7 Months in Pictures

It's almost April and I've come to realize I'm well over the halfway mark of my year here. Wow, the time has flown by! For this post, I thought Id give a different perspective, and share some of my favorite pictures so far. Here's a glimpse into my little life here in the beautiful Pilipinas

 Our lovely guide on our trek over Mt. Kabuyan

 Cheezin on Taal Volcano, the smallest active volcano in the world

 Hugs from fellow YAV and future seminarian Flanny on our March retreat

 My oh my, beautiful rice terraces seen during my three day trek over Mt. Kubunyan with fellow pastors in the area

Having some fun and bonding with my crazy coworkers

Ate insisted on carrying my pack for the day while we trekked through the mountainous rice terraces from her village to the neighboring one

 Peaceful nights spent painting on my balcony

Baguio (where I live) has some of the best sunsets

Learning indigenous spirituality in Sagada by attempting to balancing a squash on my head while going up the rice terraces. My host mom, who took the picture, was dying of laughter :)

The elders get ready to play the gong in celebration of a death anniversary

Always an adventure riding on these boats

 Waiting to ride the bus (called the rising sun) My coworkers wouldn't let me ride on top :(

Beautiful Ate in Cervantes

 And the celebration is in full swing

Learning how to make farming terraces with fellow women up in Sagada

 It's a good thing green is my favorite color

 My first taste of fresh buko (coconut) juice

 squad goals

The traditional butchering of the pigs. Quite an experience! Very loud

Hiking beautiful Mt Ulap

 Tasting fresh oysters on the white sand bar Christmas Morning

Good eats and good times

 Oh the endless rice

 "Quick! Raining is the best time to take a shower!" This happened our second week in the Philippines, when we stayed with a rural rice farming community. There were no showers so we learned how to take bucket baths, but one day it rained hard enough to take a shower from the water flowing off the house. Such a fun and memorable experience, laughing and dancing and washing in the rain with our host family

  I frequently have to remind myself that a place exists where people are actually taller than me

Randomly matching with the boys :)

It took a while, but I finally have gotten sweet Yana to warm up to me. Now its hard to believe I ever thought she was shy.

My fellow YAVs have been the best support system. I am grateful for their friendship and love.

Here's to 7 months down and 4 more to go! Tagumpay!

God as a Public Hiker: Encountering God in the familiar vs unfamiliar

I’ve always imagined about the day I’ll meet God. I hope it’s on a hike. Through the distance, the beauty of creation, and struggles of the terrain, a hike brings people together. Hiking is a territory I know, a territory I thrive in.

I imagine God showing up as a public hiker, probably the one that stands out- comes alone, isn’t from Montreat. Maybe God just moved to Black Mountain and is looking to meet new friends and see the beauty of this new home. God rocks a fanny pack and only brought one little plastic water bottle for the whole day. I glance around to my fellow rangers and we smile because we know God is going to be a lot to handle. 

As we all gather around and introduce ourselves, I find myself watching God. Watching how God never ceases to have a warm and loving smile. God pays attention to everyone while they speak and I see God repeat each name back, making sure not to forget. 

As the hike starts, I run right to the front, eager to avoid the idle chit chat with all the public hikers. Audrey joins me and we leave our other fellow rangers to do the entertaining, they are much better at that than we are. 

Audrey and I pass the time by pushing the pace, loving the sweat starting to form while the stillness of the forest takes over. We hike in silence, hike in peace. My dreaming, imaginative mind starts to take over and I hind myself blissfully lost in my thoughts while the rhythmic pattern of my boots trudging through the forest grounds me- I’ve found my happy place. A while passes by in my hiking bliss and I realize it’s time to snap back to reality, time to do my job.

So I rotate to the back to relieve the others of all the socializing pressure. Not long after, God slows and sets pace to match mine. I groan silently, not ready to fully let go of my hiking bliss to indulge in endless small talk. But it begins- God asks me where I’m from, where I go to school, the usual. I return the pleasantries and God and I begin to know each other. To my surprise, conversations flows easily while God stages the conversation so that I can talk about my passions. Creation theology, my upcoming move to the Philippines, and eventual attendance at Princeton Seminary dominate the conversation and I feel good and light that God allowed for so much time for me to spill that which makes my heart smile. Throughout my ramblings God is attentive and listens with love, love matching the excitement in my voice. 

