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Walking Jesus' Trail

12/29/2022

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A few days ago, our family and team hiked into the village of Ambang- a 30 minute drive and hour hike through jungles into the mountains. 
We loaded up a cart with medicine, massive cooking-pot and food, and hitched it to a Kalabaw (Water buffalo) for the bumpy trek through rivers and jungle. Kids ran and laughed, plunging through the rivers, swimming and splashing, running far ahead, knowing their way after all these years, and the adults settled in to deep conversations while we walked. We’ve grown to love this journey as well as our destination.
We have walked these trails hundreds of times over the past many years, often with a nursing baby tied to my chest, a toddler gripping our hands. We’ve changed, the ruts in the trail have gotten deeper, so much water has travelled and moved over these rocks and changed the landscape. The landscape of my heart and our lives has changed as well. 
My (Leah) mind rewound back to my first hike into this village… 
I was largely pregnant with Avea 11 years ago, when Francis and I got word from an older Mangyan man (who hiked for a few days to reach our home), that his daughter had been hit on the head with a falling coconut, and was taken to the provincial hospital three days ago. 
We took him and immediately drove the 1.5 hours to the hospital in the capital city.
When we arrived, we saw an empty bed. The nurse barely looked up from her paperwork, “that patient died an hour ago- her family took her body back to their village.” 
Francis asked for her chart. We saw that she had been brought in unconscious, but her GCS was relatively high, meaning that she was responsive, had a window of time to be treated for the massive head injury. She was placed in the Mangyan ward (A separate structure from the hospital, used only for Mangyan people. Dirty, crowded, where doctors and nurses rarely come and treat patients) and not one test was done, not one life-saving measure offered for over three days. She died to what was most likely internal bleeding.
She was my exact age, the mother to several children. 
We wept. I locked myself in the car and shouted. White-hot anger flooded both of us. The injustice of how these people were treated overwhelmed us.
"How do we ever bring about change?!"  We hugged each other and asked God to show us.

We drove quickly to the drop off point of the trail to their village. It was a day of torrential rain, blowing sideways in the strong wind. We parked the car and saw several men wrapping her body in banana leaves and making a stretcher of bamboo to carry her home. 
We joined them, no words were spoken. Together we hoisted her body onto our shoulders, standing behind the men from her village. The rain soaked us, rivers of water cascading from the banana leaves that shrouded her. We walked through the river and down muddy banks, weaving our way through this jungle I’d never seen before. Tears poured down my cheeks. My eyes focused down on my swollen belly, my mud-caked feet, the mud and blood streaked t-shirt of the man in front of me.Their bare feet were sure-footed and knew every inch of this path, even as darkness moved in. I slipped and sloshed and was no help at all. But I wanted to be present.
When we arrived, they set her body under a grass-roofed shelter and her husband and children came and gathered around her. A one year old poked her face, wondering why his mama would not open her eyes. 
I prayed ardently for Jesus to raise the dead that day, as I had seen Him do before. Hours based and He did not. 
But He began a process of raising the dead in me. Of letting my bruised heart glimpse and taste His heart for His people and giving me a love for them that came closer. 
Fast forward 11 years, my muddy feet and muddy children know this path by heart, and more than that, we know the people that fill this village. We’ve walked beside them through births and deaths, illness and healing, and watched them grow in their love for Jesus and confidence in their identity. We share bowls of food, we share head-lice, and we laugh together.
When we walked into the village this time, into a church filled with families and sick patients, we were home. 
We sat with a beautiful woman named Lennie, who lost her mom a few months ago. She cannot walk, and is depressed and overwhelmed. We sat and listened, hugged her, prayed with her and treated her body, Her heart became light and she said Hope came in again. She smiled and laughed, sharing that no one had talked to her or listened to her. She could now feel Jesus' love.
72 patients crowded into the small church for checkups, medicine and food. 
Jesus always highlights the one, focuses on the one. His love is personal and intimate. 


A young mother named Mary Jane brought her child to us to treat her for parasites.
I felt the heaviness in her heart. As we sat with her, and Holy Spirit led our hearts to take her aside and invite her to share more deeply what was burdening her. She began to sob into her hands.
She had lost her 1.5 year old son last year, after he had diarrhea for one day. One day. She wrestles with guilt and self-blame daily. She doesn’t sleep. She decided to kill herself. 
We held her and wept with her, grieved with her. Shared the hope and comfort of Jesus. By the end of the day, she said that she chooses to live, that her heart is lighter and she now knows it was not her fault that her baby died. 


These people are now our friends, our family; they trust us with their stories and their hearts. They know that Jesus loves them, and that we love them. The honor and gravity of that is not lost on me. It is a gift I carry gently.
As we packed up and began the hike out of Ambang, tired but overflowing and full, I lagged behind, watching. I watched my children ride off on the back of the Kalabaw cart, laughing and singing, our team of incredible men and women, my husband walking with two Mangyan friends the entire way out of the jungle, just to talk. 
Their hands were animated, their laughter rang through the jungle. Tears filled my eyes. 
These men look at Francis, not as a doctor, but a friend. A loved brother. He walks the trails with them, gets his feet and hands dirty beside them, and gently and humbly models how to walk with Jesus on the right path. These trails are now Jesus’ trails. 
Jesus brings life into dead places, light into dark spaces. He is raising the dead here.
Francis has been beautifully partnering with the Mangyan church leaders and helping many of them go deeper into the truth of God’s word, and to come out of, renounce and break off demonic spiritual practices that are ingrained in their culture. These practices and spirits continue to have a hold on them and are also still pervasive within the church. 
Pray for protection, discernment and leading of The Holy Spirit as we walk with them and help them walk in freedom through Jesus. God's love is transforming many dark and broken places- we're so honored that we can join Him.
We are grateful for you, the ones who hold onto us, pray for us, and give. We need you.
We can keep going, in slow and steady steps of faithfulness, because you have been faithful. 
We’re so thankful for you!


Please consider giving towards the following arms of this ministry:


*Sacks of rice for poor families
*Food and medicines for local pastor’s families (most of them are impoverished)
*Medicines for Mangyan tribal village outreach
*Financial help towards labs, tests, and medicine for Mangyans who are hospitalized


Please also continue to pray for the right land and finances that God has for us as we move forward in the vision of building a maternity center and wholeness center. 




 Thank you for partnering with us!

Blessings, Grace and Peace as you walk Jesus' trail,

Francis, Leah, Julia, Avea, and Justice Daytec
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Under the Shadow

6/1/2022

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Psalm 91 starts out,
"Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
    will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
 I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
    my God, in whom I trust.”
 Surely he will save you
  from the fowler’s snare
  and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers
and under his wings you will find refuge...."

This entire chapter is one of the closest to my heart. It is comfort in a time of pestilence, plague, roaring lions, lurking cobras, impending war, looming economic depression. We all know fear. We all know trouble. We all long for the refuge and safety in the middle of it. That refuge is closer than we know.

God is speaking to me recently about shadows. Shadows come in the valley, and the valley? Well, we'd rather be anywhere but there. When the sun is bright on my face and the valleys are in my rear view mirror, I tend to feel safe and secure. But sometimes things are grey and out of focus and I can't see the way ahead so well. 

