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On Saint Patrick's Day in 2005 my family and I left for a trip to the Philippines. Leaving the United States through Seattle-Tacoma International Airport we flew out over the Pacific Ocean. The flight was long. The plane was huge. I was super excited.
In 1963 my grandparents, George and Beverly, left for the Philippines a different way. When my dad was almost nine years old, they set sail on a cargo ship. As missionaries with the Advent Christian Denomination, they spent over 15 years serving the Lord in the Philippines. One of the things my grandparents did while serving was help start Oro Bible College (OBC), located on the island of Mindanao in Carmen, a suburb of Cagayan de Oro. This trip, 42 years later, was to join in the celebration of college's 35th anniversary.
After two long days of traveling, we finally arrived on Luzon. From there we flew to the second largest island, Mindanao, where the plane landed at a small airport in the middle of crop fields. There a missionary from New Zealand met us and drove us to a hotel, the Middleton Apartelle in Carmen, where we met up with my grandparents. Walls surrounded the hotel compound, located at the end of a dusty road lined with shacks. The pool in the center of the compound was filled with noisy kids. Tropical plants were in bloom everywhere.
In some ways, this trip was like a journey back to the "old country." Since my dad grew up there as a missionary kid, most of his boyhood stories took place in the baryos of Mindanao, at Faith Academy, in the city of Manila, on the beaches of Corregidor Island, and other locals with intriguing names. For him, it was a going home trip. For me, it was a chance to see the places I'd fallen asleep thinking about after my dad tucked me in as a child. I wanted to see the place where my dad had grown up.
It turned out not only a chance to satisfy my curiosity of my dad's childhood home, but also a chance for God to change my perception of reality. If I were to title my trip in ten words or less, I'd title it: A Reality Check – God, What Do I Really Know?
I grew up knowing my grandparents were missionaries. All my life I had heard them talk about God and what God was doing in the world. However, I did not realize how influential my grandparent's work was. During this trip I came to better appreciate the spiritual blessing God has given me through my grandparents.
"George is my spiritual father. He baptized me," several Filipinos told me about my grandpa during my stay. A few years earlier my dad and grandpa baptized me in a lake at my church's campout. I was happy that they both could do that, but after hearing those words, I realized how blessed I was to have had that experience. God gave me the spiritual blessing of having my earthly father and grandfather baptize me.
While I also knew to be thankful in all circumstances and that peace was not about circumstances, I truly got a visual of this in the Philippines. Although the Philippines offers freedom of religion and is largely Christian, the island of Mindanao is has a large Muslim population. OBC and Maranatha Bible Church (MBC) occupy an L-shaped compound. After the church and then the school got started, Muslims decided to purchase the piece of land in the elbow of the compound and build a mosque. Even though there are walls around the compound, you can still see the mosque and hear the activities.
This bothered me. However, the faculty and students at OBC were not bothered by it. Americans talk about tolerance and diversity, often unable to demonstrate how a religious group can be tolerant while also committed and uncompromising to their own faith. Those at OBC and MBC were practicing what most American just talk about. They felt that it was God giving them an opportunity to be good neighbors to the Muslims and to be thankful for them. It was a good example to me of what giving thanks in all circumstances looks like.
However, many Muslims on Mindanao are very hostile to Christians and Americans in general. When we traveled along the coast to the village of Lagonglong where my dad and his family lived several years, we were warned to not go inland any farther because the Abu Sayyaf, a militant Muslim group, resides in the hills. At another point during our trip, my dad, who speaks the Filipino dialect Cebuano fluently, was disappointed because he was not allowed to travel south to Iligan. Apparently it wasn't safe for Americans to visit at the time. I'd never been to a place where I couldn't go somewhere because I would be targeted because of my skin color, nationality, or religion.
While this may seem cliché, I also knew as an American I was rich by the world’s standards. However, I didn't really know it until I saw the homes of others and a dorm room of a couple students. When we visited homes of Filipinos I could not help but compare them to living standards here in America. We have so much stuff. I really am a "rich Americano."
One evening we were going to an evening church service in the town of Claveria – in the mountains down the coast from Cagayan de Oro. There we visited the homes of two families. Both homes were very basic, with a main living area consisting of a couch or two, and very few decorations. Another evening, we were invited to have dinner with a very rich family; both the husband and wife were doctors. While not much different than an upper middle class home here in America, their home was very nice by Filipino standards. They lived in a gate community and had all the conveniences of a Western home.
Then while at OBC, a student showed my sister and me one of the dorm rooms. Compared to dorms here in America, it was very simple. One small room consisted of two beds, a desk, and a small wardrobe. I could not have possibly fit all the clothes I personally brought to school in the space they had. Unlike dorm rooms here, they didn't decorate with posters or many knickknacks. Although many of the students had cell phones, personal computers did not seem common.
Throughout my trip to the Philippines I met so many nice people. In general, I'm nervous about meeting new people and being the new person. Even though I was different, I felt welcomed by the people at OBC and the community at MBC. At five feet eight inches tall, I am taller than the average Filipino. My hair is light brown and my skin is fair; I don’t look Filipino. Even though I knew it before I left, God used this experience to remind me again that who you are is not what you look like but instead what is inside. What truly connects people together is the spirit of God.
Early, before the sun arose on April Fool's Day, we pulled into our driveway back in the States, the Los Angeles International Airport customs official's words still ringing hollow in my ears. "Welcome home," he had said with a pleasant smile after looking at our passports.
"Thanks," my dad responded solemnly. Why did I, along with my dad, feel a sadness in coming home? In closing, this trip revealed me that as a Christian, I have family all around the world. Yes, as a place on earth, America is my "home," but as for family, I was leaving some of them behind and did not know when I'd see them again. This was the last "reality check" of my trip: I will see them again. It might not be here on earth, but I will see them again.
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