We take a water break and God rotates to talk to someone else, and I reconvene with my rangers. I ask them about God and they each have had similar encounters. They remark at how cool God is and what a fun conversation they had. I smile, but am still puzzled, there’s just something about God that I’m missing. 

As we start moving again, God surprises us all by becoming the life of the hike. We have a small party with us, about 7 total, and God engages us all in conversation- cracking jokes and telling wonderful, gripping stories. God turns the hike into a live show, and makes us all not only feel like fellow actors but also the audience. The fun continues and we reach the top. It is a crystal clear day and the beauty is quite stunning. We take a break to eat and I notice God becomes quiet and still while eating. God sits a bit further away from everyone and looks peaceful looking over the wonders of the rolling blue hills.

After a while, I make my way over to join God. I sit next to God and for a while, silence and beauty passes the time. God is the first to break it, when asking, “Katty, why do you like to hike?” I smile, and think about my answer for a while and then begin to respond. “A hike is journey, a tough one that brings us back to our primal nature- one we must walk. We walk up hills and over rocks and through forests and our body begins to grow weak and we get tired and thirsty, but we continue to walk. And we eventually walk until we become face to face with this (I motion to the view), face to face with the glory of the universe. And when I become face to face with the glory of the universe, I realize that the God that created this universe with such beauty in mind, also created me. With the same beauty. That brings me peace.”

God smiles and we sit in silence, not needing to pass the time with words. Eventually, the hike continues and finally ends. God says proper goodbyes and thanks us for leading the hike. The day continues and turns into the next day and the next, but the subtle glimpses of renewed kindness and goodness and attentiveness that God brought continue to bring me peace. 

And for a while, that’s what I needed God to be: an unusual hiker who reminds me of goodness, kindness, and that which brings me peace. But these days, what I need God to be changes as much as my emotions and experiences, pushed to the limit by living in a world where I’m an outsider, secluded by my skin color, sex, and privilege. And encountering God in so many different and trying ways leaves your world unfamiliar even to the most intimate parts of yourself. 

I long for those days when encountering God was easy and familiar, in a territory that was my purest form of home. But there is beauty in the resiliency of humans, able to form spaces of home in foreign places and then having the courage to encounter God in them, no matter what strange or undesired form God becomes known in. And there is beauty in knowing that every encounter with God is one worth with having; it is part of the fullness of life to encounter God in all forms- not just those that bring us peace. But ultimately, there is beauty and such hope in knowing that after the journey of encountering God in ways that make you feel lost, and a stranger to yourself and your world, God will still show up, with a fanny pack and plastic water bottle, and welcome you home. 

Moments

One of the most insightful things I’m learned from the Philippines is that time has no meaning. Whether it’s learned from the laid back culture that adheres to no schedules or deadlines, or from how plans and expectations always change every chance possible, somewhere along this crazy path I was forced to let go of the idea that time controlled my life: that there was something more important than the present. Within the difficult moments that seemed to last for eons, or the moments I felt like my soul walked on water, I blinked and realized nearly five months of moments had come and gone. When everyday life is filled with moments that define who you’re becoming to be, the present becomes the only thing that matters; the only thing tangible to hold on to, if only for a moment. 

I’m sometimes terrified by the reality of seven more months of diverse, defining moments, but then I relearn the lesson, that the only moment that matters is the present. And at present, I’m seeing this view

and am feeling grateful that are all moments are temporary, even the breathtaking ones. Because life, if taken only moment by moment, overcomes fear. And then what remains? To simply live the moments laid out before you. 

Tasting Heaven: Rediscovering and Redefining God’s Table

“And on the night Jesus was betrayed…” We all know how it goes. Communion, that is. The Pastor breaks the bread, pours the wine, we go up in our lines and eat the bread dipped in wine, and then we pray and give thanks. For 22 years, that was communion for me. It was all I had known. Sure, I learned the theology and meaning behind communion, God opening his table for us, forming a community of Christ Followers, but the repeated same action over and over again for 20+ years, I started to loose track of what communion meant. 

Fast forward to early December, when I went hiking with fellow members and pastors of the UCCP Middle Highland Conference to some of our churches within the Kankanaey community (one of the many indigenous groups of northern Luzon in the Philippines) located way up in the mountains, only accessible by foot. I work with UCCP North Luzon Jurisdiction doing research on the effects of Christianity in the indigenous culture, so I was invited to tag along to add to my research.

