Receiving His love in the most unlikely places

Blackish water reaches my knees. I smell the putrid stench of stagnant canals burn my nostrils. I walk on creaking planks, many of them rotten with age.

I walk carefully, not only to avoid them, but also not to bump into rats the size of cats, squeaking, darting, running on these same dilapitated boards.

I ask myself, "Can any place on the planet be worse than this?"

You see, I'm in a shanty town, or what we called "squatters area" in the Philippines.

In the shack that will be my home for two weeks, there's no toilet. Instead, I share one muddy toilet with five other families - consisting of forty plus persons.

Are you freaking out? Then freak out some more, because in this dark hole of the universe, I felt the shining and brilliant love of God in a way I'll never forget.

You see, I came them to preach, to teach, to heal, to give love!

Well, I was wrong. Overpowering love was going to be given to me.

Because one morning, I knock in a tiny shanty size of a chest freezer.

An old woman opens the door. She is totally blind.

Behind her are two shy kids, hiding behind her dress, both younger than five.

I learn that her only son abandoned his kids to her. I also learn that he visits her once a week to steal her money - whatever little money she gets from begging.

Because it is lunch time, she invites me, "Kain tayo".

She opens an old tin can and brings out a tiny bowl of lugaw (rice porridge).

I survey it and I was shocked. The lugaw has more water than rice.

She also fishes out of the tin can a half piece of bread, wrapped in a napkin. I notice that she holds it reverently, like she was holding precious gold.

I also notice that there is nothing left in the tin can.

The two eager kids wait with anticipation. Their grandmother places the lugaw before them and said, "Ito ang sa atin."

Quickly, their tiny dirty hands scoop it up into their hungry mouths. The old woman then gives me the gold in her hand - the most prized possession she has - this half-piece of bread wrapped in a white napkin.

I decline, "Lola, wag nyo po ako isipin. Kainin nyo na lang po ito."

She gently protests, "Samahan mo kami. Kain ka rin."

I see the happiness in her smile, and I know she will be hurt if I say no.

So I take the half piece of old bread. I take a bite.

It's dry. It's hard. It's tasteless.

But at this moment, there is nothing more delicious. Funny, it's as though I'm taking communion. Not because it's holy or consecrated or anything like that. Not because like God, the old blind woman is giving everything she has to me.

My host is blind. She does not see the tears rolling down in my cheeks.

She does not see that I will never be the same person again.





-this story was given to me by Mrs. Catherine Escorial - Ceiling Initial Checker, Line 5, Team 2, I-Cube PS5, HRD (S) PTE. LTD.