My first step was culture shock. We had learned all about culture shock in training, but as I entered a culture completely different from my own, it wasn’t the people, the place or the language that surprised me, it was myself. Old character traits I had thought were dead and gone began rearing their ugly heads. Jealousy. Selfishness. Self pity. In the mirror, What was wrong with me? I thought I was ready to be a missionary, but God clearly showed me I was not. My first month in Palawan was difficult. I moved to different huts three times, struggled with feelings of worthlessness, was challenged by my inexperience in teaching and had troubles getting along with teammates.

Since the village where I was teaching was a 30-minute hike away, I had precious time alone with God on the trail, soul-searching and processing everything. As I hiked the beautiful, rugged path through the bush, I kept spotting trash. God’s majestic creation was littered with candy wrappers and plastic bags. I cleaned the trail as I went, but each day more trash would appear. Then I realized the trash was like the sins that only Christ could remove from my heart. In my first step of mission service, God taught me that my heart needed to be broken and open to His refining hand before He could use me to reach others.

One rainy day on a hike between Kemantian and the school in Kensuli, God gave me an experience I will never forget. Wearing my soccer cleats for traction in the mud, a skirt, my backpack full of books and my bright salmon rain jacket covering it all, I hiked down the mountainside toward the Tamlang River. Along the way, I kept meeting Palawanos who all said something about danum (water). Since I didn’t know their language, I assumed they were talking about the rain. Little did I know, they were warning me about the Tamlang.

When I arrived at the river’s edge, the swift current and roar of the water startled me; I hadn’t seen the river so angry before. Holding firmly to a wire strung across the river above my head, I began to cross. When I reached the deepest point in the middle, my feet went out from under me, my heavy backpack threw me off balance as I clung to the wire for dear life. I struggled to find footing as the wire dug into my fingers. I couldn’t hold on any longer. I was going to be swept away! I cried out, “Father, save me!” He gave me just the strength I needed to make it to the shore.

Through this experience, God painted a vivid object lesson for me. The Palawano people had a message I couldn’t understand, which is like the Gospel and the seriousness of sin. I didn’t know the river (sin) was so bad until I was in the midst of it and almost got swept away. I couldn’t save myself; I was too weak. Sin made me losemy footing and weakened my grip on God. My Heavenly Father was the only One who could save me, but first I had to recognize my need. As soon as I cried out for help, He came to my rescue.

A month and a half after moving to Kensuli, I had a decision to make: go traveling or stay in my village for Christmas vacation? The Villarica family, my teammates in Kensuli, were going to visit their relatives in Manila. I asked to stay a week alone to focus on language learning and to bond with the people. Instead of depending on the Villaricas for help in communicating with the people, I had to depend upon God and the Palawanos to survive. I bathed with them at our cement water tank (fully clothed, as they do). I had the privilege of naming two newborn babies, and I had a sleepover at my Palawano best friend’s house. Since I was the only missionary in my village, I was expected to lead out in all of our spiritual gatherings—Wednesday night prayer meeting, Friday night vespers, Sabbath School, church and our Sabbath afternoon program “Kumbaya.” God had been slowly preparing me for this step by helping me learn simple Bible stories and memory verses in Palawano. I’ll never forget the first time I told a story in Palawano without translation. Standing in front of an intimate group of my Palawano friends gathered for Wednesday night prayer meeting, I told them I didn’t know all the words for the story, but if they would help me, I would try. In simple words, with lots of gestures and with God’s help, the story of the wise men bringing gifts to baby Jesus came alive. I pointed to the picture roll and acted out concepts while my Palawano friends eagerly supplied me with the words I didn’t know. When it was time for the appeal, I felt God’s spirit working through me, asking them what they could give Jesus this New Year. I encouraged them to offer Jesus their whole hearts and lives. During this time, God taught me that, in order to let my heart be broken for His people, I needed to know their mother tongue.

Living in a village surrounded by Palawano neighbors tested my ability to let my heart be broken for the “least of these.” Every morning, as soon as the sun had peeked over the horizon, I heard the children’s little feet patting the wet grass as they ran down the path to my hut. “Menungang meriklem Mam!” (“Good morning, teacher!”), they chimed. Then the littlest ones, half-naked, with ballooned bellies full of worms, would demand, “Daken inug!” (“Give me ripe fruit!”).

Quickly, their early morning visits became annoying to me. I was usually in the middle of Bible reading or prayer, and I didn’t want to drop what I was doing. I hid in my hut, keeping quiet and hoping they would think I was sleeping. They peeked through the slats of my bamboo walls. They sang at the top of their lungs. They pretended to cry. Anything to bring me out. I didn’t know what to do. Then God awoke me to the kids’ true need. Many of the were ignored by their parents or had lost a parent to an untimely death. What they truly craved wasn’t food, but love. God impressed me to spend time with them first, and then I would have some alone time with Him. Every morning, I cuddled the children on my lap, sang songs and told them Bible stories. I asked God to give me His love and help me see them the way He does. He truly helped me to let my heart be broken for His little ones.

The ultimate test of letting my heart be broken for God’s people came in March. One morning, I learned that my friend, Mukang, was leaving. I ran to meet her in the center of the village to find out why. She told me her husband Lundad had been drinking again and wouldn’t listen to her, so she was taking their baby and leaving. I tried to convince her to stay and talk things over with him. My heart ached for the three older children she was leaving behind, ages eight, six, and four. As I talked with Mukang, I prayed silently for wisdom and the right words. I asked God to give me His compassion for her instead of my own human sympathy. When I asked if I could pray with her before she left, she seemed hesitant but agreed. I asked God to protect her and her family; to fix her broken relationship with Lundad, to give him a desire to stop drinking and to bring her back home soon. I longed so much to tell her not to go, but I didn’t say it. I just told her how sad I would be and that I would be praying for her. She wouldn’t look me straight in the eyes—she was sad, too.

Mukang never did leave. A week later, she told me that the night she was planning to go, Lundad suffered alcohol poisoning, but she saved him. She realized that if she had left, he might have died. Mukang later told me she had said to Lundad, “Even if you keep drinking and saying unkind words, I’ll still forgive you and pray for you.” I was thrilled to see the change God had made in my friend’s heart.

Saying goodbye to my Palawano friends and missionary family was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. After learning how to let my heart be broken for them, praying for them, crying and laughing with them, listening to them and sharing with them, it wasn’t easy to leave. The night before I left, we had a get-together at the school. Seventy people came to tell me goodbye! We shared a potluck, worship and a time of thanksgiving. Tears were streaming down all our faces. My friends moaned and sobbed and clung to me. When a missionary leaves, it’s like a funeral. I kept telling them I loved them and would miss them and that I would pray for them and hoped to see them again someday. “It’s not goodbye forever,” I encouraged them. “We will see each other again when Jesus comes!”My heart broke as I left my Palawano friends. A large piece of my heart remains forever in Kensuli.

As I think about Jesus’ soon return, I am reminded of the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25. Sitting on His majestic throne, Jesus will ask us, “Did you feed the hungry? Did you give water to the thirsty? Did you clothe the naked and invite the stranger in? Did you visit the sick and those in prison?” Essentially, “Did you let your heart be broken for Me? Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for Me.”
Whether we’re in the mountains of Palawan or on the streets of some great city, Jesus is calling to us today: “Will you let your heart be broken for Me?”

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