Philip [Sunni] Moreno's site

     I’m one who isn’t easily insulted, some sort of mai phen rai or no probs guy, but what happened today is something that is hard to forgive.

     I just got home from Lotus where I had to buy some diapers for Kailee [or she would be messing the house], and I had to type this one right away just for the record. I took the bus home [2-3 km distance] and I came in contact with Thai culture on politeness, which surpasses Filipino standards. It was a lady in her mid-teens who offered a seat to me. That would be just fine for some but to me it was a great insult.

     Did I really look senile? I know that at my age I still look like I can do 50 pushups or stand on the aisle of a speeding bus and not get tripped. I just couldn’t take the offer but I also didn’t want to rob her of her politeness. It’s good my bus stop came up fast enough, and I got off the moving bus carefully to avoid adding injury to the insult.

 

I’ve been without a paying job for a year and seven months now and considering that I am the head of the family, and have been actively putting food on the table ever since I graduated from medical school 25 years ago, makes it seem a disaster and quite unthinkable.

 

 

I have already written about how God in His graciousness kept us from deprivation after I lost my job for His sake, by giving my wife and two children good paying jobs in a country with an appreciable low cost of living, and at the same time giving me the chance to work for Thailand’s poor. This one I’m writing will tell how God financed our travels as a family and increased our happiness as we celebrated with love ones after being away for a year in spite of the financial crunch that the world is in today.

 

 

International travel as a family of four, not to mention the baby, is quite expensive considering the fare, travel tax, immigration fees, airport shuttle, the party expenses and the “pasalubong” for the folks back at home. Filipino culture dictates that those who are better off, because they work abroad, must bring home presents for each family member left behind in homeland.

 

 

As a family we had only two months of savings in the bank, just enough for the roundtrip fare for three persons, some pasalubong and the birthday party expenses, which means that we didn’t have enough money to bring us all home. A month before the date Jaypea, Jo Ann and Kai already had their plane tickets booked while I was resigned to staying behind. This was unthinkable for Kai and she was very positive that God would provide like He always did – in the nick of time. I rested on Kai’s faith in God while coaxing my own.

 

 

Before we migrated to Thailand I placed Kai’s car up for sale. It was an eye-catching tangerine, two-door, very low profile, 16-valve Toyota GT with all the amenities of subwoofer, turbocharger, mags, all power, etc and was the car of choice for drag racers in the Davao racing circuit. The proceeds from this brat were intended to finance a car that I planned to buy in Thailand. The day of our departure came and still there were no takers. I prayed to God as we left the car behind with a brother-in-law, that He would see the car sold in His own time, as only He could see our needs. [The selling of our family van is also a testimony of God’s power in our lives.]

 

 

We moved to Bangkok and it is here that we realize that we didn’t need a car. The house we got was just a stone’s throw from the hospital and public transportation in Thailand is cheap and readily available. So “Garfield” as Kai christened her car, was used by Pastor Bogs for a year while it persistently displayed a “For Sale” sign in a rear window. He testified that there were a lot of interested buyers but nothing materialized.

 

 

Pastor Bogs suddenly communicates a week before the three, plus baby were scheduled to leave for home, that a person had already given some earnest money so the car won’t go to some other interested buyer, and would be paying in full by the time they get there. A niece of Jo Ann also calls and says that she has a buyer with the money on hand, and ready to pay for the car. After a year of waiting suddenly there are four buyers with the cash and even willing to make bids on the car.

 

 

Kai hurriedly calls her travel agent and books my seat on the plane. We make the trip home, sign the deed of sale and collect the money. Most of all we realize that Gods word is true and that He wants his children to prosper and be happy. We also realize that when we let God take charge of our affairs he will set the perfect timing and leave us wondering at his greatness.

 

 

All I can say is “God is awesome, Hallelujah!”

 

Going out for a medical mission used to be a routine job for me especially when it was funded by some politician or civic group. Medicines, supplies and logistics would be taken cared of, and I, the physician, would be sitting pretty at the center of the team, which would include some nurses, a dentist or two, a pharmacist and some student volunteers. This time it would be very much different, a true representation of the great sense of fun and adventure that makes up my very person.