Needless to say, I was unbelievably excited. This was a dream come true, and quite literally a taste of what I want my future career to look like. But, as most people (including myself) would tell you, the reality of our dreams never turns out quite like what we thought they would be, for better or for worse. The reality of this dream was, that at the last minute, I was told my translator was not going to be able to come, but that the others in the group could help me out. So I went.

I should pause here and explain the language dynamic of the Philippines. The official language of the Philippines is Filipino, which is really just Tagalog. But in total, there are over 170 different languages and dialects spoken in the Philippines. Which means that just learning one language here is not going to help you really communicate effectively. For example: at the North Luzon Jurisdiction office in Baguio City (where I am based), pastors from various parts of northern Luzon also work here and all speak a different language. Sometimes English is spoken in the office, not for my sake, but because its the only common language. English or Tagalog. It’s actually popular all over the Philippines for different friend or social groups to come up with their own language or words to be inclusive of a multilingual culture. Needless to say, I am constantly overwhelmed and amazed at the linguistic abilities of Filipinos.

The Kankanaeys, of course, speak Kankanaey, a language I thought I was a bit familiar with because I lived for about a month in Sagada, where they also speak Kankanaey. But upon starting this trip, I learned that this Kankanaey was a different dialect of the Sagada Kankanaey so I was really flying blind in terms of communication. 

What ensued from there, was a week of beautiful views, but an intense and frustrating battle of trying to communicate and learn but constantly reaching road block after road block. I was overwhelmed, angry, and heartbroken that I was there, present and ready to learn, but I couldn't scratch past the surface. The people were so kind and hospitable, and I just felt like such an enormous burden, one that was causing more trouble than its worth. 

The trip concluded on a Sunday, and we worshipped with our last church. Of course, the service was in Kankanaey, and lasted over two hours. It was about the fifth 2+ hour service in a week in a language foreign to me, and by that point, I was overstressed, exhausted, felt like a failure, and just wanted to be home in Baguio. My anger and frustration reached a climax during the service when I thought to myself, I don't feel like I'm worshipping my God. I feel like a guest, worshipping someone else’s God, a God worlds different from my own. 

The trip finally ended with no satisfying conclusions, and I spent the next day hiding in my house watching movies, trying to forget. The next day, I dragged myself to the office and met with my boss. We began to discuss the trip, its frustrations, crazy experiences, and insights. I told him that on the first night, the first church we visited was in the middle of a wake, mourning the loss of a man in their community. I was invited to attend the service that night. It was an experience to say the least- the tradition in indigenous communities is to keep the coffin with the deceased in the house during the wake and the services are held in the home, in front of the coffin (open casket). So I walked into this little house, filled to the brim with the community members, so many showed up that they had chairs set outside all around the house, and sat down in the front row in the living room, in front of an open casket. The preacher said a couple of prayers, we sung some songs, and then we took a break for dinner. Again, sticking with indigenous tradition, plastic bags full of rice were passed out to everyone (like 100 people) and a crate full of giant cuts of pork (from a native pig they butchered earlier that day) were also passed out to everyone. Because I was a guest I was given two HUGE chunks of pork. And we all sat there, eating rice and pork with our hands out of plastic bags. They called the sides of pork “wat wat” and everyone was so excited to having “rice and wat wat!” After the meal they continued with the service. Everyone was expected to come up and share a memory of the deceased or share in condolences (I also didn't get out of this tradition). This continued all night- sharing memories, singing songs, drinking coffee, just being a community celebrating and grieving the life of a beloved friend. They did this routine for five days before finally have a burial. 

This this series of events is pretty much the norm for wakes in northern Luzon so my boss could relate well to what I had experienced. As a way to help me process, he casually suggested that I could think of that meal as communion in a theological sense. If I had been a cartoon, my jaw would have dropped to the floor. It was a such a obvious and beautiful connection, how did I miss it?! I thought back of all the meals that had been prepared for me that week, and I was overwhelmed and almost ashamed at the amount of grace shown to me, and that I was so blind to see it. To see that the meal was a way of coming together in Christ, in a way that language barriers are broken

Back in April, at the YAV discernment event where I got placed in the Philippines, we took communion as part of the closing worship. When I went up to receive communion, the pastor (the head of the YAV program) didn't say the traditional, “the blood of christ, poured for you.” Instead, he simply said, “This is what heaven tastes like.” I remember that moment so clearly. I paused and smiled and the simplicity and clarity of that beautiful revelation. 

