The little pick-up truck sped down the road through banana fields and palm tree jungles, carrying us further and further away from the city. Julie (my class-mate) and I sat in the back of the truck, lavishly inhaling the fresh country air and admiring the beauty around us. We were heading on our way to a little village in the mountains for nine days to lead a Daily Vacation Bible School. My heart beat with excitement and anticipation for the adventure ahead of us. Somehow I knew it was going to be a challenging yet amazing week, as these trips in the bukid (mountains) usually were. At one point during the ride, we were stopped at an intersection and an old semi-truck came barreling up behind us to a VERY screeching stop just a few inches from our truck. My heart did a skydive into my stomach from the close call of becoming part of his bumper...Praise God no such thing happened!
Once we arrived in a town near the base of the mountains, we met up with the rest of our team- there were nine of us in total. Besides Julie and myself, there were seven others who had all grown up in nearby bukid villages. Once introductions had been made, and correct pronunciation of names discovered, we packed up our belonging onto three motorbikes and headed up through the mountains. About an hour later we reached our destination, a little village on the peak of the mountain. The little hut we stayed in belonged to Orie, the former mayor's wife. Her husband had been stabbed and shot to death during a tribal war a few years ago, after which she completed his term. She is an incredible Christian women, whose face bares the lines of suffering yet shines with the joy of the Lord. We couldn't talk much together as she didn't know any English, yet she taught me so much through her example.
Sunday morning was a grand start to a beautiful week. We walked over to the thatched roof church which was overflowing with villagers who were dancing and praising God. It was one of the most beautiful, pure, simplistic form of worship to God I had ever witnessed. They had nothing, yet they joyfully gave Him everything. At the front was a table decked with small bags of rice and vegetables they were offering to the Lord. I watched in aw as they joyfully threw their pesos into a little basket. It reminded me of the story of the widow giving her only mite. I couldn't understand what was going on, as everything was in Manobo, yet the presence of the Lord was inevitable.
The DVBS was an incredible experience for me; so unlike any I had experienced back home. Each morning the kids (a daily average of 120) would gather themselves together and eagerly wait for us to arrive. The age range was suppose to be from 7-15y.o, however, many brought their younger siblings. My favorite part of the program was watching the children sing. You never had to coax them, as they would always sang their little hearts out! After the singing they split into two age groups for a Bible lesson, after which they would color a picture. Although most times there were more children than crayons, they never pulled a fuss. I remember one little boy happily coloring away his whole picture with a white crayon… In many ways, these children touched my heart and opened my eyes.
Each afternoon I would tell them a missionary story with the help of a translator. The story was geared towards American Children, describing the life of a poor boy in a small village who was trapped in constant fear of the evil spirits. For the children I was teaching, this was reality.
After the story we would go to the basket ball court (always the center of the village) to play games, with the rest of the village watching close by. It was very entertaining to teach them new games with the language barrier. The one game, British bulldog, took over ½ hour to explain. At one try, instead of simply running across the basketball court, the children kept running and running… I thought they were going to run clear off the mountain!
In the evenings, our group would get together for devotions, prayer, and daily evaluation. These were special times of the week- times when I felt God’s presence in a new way.
This trip also taught me much on the simplicity of life, and the work many people go through just to meet their daily survival needs. With no electricity or running water, we would hike down a steep little path to get to the stream for water. We would bathe and wash our clothes there, and then water would be hauled up to the village for all other purposes. After 6pm, kerosene lamps would be lit to break the darkness of the night. I love this type of simplistic lifestyle- yet I’m sure it too can lose its novelty. We take for granted the fact that we can simply turn on the faucet and liberally utilize the flow of water at your own dispense. However, I found that one of the biggest advantages to this rustic lifestyle is the quantity and quality of time available amongst families and villagers. Its something that technology and our demanding lifestyles have sadly deprived us of…
You know your getting use to a certain way of life when you walk into the hut to discover a turkey walking around, and it takes a few minutes to register that he shouldn't be inside. :) When I was there, I also took part in slaughtering and preparing a chicken!!! Much to my delight, I got over any apprehensions I had, and actually enjoyed it. Less than 2 hours later, I was enjoying it with the rest of my supper- which of course included rice! =)
There is so much more I could write about of my adventure in the mountains. My purpose for this trip was to assist in teaching the children, yet in many ways I felt like I was the one being taught. Because of the language barrier, these lessons never came in words. Instead the Lord again used children as an example, and it was as if He whispered to me, "Look, observe, and learn...unless you become like one of these little children..."