 

The place? Some islands in the tsunami-stricken Andaman Sea off the coast of Ranong in southern Thailand, beside the Myanmar border. My host would be a young and gracious German, Ralf Oberg, who established some day-care centers on the islands as part of his method in bringing the gospel “to the ends of the earth.” I first saw Ralf in church one Sunday morning when he took to the pulpit to deliver a report on his work and to make an appeal for volunteers. The testimony touched my heart, even if his slide projections were cut short due to a power outage.

 

The target population of this mission would be a village of Moken Sea Gypsies who survived the infamous 2004 tsunami that took the lives of thousands of locals and tourists. Ralf outlined to me the details of his work and where I could best fit in as a transient volunteer. He set the date and time, and I was on my own for the preparations. I wrote my sister and her husband in the US and they pledged dollars for the project. The Filipino nurses in our neighborhood donated their surplus medicines from previous illnesses, and my daughter gave some money for the other medicines that were badly needed for the children.

 

The day of departure came and Ralf instructed me to meet him at the Bangkok Southern Bus Terminal in Taling Chan at 7 pm. The specific spot for our rendezvous was not mentioned, but I was confident that I wouldn’t have any difficulty spotting a 6-foot “farang” in an Asian crowd. I left the house with a prayer that God would maximize me in this trip for his glory, kissed Kailee my granddaughter good bye and went to the bus terminal. 7 pm came and went and there was no Ralf. It was now obvious that he and I had different ways of taking on the situation, which was as diverse as the colors of our skin. So he boarded the bus to Ranong and I boarded a taxi cab back home.

 

You might ask “what about your cell phones, didn’t they come in handy for the situation?” That was exactly what Ralf at that moment was wishing that I had – a cell phone. You see, ever since I quit my job in the Philippines to move to Thailand I decided to wean myself from this device, and my life since then became as peaceful as the calm before the storm. Now the storm and I don’t have anything to carry me through. So the adventure continues.

 

The following day I was able to contact Ralf with my daughter’s phone, and he instructs me to take the 10-hour bus ride to Ranong, then a motorcycle to the pier, then a boat to Koh Phayam then another motorcycle to Koh Phayam Cottage Resort where he would be waiting. Eight pm comes and the medical team boards the bus. The team is composed of two hands and two feet plus the rest of the aging anatomy of what I am. What a team! Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine that God would put together a bigger team, one step at a time as I neared the Moken village, and it would consist of unique individuals from at least four different countries.

 

I get to the pier for Koh Phayam at six in the morning and it is already raining, and no one is in sight, not even a boatman or a dockhand. In an hour a white guy with a heavy backpack joins me. He is Claudio Silvio Nardis, a young ambitious economist of Italian blood from Liechtenstein. [If you don’t know where that is, just imagine a small landlocked country inside cold Switzerland] In about another hour we are joined by Sergio Martinez, an adventurous writer from Spain. Both are headed for Koh Phayam to “get away from it all,” and they want to join me in my visit to the Moken village. They have some clothes and shoes that they want to give to my patients.

 

We get to a resort in Koh Phayam where Ralf graciously opens a bungalow for me to stay in. I was not ready for his generosity because all the while I was imagining myself sleeping with the Moken in their thatch roofed houses like I did in my previous trips to the Matigsalug and Maranao tribes in the Philippines. Ralf also introduces me to four new faces who would assist me in the clinic that we were going to have. They are Isaac Olberg, Charlotte Wagner, Christian Wagner [gradeschoolers] and Sascha Kurth [a teacher], all full-blooded Germans. These guys had no medical mission experience but they were just what I needed – a lively team.

 

The following day we were able to bless about 15 patients with the medicines and medical advice. We planned to go to a second village in another island but cyclone Nargis was creating havoc in the sea and so we holed in for the worst. The following day we boarded the ferry in the midst of a strong rainstorm and headed back to Ranong city in the mainland. There I got the opportunity to visit the Ranong Tsunami Student Home that is actually an orphanage and I had the chance to tour the facility and to pray with them.

 

We board a rented van back to Bangkok and home. It is only here where I realize through the news that the cyclone that passed us left more than 22,000 dead in mainland Myanmar. God has his wondrous ways in our lives and I live only to serve him more.

Two groups met to pray and worship. One group was composed of 2 pastors, some teachers and an ex-cop, and the other group was a bunch of young and carefree students.

The first group met at the Oliverio hall and they started praying: “Dear Lord in heaven we thank you for this opportunity that we can assemble for prayer and worship to you. We thank you for giving us this freedom, and for the democracy that we enjoy here in the Philippines. We pray for our Christian brothers who live in communist and Islam countries where they do not have the freedom to worship and where they are violently dispersed, persecuted and killed if caught in the act of doing so. Please bless them, oh Lord, and deliver them from the persecution of the devil.”

