There's something you should know about us.....We like to learn. My husband is a perpetual learner; beyond his 100 years of undergraduate studies and med school, he got his MBA--Just to be better at the stuff he does.  He picks up the guitar and finds out how to make it sing, he reads, he studies, he asks me how he can become a better husband. He's beautiful. (I'm bragging a little now)
Then there is me--- not so much with the millions of college degrees, but I like to learn in other ways.  I've realized somewhere along this journey that you can learn something from every person you meet, especially if you stop to listen, to love, to humble yourself. I'm not always especially good at those last three things, but well, I'm learning.

 These past few years I've been asking Jesus to teach me how to love more like He does... not just when it's easy or feels good, but I truly want radical Jesus-love to mark and color me, to transform me, to revolutionize how I live. If Jesus is the bread of life on my tongue, I want to leave a trail of bread-crumbs that smell and taste like transforming life to anyone who comes close. 

  Two weeks after our son Justice was born, a pastor friend of ours showed up on our doorstep on a Sunday afternoon with a young woman beside him. She awkwardly studied the floor, hiding behind a curtain of long dark hair. Her arms circled in front of her, over the baggy dress that was trying to hide a growing belly. "I heard that you would help me",  she whispered.

  Over a cup of tea, I heard small scraps of a story, disjointed and spoken quickly. She had shown up at our friend's church that day, and knew no one in town. She was from a southern island far away, pregnant and running from everyone. The only person who knew that she was pregnant was her mother, who told her lying and running was the only way out.
Oh, and her daddy is a pastor. Preaching a gospel of anger and rules, but not a whole lot of love, grace, forgiveness. You know-- the things that Jesus is really about.
She had tried to kill her unborn baby, and even now refused to acknowledge the life that was stirring and growing inside her. 
 This girl, we'll call her Char, came to live with us. She was baptized into our crazy house and life with lots of noise (Three kids under five, don't forget), attention, and all the love she could handle.  She lived with us for five months, and during that time she began to learn more of the heart of her Father God, of His grace that is like an Ocean, deep and beautiful. His forgiveness that transforms us and makes us new.

After two months Char woke me in the deep of night with low groans and panting breaths. My feet hit the floor, and with my baby boy wrapped tight against my chest, I took her to our clinic. With each contraction that racked her body, Char buried her face in my neck and sobbed. The pain of labor is usually eased, made bearable by the anticipation of the sweet baby that will fill your arms at the end...but a spirit of sadness filled the birth-room that day as Char refused to think of the possibility of keeping her child, of facing her family with the truth. Protecting a lie was the most important thing in her mind, and she was frantic to forget this ever happened.
Soon a beautiful baby girl slid into my hands, and as Char and I had decided, I immediately took that squirming, perfect, slimy darling into the next room and tucking her body against mine, put her to my breast. She looked at me with big black eyes and began to nurse with fervor, that tiny new hand grabbing mine.  And then I cried. whispering to her that she was loved, made in the image of God, beautiful, with a destiny of hope, a purpose. 
Char decided to move back into our home, and I chose to nurse baby Ana Grace for two months before transferring her to a Children's home.  These two months of tandem nursing our three month old son and baby Ana, 24 hours a day, not sleeping, while also caring for my family and Char, was exhausting. The extent of Char's mental and Emotional issues began to manifest more clearly...day and night she spewed anger and brokenness at me.  All of her insecurity, her guilt, her pain, her fear, hurled at the person who was trying to love her best. 
I would bite my tongue until it nearly bled to keep myself from responding out of my flesh. 
I would sit on my bed with two growling hungry babes at my breast and weep.  Oh, Jesus. Please make her leave. I thought she would change by now.  It's never been so hard to love another human. All the ugly in me started to surface, and I was horrified at how messy it really was.  How can I keep loving someone who spits in my face, screaming lies and hatred at me? No Thanks. Done. 

Jesus began to speak gently to me, like the wind that carries a mist, just a whisper against my cheek before the rain comes. "I brought her here to change your heart. Now you're learning my kind of love. This is sacrificial love. This is love that costs something. This is love that does not get a thank you. This is love that looks like me. Walk in it."

