My love for Palawan and for mission work continues to grow. As I reflect back over these last 18 months, I am so very, very grateful to God who led me here to Kemantian and has guided me through this experience.
I have grown in so many ways that it is hard for me even to begin to express them. Every day, God is teaching me invaluable lessons in patience, in waiting on His timing, in flexibility, in people skills, in language-learning, in leadership and in submission to authority and elders. Through trial and error, I have learned when to speak up and when to stay silent, how to stay calm in crisis, how to keep a plant alive and producing flowers, and how to care for myself through various ailments. I have learned more about the process of growing, harvesting and processing rice than I will probably ever use. I have learned how to work through difficult situations and how to have difficult conversations with people very different from me. Here on Palawan, my love for the world has grown strangely dim, and my love for those living in the world has grown strangely strong. Here I am learning how to hear and recognize the voice of God speaking to me. Here I am learning how to pray consistently and deeply.
I first came to Kemantian to practice nursing. But as any career missionary can tell you, one of the first lessons you learn in the mission field is the virtue of flexibility. Within a week of my arrival, I was also the girls’ dean for the mission high school, and a few months later, a PE teacher. Nursing has been amazing, too, especially house calls where we get to hike and explore the mountains. In the clinic I had to learn to be everything from the cleaning lady to the doctor, dermatologist, dentist and midwife (though I mostly leave that to Carrie and Justina). My latest new responsibility is that of English teacher at the high school.
During my first six months here, I washed my own clothes by hand. Finally I caved (for the benefit of the local economy, of course!) and started paying Alisandra, one of my high school girls, to wash my laundry. Every Friday after school, she comes to my house. I feed her lunch, and we sit and chat before she washes my clothes. Last week she told me I’m like an older sister to her.
Just yesterday, Ressy, another of our high-school girls and a close friend of mine, told me, “Ma’am, you can’t leave!” She said it in a joking manner that thinly disguised her seriousness. Thinking practically instead of emotionally, I explained to her the reasons I have to go back to America. I miss my family a lot, I have to renew my nursing license, and on and on. She didn’t buy it. “So, go to America and then come back. That’s what Ma’am Carrie does!” she argued emphatically. “And so does Ma’am Justina! Why can’t you stay, too? Marry a Filipino. Filipino guys are really sweet and kind.”
I had no answer. So I tried to comfort her by sharing how sad I would be when I leave in six months. At that point, she threw her hands over her face and started crying. “Don’t leave!” she sobbed. “See? I don’t cry when Carrie or Justina leaves, because I know they will come back to us. But all the student missionaries promise to come back, and they never do.” My heart broke, and for the first time I considered extending my service to a third year. Leaving Kemantian will be one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life.
But I do have to leave. I will tell you the one big reason that I did not tell Ressy. As much as I love it here, Kemantian is not my life calling. I view it as a God-ordained training ground for me to learn some crucial lessons and to prepare me for my life work. But my life work is not here. You see, there is another place. I don’t know where exactly yet, but there is someplace out there in this world waiting for me. I don’t know if I will have the privilege to go there with AFM or not, but one thing is certain: I will go. As the Lord gives me opportunity, I will launch again to an unreached mission field someday.
Until then, I am soaking up and appreciating every moment of my final six months in Palawan.