After their prayer meeting they notice the other group praying in the medical clinic, and so they send the ex-cop to stop the prayer meeting. The students are then told to report one at a time to the pastors office where they are warned that their grouping together for prayer and worship is not allowed because it is an act of “illegal assembly,” and that they will be blacklisted and given demerits, which will debar them from acceptance in the following semester.

Two groups went home that night after prayer. Who was justified? Which group received God’s mercy and grace?

“Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a proud, self-righteous Pharisee, and the other a cheating tax collector. The proud Pharisee prayed this prayer: ‘Thank God, I am not a sinner like everyone else, especially like that tax collector over there! For I never cheat, I don’t commit adultery, I go without food twice a week, and I give to God a tenth of everything I earn.’ But the corrupt tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed, but beat upon his chest in sorrow, exclaiming, `God, be merciful to me, a sinner.’ I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home forgiven!” (Luke 18:10-14)

see related photos:

 http://sunnimoreno.multiply.com/photos/album/34/w4eo_-_watching_out_for_each_other

JUDAS ISCARIOT

Hero or villain?

Traitor is the first word that pops into the mind upon hearing this name. It is synonymous with betrayal, deceit, greed, dishonesty and untrustworthiness. No mother would ever give her son this name, and no woman would attach it to hers in marriage. Down through the ages Judas has been portrayed as the greatest villain in Christendom, because he sold the Savior for 30 pieces of silver and then gave him the kiss that started the saga of suffering, which ended in a shameful and painful death on the cross.

Of all the characters in the bible, why Judas? What was behind the name? Who was behind him and who pushed and influenced his acts that caused the life of the Savior? How did fate place him in such a position for the role that he was to play? Let us see his profile. Judas was a true-blooded Israelite, and that means that he was a cousin of Jesus who was from the tribe of Judah. This means that he was a bona fide covenanter in the covenant that God handed down to Moses at Sinai. It also means that like all true-blooded Israelites he was deputized by Moses to watch out for covenant-breakers, to report such offenders to the church leaders and to execute punishment on the same. To top it all he was a Zealot – a sect of Israelites devoted to protect and uphold the covenant at all cost. They were the front-liners in the defense of the doctrines and traditions of the Jews, and they were sworn to perform their duties to the last drop of their blood.

From the Jewish leaders’ point of view Judas was the right and the most valued asset. A close friend of the ‘heretic’ and ‘blasphemer’ Jesus, and Judas was an active Zealot who had been upgraded in the latest tactics in espionage, investigation and execution. So when Judas reported his find to his superiors, 30 pieces of silver was just the right amount for a handsome bonus and incentive.

If only Judas wasn’t so much ingrained in our minds as a traitor it would not be hard to visualize him as the greatest hero. But how can his image make a transformation from villain to hero? Does this mean that throughout the centuries from Gethsemane the truth about him was concealed and he was unjustly portrayed and profiled in the books of history? Does it mean that all the while our concept of a traitor was wrong because actually he was a hero? Mind boggling indeed, but let me explain.

Let us try to place ourselves at a point were we could view the events starting from Lucifer’s defection. God in this situation had to device a plan to gracefully and justly show to the entire universe that love and justice will not be compromised while putting and end to evil. So he drew the blueprint, which included the separating of a special people, giving then a special covenant and empowering them to execute covenant-breakers. I could even imagine the script that dictated the creation of the Zealots and the picking of Judas to give the “kiss of death”.

This would only show that Judas’ act of betrayal wasn’t treason at all, but rather an acting out of the role he was designed to play. He even didn’t need the prodding of Satan, because it is not Satan’s nature to encourage people to obey their covenant with God. This shows that Judas’ act was not a sin, but rather an upholding of the God-given covenant that conferred righteousness when obeyed.

In the truest sense of acting Judas should have been given the “Best Actor” award. The best emoted piece by the ‘contrabida’ whose fame reaches even through the centuries from the act, and whose name has been a byword even if to denote high treason. What if Judas didn’t play his role? What if he quitted midway and failed to deliver the kiss? What if he was fully converted to Christianity and had denounced his Jewish covenant and his obligation to uphold it? Would Jesus ever be crucified? Would you and I be delivered from this world of sin?