Corrie Ten Boom once said, “When you are covered by His wings, it can get pretty dark.”
Sometimes it is dark because He is so, so close. He is challenging me, calling me closer, and when my eyes squint to see past the grey, He whispers that even the dark is just a testimony of His nearness.
His goodness is better than I thought. It's good when the sun is shining, and it's really good in the shadows.

Dwelling in the shelter of the Almighty means living close-up in the presence of the Holy Spirit, connected to our Father's heart. This is not a place I visit or just read about, It's not a place I frequent with my outside face on; it is my dwelling place. My home. My habitat. My place I run to, stripped down, pulling the door closed, leaning back, and breathing in, because I'm home. That place. Right under His wings.  

Our life here in Mindoro is beautiful, and full, and joy-filled. Our children are thriving and flourishing. There is no place I would rather be than here; living this life of worship and obedience.  But our life is blended in with the lives and hearts of those we're called to serve. Inextricably entwined and meshed together. It's not "Us" and "Them"... It's "We".  

The families that we serve have become our friends... the Mangyans who come to our doorstep also eat at our table and have become our brothers and sisters. Their burdens become ours. We share their heartaches and joys. They've tasted more heartache than I've ever imagined, and as I walk beside them and cry out to Jesus, He is showing me how close He is. 

Recently there has been a virus affecting several of the Mangyan villages. We are not sure if it is a Covid variant or something else. Many adults and even more children have been dying. 
In the past several weeks, many families have hiked out of their mountainous villages, many hours away, to come find us and get help for their family members. 
Several weeks ago, a young couple hiked from their village of Sipit, carrying their 3 year old daughter, Reyna. She was barely conscious... She had diarrhea for two weeks and was close to death. We took her for lab work and started her on IV's and medication. Her Hemoglobin was 2. for reference, a normal hemoglobin is around 13. People with a hemoglobin of 2 are no longer alive. 
We prayed over her, and sent her for an emergency blood transfusion. We prayed, and wept, and prayed. 
That day we got word that three more little children died suddenly from other villages. Their parents did not bring them for help in time. 
But Reyna lived.  She is healed, and well, and back in her village, climbing trees and chasing goats. And my heart rejoices for this life that was saved. Thank you to all who prayed for Reyna!

A few months ago, we hiked in the mountain village of Pagturian, about a 45 minute drive from
our home. Our team partnered with a local leader, and went house to house conducting
checkups for the sick. We had planned to go to another village that day and Holy Spirit told us No, we were to go to this village instead. We listened.
We were told about a pregnant woman who was experiencing swelling and difficulty.
Our family and team of midwives descended a muddy, slick trail, and entered a dark, smoky hut.

Sheila was laying on a bamboo platform, largely pregnant with her fourth child. Her other three children
played at her feet, naked, bellies swollen with parasites, feverish eyes.
Sheila’s mother took Francis’ hand and pressed it to her cheek. She began to cry.
In a mixture of Iraya and Tagalog, she said through tears that she remembered us.
She had moved her family of ten from their home deep in the mountain village of Sipit
(about a four hour hike from there) just three days earlier, to find us. They knew that we
would help them. They had no way of contacting us, so God led us straight to them.

Years ago, her husband was carried down from their village by friends of ours. and sent to the provincial
hospital with a foot wound.
For many days, he was not given any medical treatment or care by the staff. By the
time Francis learned of his wound and drove to the hospital to see him, his wound has
worsened. The staff had not cleaned his foot or given him any medicine. Francis
bought supplies and cleaned his wound. The surgeon came to explain that he needed
his leg amputated. By this time, he was septic, they did the operation, and he died.
This family, like most of the indigenous peoples of this island, are wary, fearful, and
untrusting of the hospitals because they are most often treated unjustly. 

Sheila had never had any prenatal care, and looked to be close to term. She had
severe swelling/ pitting edema from her feet to her chest. Her blood pressure was extremely
high. All signs and symptoms pointed to Preeclampsia— a dangerous complication of
pregnancy that could kill both her and her baby.
It was important that they receive medical care in hospital immediately, but even after being
educated about her condition, they refused to go the hospital. We understood why, but explained that she could die. They refused to go/
We chose to give Sheila the best care we could provide, to honor her and do all we could. We
started her on a special protein diet, anti-hypertensive drugs, vitamins. We came to see
her every few hours to monitor her and baby. Within a day, she was in labor. We
drove Sheila and her family to our home.
We pushed meds to bring her blood pressure down, and Sheila birthed a beautiful baby
girl, who had a cord wrapped tightly around her neck three times, as well as meconium
stained amniotic fluid that posed risk for severe infection.

Sheila began to hemorrhage postpartum, which is the result of high blood pressure,
malnutrition, anemia.
She was given four injections to stop her bleeding and we performed multiple
maneuvers to contract her uterus and stop the hemorrhage. Thirty minutes later, she
was smiling, nursing her daughter, stable. Alive.
After checking her blood levels and ascertaining that she was severely anemic, we transferred Sheila to the hospital to receive a blood transfusion— she agreed.
Sheila is now home in her hut in Pagturian, surrounded by her children, regaining her strength. She and her baby girl are survivors.
Had they stayed in their remote village, had they not chosen to come get help, the chances of one or both of them dying in childbirth are high.

We cried together and worshiped at the goodness of God, ecstatic that after thirteen years of building relationship and serving the Mangyans, they are trusting us and coming for help before it's too late. 

Daily we walk with these beautiful ones on what feels like a tightrope between life and death. We get to see God miraculously heal and move powerfully, daily.  And then sometimes we do not see the healing we prayed for, and the mystery, the shadow of His wings, we breathe Him in and rest in His goodness, holding onto Him in the dark.

I (Leah) have been struggling with autoimmune disease for several years, and just recently have seen a Rheumatologist. The blood work seems to be pointing to Lupus. We believe that God is healing me, and we are worshiping and living in His incredible goodness on all the days, even the ones that are filled with body pain and exhaustion. God is showing me His goodness and kindness, His gentleness, more in my weakness and limits than I have seen or tasted before. I'm thankful.
Can you join us in praying for complete healing?

In super exciting news, our wonderful friends, Scott and Ruth Buchanan, and their kids Izzy and Isaiah, have moved from Australia to Mindoro to partner with us in ministry. They are friends, ministry partners, and family for us, and are such a gift to us and the Filipino people. We are so honored to walk beside and serve with them! 

As costs are soaring in America, they are here as well. Our island's power company is rife with corruption. Prices have tripled because of fuel costs, and yet we are without power twice, sometimes three times each day. More and more families are coming to us weekly for food, as they cannot afford their basic needs. 
We share what we have so that no one goes hungry; in the kingdom of God, there is always enough. We will continue to give and to pour out. 

It may look crazy to be thinking of expanding when everything in the world is so unsure and unsettled. But we know that God's kingdom looks upside down. We are about walking in obedience, and sowing seeds for what is eternal.
We are meeting with a foundation and working towards an agreement to purchase land to build a Wholeness center, Maternity center and clinic. 
Please pray with us as we begin to fund-raise for our land! 

Would you consider sponsoring a family by providing food this month, providing medicines/ hospital costs for one sick Mangyan patient, or would you consider giving a monthly gift so that we can continue to feed, give medical care, and nurture those that God has brought to us? 
We can keep serving the poor and broken, keep showing the love of the Father, because you are holding onto us, praying for us, and giving. We are so grateful for each of you. Thank you for partnering with us.