My heart ached with mother pain as I held this child and memorized the details of her face, as she nuzzled deeper into my skin, smelling me, thinking I belonged to her. She smiled in her sleep and milk trailed from the corners of her mouth.  From here I needed to hand her over to someone else, this baby who felt like my own flesh.  Her mother was responding to my love with fury, anger born of deep deep pain. This baby who had been rejected was going to be bathed in love before she was given up for adoption. I prayed night and day over her spirit, sang over her and she was kissed and loved by big sisters night and day.

The day I drove Ana Grace the two hours to the children's home, my heart was a mess of raw meat, tangled up and bloody.
But I knew that we were to give her up, for another family to become her home.
We were willing to keep her, to adopt her. Already we had vowed to love her forever and that her heart would always be woven into ours... But Jesus had another plan for her. I still don't know what it is, But her Daddy does.

This long and trailing, messy story has strands of redemption and healing woven through it, many of the threads leading to places I still cannot see. But I know that when we love, it is never wasted-- It is Jesus pouring out of us. The deepest cry of my heart is that I will learn to love unreservedly, holding back nothing, until I am used up.

We cannot control how people respond to our love, but still we love..... wildly, deeply, messily,and not because they deserve it, but because of the one who fills us and taught us how to love in the first place. Because of the one who loved us when we were ugly and undeserving. And still does.

Life lesson #347 from one of my children this week: 

Today we met a little girl named Rachel, and found out it was her fifth birthday. I asked Julia if there was anything she had that she would like to give her new friend, so that she could have a gift on her birthday. Julia's face lit up, she ran to her room and I followed. I thought of stuffed animals she rarely played with, toys on the bottom of the toy-box, but waited to see what she would do. She was searching purposefully through her drawers, digging through the toys. 
"Do you want to give her this stuffed Rabbit?" I asked. 
"No mom, no. I know the perfect things she'll love."
She smiled with excitement and held up her very favorite dress that she begs to wear every day, and her most prized possession, The Kitty Backpack from cousin Tessa. 
I froze. 
"You understand that whatever you choose to give will be hers to keep, and you won't have them anymore, right?" 
"Yep, and these she'll love the most. They're the best."
With my first emotions I nearly told her to pick something less dear to her heart, less loved, less played with, less memorable. And then I heard God's whisper, felt Him nudge my heart. This is it; this is how we are to love-- this giving of our best, with lavish, wild, beautiful generosity, not holding back, our heart wrapped up and love spilling out.

This is how Jesus gives to us.

Tears ran down my cheeks and I squeezed her tight. "I delight in you, Jules, so much." 
She was already running out the door, arms full. "I know, mom".

  It is a new year, fresh and promising, filled with hope for what is coming, and grace and joy in the messy middle of where we are. The Christmas decorations are packed away, and so is just about everything else in our house--- We are moving!... some today, and tomorrow, and the next day, and hopefully by the end of the week this pile of Daytecs and all their boxes will be sitting in a new house.

So many of you have been praying with us, filled with faith, for many months now--asking God to give us a new home that is in a strategic place where we can be the brightest light, hopefully near our clinic and staff, while within our budget. We are so grateful for you.

Our land-lord was patient and kept extending the dead-line of when they needed us out (we were supposed to be out in October) but while searching every. single. day. for months, we were finding exactly no houses at all. Every day we have thanked God again that He knows what we need, and He has what we need, and that His timing is really good, even when our feet are tapping impatiently. Our final deadline for leaving was next week, and finally a house became available. Yay!

Our new home has a few extra rooms to host mission teams (MAP friends--this is you) that come every several weeks, is within our budget, and in a quieter part of the countryside. It just happens to also be 30 minutes from our clinic and team. The distance has been a difficult transition for Leah, and will be for our kids, as our team is part of our every day life in so many ways. We eat all of our meals with them, have Bible study with them in our home daily, and they are our children's best friends, living six inches away for over 2.5 years. 

We are so grateful for this home, and know that God has good reasons for it being exactly where it is, and also feel that it will help to ease the stress of living at the clinic and having our family be in the middle of emergencies 24 hours a day. We are in the middle of making some changes so that Francis can have "office hours" at the clinic daily rather than be on call all night. We will be traveling to the clinic daily, and also are helping the staff to lead Bible studies. We hear God speaking that we are to be more purposeful about our family having a place of peace and rest even in the middle of so much busy-ness and many different facets of ministry.  Please continue to pray for all these changes and that we will find more of a balance for our family.