Considering all the human actors in God’s drama for our salvation, who was the hero and who was the villain? If Judas was the hero then who was the villain? None! When God sacrificed his Son for us he saw to it that no one, not even Judas would fall victim to the plan of redemption. He made sure that all the participants; even the contrabida was not guilty of any crime. It was the sacrifice of Jesus that was needed for our salvation, and not the sacrifice of Judas or any of the other participants in this grand show of God’s love and justice.

“For of such is the Kingdom of God.”

“ . . . LET THIS CUP PASS . . .”

      At the night of his arrest, Jesus in his divine capacity previewed the events in the next 24 hours, and in his human nature felt the impending doom. In his divine capacity he saw himself rise from the tomb victorious, and yet in his human nature felt the torture that he was destined to go through before finally saying “tetelestai”.

      Physically Jesus was 100% human with the same number and type of nerve endings like you and I, thus guaranteeing that he felt every lash on his back, every jab to his side, every thorn in his scalp, every slap on his face and every nail through his limbs. He heard every insult from the people he loved, he saw the disciples he trusted deny him, cower in fear and hide. He tasted the bitter vinegar on his parched lips, felt the spittle from the soldiers trickle down his face, smelled the nauseating mixture of sweat, blood and tears. He felt the dizzying effect of blood loss and the aching fatigue from carrying the cross through the city and up a hill, and he felt the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

      In the cool and quiet of Gethsemane, alone with his thoughts, his human side outweighed the divine and in almost desperate words asked his father to forgo their plans - the blueprint that they laid even before they created the world together. A plan that was necessary to solve a rebellion in heaven, but also had to take into consideration the display of their love and justice for the whole universe to see, without fraud or bias to anyone.

      A plan that needed the sacrifice of the divine Son and yet without any of the participants committing sin and thus becoming victims of the plan. A plan that made sure that Judas didn’t sin because he was just being obedient to the Jewish covenant, that saw to it that the jeering crowd was not guilty because they too were simply fulfilling the covenantal responsibilities that they were taught and had performed down the centuries from Sinai, and that no injustice was done to the heathen Roman officials and soldiers because they were just carrying out their constitutional duties.

      They had to make sure that Satan had no hand on the plan and that he didn’t have even the slightest or the least significant role, because he might botch up the plan and prevent the greatest sacrifice of all. They had to ensure that this grand plan of redemption would be flawless and perfect to the smallest detail. Such was their kingdom of justice, love and perfection.

      In the stillness of that night, Jesus previewed the scene and saw to it that every character was in place, every role was followed to the very letter in the script, every weapon was sharpened, oiled and glistening, and every feeling ready to be emoted. That was when he realized the profoundness of the pain, shame and blame that he was committed to fulfill as stated in the blueprint, and in a trembling and almost inaudible voice cried, “Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will but as thou wilt.” His human nature was ready to call it quits, yet his love for us surpassed all pain, and he willingly submitted everything to his father.

      The cup was filled to the brim that night and then poured out the next day for the healing of the nations, for the forgiveness of sin and the eradication of evil.

2008!! Thank God for another year with all the opportunities to live and enjoy life at its fullest. After all the festivities, which included meeting old friends, eating to a maximum gut capacity, enjoying family and sharing presents, I am now back to meditative mode and… wham… I am hit by a realization that brings me to tears, and in deep gratitude I look up to the heavens with an overflowing and thankful heart.

 

What was it? Oh, it was just simply my past coming back to me in a HiFi LCD sensurround playback, which showed the roller coaster ride that my life took up to the present. It was not the roller coaster that hit me, but rather it was the realization that after all the kids had successfully finished their courses and were now employed, I still have the luxury of having them under my roof or they having me under their roof. Whatever it is, I count it providential that we are still intact as a family.

 

Modern families tend to disintegrate physically as soon as the children finish school and have jobs. Filipino children would rather look for employment abroad and leave their parents behind, which means that when the youngest is gone both parents are left in an almost empty and quiet house. I knew that one day this would happen to me and my wife, I was preparing for it.

 

This reality would’t have been much appreciated if it were not for something that happened to this family four years ago. At that time it seemed that only a thread held us members together. Thoughts like divorce, running away from home, burning the bible, etc, were being entertained in our minds and there was no peace at home. It was due to my discovery of some bible truths that stood against our religion, the church that I brought my wife into and that my kids grew up in.