Blessings, Grace and Peace as you rest in the shadow of His wings.

The Daytecs

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Jesus in our limits and loaves

4/5/2022

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Beautiful friends we love,April has arrived, and as many of you on that side of the ocean are looking for signs of spring and promises of warmer weather, we are looking for a breeze. Any breeze will do, but when they come, it kind of feels like the air wafting from the mouth of a volcano. Summer in the Philippines… it slows us down, makes us hover around the water jugs, zaps our energy, drives us to look for the wind.
I’m feeling my limits in 115 degree heat. 
We’ve recently been studying Mark 8, where Jesus miraculously feeds the four thousand.The crowd was hungry, their location was remote— no food, no stores, no means. 
The disciples were agitated, “Send them away,”  they said. 
They walked and lived with Jesus, but often failed to actually see Him, because the needs, problems, issues around them distorted their view of Him. 
They experienced His touch, and yet missed His invitation to trust deeply, to come, taste and see.
They are there at the feeding, but acted like the wilderness generation of Israelites… they acted a little bit like us: They looked around at the situation and grumbled, thought small, made their own plans. They saw the King of the universe through the lens of their circumstance.
The disciples saw the limits, they saw the lack, they saw how impossibility... They looked for the bread when He was standing right beside them.
Jesus didn’t rebuke them, but instead He asked what they had with them, what they had in their hands. 
“Seven loaves and a few fish.”
Jesus made sure those small loaves passed through their hands and they never ran out. There were 12 baskets left over.
Jesus was right there all along, with them. He was the bread. He was the miracle.
We so often bemoan our limits and lack, and shrink back from faith, when Jesus looks at our limits as an opportunity to showcase Himself. God knows your limits, He knows your struggles, He may not remove them, because He wants to show HIs limitless power through your cracks and fragility. He isn't limited by your smallness. 
I have struggled for many years with my Tagalog language skills. It has been a source of shame for me as I wrestle and strive and try, as I battle my foggy, tired brain. There are other missionaries who master it so fast, a few who have subtly shamed me and questioned if I should be here if I speak it so poorly. I’ve cried out to Jesus much. And I've just cried. I've tried to hide my insecurities and inglorious bits, but here they are....12 years later and I’m working with a tutor. 
Last week I was asked to speak for a Women Of Faith gathering for the pastor’s wives in our area. It’s something I enjoy and do often. These women are my family here, they are gold. They have given me the honor of being their spiritual advisor and I am humbled and honored to serve and champion them, to pray with and love them.
Holy Spirit was leading me to share a powerful message on the spirit of offense and how satan lays the bait of offense to trap us (Matthew 24). When we allow a spirit of offense in our hearts, we grow hardened, become easily deceived, and our Love grows cold. I believe the church is being divided and attacked through a spirit of offense.
I looked out at the faces of these women I love, around 70 of the most beautiful and strong leaders in our community.  Several of the women in the group were Mangyan indigenous women, and I wanted them to fully grasp the power of the verses I was sharing. They do not speak or understand English. My Tagalog was choppy at best. 
Holy Spirit made it clear that I was to speak English. 
I began to pray out loud, “Holy Spirit, I welcome you to come and move powerfully, please translate for me, and transform every heart with your words.”
The Holy Spirit came and moved, all around the room, women began to weep. Roots of offense, bitterness, unforgiveness, resentment, began to be pulled out. Repentance and forgiveness flowed, freedom came.
Wives went home to their husbands and conversations, prayer, and repentance lasted long into the night. 
A dear friend, Nanay (Mother) Florence, is a Mangyan indigenous grandmother, leader, and pastor. She and her husband lead a church high in the mountains, and she is in our home each day... she is strong and fierce, soft and sensitive.
She also does not understand more than 10 words of English. She and her husband both come from lives of brokenness and rejection. Their home is often shadowed with strife and arguments, anger and hurt. They love God, and also desperately need inner healing. 
She was weeping in the back row, undone by the Holy Spirit.
The Holy Spirit translated every word directly into her mind and heart and lifted out roots of shame and offense. She went home and extended grace and forgiveness to her husband without saying a word. Holy Spirit spoke to her husband through vivid dreams that night, convicted him, he came to her, and for the first time hugged her close, wept, and repented. 
She came to our women’s Bible study yesterday to share her story, and tell of God’s goodness to bring hope and healing to a marriage that seemed hopeless.
She has lived a life marred with shame and rejection, but is now beginning to understand her identity as a daughter of God, and walk in freedom, confidence and boldness. 
The tears have come easily and fast over the past few days, as I see His goodness. I also see how often I limit God because of my limitations. His power and goodness is limitless and He wants to use our meager loaves and fish, our limits and lack, to display it.
He’s reminding me of the time He answered me and multiplied the spaghetti when we were feeding the hungry and knew it wasn’t enough. He’s met us in big and small moments when we looked to Him, and sometimes I miss it.  I don’t see the miracle of Jesus right beside me, In me. He wants to be my next breath.
 Don’t wait until you have enough. Don't miss how He's moving right now.
He is asking me, asking you, “What do you have in your hand?”
Use it and give Him your mustard-seed of faith. Watch Him bring the miracles and power.


Our team has been praying for many years for land to build our own maternity center, ministry/healing center and home. 
Two years ago, at the start of a pandemic, God said that the time to step out is now. 
We began to look for land and pray and fast more fervently. 


We are now praying over a plot of land that was once a ministry center, built by missionaries to be a place where Jesus is made known. It has been lying dormant for years now, and we are asking God to give it to us if this is it. We feel that it is.
Our hearts are peaceful, filled with anticipation and joy as we envision all the ways it could be renovated, built back again to be a place of healing and life. 
We meet TOMORROW with the organization that currently owns it— please pray that God will make it clear if it is for us, and for the financial provision needed.


Our team of six incredible women are growing in this season like never before. God is bringing a fresh anointing as they grow in their love for Jesus and each other. They are ministering to the community powerfully, and we are so proud of them. 
They gently and expertly palpate pregnant bellies, pray for the broken-hearted, walk people through inner healing and deliverance, cry with the hurting, feed the hungry. 
We continue to walk in faith, as we do medical outreaches in tribal villages several days a week, bible studies, lead home fellowship, buy van loads of rice to give out, and help empower and disciple Mangyan indigenous leaders. As we pray over sick patients, we are seeing healing and deliverance. God is moving!
Since the beginning of the pandemic two years ago, a large part of our ministry has been supporting the local churches in our city. The majority of these pastors and leaders are living well below the poverty line, and many of them supported their family through driving tricycle (motorbike and sidecar) for public transportation, as well as being in full time ministry. Since there are so few tourists and travelers now, they have lost their business. Most of them struggle to feed their families, while continuing to pastor their churches. 
We are led to love and give to them generously, so that they can continue to pour out the love of Jesus to the community. We financially support many of them monthly, and also provide food for their families. 
If you would like to give towards supporting a pastor’s family, or any of these other outreach projects, please connect with us.
Thank you for continuing to pray, intercede over us, remember us, and give financially. We thank God for you every single day. 
Through you, we are able to extend the hands and heart of Jesus generously. We’re so grateful for you!

