Every night, lighting awakens the sky and thunder shakes the house.
The parched ground has been crying out for water for months; crops have failed, creeks have dried up. We have been on a water schedule for a long while, pails of water lined up for us to wash dishes, clean the house, bathe in (we five can all bath using one small pail of water each night, doled out in one stingy dipperful at a time).
Our Mangyan friends have continued on as usual; walking far to carry back a pail of water to their hut as they have always done. Nothing like lack to make you so grateful for when there was plenty.
Finally, the skies have grown heavy and the rain is coming down- life is coming to this dry ground.
The thing we’ve cried out for has come in waves that are overwhelming, the prayers for rain are still echoing off the walls, with many now begging the rain to stop.
My heart sees us, sees me, in this parched soil; the cracks that have cut across the fields and gaped open like mouths to the heavens. Rain down on us, pour out. We are thirsty.
I’m asking for a flood that I cannot contain.
I am hearing in my heart on repeat, the words of Isaiah in chapter 44,
For I will pour water on him who is thirsty,
And floods on the dry ground;
I will pour My Spirit on your descendants,
And My blessing on your offspring;
They will spring up among the grass
Like willows by the watercourses.’
One will say, ‘I am the Lord’s’;
Another will call himself by the name of Jacob;
Another will write with his hand, ‘The Lord’s,’
And name himself by the name of Israel.
There Is No Other God
He’ll pour out water on Him who is thirsty, He’ll send floods on the dry ground. But for the ground that isn’t thirsty, doesn’t ask, pant, doesn't long for the living water, the fullness of the Spirit, or doesn’t acknowledge he’s dry, will most likely continue on as He has. I crave more of this Water.
Our family and the Tanglaw Wholeness Team have been ministering weekly in the Mangyan Tribal villages, hosting teams, doing medical outreaches, and continuing to serve the community. There has been a growing, rumbling, unquenchable thirst growing in many of us, an invitation from The Holy Spirit to come low on our faces, humble ourselves and get thirsty for more of Him.
Day in and day out, we are immersed deep, pressed in on every side, caught in between two worlds; profound moments where the glory of heaven breaks through and comes down, with healing and transformation in a life that only Jesus can bring, deliverance from bondage, freedom from spiritual brokenness and death.
More and more people are coming into our home weekly for prayer, and the Holy Spirit delivers them from demonic spirits. Freedom is filling this place, Joy breaks out where there has been torment, bondage, and depression!
Then there are the beautiful people we have walked beside for years, who we learned have died in the mountains alone, from something preventable, or another little child, dead in their mother’s arms, because of a system of injustice and poverty. The joy and the sorrow collide and we sit in the messiness and weep.
The victories and joy far outweigh the grief, but even in the sorrows- sometimes because of them- we taste and experience the goodness of Jesus that takes our wobbly faith and cements its roots deep in the rivers of His Love.
Yesterday we drove for over an hour and then hiked for 30 minutes up muddy trails, to the base of the tallest mountain in Mindoro, Mount Halcon. Halcon towers over the rice fields in jagged shadows, gauzy clouds hiding her summit. Our destination was a cluster of Alangan Mangyan huts on the side of a hill, more specifically, Aira’s house.
Nanay Florence was our guide. She is also Aira’s Lola (grandma). She and her family are Iraya Mangyan, and at our home nearly every day. They are leaders in the Mangyan church, and dear friends of ours.
Her two-year-old granddaughter Aira was brought to us recently, after having been hospitalized multiple times. We began to treat her for pneumonia, but knew that the issue was deeper, most likely tuberculosis, which is difficult to diagnose, as it can look like so many other diseases. Two of our own children have already undergone treatment for primary tuberculosis…it is a battle we have tasted.
Things became complicated further for Aira by bronchial asthma, and frequent pneumonia.
We educated the family, asking them to not have the cooking fire in the same hut as Aira, as the smoke initiated respiratory distress, and started her on supplements to build up her immune system.
We treated the asthma, the underlying infection, and brought her to the local health unit to have her on IV's and oxygen while pushing for treatment of TB medicines. The family retreated to their home in the mountains before they could begin the TB meds several weeks ago, and we tried to reach them, asking them to come back.
Aira was brought back this week, in respiratory distress. She was started on meds, IV’s, oxygen, and stabilized. The doctor in our health unit advised them to go to the provincial hospital for a blood transfusion. The family, like us, were wary of going to the provincial hospital.
We told them we would travel the 1.5 hours the next day to advocate for them and see that they were being treated.