 

Three years into that situation and God blessed me with the decision of my wife and kids to embrace this biblical truth and join me in one spirit. Now we praise God from a higher level of spirituality and faith. To top it all God blessed me with the chance to maintain a united family in a great country, with all the opportunities to work as an evangelist while I look after the needs of my family domestically, and while I enjoy bringing up a granddaughter.

 

What more can I ask for?

Christmas – another reason to celebrate

 

December is month of rejoicing for Christians due to the fact that Jesus was born, and it has always been a month of celebration. That was always the reason why I celebrated Christmas until this year. Now I have another reason to rejoice and thank God.

 

Before December of last year – 2006, I considered my body to be a ‘bag of maladies.’ I will admit that at the early age of 29 I was already reaping the fruits of my abuse to my body combined with the unavoidable effects of the combination of the genes of my parents. At that age I was stricken with Gout, which is a crippling disease brought about by the abnormal accumulation and deposit of uric acid crystals in the joints and connective tissue spaces.

 

I also had chronic gastritis which had a tendency to bleed every now and then. Later I developed hypertension with my blood pressure shooting up to 160 over 110 with a posterior ischemia, and then came prostate hypertrophy and urinary bladder stones, which together obstructed the flow of my urine. Hepatitis and Cholangitis visited me twice. I also had occasional attacks of migraine and before I forget I also have a bad case of a herniated nucleus polposus [slipped disk].

 

Whew, a walking example of the textbook in Pathology. Yeah, and I had to spend a lot for the monthly maintenance of these diseases running for many years. But that was before December 2006.

 

Seventh-day Adventists by nature do not have a keen interest in miracles. We look at the Pentecostals who have miracle crusades and “praying over” sessions of healings as weird and bizarre. When one of us has an unusual healing we count it a miracle but we don’t make a fuss about it.

 

2006 was the year that I was officially terminated [excommunicated] by the SDA church as I became a Pentecostal. It was also the year that I read about the “Heavenly Man” in the person of Brother Yun. This Chinese Christian is one man whom God poured out miracle after miracle for him and for others.

 

Brother Yun’s world tours brought him to our city [Davao] and on that December night I found myself seated in a jam-packed hall listening to him. He was telling us that modern man in developed countries have less miracles because we tend to trust our medical insurance, physicians and medicines for healing. We only come to God when all these fail, which sadly places God as a last resort. He also stressed the point that faith in God and not obedience to the law is what places us in line for miracles from God (Gal3:5).

 

After his talk those who wanted healing came around him and he prayed, in Chinese of course, with an American interpreter. I was situated in a line just in front of him, and he was walking through the lines as he prayed. I really cannot describe the exact feeling when I got my healing because I was not asking exactly that I be healed. What I wanted at that moment was that God would put the gift of glossolalia on my lips and that I would speak in tongues like the lady next to me.

 

You could imagine that I was crying unashamedly like most of the people present, and I left that hall with a new bounce in my step. My body was unusually lighter and nimble. The following day I noticed that the symptoms that I used to have were gone and so I stopped taking my medicines.

 

A year has passed now and I have not taken a single pill for my maladies, which haven’t reappeared – praise God. I enjoy Thai food which is really spicy and my gastritis hasn’t flared up, not a bit, which is really unusual [I used to take antacids like they were candy]. The bladder stones simply flow out when I void and the obstruction is something of the past.

 

December indeed has a new and added meaning to me. God chose to heal me in the month that we rejoice over our salvation. Hallelujah!

Depressed in the “Land of Smiles”

 

Depressed in the “Land of Smiles” on Christmas seems to be an incompatible sentence. Some sort of conflict of subject and predicate maybe or whatever, and yet I will admit the veracity of the statement. Please excuse me guys, but I have to be true to myself, which means that when I write about my victories and happy times I also have to balance my blog with the times that I am in the pits, which is not very often.

 

To describe the feeling would take a whole page from the psychiatry textbook, and I would omit the rest except to point out the heavy feeling in the chest area with a slight labor in breathing plus the unconscious act of staring into nothing for some time, with the mind almost in blank mode or running through sad replays of the past days.

 

I would admit that I am a man with an inner resolve of steel and velvet, meaning that I have the ability to stand up to any psychological or physical challenge at one moment and yet shed a tear when confronted with emotion. This time it is the absence of both, which only complicates the problem. I simply don’t know from what angle to attack the unseen enemy.