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Earth has no sorrow that heaven can't heal

1/14/2022

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Beautiful friends we love,

One of my favorite songs has a line that says, "Come out of sadness, from wherever you've been, come broken-hearted, let rescue begin.... Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can't heal."

Heaven is on my mind.

A few days ago, beautiful Jessa went to be with Jesus.

Jessa arrived at our home six months ago, a stranger whom we had prayed for.  She had met our bonus-daughter Clarence in YWAM last year, and wanted to come and visit us for a while.

Jessa's26 years of life had been marked with heart-ache and brokenness; Her father had been murdered when she was young, her mother abandoned her, extended family had abused her, and throughout a four year battle with Leukemia, they had all let go of her.
There was anger, deep and gaping wounds, and so much hurt. She had given her life to Jesus a few years ago, but struggled with releasing forgiveness over those who had hurt her so badly.
Over the past six months, we gently loved her, showed her God's Father heart, and invited her to work through the layers of pain and wounds from her past. She began to break chains of bondage, and face the things that had happened. She called Francis and I her parents, and we loved her as our daughter.
Along with Clarence, we walked beside her, fighting hard for healing of her heart, mind, and body. We were so thankful that much of her medical care could be done in our home, where she had IV therapy, Chemo injections, and Oxygen. She could no longer walk, and we carried her to the bathroom to bathe her and carried her to the living room so she could watch the kids play.
The days were spent worshiping, interceding, and speaking blessing and life over her. We all pressed-in to God's heart and prayed for miraculous healing of not just her heart and mind, but her body from cancer. We have seen Him heal so many times, we know that He does.

But as the last month unfurled, I saw her spirit change as her body weakened.
She shared last week that she was ready to go be with Jesus... she wanted rest from all of this. She  chose forgiveness and releases every person that had hurt her, and wrote them messages. She repented to us for the anger that had poured out of her hurting heart. Jesus healed her heart.,her spirit softened and was marked with incredible peace.
As I prayed, I surrendered my will, and asked God to either heal her miraculously, or take her home.
Two hours before her death, I sat on her bed with her head in my lap and kissed her sweet head.
"You're my baby girl and I am so proud of you," I whispered, "You've run this race well, and you can rest."
God healed her by taking her home.

We had her memorial service and Burial this week, and it was filled with worship. There is peace, because Jesus is our Hope, the anchor of our souls.

I can hear Paul's words echoing in my head from 2 Corinthians 5:
  "Our bodies are like tents that we live in here on earth. But when these tents are destroyed, we know that God will give each of us a place to live. These homes will not be buildings that someone has made, but they are in heaven and will last forever. 2 While we are here on earth, we sigh because we want to live in that heavenly home...  These tents we now live in are like a heavy burden, and we groan. But we don’t do this just because we want to leave these bodies that will die. It is because we want to change them for bodies that will never die. 5 God is the one who makes all of this possible. He has given us his Spirit to make us certain that he will do it. "

Tents are never built to be a permanent home.. They sag, and leak, they tear and fall apart. The wind blows them away. They are temporary.
When we are done with our short stay in a tent, we pull-up the stakes from the ground, fold up the tent and put it away, because we go to our real home.

The last several months, the tent stakes were being pulled-up from Jessa's tent. slowly, arduously, one at a time. I could hear those stakes coming out of the ground, I could see it.

These hearts of ours were not made to be separated from those we love- we were made to continue, to love without end, to be in relationship that spans eternity. It's our Father's DNA written into us.
So when the tent-stakes begin to come out of the ground, we try feverishly, frantically to pound them back in, to patch the tent, to steady the leaning sides. 
We long for heaven because we were made for it, and so often we get to bring heaven down and see healing, albeit temporary, of these wasting-away tents. I'll always pray for healing.
But this time, God showed us His gentle love and whispered to our hearts that He was doing the deep and lasting healing in Jessa's heart, soul, spirit, and that the temporary healing of her body was not going to happen here and now. He wanted to bring her to His rest and give her unspeakable joy right now.
Heaven did come down in so many ways, and in the ways we did not see it yet, built an even greater longing for what is to come. We're caught in the constant tension of the Kindgom of heaven, that is here right now, and also not yet.
God folded up the tent gently and took her hand.....Earth has no sorrow that heaven can't heal.

I'm thinking back over these months with a smile and hot tears on my face, peace filling all the spaces.
I am so thankful that God gave us a life of welcoming the strangers, thankful that He stops us and captures our attention with His whisper when He says, "This one. Love this one". 
Our lives are changed in beautiful ways because we stopped and realized the honor of loving this One.

I'm thankful that He's changing my heart from pursuing my agenda for the kingdom, to listening to His thoughts.... I'm grateful for how our plans are interrupted. I'm thankful for the honor of loving and serving someone so they can taste the love of a family. Often, God's plan is the thing that interrupts our plan and side-tracks us. The thing that takes your time when you were on your way to doing something else.  He wants us to hold all things lightly and be quick to surrender and listen. This is when we see the glorious and beautiful things unfold. This is when we get to see heaven come down.

Thank you to all who prayed for and gave for Jessa.... we're so grateful. You were her family too. She left a big family behind. Please pray for Jessa's boyfriend, Adrian. He was planning to marry her and is devastated by her death. We are praying that he comes to relationship with Jesus through her death... He will come back soon and stay with us as he processes through his grief.


Now we continue going deeper with the beautiful relationships God has given to us; our living room home fellowship on Sundays is bursting at the seams, with growth and life. Bible study groups throughout the week, Francis is in the mountains daily, walking beside pastors and Mangyan brothers and sisters, and discipling, treating broken bodies,  encouraging hearts. He serves like Jesus..
We are still buying truckloads of rice to give away every few week, because there are still so many that are hungry. Our team is doing community health-care, checkups, education, and discipleship.

We are also asking for your prayers as we follow God's leading and choose which land to purchase so we can begin building our maternity and ministry center soon! We're excited to step out in wild faith and see what God is doing.

We pray for you all so often, and thank God for you- the team of witnesses, encouragers, intercessors, and givers that hold us up. We feel your prayers. Thank you.....we're so grateful for you!  I'm praying for you today, that you will be filled with fresh revelations of His love for you, and then go out and love the one He puts in your path.

Grace and Peace,

Francis, Leah, Julia, Avea, and Justice Daytec
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Oceans of Grace

10/19/2021

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In the past few weeks, we've been called to the mountains several times, told that a baby was coming out and we were needed urgently. In each case, the women had no previous prenatal care or checkups. 
There is an old faded duffle bag near the door that is packed with instruments, Pitocin, suturing supplies, etc, and this bag.... it has seen a few things.

MaryGrace is a Mangyan mother who had a high fever and was scared to go the local health center for fear of being quarantined for Covid and separated from her family.
We drove over steep and rough roads until we reached the end, and then hiked through thick mud to their hut. It was dark, the air filled with smoke from their cooking fire.. we arrived as her sweet baby girl was sliding out, and quietly checked vitals, stopped the bleeding, and delivered her placenta as she brought  baby to her breast. Tears filled my eyes as I watched them; This miracle of life never becomes routine.
We started meds and vitamins for both mom and baby and left them as their bonding began. We did daily checks on them until they were thriving and healthy. Our smiles and joy are wide when one more mom and baby are safe and healthy.