I kept that understanding in mind as I spent Christmas with Flanny and his host family. At the time, I was battling my first bad case of homesickness and just wanted to get Christmas and the holidays over with. I was sure spending Christmas away from home would make things worse. But on Christmas Eve Flanny, his host family, and myself all went to his host family’s Christmas celebration. His family was very warm and welcoming, and the celebration started with dinner. For dinner, they had prepared lechon baboi which is a special way to prepare a pig. They had a whole pig resting on the dinner table and they ran to us telling Flanny and myself that we had to hurry and eat. At first, I wasn't sure what the rush was, but I soon realized its need when the entire family (about 20-30 people) all grabbed forks and starting digging into the pig- skin and all. I was thrown off guard at first but quickly joined the fun, grabbing my fork and digging in to the pig. It was much harder than it looked- everyone was getting the fat and meat so quickly while I struggled to break through the skin but everyone helped me, flinging chunks of meat onto my plate. Someone even brought out a giant machete to help me cut through the meat. It was crazy, but it was so refreshing and filled with joy- to be able to just grab and fork and dig into a whole pig. 

That moment held special meaning for me when I thought of communion. I saw the pig as the body and blood of christ and felt the urgency of His follows to come to Him, to taste heaven. It was a unique urgency- when most people are urgent for something they bypass other to get what they want, in this case the urgency was inclusive, even more than that, it was an urgency dependent on community. That moment we all needed Jesus desperately, but through the excited chaos of celebrating God’s table together we helped and depended on each other to reach Him, to get a taste of Heaven.

It was the same at the wake, I saw a community broken and hurt that desperately needed Jesus. And through the community of eating rice and pork out of a plastic bag together, they found Him. His spirit was present and overwhelming in that little house filled to the brim with people mourning and rejoicing in the life of a beloved. 

So what I’ve learned, is that Heaven tastes like pork. But it also tastes like broken hearts and spirits being mended through strength in community, it tastes like a room full of laughter when life has gotten too ridiculous to do anything else, and it tastes like experiencing a love for a people and place that continuously knocks your whole world from underneath you, but then cements you stronger in the love of Christ.

But it mostly tastes like pork, which is just fine by me :)

Taking Action

My heart weighs heavy these days. I wish I could say it’s just because of the election, but it’s been weighing heavy for a while now, the reality of the world does that to you.

Amongst all the wonderful advice I was given before coming to the Philippines, there’s really only one that echoes my everyday reality.. 

“You’re going to go, and you’re heart is going to break open, and God will be there to pick up the pieces.”

Welp. Step one down. God, where are you?

I find it hard to talk to God these days. Yelling is easy. But it doesn't help. It doesn't help the fact that the last typhoon completely destroyed my host family’s organic garden, a garden used to train other farmers about the benefits of organic farming. Or that the typhoons destroyed thousands and thousands of kilos of crops and flooded roads all over northern Luzon and destroyed homes but the world or even the Philippine government doesn’t seem to care care. Yelling doesn't change the fact that I met a strong young woman who was run over by a police van during a peaceful protest. It doesn't help my white guilt that makes me desperately miss warm showers, air conditioning, and my nice comfy bed back home. Or the fact that the President of the Philippines has mercilessly and unjustly killed over 3,000 people in a war against drugs. And it doesn't help with the fact that I was someone who used to pride myself on my ability to form connections with people but over here I am struggling badly to connect with this country and its people. 

Side note: When you have those dramatic movie moments where you’re walking the 40 minute walk through the mountains to town trying to outrun the sunset after a terrible week and all of a sudden it starts pouring rain and you forgot your umbrella (the ONE THING you’re supposed to have with you at all times in the Philippines) and you’ve just freaking had it so you stop and yell at God and the universe in the pouring rain wondering why they've turned against you, you don’t get an answer. In fact, you kinda feel really stupid for thinking that if you yelled at God dramatically in the rain your life would transform into a a classic hollywood chick flick and someone (preferably a hot guy in flannel with messy hair and a glorious beard who just happens to be your soulmate) would show up and then a montage of your perfect life together would start.

But it’s okay, God is good, the world is beautiful, the sun will shine, God’s got this. 

…..ummm no?