 

I have ruled out andropause because I know that my testosterone is still at its high, which is why my hair follicles couldn’t hang on. It also is not a financial slump because I am still eating three meals a day and I know that the Lord will supply my family’s needs even through eternity. It’s not about worrying what may happen in the future because I trust that my God has it all planned for me.

 

Maybe it is impotence. I’m not talking about erection dysfunction if that is what’s in your jaundiced minds. That thing was never a problem in the far or recent past. It could be something about the Christmas season and the fact that I am not in the position to make a really meaningful and exciting Christmas for my family like I used to. Maybe it’s the place, where I am surrounded by pagans who can’t even sing jingle bells or peeve me with repeated caroling at night. Maybe it’s the fact that I was recently robbed and deprived of the means to spend for a lavish Noche Buena and to buy gifts for loved ones.

 

Depression, what an eerie feeling, and I pray that God will teach me to get rid of it. As the days move closer to the 25^th please join me in prayer for my swift recovery.

 

Yes, Christmas should be in the heart, and I could add that it is also in a heavy heart.

 

Merry Christmas to all! [sigh]

 

Bangkok – the dark side

 

Have you ever tried writing with a heavy heart? Quite a weird motivating factor, and I don’t think I would want to continue if only it were not to release some of the pent-up feelings, which is like some sort of internal pressure cooker ready to blow its top off. Another reason why I’m hell bent on writing this piece is so that I could also portray another side of Bangkok that sounds so much like the Philippines, and it’s like I’m sliding down memory lane in the “City of Angels.”

 

The afternoon of December 19 starts with my getting ready for my regular weekly tennis game. Today would be different because I have a visitor from the Philippines who is here for a 15-day vacation. He used to be my regular tennis partner in MVC when I was still a 7^th day Adventist and I was looking forward to a night of slicing balls and dropping shots. The venue is at the opposite side of Bangkok from where we live, and we have to leave at least 2 hours before the scheduled play time since we would be traveling during rush hour.

 

Kokong and I leave at 6 pm for Bangkok Sports Center on board # 18 bus and the bus ride takes 30 minutes through the traffic snagged Ratchawithi. At the Victory monument we switch to the Sky Train for a ride to Phra Khanong and from there we hop on another bus to Pridi Bhanomyong where the tennis courts are located. We enjoy 2 hours of lively tennis with Noods and some Filipino businessmen and then we’re ready to go home. Elson Salvan suggests that we take the # 511 bus, and Kokong and I think it a good idea.

 

In retrospect, that decision shouldn’t have been made and it would have been better if we simply retraced our ride on the way home. The 511 bus takes so long to cross through the city and by the time we get to Pinklao it is 11:40 and a huge crowd is waiting in a dimly lighted street to board the last bus # 203.

 

The bus comes to a stop and the pushing and jostling commences as everyone wants to get home the by cheapest means. Kokong and I are one of the last to get in the bus and as I grab the door handles to climb on board I notice a guy behind me wearing dark blue pants and shirt. He also is in a hurry since the bus is starting to move. But just a second before the doors shut he jumps out the door and I start wondering why. On impulse I reach out my hand to check my wallet in the back pocket of my pants and it’s gone. I press the stop button by the door, the driver stops the bus, opens the doors and I jump off the bus in hot pursuit of the thief. On impulse kokong also jumps off after me, but by this time the thief is beyond reach.

 

Imagine two guys with backpacks and tennis racquets sullenly walking the night Bangkok streets, peering at dark spots, around garbage cans and side streets looking for a wallet that might have been hurriedly emptied and tossed aside by an escaping thief. After about an hour with no sign of a wallet we board a taxi cab and Kokong pays the fare.

 

In my room in that midnight hour I take stock of my loss and I am poorer by 300 US dollars, 2,000 Baht, 10,000 Laos Kip and 200 Philippine pesos. I also miss my MD license, my Philippine and US drivers licenses, SSS, PhilHealth and BIR cards, some pictures and telephone numbers. I also dread the confrontation with the wife knowing fairly well what could happen. Its 6 days to Christmas and the worst time to lose money.

 

I lull myself to sleep that night with the song, “Blessed Be Your Name,” and in the early morning I awaken to meditate on the dark and sinister side of Bangkok.