Aira was initially in the ER, stable and breastfeeding. The nurse injected something into her IV port, and instead of being monitored and treated, they were sent to the Mangyan ward, a building behind the hospital where Mangyans are relegated. It is filthy, overcrowded, and there are no medical staff monitoring the patients.
After being injected with an unknown substance, she developed a rash, and became weak and unresponsive. Aira’s mother ran to the ER to alert staff, who finally came to the Mangyan ward, and declared Aira dead. No explanation was given.
When Nanay Florence told me that Aira was gone, I wailed, sat in the car sobbing, pounding the steering wheel. Devastation, anger, grief. We were just on our way to check on her.
“Turn it to worship”, Jesus whispered. Tears flowing, one hand on the wheel, one in the air, I sobbed, words failing as I praised Him in what I do not understand and cannot see, because I know He is good. I felt cut. Prayer became liquid and soaked my lap.
“Huwag kang umiyak,” (Do not cry) Nanay chided me, “Hindi ako umiyak, hindi ka rin dapat.” (I didn’t cry, you should not either.) “Ok Lang.” (It’s ok).
But it’s not ok. This is the voice of a mother who has shared with me the details of the deaths of four of her own babies. It is a normal way of brutal life for these mothers, who have each buried many children.
We sat in the hut with Aira’s parents, Louie and Carol, and their extended family, and cried together.
I saw flashes of a picture of Jesus, walking the path to Lazarus’ house. The pain in His friends' eyes, wondering why He came four days late. He sat with them and wept. Not a lone tear that He sniffed away; He mourned and grieved, maybe wailed, for a long time, racking sobs that shook Him. These were tears of compassion for His broken and beautiful ones living under the curse. Grief. Mercy. Anger at death, the enemy who would soon be under His feet.
Sometimes it really does feel like Jesus is four days late. We feel alone in the abyss of grief and pain that cuts like a knife and hides all hope.
But we have a crying God, who shows up in the middle of the darkest moments and doesn’t leave us alone. He weeps with and for us, even though He knows that He is the cure, and He will bring His resurrection power to consume and destroy death.
I felt His heart, and wept at these beautiful people who have become our friends. Their reality has been injustice, death, helplessness, loss. They need hope.... They need what only Jesus can bring.
Over a plate of boiled bananas, we crouched on a bamboo platform, with chickens under our feet, smoke filling the hut, rain pounding the roof, and we prayed. Prayer that is choked and small on words, held softly by a God who translates groans.
These friends know and trust us, and that trust feels like a precious treasure that I hold reverently and don’t want to drop.
Aira was a chubby-faced, sparkly-eyed, feisty little darling and the hut felt empty without her.
A childish scrawl was written on one of the bamboo slats of the wall. I squinted to read it. “I miss you” it said in English. Hot tears ran down my face. No parent should bury a child.. we weren’t made for this. Carol and I sat beside each other and held hands, tears falling, listening to the rain. There are not many words when grief is so thick. There are just tears.
The ministry of lament and tender compassion comes on the other side of words and self. There are tears that are borne of God, and move His heart. He weeps, and gives us His heart to weep with Him.
“I know that things were done wrong at that hospital,” Carol whispered. “Please help us find out what happened to her.”
Please pray for this family, and pray for us, as we continue to go to the roots of the dysfunction and injustice towards the poor, especially in health care, and work to come alongside those in government to be part of change and growth, to help bring a shift so that each person is treated with honor and respect, and given care. We will be meeting again with leadership at the provincial hospital, reviewing what happened and encouraging them to reevaluate how the poor are treated in this hospital. We have walked beside hundreds of families who have lost loved ones at this hospital through negligence. We need wisdom and humility.
Jesus has been continually leading me to humble myself, and not erupt in anger. So often I run to flip over tables out of my (self)righteous indignation, when Jesus may actually be asking me to sit at those tables and through love and grace, bring change. This is much more difficult, and strips my flesh like nothing else, because the meekness of Christ will do that. I want to listen to His voice and walk in step with His Spirit…. Only the Spirit of God can bring a lasting change here.
Please pray as we look again this week at land for sale in Puerto Galera. We are asking Jesus to bring us the land that will be a place of peace and healing for our Wholeness Center, Mangyan waiting homes, clinic, and our home. We know that Jesus’ timing and provision is perfect and He knows exactly the right location.
We’re so grateful for you, the ones who continue to pray for us and give towards Tanglaw Wholeness Ministry. Thank you for loving us in tangible ways and giving so that we can continue to serve.
I’m praying over you today, that the compassion and grace of Jesus will overwhelm you, and you are undone in His presence. That you get thirsty, that you begin to taste His love more fully and are changed by it. What the world needs right now is a church in tears, moved by the heart of Christ, filled with the power of His Spirit.