This week, a Mangyan friend called us to come to the mountains to help his neighbors, Sandy and Larry, a beautiful Mangyan couple having their first baby. We were called to their hut two hours after baby was born. He was still laying between her legs, wet and cold. He was alert, eyes hungry. Her placenta had not yet come, and they were wise to call for help. Baby was dried and bundled against his mama's breast.

Upon examining Sandy, I realized that her uterus was now closed, the placenta trapped inside, and she was in imminent danger of hemorrhaging (the number one cause of death in the developing world in women of childbearing age is post-partum hemorrhage).
We gave Sandy an injection, stabilized her, and sent her to the hospital, 1.5 hours away. She began to hemorrhage when she was in the hospital, had surgery for a placenta acreta (A placenta that has grown into the muscle of the uterus), had multiple bags of blood transfused, and she lived.
We just hiked into her village and did a postpartum check, and praised Jesus for life... beautiful life.

Over the past twelve years, we have seen so many of the statistics. We have walked with, touched, held, cried, prayed, and worked hard to save, so so many.
We've fought an uphill battle to build trust, educate, and continually encourage entire communities to pursue wholeness, get early care for their families, to have a birth attendant at every birth, to come for help when something is wrong.
I've prayed through tears and clenched teeth countless times while holding a dead child.... NO. More. Death.
Slowly but beautifully, as we build relationship through respect and honor, we are seeing fruit growing on these trees.
 Others have come way before us, planting seeds of faith and wisdom in these communities, and many will come after us. We want to be faithful in every slow, small, steady step we take.
We are overjoyed with every heart that is transformed, every body that is healed, every family that learns to share love, every baby that breathes to live another day.... because it is all Grace and not at all my victory.

For the past month or so, our team has been diving deep into Grace; unpacking and searching-out the inner workings of this thing that is the pillar and tenet of our faith, yet so elusive if we're asked to pin down exactly what it looks like in our lives...
We started out pondering, and then plunged and plumbed depths we've never known, tasted, or understood before. This Grace cannot just be learned just through reading, but must be tasted, experienced, marinated-in.
This Grace we're offered comes in crashing waves and oceans from our Father, and we're invited  to enter it's depths and never leave them, but so often we think Grace is just how we come to Jesus for salvation.
We take this one-time dip in it's mysterious waters, dry off, put on our boots and take over from there with our own efforts and self-righteousness.. We turn this lavish relationship of Grace into a performance based, striving-filled, tenuous thing. We sing about it's amazingness while climbing mountains with a lead-weight load of our own burdens breaking us in half and stealing our breath.
I've come to realize that for so long I've had not a clue what it actually means to Grow in Grace and Continue in Grace as Paul encouraged us to... it's becoming really clear why there have been so many seasons of burn-out, emptiness, exhaustion marking my journey: I left the Ocean of Grace and walked a path of I-got-this, or God-needs-me-to-do-this.

I need His grace like air, and when I lean into Him and realize that nothing about this life is what I bring to it, I can begin to grow and continue in Grace because I'm resting in it. Our good Father is lavishing Grace on you today... He has a yoke that is easy and a burden that is light, and it's just the right size for you. Come on in....

For the past four months, we have had a beautiful 26 year old girl names Jessa living with us. She is from an island far south, has no immediate family, and we are honored and filled with Joy to be her family. She is in her third recurrance of Leukemia and battling for her life. We have found a doctor for her here, and are taking her to the hospital (1.5 hours away) several times a week for treatment. The doctor has flippantly said that she has a 1-2% chance of surviving more than a few months, so giving her care is pointless, but we are praying for miraculous healing, and life and know that she is worth fighting for.
In between chemo session, we are also doing injections and IV infusions in our home, as well as plant-based alternative medicine. We're battling for Jessa, and thanking Jesus for His healing that He is bringing to not just her body, but her heart and soul. The finances needed for her care are mounting, and we are peaceful, know that God has brought her to us and He always provides. If you would like to give towards Jessa's care, we would be so grateful!

We continue to carry on with the beautiful relationships God has given to us; our living room home fellowship on Sundays is bursting at the seams, with growth and life. Francis is in the mountains daily, walking beside pastors and Mangyan brothers and sisters, and discipling, treating broken bodies,  encouraging hearts. He serves like Jesus..
We are still buying truckloads of rice to give away each week, because there are still so many that are hungry. We will continue until the need ceases. Our team is doing community health-care, checkups, education, and discipleship.

We are also asking for your prayers as we follow God's leading and choose which land to purchase so we can begin building our maternity and ministry center soon! We're excited to step out in wild faith and see what God is doing.

As I write this, two of our three children are sick with high fevers and body pain.. We are in the middle of the biggest surge of Corona virus since this pandemic began and we continue to treat patients every day. Please pray for healing and protection.

We pray for you all so often, and thank God for you- the team of witnesses, encouragers, intercessors, and givers that hold us up. We feel your prayers. Thank you.....we're so grateful for you! 

Grace and Peace,

Francis, Leah, Julia, Avea, and Justice Daytec
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Fresh Wind

8/13/2021

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Over on this side of the world, the winds and seasons are shifting and changing. Habagat, Monsoon season, is here. The air is hot and stifling, Close as we would say in Pennsylvania, and the rains and storms are moving in. 
Almost every night, lightening tears across the sky in jagged flashes, reflecting off the sea below our home. 
Across the Bay, we can see a thick haze that is settling low and dark over the mountains, a volcanic cloud of sulphur dioxide from Taal Volcano, that has been threatening to erupt since last year. Twice last week, small phreatic eruptions happened as magma rises.
The earth has been shaking, quaking, groaning. 

The last several months have been full. I look back and see, spilling and overflowing from the edges of our life, goodness. So much goodness.
Our team has been going deeper into the heart of the Father this year, learning God's love so powerfully. The Holy Spirit began to speak to so many of us individually that He was shaking things, moving, bringing in a new season where He would pour out His Spirit. We felt as the shaking began, and the excitement and joy was immeasurable. He began to forge in us a ravenous hunger for more of Him. 

At the end of April, many of our teammates as well as Francis and I, contracted Covid. My case was moderately serious, and Francis was severe. Most of our team felt mild symptoms and recovered quickly. 
Francis was in bed with high fever for 18 days, and did not leave the bed for 21 days...he cannot remember any of it. As I sat in bed beside him, treating him, watching him struggle to breathe, and saw the gravity of his condition, I heard the Holy Spirit say,
"Worship. Even this I am using for good. Worship."
Francis could not speak, and rarely could respond... when He made a sound, it was "Abba", 
God rescued, He brought us through, but before He did-- He held us and poured out His presence and spoke in the dark. He always speaks in the dark..
We are still weak, and having many residual Covid symptoms months later, but getting stronger.