In the middle of moving and ministry, Leah is still on bed-rest and we are continuing to trust God as He holds onto our baby. It has been six weeks since Leah had a hemorrhage, her water broke, and we were told that it was probable we would lose the baby at any time. About two weeks ago, we had a second hemorrhage, and since then there has been bleeding and contractions every day. Baby is now 17 weeks old and has a strong heart-beat... we rest, praise and continue to trust that God is healing and holding all five of us. 

Through the valleys, the roughest parts of this past year, we were given the honor of seeing more of God's heart, His gentleness, His hand that covers us and lifts our heads, His strength and grace that carries us. In the incredible moments, the mountaintops of breath-taking joy and unbelievable gifts, we reveled in the favor that we could not possibly deserve. In all of it, we worshiped.... Another year of Life, craziness, messiness, beauty, and grace.  So thankful. Ready for a new one. 

 In this new year,  we look forward to all that God is birthing in us and around us. He is doing amazing things in our newest branch of ministry-- Loving the Muslims around us with Jesus' heart. We are seeing some of our Muslim friends give their lives to Jesus. having the honor of baptizing them, and discipling them. Our new home is much closer to several of our target Mangyan villages, and we are in the process of starting paperwork to get non-profit status which would make it more possible to build a new clinic and maternity center for the Tribal people near this area.   

 We could not have made it through this past year, with all of its victories, new spiritual births, joys and growth, without you. That's right. We need you---Your love, prayer, and continued support. You are making a difference in the lives of the people all around us. Your obedience makes our obedience more possible. Thank you. We are profoundly grateful for you and thank God for you every single day.

 Grace and Peace from the Daytec Five. 

Beautiful friends who we love,

 There is a line from a song drifting through my head these past few days, over and over, and it is the echo of my soul. "I will praise you in this storm, I will lift my hands, for You are who You are, no matter where I am"....

It seems there have been many storms to hit the Philippines lately... storms of wind and rain, storms that decimated the landscape and brought destruction. As with most storms, it is when you are in the eye, feeling the power of the wind on your face that you are faced with the choice to trust or fear, for the outcome is unknown, and all we do know is the hand that holds us. 

 I start by letting you in on the news that the Daytec family is growing by two feet. That's right. Two little tan feet. We are 11.5 weeks pregnant with Little #3, and all of our hearts are joyous, thankful, already crazily in love. 

Two days ago, as our family was on an overnight stay a few miles away, celebrating Francis coming home after 10 days away serving in Tacloban, our newest storm began.

As I (Leah) was napping with Julia and Avea, my water broke, and soon after I began to bleed heavily and have strong contractions.

My incredible husband started an I.V., and we prayed over this little one, knowing with clinical minds that it looked inevitable that I was losing this baby, yet knowing with greater certainty that our God holds and determines this life.

Yesterday we traveled two hours to the doctor for an ultrasound, and we saw our perfect baby on the screen, wiggling and jumping, and heard the sound of a strong heartbeat. Amazing. We also saw a mass of blood---a Sub Chorionic Hemorrhage-- that is more than twice the size of our baby. (This is the same condition I had when pregnant with Avea, but this time the bleed is much bigger.) It appears that my Amniotic sac has re-sealed and there is adequate fluid left at this point.

Our doctor is not hopeful for our baby's survival, medically speaking there is less than a 5% chance, as the mass of blood is very very large, I continue to have strong contractions, and now the amniotic sac is compromised, leaving an open door for infection. I have been put on strict bed-rest, with I.V. and drugs to stop the contractions. 

But, Jesus.
We are peaceful. Our hearts and minds are at rest, and we are trusting our great God, who somehow loves this child more fiercely than we do. We do not pretend to know the outcome of this storm, but we are praying, and trusting, and knowing that God holds us--- All five of us. We are floating on a sea of His goodness, and hearing Him speak that He is with us.

We would be grateful and humbled if you would pray with us for our baby, and that Grace would continue to cover us like a thick blanket, as it always seems to. 

 We are so thankful for you, and honored to be partners with you in loving Jesus and loving people.

