I taught in Dapilo-an for two years. The pioneer work I experienced in that school with my partner shaped me to be a stronger man in the Lord’s work. It has been a part of my life now and something I can share with my own children in the future. The Manobo songs during early morning worships still ring in my ears. I miss the lively class mixed with mothers nursing their babies. I miss the scene of sleeping babies in makeshift blanket hammocks hanging in the classroom. I miss the simple happy contented life of these Manobos rich with innocence who sing their hearts out in faith to their Creator God.

My life now in the city is the opposite. Needless to say, I don’t like it! The hard beat of rock music in passenger vehicles, the hassle of busy streets, the polluted air, and the full blast of the TV next door make me sick. I don’t like this kind of life. Since I was already enrolled to study and at the same time called to be an urban missionary, I accepted it. But I missed the mission school life, so one day I paid a visit.

I was alone. My backpack had just enough clothes for the weekend. I did not take any provisions. I planned just to eat kamote (sweet potatoes) that I missed. On the way, I met the two missionaries from Dapilo-an. “Where are you going?” I inquired.

“To MVC,” they replied. “The SULADS seminar starts tomorrow,” they said.
“It’s too bad you will not be around. That means I’ll be alone in the cottage,” I sadly said. “But anyway, I will still go. By the way, what is new in the village?” I inquired.

“When you left last year, there was no church. Today you will find a brand new church building with the whole village attending worship every morning and evening,” the two missionaries gladly reported.

“Praise the Lord for that, SULADS. I can’t wait to see them so active in worshipping our Lord. I’ll have to go now,” I said. We parted ways.

I was so inspired to imagine the big change made in so short a time. Though I would be alone in the teacher’s cottage, I was anticipating the children gathering around me to listen as I told them stories. “Oh! What a weekend,” I whispered joyfully.

Heavenly Music
It was already four o’clock in the afternoon and I still had to cross seven more streams. I calculated that by the time I climbed the last mountain where I could view the village in the distance, it would be around 5:45. I doubled my steps. The familiar big rocks and spots where I used to stop and rest passed unnoticed. I had no more time to stop. I must reach the village before dark. At last I crossed the last stream and up the mountain I climbed. “Whew!” I had not climbed mountains for a year, and life in the city had weakened me. But I kept up my pace. Slowly I labored up the steep mountain. Then, coming closer to the top, I heard singing. Beautiful heavenly music! WOW! I haven’t heard such music in the city. I hurried on. There on the mountaintop I saw a light. There were little lights scattered in the village which I was sure were from the houses. But I saw a bigger light that I guessed was a torch and from there came the beautiful music of children singing. I crept in the dark toward the spot where the music was coming from and there I discovered the church. I stopped behind a bush and enjoyed every song. I noticed later on that my tears had kept on flowing.

Then the music stopped and I heard a boy preaching a sermon. He said, “Let us not be weary! We should worship our God with or without our missionary teachers.”

“Oh God,” I whispered. “What a joy! How thankful I am that you called me to be a missionary. I thought I was a failure when I was sowing the seeds during those pioneering days. But now I’m enjoying the bountiful harvest.”

I didn’t want to be seen. I wanted to see more surprises. I left the bush and crawled in the dark to the cottage. I did not bother to cook because if I did so, they would discover me. The songs were enough to put me to sleep. “Lord, Thank You for the joy you’re giving me in your service. Please continue to pour the blessings on this village and strengthen them in their faith,” I prayed and then fell asleep.

In the morning about four o’clock, I was awakened by songs. It came loud and clear from the church. The weather was windy and cold but I needed to go join the worship. It was still dark but the church was full with children and adults. I slipped inside and they did not notice me in the corner. I was able to see how faithful they were in their love for the Lord. I remembered the hardships I endured during the pioneering days being rewarded by the real joy now in His service through the response of the people.

When the worship was over the morning sun revealed every face, including mine. I tried to hide my face. As their practice was, they started shaking everyone’s hand around the room and greeting each one with “Happy Sabbath.” Then the chorus came… “SIR JOUBERT!” They grabbed me tight with hugs and with tears of joy for the surprise reunion.

Pray with me that these simple folk will remain faithful and one day soon we can experience with them the great reunion with our Maker.