Let’s face reality and call that what it really is: an excuse. An excuse to sit back and hide in our privilege and do nothing while the world sinks deeper and deeper into poverty, corruption, separation, and hate.

Gonna throw another quote your way that again echoes my daily reality.

“You have not heard the Word of God until you have taken action because of it.”

If you had thrown this quote my way a year ago or even four months ago, I would have said something like, “Oh yeah, I totally get it.” Spoiler alert: I didn't get it. The Word of God requires action. It requires more than a solid attendance and donation at church every Sunday. It requires you to wake up and realize that it’s not God’s job to bring the Kingdom of God to Earth, it’s our job, and it’s time we acted upon it. 

Now I’m not saying we all have to just up and move somewhere crazy like, oh maybe, the Philippines, to act upon the word of God. I think this recent election showed there’s plenty of love needed to be spread back home. I am just begging that we wake up and realize that we should be ashamed of the reality of this world that God entrusted to us. We sat back and thought just because sunsets are occasionally really pretty it balances out the fact that we live in a world where children are taken out of school and forced into child labor?

Please believe me when I say I am writing this probably more to myself than anyone else. The realization of my lack of action prior to coming here haunts my thoughts, but I needed that wake up call. Right now, I’m mad. I’m mad at God, the universe, America, The Philippines, life, and the way it always works out the bad things happen to good people. But the anger, for me, is turning into action. Action that will hopefully help me find much needed peace in my life, and God willing, be a helpful step in my part towards bringing the Kingdom of God to Earth. 

To end, I’ll share a story (the number of stories I have from my two and half months here is quite ridiculous). A week after the last typhoon, I returned to my home in Sagada for the first time since the typhoon (I was evacuated to Manila to wait out the typhoon there). I already knew it was going to be a long journey, traveling in general in the Philippines is always an adventure. I got to the bus station at around 10:30 and found I couldn't get a bus until 1. One o'clock finally rolls around and I get on the crammed bus and find my seat, only to be kicked off the bus moments later because there were two buses leaving at one even though the sign only said one bus and I was on the second bus (The lack of information relayed here alone is enough to make me go insane). So I get on the second bus and find my seat, which is unfortunately the seat where the bus wheels are underneath which means there is no leg room which is really a disaster when you’re 5’10” living in the Philippines where the average height is like 5 foot so already a normal seat doesn't have leg room. Six long, claustrophobic hours later we are about an hour away when I discover that a typhoon flooded a bridge so we have to get off the bus, rock hop across a river (not a creek, a river) in the dark and then catch a jeepney for the rest of the journey. I would love to say I was surprised or shocked at this realization that I was currently rock hopping across a river in the dark with a weeks worth of luggage, but honestly, just another day in the Philippines. A total of nine, long, crazy hours later and I finally see my beautiful little house in the cozy mountains. As I walked the final stretch towards my house, the silence and stillness of the countryside took over and I stopped and looked up. I got lucky that night and the sky was crystal clear (that never happens) and the stars were out and boy were they shining. I looked up to see a sky alive and dancing. The dust of the milky way was visible and for a moment, just a quick moment, it felt like this peacefulness, this beauty, maybe it could last forever. 

I’m taking action for those moments; moments where peace, beauty, and brightly shining light, overcome darkness. I’ve got to believe if those moments can still happen in a world where people have to rock hop home because the government won’t help heal and rebuild after natural disasters, maybe if we fight hard enough, they can last forever. 