For the past several months we have also been walking beside a beautiful family as the wife/ mom battled cancer. Rowena was a dear friend of mine, and when her breast cancer recurred, we walked through every part of the battle with them. Her children are 10 and 4. She was only 37. 
I had the profound honor of sitting with her and walking through inner healing of her heart, breaking of bondage from the past, and reconciliation with her husband, family, and the power of releasing blessing and love over her children. 
The week before her death, each day was filled with powerful times of connection, love, reconciliation, healing and freedom. She held my hand and shared that Jesus had released all the pain and heaviness in her soul and brought her freedom so miraculously.
We had been praying for healing of her body as well, but one day before her death, she looked at me and her face glowing, said that she knew Jesus was calling her home with Him. He had healed her in so many miraculous and powerful ways... He had healed the things that will last. He had healed things that were eternal. She was ready now... 
We provided palliative care in her home where her family could surround her with so much love.
A friend and I sat with her and provided oxygen, IV fluids, pain medicines, and facilitated an environment of worship, peace, and grieving together, blessing and releasing her to take Jesus' hand as she took her last breath. Rowena went with Jesus last Thursday. Our hearts grieve with peace and hope.

There is no palliative/ hospice care in the Philippines, and we are often called to help families as they walk through this difficult and sometimes frightening time. 
We provide medical care, but mostly offer Jesus... His love comforts, blesses, and holds us up. We cry, hug, pray, worship, and facilitate a space where nothing is left unsaid, where love and blessing are released. 
We feel profoundly honored that we get to be present and serve others as they go through birth, and some as they walk through the valley of death.

 As our team has been growing hungrier for God's heart, Holy Spirit began to pour out powerfully... Many people are coming to our fellowship each Sunday, and each Sunday, and throughout the week there are powerful breakthroughs, Inner healing, physical healing, deliverance from demonic spirits... God is taking orphans and making them Sons and Daughters, and people are walking in their identity as God's children. Many are choosing to be baptized.
We are in a season like no other... There is shaking, and new, fresh wind is blowing though this place.

 One pastor and his wife walked though powerful healing in their hearts and were able to experience God's love more fully in the past month. They sat at our table yesterday and cried, sharing that for the first time, they are now able to connect with their 20 and 18 year old children, and share affection and love. They are able to forgive those who have hurt them and walk in freedom. Their children are beaming, crying, celebrating the love their family now has.
The Holy Spirit is healing the hearts of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. He is filling His children with His love and freedom.
There is nothing, nothing, that I love more than to see people set free by the love of our Father. Ever single thing He tells us is true... He has so much love and freedom for His children.

As the earth shakes, the winds blow, we are setting our faces excitedly on Jesus, and so grateful that we get to live this adventure  and walk with Him.

Our children Julia, Avea, and Justice are growing and flourishing. They climb mountains beside us and bring so much joy to our hearts. 

We have been able to fund expensive medicines, medical tests, dialysis treatments, and hospitalizations for more than 100 people (like Rowena) who could not afford it on their own, in the past couple months alone, as well as provide home health care, and continue to buy truckloads of rice every 1-2 weeks to distribute to the hungry. We're thankful for all of you and your generous hearts that give-- God is using you as you pray and give, to fill hungry bellies, help sick bodies, and show people the love of the Father.

We're so grateful for you! 
Grace and Peace,
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July 16th, 2021

7/16/2021

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It’s been over a year now of lockdown and quarantine, of topsy-turvy and unexpected, of pressure and struggle. It has also been a year of tasting and seeing the deep goodness of a Father who does not let go of His children-- but draws us close and meets with us in the middle of the mess.
 
For the past year, our family has continued to walk beside our friends in the Mangyan tribal community by bringing medical care, medicines, prenatal care, teaching and discipleship and has added to that -weekly feeding through rice distribution, eggs, and vegetables.

As I finished my taxes this week, I saw the numbers all tallied up in front of me. It brought me to tears of overwhelming gratitude. In this past year of pandemic, we’ve been able to give over $42,000 extra towards rice and food for the hungry. This does not include any of our other expenses, medicines, or outreach. Just food. Holy Spirit led us to give, and we jumped to it with excitement. As hungry people came to our door, we gave. We loaded up our vehicle weekly with tons of rice and gave it to local churches to eat and distribute as they were led. As we gave out, you gave out. We are able to keep pouring out because you are.
 Holy Spirit spoke to many of you to give towards this feeding, and you gave so generously.  With every grain of rice, we have prayed that the Holy Spirit would pour out on dry ground.
Many of you have reached out and told us stories of how your children have given towards food and medicines and with each message, tears have flowed. I can’t begin to scribble the joy into words. We’re so grateful for every one of you. Thank you!

With every sack of eggs and vegetables brought to an empty table, we have prayed life, blessing, and the goodness of the Father to fill bellies, hearts, and homes.
I love the quote that says, "When you are blessed with more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence."  
I believe we are building a table that stretches into eternity.
We will continue to purchase rice and other necessities as long as there is such an urgent need for food.

Throughout the past year, we see new flickers of revival spark in a place where long-divided churches have competed and quarreled with each other. We have blessed and poured out love to every one of them and are seeing reconciliation, softening hearts, humility, and love begin to burn bright.

The situation in the Philippines changes in varying degrees daily, but remains strict and regimented. Masks and shields are worn everywhere, armed military guards stand at checkpoints on the roads, and now a personal identification QR code is needed to travel even within our island.

As health care workers, along with our beautiful team of midwives and medical assistants, we go into the mountains and surrounding villages to do house-calls, treat and sometimes transport patients, educate, and assess the situations in communities.

Because of the overwhelming fear that has come with Covid-19, people who are struggling with illness will not go to the hospitals at all.  Families are told to stay at home and not venture out. The Philippines is a developing country steeped in poverty where entire families often live in one small room and tuberculosis is rampant, so this year has brought a perfect storm- an explosion of tuberculosis cases. Covid is not at all the biggest threat.
In the past month we have been called to three more homes, where young boys were near death with end-stage tuberculosis. We had never met them. They had not been to a doctor during the quarantine, and the families were afraid to go. They all took their children to witch doctors instead. The children were reduced to skin and bones, barely breathing, unresponsive.
Francis took each of them to the Provincial hospital over an hour away, and boldly advocated for them. He educated families, broke-off witch doctor curses, fought for lives.
The hospital has tents on the lawn where patients wait, sometimes for weeks, to be treated. Appendicitis patients rupture while waiting. People are dying while waiting.
Every day, Francis drove to the hospital, praying in the Mangyan tribal ward (that looks and smells like a barn). He gently encourages the nurses and doctors to treat the Mangyan patients, to prescribe the correct meds, to give care. He does this over and over and over again.
He buys the medicines and starts the treatment himself. He feeds the families who wait, and He prays healing over unresponsive little bodies.
Last week I went in his stead and sat at the bedside of two little Mangyan boys, Willie and Jeffrey. They were both unresponsive from probable TB meningitis. I prayed for life and healing and held their parents hands as I sang “Jesus Loves me” while stroking their little faces. I told them that Jesus delights in them and sees them. I cried Mama tears over theses babies that could have been mine… Just last year, two of our children were treated for TB and are now flourishing and thriving. 
The next day Willie died. And the day after, Jeffrey died. Husband and I wept in each other’s arms. Then we went to weep with their families.
The other boy, Ashi, who had been paralyzed and unresponsive, is now recovering from TB because he got the medicine in time. He is home, and his family is learning about Jesus love for them.

Francis and I are being led to help motivate the local health centers and advocate to send health workers into every village and test for TB and we can distribute meds, so that no one else needs to die of this treatable disease.  

