Let me tell you about one of the most exciting days of my life. It happened years ago in Manila, Philippines. It was my first mission trip; my first time overseas and the first time of many that I came close to wetting my pants in public.
I can tell you this; I was in for some surprises and a host of other things of which I could have never dreamed. Aside from the totally different culture, with its different customs, not to mention different people; there were odd foods that were to be tried and natural sights that boggled the mind. Over and above all of that, there were some things that we new missionaries would be asked to do for which we were ill prepared.
I, at the time, was a building contractor, and that is what I knew. I knew how to build things. That is what I had come to the Philippines to do. I was bound and determined to build a church for God. I was very well prepared to do that. I looked forward to doing that. That was my thing, after all.
But upon arriving in Manila, it appeared that the folks in charge had something else planned first. They actually wanted us to go out to different churches and talk. I mean talk, instead of the preacher. I was horrified. I didn’t talk in public. The only way I would get up in front of a crowd was with a guitar in front of me to hide behind, and Mary had to do all the talking, and even then I was scared to death most of the time. I thought to myself, “When does the next plane leave for home? I have had enough of this pie already, thank you.”
The worst part about the whole thing is that we had arrived on a Saturday night and the Nuts wanted us to talk the next morning. I just about cried.
Well, needless to say, I didn’t like it very much; but I did it. As it turned out though, that Sunday morning was a big turning point in my life as a man and a Christian.
I had no choice, it seemed, so I accepted my sentence, prayed for the poor congregation I was being foisted upon and waited for the preacher to pick me up, praying for engine failure the whole time.
Have you ever noticed how the Lord picks on those He loves? Well if that’s the case, then I feel sure He loves me half to death because He sure got me that morning.
I was close to the youngest and by far the most nervous of the lot so I was naturally the last one picked up. Oh, I forgot to tell you, we had to go alone, with no one from the team with us.
Well, finally a brand new jeep renegade drove up and a fine looking young man about my age jumped out, shook my hand and we were off. I said to myself, “Maybe I was wrong. This might not be so bad.” We drove thirty miles or so to the other side of Manila and finally ended up on an island named Muzon at the little Muzon United Methodist Church where I was to speak.
I won’t go into the service, other than to say that the Lord will save you if you cry and beg enough. The preacher, Ben Azurin, happened to have a guitar, and he let me use it. So at least for a time I was saved because I was able to sing instead of preach; and to my surprise I actually announced what I was going to sing all by myself.
In truth the service went rather well and afterward I was treated to a nice meal of something. I don’t know what it was; but it was something, and it didn’t taste all that bad. After lunch I was told that a member of the church would drive me back because Pastor Ben had to perform a wedding within the hour, and there wasn’t enough time for him to take care of the nuptials and to take care of me.
So I said farewell to my new found friends, some of whom I still write today, and jumped in to the member’s dilapidated old jeep only to discover that the thing would not start. Apparently my prayer for engine failure arrived late to the Lord’s desk, but being a good God he always answers our prayers, so we couldn’t start that thing with all of us laying our hands and a foot or two on it. So believe it or not, I was handed a few pesos, and a map.
What followed is one of the neatest and scariest ninety minutes of my life.
After my sight and hearing returned, the first thing I did was to squeeze myself into a bicycle’s sidecar. Once I wedged myself in, I was taken to what appeared to be a main street to find a Jeepney, if I could. By the way, a jeepney is a real long jeep with twenty to thirty ornery and often smelly people packed in the back.
As it turned out, I couldn’t find one. It was Sunday, after all, so I got into the side car of a motorcycle. They call them trics. We drove for about twenty minutes or so, and trust me, there are very few things in the Philippines that a six foot tall man can fit into and the sidecar of a motorcycle isn’t one of them. After a while the driver stopped. I paid him, found a little mustard oil and pried myself out of the thing and then, thank God, I found myself a pagan Jeepney driver willing to drive on Sunday. So I jumped in.
The jeepney, my new conveyance, was all decked out with graffiti, most of which dealt with astrology and the rest of which I dare not repeat. Once inside I rode in the thing for thirty minutes or there abouts, and when it finally stopped the driver told me that the train station was about eight blocks that way. I paid him and took a walk on the wild side to the train station, admittedly scared to death the whole way. To my surprise I made it to the train station, no worse for wear. I bought a ticket from the pretty lady and waited for the train.
I discovered that train stations and airport terminals are the same everywhere. They are cheaper than a movie and much more entertaining. You ought to just go sit and watch sometimes.
I was a little disappointed when the train arrived, but I got on board anyway with about ten thousand people, none of whom were in a good humor and some of whom hadn’t bathed for a while.
We flew like a bat out of torment for about fifteen minutes while I looked for my stop number, which can be hard to see at Mach three. Thank God, my stop did finally show up and I fell out of the train along with a flood of other folks.
So I had traveled all the way across Manila, all by myself, in everything that has ever rolled, it seemed. I had at last arrived less than a mile from my destination, and I was totally lost. I didn’t have a clue. The map didn’t have the place on it, and besides we had arrived the night before after dark.
I asked several people, but nobody knew the place I was asking about. Now I was truly upset and starting to pout. I could just see myself lost forever in the bowels of Manila.
When all at once, I heard someone call my name. I looked all over and finally spotted a fella whom I have grown to love like a brother over the years. He was trying to get my attention. His name is Percy, and he was my savior that day and soon to be a lifelong friend.
God is indeed a jokester, but He is good. Amen?
Tony Rowell
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