Welcome to Sagada, where we initiate newcomers by being bitten by a stray dog

So picture this: You finally finish up your month long orientation traveling around the Philippines and you leave behind your wonderful community of fellow Philippine YAVS and you move into a tiny new village out in the mountains with a new family. The only way to town is either a jeepney ride or to simply walk the hour walk on the rural but beautiful mountain road overlooking waterfalls and rice terraces as you walk. Three days in to your new life, you muster up the courage to walk to town by yourself. You make it about half way, but then a stray dog comes up, takes you by surprise, and bites you. It isn't a bad bite, more like a little nick, but the bite did break through the skin. So you call your host mom who tells you to immediately go to the clinic. Fortunately, the jeepney passes by so you catch a ride and go straight to the clinic. At the clinic, they give you a shot and antibiotics, but say you also have to get a rabies shot, which you can only get tomorrow in the next town over. After constant calls between your host mom and your site coordinator, it is decided that you will take the bus that night to Baguio (the nearest urban city) which is six hours away, and get your shot there the next day. About 10 mins before you leave your house to catch a ride to town to then catch the bus to Baguio, you discover you lost your wallet (Passport and cards were fortunately safely packed away). You tear your room apart but cannot find it. Your sweet grandmother steps in to save the day, and gives you enough money for the jeepney ride to town, and from there you can use the ATM to get some cash for the bus ride. You get to town and go straight to the ATM, but it doesn't work. It says it wont accept foreign cards. So you go to another ATM. Same response. You run to the bank where you then discover that there’s no ATM in town that can accommodate a foreign card and no other way to get instant cash. So you call your site coordinator in a panic and she saves the day by sending a friend to meet you and give you enough money to cover the bus ticket. So you’re finally ready to get on the bus when you get a call from your host mom who says she found someone with the rabies shot here in town. At this point, you have absolutely no idea what in the world is going on with your ridiculous life, but you obediently walk to the hospital, where you meet your host sister, and where you receive the rabies shot by a nurse on staff. You then go back home and just go to sleep because your mind and body are both done and you can no longer comprehend anything. 

You wake up the next day to relay the crazy story to your parents and all the emotions finally come up at once and you burst into tears in a public restaurant because NO, this is not how your new adventure is supposed the begin.

I guess I should pause here and say I’m fine, and I’ll explain way. 

Though that day was terrible and traumatic and not at all how I wanted to start off my new life in the Philippines, I was overwhelmed with the immediate love and hospitality I received. At that point, I had only known my host family for three days yet my mother was constantly calling to see how I was, and was using every connection possible to make sure I got the right treatment. My site coordinator also kept in constant communication, and made sure every step of the way I was safe and got what I needed. My grandmother was willing to give up her allowance for the entire week just to make sure I got that bus ticket, and my host sister graciously met up with me right after she finished school so I wouldn't have to be alone. 

The Philippines may have many flaws, and many aspects that are hard for me to adjust to, but today I am immensely thankful to live in a culture where community is life. On Saturday I became part of a community that takes care of each other, despite how long or short they know each other.

Life here is world’s different than life at home. I live in an indigenous community with a host family and my host mom has an organic farm and is a huge advocate for indigenous rights and organic farming. So I get to follow her around and soak up as much as I can about life, farming, and what it means to be indigenous and live in a modern world. Day to day life is a much slower pace than I’m used to. Everyone rises early at about 5:30, but its not so bad because my room faces east so every morning I get to watch the sun rise over the mountains and see the world come alive. My sisters have to leave the house by 6:45 to catch the jeep to town to get to school and I have to do garden work early. The sun sets at six and street lights are not really a thing here so life really shuts down after dark. This means 9 is pretty much bedtime, but since I get up at five, I don't complain. Our house doesn't have a shower or hot water, so I’m getting used to cold bucket showers. Once you get passed the initial shock of the first pour, its quite nice. And although we have running water, the water pressure is very low and only sometimes is there water so its a gamble every time I turn the faucet as to whether or not water will actually come out (It never fails that every time I need to brush my teeth there is no water). And cockroaches are unavoidable now. Sometimes I see about three or four just scurrying around all the walls.

But, whenever I’m hungry I can go outside and grab a fresh orange from the trees or go down to the garden and harvest some string beans. And whenever I’m craving some beautiful scenery, I simple walk down the road to where it ends and follow the path through the many rice terraces and beautiful green mountains to my favorite little secluded hill overlooking it all.

The stillness, quiet, and simplicity of life here was tough at fist, but now I find it quite healing and invigorating. This beautiful little community has so much culture, and so much to teach about peace, healing, and resilience. Their history is one that is filled with much corruption, injustice, and war, but yet they found a way to heal and retain who they are as community and as a culture. I am grateful and humbled to walk with them, if only for a short time, and learn to heal and be resilient and attain who I am, despite a broken world. 

Life is ridiculous, so sometimes you just have to dance

“How’s the Philippines?!?!?” ………………….

I get that question a lot, and after being here for a month, I am nowhere close to having an answer. The only response that I can think of that comes close is, “It’s a whirlwind!” And it truly has been. This past month has been good and bad, amazing and heartbreaking. I’ve laughed until I cried and cried until I laughed. I’ve seen some of the most corrupt and cruel treatment of people I’ve ever witnessed but also been overwhelmed with love, hospitality, and grace. It’s been one hell of an adventure, and for that I can think of no words to proclaim my gratitude.