Nearly every morning and every night, there is a small group of men from the Iraya Mangyan tribe who sit at our table. They come as friends, brothers. They see Francis as one of them, and it is beautiful to watch as he champions, encourages, teaches, leads, pours out, and fights for them. He models for them the truth that they are all equal Sons and there is no inferiority in God’s kingdom.
He helps them learn farming, sustainable ways to support their families, how to lead in the church and at home. They pray, worship, and learn Jesus’ heart together.

Day in and day out, we are met with massive waves of Joy, and crushing blows of loss. There is an amalgamation of beauty and pain; glimpses of heaven, reminders of dust. We see them all through the lens of God’s goodness, His heart of love for His children, His desire to pour out His Spirit and bring life. We’re caught in the tension of Kingdom living that is right now, and not yet; we get to pull the kingdom of God down into right here and see heaven break through so often. Tumors disappear as we pray, bodies, minds, hearts set free and healed, the impossible becoming reality. That is the normal we reach for.  And sometimes, the dead do not come back to life, and we do not see the healing we prayed for, and our eyes are blurred, our arms heavy with grief. On those days we push through,still holding onto Jesus as our anchor of Hope, knowing that His goodness hasn’t changed, it hasn't stopped, and it will not.
                                                                                                                                             
Here’s the thing: As Sons and Daughters, we are here for times like this-- to rise up in increasing unrest and chaos as beacons of hope, to not melt under the pressure, but become an intoxicating essence of life when we are pressed down.  We’re part of an upside-down Kingdom, one that is altogether different than the one you see, and we need upside-down eyes to look past the fear in this realm and see how God is moving. And He is moving. So look for where He is moving, and join Him there.
 
Thank you for partnering with us as we take these calloused feet to the mountains with the good news, and fill bellies, bodies, and hearts with hope, love, and lots of rice. We could not do this without you!
 
Grace and Peace,
 
 Francis, Leah. Julia, Avea and Justice Daytec

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Mountains high and valleys low

10/3/2020

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One of my favorite songs of the moment has a line that says,

  “The One who sung the stars into the sky is the One who knows every day of my life. The One who wears the heavens like a robe, is the One who chose to make me His home. You know my mountains high, you know my valleys low, everywhere that’s in-between, You will go.”
I’ve been singing it this week on repeat, sometimes with tears.
There are mountains high and valleys low, sometimes shifting from moment to moment.

Two years ago we met a little Mangyan girl names Karen, from Ambang village. She was brought to the local health center with high fever and seizures. She was unresponsive and hanging onto life by a thread. She was transferred to the nearest hospital over an hour away, and we, along with many others, prayed, and prayed, and prayed for her to live.
She was diagnosed with Meningitis, and miraculously survived.
We worshiped.

We began to walk beside her family, along with MAP missionaries, helping them to feed their children and to know how to care for them, to be able to discern when to come get help.
Karen’s father came to us the next time she was sick, even when the hospital dismissed them and sent them the long seven hour walk back to their village.
She was critically ill, but she survived.
We worshiped.

So many times we have sat with Karen and her loving father, as she vomited worms out of her belly, while she was seizing and unresponsive. We’ve watched her recover, run and jump, smile and laugh, play tricks on her siblings, bounce back. We sat back and marveled, and we worshiped.

Several days ago Francis walked back to the village of Ambang, a 45 minute drive and several hour hike through jungle and across rivers. He was going to meet our Mangyan friend Wilson, to deliver food and to bring coffee saplings to transplant in another Mangyan village as a new livelihood project.
When he arrived, he was told that just a few hours before, Karen had died. She is gone.

Months ago, her family had moved their hut even further up into the mountains, like so many other families, out of fear of Corona virus. One week ago, Karen began to have debilitating headaches, and her family chose to not come down the mountain or go to the hospital. The fear of Covid paralyzed them and decided for them.
When she began to become incoherent and unresponsive, they chose to stay. And Karen died.

Francis sat that morning with Karen’s dad, who we’ve rarely seen without his daughter on his lap. He is a kind and gentle man, his big calloused hands sitting still and useless in his lap. His head hung down. He had buried his daughter an hour before, just hours after she breathed her last breath.
There were no “You should have’s….” only tears as two fathers sat together and grieved. There are no words that help when a child has died.
There is presence. There is shared grief. There are groans that only the Holy Spirit can translate, and He responds with the comfort of the Father.

We’re grieving with these parents, and the ache and the weight are fathomless.
We’ve walked through more valleys of death that we can count, the vast majority of them being deaths of children.
The cycles of poverty, oppression, ignorance, and injustice in the developing world make it an uphill battle for children to survive to adulthood.
Through many of these deaths I’ve had to grapple and wrestle, and ultimately choose if I still believe God is good and merciful. That He is who He says He is.
My faith has gone from shallow, mountain-top, glittering in the sunlight, to rugged, tears-on-my-tongue, blood-streaked, tested.
There is a limp in my walk from the wrestling matches I have had with God.
My roots are growing deeper in the valleys than they did on the mountain-top and I have far to go.


I’ve seen Him raise the dead, heal the near-dead, do the impossible. And then sometimes He does not.
I’ve sat with dead children on my lap, screaming from my heart, barely able to whisper, “Why?! How is this You being good?”
So often I hear Him say, “You do not see now, you do not understand yet. I am good. Hold onto Me… Come deeper. Come closer.”
Do not back away. Come closer.

When I do not understand, I come closer. When I am filled with grief, anger, ragged and bleeding, I come closer.
When I wade through death and injustice that makes me want to look away and stop feeling, I catch glimpses of His heart and see that His pain and grief, His love over His children eclipses mine billions of times over.

I’m crying because He cried first. I’m hating brokenness and injustice because He hated it first. I’m loving beautiful people because He loved them first. He loved me first.
Instead of “Why?” I’ve begun to ask, “Show me your heart.”
He wants to meet with us in the middle of the pain.

When I come closer, I am met by the heart of a Father who is Love unimaginable. A Love that is more fathomless than the deepest pain.
I am feeling only a shred of what He feels; The grief, the pain, the joy, the love.
I want my heart to remain soft and compassionate, and not grow hard. I want to be strong but not tough. I want to feel deeply but not fall apart.
We want to keep going and not become shells of burned-out workers. The only way is to hold onto Jesus as our anchor, to run hard into His heart and listen to His voice, to let Him shoulder the weight of every heartache we cannot carry alone.

We will keep loving deeply, keep sitting in the dirt with the broken and crying as we share in their pain, keep on rejoicing with those who are healed, keep on hoping and fighting for life…… because He did first, He still does, and He won’t stop.
He's really, really good.

Today we grieve, and still we worship.

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He sees the one.

9/23/2020

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Meet Shierly, a beautiful and treasured friend.


Seven years ago, as I was greatly pregnant with Justice, husband and I conducted a medical mission with some doctors visiting from California, other missionaries, and local pastors.
We saw hundreds of patients who came from the nearby community and filled the basketball court.
From morning until night we did checkups, gave medicines, and prayed for masses of men, women and children.

Halfway through the day, I was handed a chart for a patient.
The assistant who had checked vitals thought she was pregnant.
I looked up at her and then felt the familiar whisper of the Holy Spirit, that voice that so often silences the chaos around me and shines a spotlight on the one.
He’s always interested in the one.