Grace and Peace,

The Dayec Five

 This morning while looking at  pictures of Central Pennslvania in all of its fall glory,  I could almost smell the crisp air, hear the crunch of leaves, feel the cool breeze that is shifting the seasons. Autumn is my favorite... it is all about change and the colors that are underneath finally showing their face, and finding that there is beauty in the unveiling.

Fall has come to the Philippines in the form of Typhoons, one after the other, that pummel us with epic porportions of rain and tree-bending winds, high flood waters,  land-slides, and 18 hour black-outs. We look forward to this season slighty differently than you do your autumn, but I (Leah) have decided to make pumpkin pie, light my spiced apple candle, tell stories to little girls by flash-light (we are also treating patients and delivering lots of babies by flash-light) and enjoy our fall anyway.

 Our two lovely littles are astounding us more every day with how they dare to disobey by growing up so fast. Julia will be three years old in five days, and is a girl filled with strength, beauty, compassion, tenacity, and humor. Avea is a sassy One and a half years old and likes to jump off high things and  attempt to defy physics. She is funny and beautiful, mighty, determined, and smiley. Sometimes I think our hearts may explode with all the love we have for these two. They are incredible gifts.

 Here is the part of the letter where I confess to you-- It has been mentioned to me that I most often write to you when we are in the middle of an emergency, some crisis probably involving near-death, or one of our arms falling off.  This is true, and I am very sorry for it... I know that it is super important that we write regularly, letting you in the small details and victories, the concerns, the threads of everyday life. Here is the raw truth of it:  I, the designated update-writer,  have a problem with messiness, and our life is sometimes dripping with it. I sit down at the computer multiple times each month, fully intent on newsing-it-up for you. I end up shutting the laptop and walking away, not sure at all how to condense into words what life looks like. Sometimes we are overwhelmed with life. Sometimes when I try to think of words, little moaning sounds come out, and those are hard to type.

 No excuses- Just honesty. I struggle with a strong desire to tie up all the loose ends and smooth them into a bow, to dress up the jagged edges and help them beautifully make sense for you. But sometimes that is not possible. This is me letting the colors that are underneath be unveiled---makeup scrubbed off, all the messiness and rawness speaks for itself as the wrapping paper falls to the floor....

Life for us often feels like a battlefield:  There are many days when we have tried again to resuscitate another dead child who has been carried in our door, and then sat on the floor, weeping  with wailing parents who will never hold their baby again. Right now we are in the middle of fighting for justice and love for a twelve year old girl who has been raped by her father for two years now, constantly. Every neighbor, family member, and government official has looked the other way and shushed her because her family is in politics and it would look bad for them for the abuse to come to light. They try to shush us too, but we won't be shushed.  She sits in our living room and we cry with her and vow that we will walk beside her and fight for her. She will be heard, and rescued. She is loved.

Another  girl, Chrystal, ten years old, was brought to us this week... she said she wants to be a prostitute, because her step-mother is and  is advising her that it would be the best life for her. Men already line up outside her gate waiting for her. As we spent the day listening to her heart and loving her, she told us of the sexual abuse at the hands of her father. I wept as I realized she has no idea her worth, her value, her identity. Francis and I spoke to her of the intense love of her daddy God for her, and that she was made with purpose and she has value beyond her body and sexuality. She is still a child--- giggling as we took her swimming, talking about Barbies and Hannah Montana... and thinking of becoming a prostitute. She was never told that she was worth anything, that she is loved or that her life means something, never told that her body and sexuality is a treasure to be respected and guarded, not to be stolen or sold, that her mind and heart is valuable and  she can have hope for a future. 

Her eyes lit up.... "Oh.  I did not know these things. I think I want to be a teacher. Can I become a teacher?"

I believe that this little girl, this heart, this life is being turned before she enters a life of selling herself. That God spared this one just in time. We are usually on the other side: walking women  through intense healing of broken spirits, hearts and bodies after being prostituted. Not this one. 

There are victories in this messy life too... all around us, beauty rising up from the dirt. 

