embrace who we are or end up hating ourselves and wishing we were somebody else.

Walking the mountains of Davao gave me the opportunity to journey the hidden paths of my heart. I believe that it has also created new trails. Who would have thought that, as I walked under the heat of the sun, I would journey into my heart’s passions. It was in walking these mountains that I got to know myself, face a few monsters, and experience the miracle of love.

These mountains became a way for me to know myself and what I valued and held dear to my heart. These mountains do not have the comforts I am used to having in the city – toilets, water, electricity, beds, varied food… It would be very easy to say that the people in these mountains are deprived. But for me, it was the other way around. It was I who felt impoverished.

One can see a certain security in the midst of the people’s “poverty”. It is as if they knew a secret to living. It could be the knowledge that they were in the land that nurtured their hearts, held their past, and contains their futures. I, on the other hand, had to take a two-hour plane ride and walk for four hours to awaken my soul’s desires, to have a sense of history, and to birth dreams and visions in my heart.

It was in the wilderness that I found my heart. In the past, it had been easier to choose to protect my heart but in this journey it would’ve been foolish not to risk the heart. It was all about the heart. It was in this journey that I felt such a deep desire to give my life for a people. I wanted to be part of something so much bigger than myself.

Call it idealism. Is it wrong to want what is best? Is it wrong to desire what is noble? Is it wrong to pursue what and how things should be? I have always been jealous of those individuals who have found a specific cause they could give their hearts and lives to. Why not this people for me? I could give off myself without calculating, serve without hesitation, and love without fear of rejection.

In a few weeks I shall be walking these mountains again. The trails might be familiar by then. Or I might have an easier time adjusting to the living conditions. I might even be closer to the members of the community. The possibilities are endless but one thing is certain: this time, I won’t be visting. I shall be returning to where I left my heart.