It has been about four years now since we opened the mission school in the village of Victory. During our survey with Sir Daryl four years ago, the villagers were still wild. From a distance on a mountain we saw that there were many people in Victory below. But when we entered the village, the people were gone. They seemed to have scampered into their holes. The only one we were able to see was a mother who was very ill and lying in a tilting hut. We checked and asked her questions but she was too weak to answer. Later we heard an answer from a man hiding behind the door. It was the husband who was very suspicious of who we were and what we would do to them. Tall weeds kept the huts hidden from intruders. Pigs roamed the village scattering their waste around. I was assigned to pioneer this village with my partner.

When we visited the homes to enroll the children, the parents would not give us their names. "What will these lowlander teachers do with our children?" I could read their minds by their raised eyebrows. We finally convinced the village leader to invite us in when we explained to him our program. He in turn explained to his people our purpose and we were able to enroll the children in school.

Then came the first day of class. We were there on time in an abandoned house to meet the children. But the house was empty. Where had all the children gone? There were no children in their homes either. We learned later that they had a special ceremony somewhere hidden in the forest. Their witch doctor asked for white chickens from each of these children, slashed the chicken's necks and sprinkled the blood on these boys and girls so that their "friends," the (evil) spirits, would protect them from any harm or bad luck these teachers might bring.

I was kind of jealous of the missionaries assigned to the Manobo area because I had heard them report that the children in their mission schools sing so lively as they worship every morning and evening. I almost gave up during my term. I was not happy with the negative response of the people.
"Why do we have to waste our time here when they don't need us or want us," I mumbled to myself.

Only now during my surprise visit four years later, I understand. I had mixed feelings about going back for a visit at first. The mountain trail was still the same—bushy, hot, and rugged. But I was surprised at the village. It looked clean. There were so many houses all lined up and well arranged. There was a school and a teachers' cottage. The once bushy and dirty yard was now covered with Australian peanuts. The surprise of all surprises was that the people welcomed me warmly. My former pupils, who now had grown big, came running to me and hugged me. The mothers came with their ripe bananas, avocados, and wild guavas and piled them in front of me. "We missed you a lot Ma'am," they chorused. The mothers hugged me as we wiped our tears together. We had an enjoyable time together reminiscing about those pioneering days when they were still wild.

We didn't notice that the sun had hidden in the west and we were still gathered there enjoying ourselves talking about those yesterdays and eating the fruits. And then there was an announcement from one girl. "It's time for WORSHIP!" And all of a sudden the air was filled with music—LIVE and HEAVENLY! I couldn't hold my tears any longer. They kept dripping. I was too choked-up to sing with them.

"What happened Ma'am?" the boy next to me asked.

"I am just so happy for you people. You have changed a lot for the good. I never expected this. Now my sacrifices are rewarded," I replied.

What a JOY! I only realized now what Sir Daryl said when he lectured us. He had told us that it would take years of discouraging experiences before we would see the results of our sacrifices. I thought before that my labors were all in vain as I saw no results during my term. Now I say, "Thank you so much, Lord, for making the seeds you have asked me to sow to sprout now. Please continue to bless these people as they grow stronger in faith," I silently prayed.