A muslim man and his wife have been coming to us for years now, learning to trust us as we build relationship with them and love them. Along with a good friend of ours who is a Colonel in the miliatary, we have been having some Muslim Bible studies, using the Injil (New testament) and what they already know of Isa Al Masi (Jesus Christ), and pointing them to the truth of who God really is, and how He sent His son to die for them. Two weeks ago, the husband, who is about to become a Imam (religious leader) in the Mosque, and his wife put their faith and trust in Jesus and prayed to accept Him into their lives. "This really is the truth!" they said, astounded.

We are now doing Bible studies in their home to disciple them. We have a growing Muslim community migrating to Puerto Galera from down south. God has given us a deep love for them, and urgency to share the great love of our God for them. They are, like us,  God's children who need reconciled to the heart of their father, and like any other person,  wonderfully made and worth pursuing with love.

 Two weeks ago two different toddlers were brought to us within days of each other, unresponsive and seizing, their eyes life-less and seizures wracking their little bodies for several hours straight by the time they were brought in. In the first case, it looked like Meningitis, and we were not sure that the little girl would live long enough to be brought to the hospital. We did what we could for her, and put our hands on her tiny body that shook every few seconds. We prayed healing and life over her.

The next day we called the family and they said they were being sent home from the hospital because she was completely well, before antibiotics were even given to her.

The second child was healed also before even going to hospital, and his father is wanting to know more about God and His love for them.

Francis continues to work beside the local pastors and is now uniting them in passion for reaching the Muslims all around us, abandoning fear and hatred and being love like we are called to be. Love changes things. They are beginning to meet together to learn how to reach our Muslim brothers more powerfully.

We are still without a home or clinic prospect, and are to be out of our home within a few weeks at the most. We are continuing to trust God's heart and thanking Him that He knows exactly where He wants us to be, and will give us what we need. Please pray for our new house and clinic to be shown to us soon, for the two young girls who are being abused and wisdom for us as we pursue justice for them, and for the huge scope of ministry here.

 In all of this, the pieces of our lives, I realize something: most of the time, Jesus comes and meets us most intimately  when we are in the deepest puddles of messiness and raw humanity, when tears are dripping off our noses and blood is all over us, and we are not sure how to go on. He picks us up and holds us close, and then He begins making all of this into something beautiful. He gives grace that is more than sufficient---it is astounding. I cannot make things beautiful, but I can trust the heart who holds us and turns ashes into beauty. We may not be, or feel, like amazing missionaries most days. We are just a couple of people who are learning more of Jesus' heart, tripping, falling, and being lifted up by His grace again to begin the next day. We are learning to love with abandon, give with everything we are and have, and to cling to Jesus for our next breath. He really is enough.

Thank you for your grace for us, your continued love, patience, and support. We would not be here if it were not for all of you, continuing to pray and love us. We are humbled by your love!

In the hands of Grace,

Leah, for all four of us.

 Here I  am, sitting on the floor of our living room, listening to the rain loudly slap the banana leaves outside the window. The girls are upstairs napping, and for a moment there is silence. There is a heap of clothes in front of me-- a pile of blue, yellow and white, fresh and clean. Little tiny boy clothes waiting for the little tiny boy to come home and wear them. I am folding slowly, pressing my face into them, making them wet with my tears, because of the tiny boy who will not be coming back to this home.

When I first met this little boy that wrapped himself around our hearts, he was without a name, expected to die. God gave us the honor of holding him, loving him, naming Him, and speaking life over him, and gave me the honor of mothering him, feeding him at my breast, for a little while. I heard God speaking that Samuel would bring change, he would be used by God. I tried to not plan out in my mind what that meant, but that is nearly impossible. I thought maybe He would become a man who would go back to his tribe to show them Jesus, that He would grow strong and change the world in big ways. I thought I knew a little bit of what this would mean.

France and I felt we were to take him in and give him a chance at life... We studied and learned how to re-feed severely malnourished children, prepared for him a place in our family, even if for just a season.

Our girls prayed for “baby Samil” every night, and we celebrated the life of this special boy. 

Last week, on our way to Manila for a wedding, we went to be with Samuel for a while. I cradled him in my arms, kissed his downy head, and we talked. Samuel had been sleeping most of the time, but when he heard my voice, he opened his wise old eyes and stared into mine. I began to sing over him the song I sing to my girls every night as they fall asleep... “Jesus loves Samuel this I know, for the Bible tells me so, little ones to Him belong, you are weak but Jesus is strong. Yes, Jesus loves Samuel, yes Jesus loves Samuel....” He watched me the whole time I sang, never looking away. His mouth lifted at the corner and he snuggled deeper into my chest. A few days later, he was gone.