To better illustrate how I’m feeling and paint the picture of what the Philippines has been like so far, I’ll share some memories. Just last week we spent about 5 days visiting the indigenous communities in the mountains. It was a very eye opening and moving experience for me, not only for the experience of living with them, farming with them, and hearing their stories, but I will also be working and visiting these communities as part of my work placement so it was incredible to meet these people and know I’ll have the chance to form meaningful and real relationships with them and help tell their story. BUT the thing about these communities in the mountains is, you have to get there. And when I say they live in the mountains, I actually mean they live ON the mountains. As in literally, on top of the mountain. And for those of you who know me well, you know I basically live and breathe for mountains so needless to say I was in heaven waking up on top of a mountain seeing a spectacular mountainous world laid before me. But to get there, you basically have to drive up in a four wheel drive car on the craziest, smallest, and most steep roads blazing up the side of the mountain, reaching highway elevations of over 7,000ft. I was amazed and terrified, but mostly just kept thinking, don't throw up, don't throw up, please dear God don't let me throw up. 

So, picture this: It’s about 7 at night (the sun sets at 6 every night here) its pitch black, we’ve been traveling on these crazy mountain roads for about three hours, we still have about an hour to go, and suddenly, we come upon the steepest road on the side of a mountain that I’ve ever seen. The car tries and tries to keep going but slows down and eventually stops. Our pastor taking us to these communities, just turns around and says, “Well, time to get out!” So, we all step out of the car where we are ushered to the back of the car. We then quickly realize that we are all going to try and push this car up the road, on the mountain, in the dark. At this point, my only response is to start laughing and proclaim that the phrase “It’s more fun in the Philippines!” is 100% true. So we start to push, and the car finally catches, but not before it rolls back a couple of inches which causes us all to scream, thinking this is where it all ends. But it didn’t. We walked up the hill, got back in the car, and continued on our eventful journey. 

The thing is, I’ve already got a plethora of stories just like that one, stories that involve me slitting a chicken’s throat, wheelies on a motorbike, and vidioke (karaoke) with warm beer and boiled bananas. But I’ve also got stories like this one: mining is a terrible thing is these beautiful mountains. Foreign mining companies come and blaze and blast through the mountains, getting gold. They have no respect for the locals that call these mountains home, which means that many households have large cracks in their homes caused from the blasts made by the mining companies. The mining companies also just donated 2 million dollars to the court system, so trying to fight them goes nowhere. The worst damage I saw was a home where the floor caved in. Countless people have come by to look at the damage but it’s been two years and nothing has been done to fix it. 

After being showed this horrifying reality, our pastor said a prayer. In the prayer he thanked God for His amazing grace, and a local woman (whose home had been damaged by the mining) proclaimed, Yes! His grace is good! I then found myself getting angry by her response and wanted to scream, “Grace! What grace! Your home is literally crumbling and no one cares!” Where is the grace of God when people are watching their homes and lives crumble to pieces while I have always come home to a house with running water, cable, internet, heat, AC, a fridge, and countless other comforts I do not find here. I did nothing to deserve that, I was born to a life of privilege, and these people were born to a world where respect for their homes, their heritage, and their history are hard to find. 

I love God with all my heart, and I do see his Grace ring true here in the hearts of the people and the communities that they have built, but every day I struggle with the reality of what the life I will go home to is like versus the reality of life here. Life here is hard, and I thought my life was hard, but I have been humbled to see the reality of the undeserving gifts given to me, and I don't know why. 

So that’s what I mean when I say it’s a whirlwind. I remember a moment at the end of my short trip to mountainous communities, where I thought to myself, this is it, my dreams that I’ve worked toward my entire life are coming true. My dreams of wanting to travel the world and meet people, hear their stories, and fight with them are finally reality. My next thought was damnit why couldn't my dream be to watch netflix in bed forever because this shit is hard.

So life here is wonderfully hard, but wonderfully fulfilling. Over the course of my short life I’ve come to realize and really believe that sometimes life is ridiculous so you just need to dance. Needless to say, I find myself dancing a lot here. Even if there’s no music and it is generally a socially inappropriate time to dance. But hey, do what you gotta do. 

Going forward, I am excited and ready and scared to see the ways I will continue to be broken and put together, continue to question and love the grace of God, and continue to find myself dancing through this incredible journey I have been given.