 

Fellowship

 

Christian fellowship on Sundays in the Philippines or the United States is just simply a way of life or an accepted norm, and finding a group of Christians is as easy as locating a fast-food outlet. In Bangkok Thailand it is the opposite. You have to get a map of the city that shows the location of hotels, train stations and churches or you search in the Web and try to imagine the church that you are looking for. The latter option was the one that I tried recently after living in the City of Angels [Krung Thep] for a week.

 

I will admit that the angels in this city were mostly not from my church, since I honestly had a difficult time deciding which church to attend, notwithstanding the few choices that the Web had on hand. Finding the actual location by public transportation is another challenge because most nationals don’t speak English; much less know about Christianity and the place where Christians meet for worship.

 

After getting the address in the Web I asked some friends how to get there and then I took off on my own. First I took a red-orange bus #18 that took me all the way to the Victory Monument. Then I took a ride on the BTS sky train and got off the Asoke terminal, which is on Sukhumvit. Then I walked two blocks to Soi 10 were I discovered two vans with the sign “Free ride to ECB church.” When the driver saw me smile as I read the sign, he motioned for me to get in and he drove me right to the threshold of the church. The ushers outside welcomed me in and I was seated in a jam-packed church. Wow, it was that simple.

 

I found out that I came in midway into the sermon of the first service which started at 9 am. The second service would commence at 11, and so I stayed on and soaked in on the praise and worship. I felt so at home and it was like I never left my beloved ANCF. The only thing that was not like my own was that the band members were stiff and too formal. I also didn’t have the guts to dance and wave my hands for fear of stepping on the toes of the two American ladies who had sandwiched me and were standing taller than I am.

 

God is good and I came out refreshed and recharged. I retraced my steps through the same rides, this time more relaxed and now with a praise song in my heart. Next Sunday will find me worshiping God again, even in the “Land of Smiles.”

Adventure in the City of Angels

[Krung Thep]

 

Trying to get lost in some big city like New York or San Francisco is not easy. But why try to get lost in the first place? Getting lost is the last thing that anyone who is new in a strange city would want to do. It’s like being dropped from a helicopter in the midst of a thick forest and trying to find your way home. You’re lost the moment your feet touches the ground.

 

Getting lost in New York is not easy simply because the streets are arranged in an almost straight, parallel and perpendicular manner, and the street names are found on each corner with readable and understandable English. People you meet also understand what you are asking for and readily give you the directions that you can comprehend.

 

On the contrary, finding your way around Bangkok is not an easy job, which means that getting lost here is very probable and predictable, especially if you really want to get lost. This type of adventure really beckons to me, and I succumbed to its lure one hot and humid morning. I had all the chances of getting lost; the unreadable street signs and bus routes, the Thai who can’t understand or speak English, the curved and jigsaw puzzle-like streets, and the low hanging clouds to hide the sun and diminish all bearing of east-west orientation.

 

I decided to leave the security of the house, which is just outside the main city, across the Chao Phraya River, and stake out on my own on foot or by bus. Taxi and Tuktuk would be out of the picture now to make it easier to get lost, although they could be on hand just in case I couldn’t get home by bus and because I finally would have acknowledged the grim fact that I was lost. I made sure that I had enough cash and that my passport was inside a pocket. Breathing a prayer for protection and courage I closed the gate behind me and started to get lost.

 

My trip that day took me by bus, then train, then by canal boat, then some 3 bus-rides more and a lot of walking in between, while trying to decipher and unlock the mystery of the colors of the buses, their numbers and eye and tail-like figures, and I was finally approaching the familiar bridge that told me that I was just a few miles to home.

 

This was the most challenging yet frustrating trip I had ever made, because I didn’t get lost. Calcutta? Maybe.

Six weeks in the life of an infant

 

Neonates born in the hospital are either kept in the nursery [in or outside the incubator] or they may room-in with mom. Most Filipino parents in their overly concern for these helpless and frail progeny keep them in a sterile environment, and even visitors and  well wishers are instructed not to kiss or touch, some sort of a quarantine so to speak. To many parents the outside world after dusk and during rain is taboo for infants, and to go out with the head and limbs uncovered is unforgivable. Love may be the driving force behind such behavior and this is easy to understand.

 

Born in the 22^nd of June 2007, Kailee was destined to be on the go, because at the age of seven days she was already out in the opposite side of the city in a party, which lasted until eleven in the evening. She was present in church on the first Sunday after her discharge from the hospital and she enjoyed every minute of the service. She attended three farewell parties, one at the church, one at her great grandfather’s house 18 kilometers away and one at a friends place, and she was smug and relaxed all the while.

