“God, may we eat this pig?” the witch doctor prayed. “I ask permission for all these people gathered at this wedding to eat the pig, as the pig came from you to begin with. And I thank you for my older sister, who, even though she is an American, has not forsaken or neglected us but helps us and is our friend. She came to the wedding today, and we are happy to have her with us.”

As the prayer continued in somewhat mumbled tones, I sat with bowed head, wondering at the witch doctor’s prayer. I was touched that he prayed for me, that he was grateful for me and that he was acknowledging God—but which god?

A wedding is a community affair to which people come from far and wide. It is an opportunity to break the monotony of their work, an opportunity to socialize and to eat the food freely provided. From the day before the actual ceremony to the afternoon of the wedding, sometimes hundreds of people gather as the guests of the groom’s family, though the wedding is held at the home of the bride’s family.

Rice is typically served, along with pancit (a type of noodle), pig, goat and chicken. It requires a large team of people to cook the required two meals provided to the guests. It also entails a significant outlay of money. Of course, I do not go for the food but for the social gathering—a place to become one with the people I love and to sense their love for me in return.

As I entered the village early that morning there were many people I recognized, even though many came from far away. As I was greeting them, the father of the bride saw me and motioned for me to come and sit with the village elders while they belabored the bride price, making sure that everyone was agreeable with the arrangements.

Sitting on the bamboo floor with my back against a rickety bamboo wall near the stairs to the outside, I found it difficult to sit still and pay attention to what the village elders were saying. There was much talking and joking going on outside and at the back of the house, making it hard to hear. Every so often, someone would come up behind me and give me a big behind-the-back hug. When I would turn around, I would find someone who used to live in Kemantian but had moved away, some of whom I had not seen for years. What a joy it was to reconnect! Some approached me more shyly, reminding me of the friendship we had shared when they lived nearby or of how I had saved their child from certain death. What a joy it will be if these beloved people are in God’s kingdom one day. That will certainly be my reward.

Having lived in Kemantian for 30 years now, I have a history here. I had not anticipated living here this long and being so intimately involved in people’s lives. Many times I went through their darkest hours with them. To know their personalities, their challenges, their family history and to have genuine care and affection for them makes for a very big family. We are the ones blessed.

Nursita came by, reminding me that a long time ago, I had told her I would give her a tadyung (multi-purpose wrap-around cloth). I don’t remember saying that, but she genuinely wanted a remembrance of me because she lives quite far away. I was wearing my favorite tadyung, my very first, which I had purchased 30 years ago. While parting with it brought a slight pang of regret, that feeling was quickly replaced by the knowledge it was going to someone who genuinely had affection for me. So I gladly shared my “antique” tadyung with Nursita.

I have nursed Nursita’s children back to health, given them food to help them get strong and been their friend for a very long time. Today, Nursita was accompanied by her daughter Darlin, a student in our school in Kemantian. I told Darlin that I remembered her father, Tami Boy, before he got married, which surprised her. I told her about how her dad used to frequently play near our hut in a homemade karu-karu (wooden wagon with wooden wheels), that he would ride down the hill and that he had the biggest smile of joy during those times.

Then the mother of the groom thought perhaps I did not remember her because she does not live in Kemantian, but I recognized her and greeted her warmly. When there was a lull in the conversations swirling about us, she proudly pointed out her eleven year old son Andyilu, who, she reminded him, owes his life to me. I remembered Andyilu was a very sick infant, but I would not have recognized him at all today had his mother not pointed him out. Andyilu flashed me a smile of gratitude that made my day.

Many of the students who were in our school years ago and have since married and moved away then came up to me and proudly showed me their brood of children. It is hard to believe so many years have passed, many times in a blur of activity.

I felt like it was the season of Thanksgiving, as I had opportunities to reconnect with so many people. It makes me long for heaven and the grand reunion there. I pray that the influences these people have had will bear fruit one day in their trusting their lives to Jesus, the One True God. May the love they feel from me soften their hearts to the tremendous love that He has for them.

• Twitter