Help! If anyone reads this, please tell John that I love working with him, but could he please go easy on the rocks? I know that crossing those rivers and bouncing over the washed-out road is the only way to get to our people, but those rocks will be the death of my shocks one of these days!

Oh, wait, did I forget to introduce myself? I’m John’s trusty, muddy, Honda motorcycle. Even though I groan and complain at times, I really do enjoy working with John. We have already been through plenty together since he brought me home just last October.

Our adventures together started right away with that trip home from the Honda dealer. The island of Mindoro had just been hit by three hurricanes in a row, and not much was left of the “National Highway.” About a third of the five-hour trip was spent driving through water, and another third was spent slopping through axle-deep mud. It was quite the introduction for both of us.

Several times, I’ve taken the brunt of the enemy’s attacks on John and the Batangan Project. You may have read a few months ago, for example, about the time we were pushed off a low cliff just as the Batangan expeditions were getting started. God was merciful to John and me, and neither of us was hurt in the slightest.

Most of my short life has been spent pounding over Swiss-cheese roads, crossing rivers and climbing mountains, carrying John and his team of Alangan church leaders on their search for the Batangan. Trip after trip, I have borne them to distant trailheads and back again.

Late last year, John was eager and hopeful as the expeditions into the Batangan territory got started. As he sat on my back, I could tell that, after so many years of preparation, he was excited to be on the brink of joining his people. Over the months, I saw that eager expectation harden into a dogged resolve as the team realized that getting into Batangan territory was going to be a long, slow haul.

John and Ramon were wildly elated as they came back from the village of Tamisan one sweltering mid-December morning. I heard them praising God that this village, where Fausto, the head of the Batangan tribe lives, had agreed to let them come in on a temporary basis while they worked to find a willing village deeper in the interior.

Less than a week later, I brought three very sober young men home from that same village. On the trip back, I heard them talking about how they had been met by the elders of Tamisan and Fausto when they had arrived in the village. In the meeting that followed, they had learned that not only had the previous decision to allow them to enter Tamisan been reversed, but the head of the tribe had formally forbidden them to enter the interior.

More than a month passed, and from my resting place outside John’s house, I overheard countless meetings with church leaders, civil leaders and the Batangan team. Each time they attempted a new plan to get into the Batangan territory, it fell through. They didn’t seem to be making any progress at all.

I could see that John was tempted to be discouraged. As we crested a mountain somewhere in the middle of Mindoro late one evening, I heard him mumbling to himself, “I’ve spent years preparing to go to the Batangan. For the last several months I’ve tried time after time to find a way into this tribe, but I have little to show for it. Now the head of the tribe has revoked his permission, and without it, the highland Batangan won’t let me get closer than shouting distance. Lord, I’m tempted to despair of ever being accepted by these people.”

I wished there was something I could do to help, but I’m just a little Honda. The Lord knew what to do, though. After a few minutes of silence, I heard John quote, “‘Workers for Christ are never to think, much less to speak, of failure in their work’” (6T 467). Then, in a strong voice he said, “I have been undeniably called of God to this work and have vowed to never give up, never stop unless God Himself tells me to. I will be true to that promise, no matter how I feel, no matter how many years the Batangan reject me.”

After that, things got really crazy. Just a few weeks ago, John was taking a bath upriver. While he was gone, a handsome little Philippine Cobra (which happens to be the most venomous type of cobra) wound its way through the grass, right between my tires, and up onto the steps to John’s porch!

Just about the time I stopped shaking, I heard John coming back. I tried to warn him, but without my key in the ignition, my horn couldn’t make a sound. God was good, though! Just as John was about to step up, he saw the snake. He hollered for his friend Delpin to bring a machete, and the little cobra soon breathed its last.

But that was just the beginning of the craziness. That day, John and Delpin needed to go to the provincial capital of Mamburao, so they climbed onto my back, and off we went. About halfway there, just outside the town of Santa Cruz, a huge truck cut across the road just in front of us. We braked so hard that both of my wheels were almost locked up. Screeching to a stop just inches from the truck, we all breathed a prayer of thanks. Wow! Two close calls in one morning!

But the day wasn’t over yet. Just a few minutes later, in the middle of Santa Cruz, the same thing happened again—another near-accident. What was going on? Then, a bit later, I felt something go terribly wrong in my belly. Something was loose! I tried to tell John, but the wind rushing by his helmet was too loud. Somewhere on the road just outside Santa Cruz, my oil drain plug worked its way loose (or someone loosened it while I was asleep the night before, I’ll never know for sure). My lifeblood spilled out, making a long black line down the road. I kept going as long as I could, but soon my piston started to overheat and score the cylinder wall. The last thing I remember was making a horrible lugging noise as John quickly turned the key off and brought me to a stop. It just wasn’t our day!

A week later, after surgery on my engine, I woke up to find that that day had been more eventful than we had realized at the time. As we had close call after close call while traveling north, Lunito, the head of the Alangan tribe and an Adventist Church leader, was meeting with the head of the Batangan tribe in the south. Lunito was pulling out all the stops, hoping to convince Fausto to reconsider his previous decision. At first, Fausto didn’t want to budge, but when Lunito was able to get him aside and talk privately, he finally agreed to let us live and work among the lowland Batangan for now.

When asked about the highland Batangan, he agreed that if a highland village were to ask John to come, then he is free to go. Praise God! No wonder Satan tried so hard to put an end to us for good that day.

So, the big news is that, after Lunito’s meeting with Fausto, God threw open the doors for John to move into the lowland Batangan village of Balangabong. This is the only lowland Batangan village that has an Adventist presence.

Just last Thursday, I hauled John and two of his Alangan teammates to the trailhead, and they started working with the Batangan to build a new hut. Judging by the hardware I’ve hauled from town, I figure the hut is already about a third finished.

John will live in Balangabong while he learns the Batangan language and culture and continues to look for an opening into the highlands. Because Balangabong is a lowland village, the Batangan culture and lowland Filipino culture have become mixed there. However, one of the recent converts there is an old man who, not long ago, got fed up with the witchcraft in the mountains and decided to move down and become a Christian. He will be John’s key to the language and culture of the interior.

I’m just a little Honda 125 on an oversized scooter frame, but God has given me a part in His great work, and I’m eternally grateful. The road is long and rocky. I have my share of scars and funny little quirks as a result of the work I do. I wouldn’t trade this work for any in the world, though. No, not for anything. Thank you for doing your part and helping to bring salvation to the Batangan!

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