 

Twenty one days after she was born she was on a plane to Manila and then on another plane to Bangkok on the same day. She accompanied her mother on shopping trips to furnish the apartment that they recently moved into, and she was with her on every trip to the market for groceries no matter if it was seven or ten in the evening [shopping malls in Bangkok close at 11 pm] or whether it was raining or gusty. At 6 weeks of age she was practically all over Bangkok by either Chao Phraya Express boat, BTS Skytrain, Bus, or taxi, and she enjoyed every bit of these trips.

 

This incredible infant at six weeks had traveled through 2 countries, had 2 plane rides, a couple dozen of bus, taxi and boat rides, and it looks like she’ll be traveling all her life. “Well that’s life!” she may exclaim if only she could talk. But she’s only a babe!

God, you are awesome

 

July 14 was the most important day in my recent years due to the fact that we had sold most of our earthly possessions and gave up the house to move to a foreign country to start life anew. It was also to be an exciting one because I would be traveling with my grownup children and my 21-day old granddaughter.

 

Some weeks before this day, I was already praying that God would take charge of every single detail of this move. I knew I had no control of the many aspects of the trip like the baby’s disposition during the long haul, the flight schedules of our connecting flights, the expenses that we might incur outside of the fare and a lot more. I also fairly well knew that God in his might had all these concerns in focus and that he was just waiting for the right opportunity to display his power to some vulnerable earthling like me.

 

True to my personality I had everything planned, and executed every detail to ensure that the trip would be the least stressful, and this included the packing of our baggage to the exact weight that was allowed us for free so that we wouldn’t have to pay for excess of the total of 80 kilograms. To do this I bought a cheap China-made weighing scale and meticulously weighed each piece of the 6 bags that we planned to check-in. No matter how much I shifted the contents between the bags I was still at least 13 kilograms over the weight limit, which is about Php 3,900.00, times two plane trips would mean 7,800.00. I knew I didn’t have that much money for excess baggage and yet I couldn’t leave these things behind because we needed them.

 

I then chose a medium-sized red trolley bag, which I singled out as a hand-carried item aside from a backpack that I planned to carry. The size of this bag was way over the allowed maximum size but which I figured out would fit in the overhead compartment of the plane cabin. It weighed a little over 11 kilograms, which is 4 kilograms over the allowable hand-carried baggage limit. This placed two odds against the ‘wonder’ bag. Three things could happen to this ‘damned’ bag. Either the airlines would demand that I check it in during check-in time or I would be apprehended and forced to check in the baggage the moment I would enter the predeparture area where they have a weighing scale and a measuring device for all hand-carried items or it would escape attention at the two points and yet wouldn’t fit in the overhead storage compartments of the plane cabin.

 

The first two scenarios never happened and I ‘luckily’ pass through both check points with the bag unnoticed. Boarding time comes and I maneuver towards the plane entrance with the bag in tow. In the boarding tube a uniformed maintenance man approaches me and asks if I would want to have the bag checked in free of charge. Without much thought I oblige and he hands me a claim stub after attaching a sticker tag to the bag handle. I notice that he exits through a side door of the tube, carries the bag down a ladder and heads towards the fuselage of the plane. I try to imagine the scenario of me trying to lift the bag to the overhead compartment and failing to make it fit. A sigh of relief escapes my lips.

 

Three and a half hours later I am in another airport checking my baggage in for the second and last plane ride to our destination. The officer there weighs and measures it and tells me that the red ‘wonder’ bag was too big and too heavy for a hand-carried item; he also tells me that I didn’t have any choice regarding its passage. So I check in all 6 bags in and inquire from the lady at the desk how much I had to pay for the excess weight. She shrugs her shoulders and tells me that my baggage is just within the allowed weight and that I didn’t have any surcharge to pay. [This made my China-made weighing scale and the digital meter at the first airport look obsolete and malfunctioning] I look up to the ceiling and force back an escaping tear as I realize that my God is not sleeping on the job.

 

The entire trip took two mini bus and two plane rides between two countries for a total of 9 hours, and the baby was as comfortable as though she was in her own room all the time. We were able to manage through two “poopoo” diaper changes in flight and a lot of breast feeding, and it was if she was sedated. A few days before the trip someon