The way we get to church is culturally everything that I hoped for. We step outside the gates of the Children's home onto the streets of the Quatro. About 6 or 7 shops up the road, we take a left. With Maricel on my left arm and Camille on my right, our horizontal train quickly turns vertical as we walk down a narrow path created by the treading of many feet before us. We cross many streams of...I'm not sure what...say hello to several skinny dogs, goats and roosters, step on more trash than bare ground, smell smells more unglorious than most I've experienced before, and arrive at the church. A floor, a pillar at each corner and a ceiling make up this two-story building...there is no need for windows when there are no walls!
Something of most importance to me is that I see life in all people here and everywhere. The language barrier is greater than I expected, and obviously that lessens my ability to get to know a person through their words. But there are times when words are not necessary...and hearts are just connected. When they sing the Doxology in Tagalog, I sing in English. It's all going to the same place, so there's no use for silence. The pastor preaches in Tagalog, I just journal in English. I can podcast a Sunday sermon for myself when I lay in bed tonight, but I am so blessed to be able to experience this part of the culture here, even if I understand nothing verbally.
Afterwards I get a new set of two to beautify my arms, and back to the home we tread. Still I say: glory, glory, glory. Liquids, animals, junk, aromas and all.
There is a woman who resides in the Quatro, we probably passed by her on our way to church. Last year, she poisened herself for forty consecutive days, earnestly attempting to abort the twin boys that were inside of her. But July 29, 2007, Jacob and Daniel's lives were decided for...their time was not finished in the womb.
They were held at the hospital for three weeks after their birth, and at that time they were given to the Children's home where they are living healthy, happily, and tiny. I'm holding Jacob as I write this...he's curled up in my left arm from my elbow to just above my shoulder. And with my right arm, I type with one or two fingers and look down at my wrist. My bracelet reads "Miracles Happen". In so many times these two words have given so much glory in so many instances. So many references...
Normally when something stirs my heart, I am inspired to write. I don't usually just think on it or just leave a thought hanging. But this time I'm going to just think on it...and maybe play with this little miracle.