Shierly was emaciated, gaunt, sallow, with a massively swollen abdomen.
I took her aside and began to examine her, quickly realizing that she was not pregnant, but had a mass in her uterus.
I called an OB-Gyn over to consult. He concurred, eyes filled with concern.
He whispered over his shoulder to me, “I think it may be too late.”

I wrote an order for an ultrasound and medical consult to be done the next day, and sat down beside her. Her head hung down, tears dripping onto her clenched hands in her lap.
I asked if she knew Jesus, how much He loved her and wanted to meet with her in the middle of this.
“I’m a strong catholic,“ she said
“I read my bible and go to mass every week, I almost became a nun. I am good and help others.”

I told her that those things were good and wonderful, but none of them bring us into a personal relationship with Jesus. He wants to rescue her, save her, have relationship with her.
I asked if I could put my hand on her belly and pray for healing because I believed Holy Spirit wanted to heal her. She nodded her head.

As I invited Holy Spirit to come and heal her body and heart, I felt Him move powerfully.
Francis, several incredibly powerful pastor friends and their wives surrounded her, anointed her with oil and prayed healing over her.
Glorious things happen when we all join together and pray expectantly. The atmosphere was changing... from fear to life.

The next morning I was jarred awake by my phone ringing. The voice on the other end was sobbing and broken. I could barely make out the words.

Shierly had woken up to go get an ultrasound and her abdomen had gone flat. The tumor was gone.
She cried the entire way to the clinic, and saw for herself on ultrasound that the tumor was gone. Not a trace.

She surrendered her life into the hands of the One who touched her and her life has never been the same.
Shierly is now a force of love, passion and joy.
She loves Jesus and radiates His goodness. She tells everyone she sees about His love and how He’s changed her life.
She went on to Bible school and now does church from her home, partnering with local pastors.
She’s a powerful light in her community.
She’s a person of peace. A minister of reconciliation. A gift to everyone who meets her.

All because that day, in the middle of the crowd, Jesus saw and passionately went after the one.


I saw Shierly again this week, as she battled fear and anxiety, thinking the tumor had returned.
I reminded her of God’s love for her as we drove to the clinic together for an ultrasound. No matter what we see on the ultrasound screen, God is with her and fighting for her. Whether the diagnosis looks grim or not, she is held, and not hopeless.

I reminded her that all through history God tells his children to “Remember”.

Remember what He has done, how He’s always come through, all the miracles and every way He’s held us, how He’s fed us from His own hand, gently comforted us, split the sea in front of us. He’s moved mountains, led us with kindness, never left us alone. He creates hope out of desert sand, and He’ll never stop.

We forget... when the road is dark and pain-filled, when we’re at the bottom of the empty barrel, when fear comes against us like a tidal wave, and loneliness echoes off the walls.
We forget so fast that He’s the God of all hope.

Remember in the dark and dead of night what our God has shown you when the sun was shining. His presence is still with us when our feelings have gone numb, when the answer doesn’t look like we think it should, when brokenness look final.
He’s still holding us, filling us, anchoring us with His hope.

Shirly and I sang, cried, and remembered out loud, to ourselves and each other, all the ways He’s faithfully held onto us.

Oh, and this ultrasound was clear too.

(Photo and story used with permission)

Picture
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Mountaintops and leeches

9/14/2020

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Today our family hiked into the mountains, high above the clouds, where we could see the islands below us, floating in oceans of blue.

We were making our way to where some of our very favorite Mangyan friends were moving--higher into the mountains to plant their crops of rice, corn, ube, taro, and coffee.
They are building a new hut, as they often do, for their family of 16 and we were bringing wood to reinforce the thatch roof and walls for this typhoon season, and sacks of rice for them to eat.
Their baby, Aldrin, has been under our care for around nine months, as he has been malnourished, sick, and infested with parasites. He just turned one year old last week, and is finally beginning to thrive.

On the way up the mountain, Justice led the way…he hikes this path with Francis several times a week and knows it well. He leads with sure feet, puffed out chest, a walking stick, and a song.
As his strong voice echoed off the rocks and trees, his hand skimmed the rice fields beside us, and the rice stalks swayed in time. Verdant green as far as the eye could see.
Justice stopped suddenly as we reached the edge of the rice field, where the sun dazzled and warmed our faces, and birds swooped and played. He pointed ahead of us to where the path narrowed and dipped sharply downward. Trees hung low and close, and the path was shrouded in shadows. The air turned cool and damp, the sounds of the insects grew louder, mud made the path slippery and squished around our feet.

His voice grew serious. “Mama, girls, watch out. We’re entering leech valley.. they’ll get on you every chance they have.”

We kept walking, and watching. The moment you stop, leeches jump from the path or the low hanging branches and you don’t even feel them. They attach themselves, inject an anti-coagulant, and fill up on your blood.
It has become a warped fun family past-time: pull off the leeches before they sink-in their teeth.
I laughed a little, and replied mostly to myself, “That’s right, they will.”

The enemy is like that. He has been since the beginning.
We go from breath-taking mountaintops where the sun warms our face, and we have all the feels, where our hearts are bursting with all that is good, and we feel the immeasurable joy that is ours, where we feel the mercies that are piling up at our door by the truck-full, straight into a valley, in what seems like the next breath.

The valley is dark, shadowed in death, draped in paralyzing fear, and we can’t see where to put our foot next. We fumble. The light has gone out and we find ourselves on the under-side of joy, trying to get a hand up, but the path is slippery and the pits are deep. The valley echoes with whispers that we are alone.

Sometimes Holy Spirit leads us into that valley, like He did with Jesus, and there in that desolate wasteland, He teaches us to walk with our hands gripped onto His. He sustains us, holds onto us, keeps us close, comforts and consoles. He does not, however, deliver blows to our soul. He does not turn His back. He tucks us under a spread of wings that stretch beyond the valley.

That enemy of our souls is an opportunist. He crouches in the shadow of every valley and looks for pause. He waits to sink his teeth in and draw blood. He waits where he thinks our foot will slip. He knows our wounds because he gave them, and as they gape and bleed, he pours into them the acid of lies: You are alone. You are unloved. You are hopeless. God does not listen to you, and He will not come through. This valley, this wasteland will never end. There is no way out.

A lot of you are in the messy middle of a valley, a desert, so deep and long and high and wide that you can’t even lift up your head to see how far it stretches. You’re carrying a load so heavy that your legs are buckling and your grip is white. The anxiety in your chest is robbing your next breath and you just want. This. To. End.

Hear this: There is a Love that is deeper, longer, higher, wider than this valley. A Love that is more powerful than death and can break through a fortress of desolation. A Love that bleeds for you, and wraps up your shattered pieces and makes them whole again. A Love that takes that load and hoists it onto His own broad shoulders. A Love that holds you as you cry, and resurrects the dead places that you’ve already buried. A Love that breaks down walls and unlocks chains.

He sees you. He is beside you. He’s all around you. He is holding up your head and whispering to your soul that you are His, and you are not alone. He knows the way out of this valley. He took the beatings, the shame, the death, the brokenness, the hopelessness, so that you don’t have to any more. Not for one more arduous step.
Hold on…. Even if you feel you are empty on hope. Hope has you. Hold on.

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