Today in the presence of Jesus, his mama is holding three of her children, and they are whole. I can't imagine the fullness of their joy. 

Our hearts are groaning, aching for his father, Rodrigo, a godly amazing man, who continues to praise God in the face of unspeakable loss. He is so special to us, as well as his uncles, Nardo and Leo. In the middle of this, Samuel's uncle Leo came to Francis wanting to know more about God, and then he gave His life to Jesus.

Today, even in the middle of this puddle of tears, there is a peace settling deep in my spirit. I understand next to nothing, except that God is good, He is holding Samuel, and He knows why the story is being written this way.

I hate death, and am longing even more for heaven, where life will no longer be interrupted, but instead of being overwhelmed with just what we have lost right now, I feel God speaking that we are to look at what we were given. Samuel's life touched ours in big ways --what a gift to have loved this child, even for a moment. His life was meaningful, his days were planned out by God, and he had purpose. His spirit was tenacious and strong, and he fought valiantly with everything in him.

Life is fragile---here for a moment and then gone. A vapor. What matters is how we love the people who are given to us, the people who show up in our life needing to see, feel, taste, and know love. We will never regret loving better, pouring out scandalous, lavish amounts of love like Jesus does. Our hearts have been made more full because of Samuel, and for this I am thankful.

  Yesterday morning I packed Avea into the car and started off on the winding road to Calapan, 1.5 hours away, for a doctor's appointment--Just the two of us, some strong coffee, and the mountain we were about to conquer.

The sun slanted through the palm trees, hitting my eyes like a strobe-light, and to my left, far down the cliffs, gold sparkled and danced on the ocean that got smaller and smaller as we made our way up. I cranked the radio and together we sang, we worshiped, me with my loud mouth, and Avea with her sweet sweet howling. Suddenly, a wave of something I could not describe came over me, a deep stillness, a powerful and overwhelming gratitude, mixed with all sorts of something shaking me to my emotional core. I asked God what was happening.

We had passed a wide open rice field, with the morning mist rising to meet the sun, and I was transported back to another day, when I had passed this very same field. A day when I rode in the back of a van with my feet propped up and a river of red growing, staining the towel I sat on. A day exactly one year ago.

On that day, I looked out the window and stared at this passing field, and my whispered prayer fogged up the glass as I asked God to somehow come and bring life back to this baby that I had almost surely already lost. The green stalks of rice poking up through the water had looked like life, but I felt numb as death came close. I looked down at Frances' fingers woven together tightly with mine. Braided tan and white fingers resting on my little swollen stomach.

That snapshot of life had been stored in my soul, a moment frozen in time to bring me back to the alter of gratitude.

As I drove, I cried. I raised one hand (the one not on the wheel) and worshiped from a place in my spirit so deep that new sounds came out that I did not know were there before. And Avea continued to sing.

This past year held moments of fear, snapshots of life, and much hand-holding with Jesus.

We believe that we lost Avea's twin that day, and nearly lost her. Every doctor who saw the two hematomas crowding my uterus believed that the chances of our baby surviving were not very great.

And so we rested... only literally at first, but then I learned, and let myself sink back into those arms that have been holding me all along. I learned that He wants, He deserves, my worship, my heart, even when I do not see the outcome yet.... even if the outcome is not what I had in mind. He wants me to want Him, and not just what He can give.

So on my back, I learned to worship again, learned to stare into my Savior's face, not to see what He could give me, but just because I wanted to be there. He healed deep places. He sang songs of peace over us.

And God breathed life and gave us this sweet, incredible, breath-taking miracle who likes to sing at the top of her lungs, who makes the world stop for a moment when she smiles.

The alter of gratitude is piled high with stones today... in that field, the one where I once felt desperation and hopelessness. The new rice stalks wave in the wind, bright green with new life, and I pass by slowly, hearing worship mixed with spit noises coming from the backseat.

To all of you who prayed with us one year ago: Thank you. With eyes filled with tears, and hearts overwhelmed with gratitude, we say thank you.