Since I was a child my heart’s desire was to be a missionary. Through medical school, my desire remained the same. I could envision myself in a tribal community up in the hinterlands of Mindanao, the southern part of the Philippines. There I would see patients, live among them, and tell them about the love of God.
I wrote an application to a mission group that was operating in Mindanao. I received a letter of acceptance a month after. My hopes went high. At last, I would be ministering to the tribal minority in the hills of Mindanao.
The mission base was in Zamboanga City, a place where the native dialect is broken Spanish. While in the plane, I rehearsed the little Spanish I learned in college. I realized I remembered only a few lines in greeting and I knew that if communication would become difficult I would resort to speaking Tagalog, our national language or English.
When the plane touched down, no one was there to meet me. I gave a written direction to the tricycle (a motorcycle with a side car) driver. To my joy I discovered that he spoke my own Cebuano dialect and he told me that most people in the city could speak Cebuano. That was a relief.
The tricycle driver took me to the mission base where I met the director of the missions and his family, the medical director and some staffs. They oriented me about the mission. I learned from them that the mission did not have a base outside Zamboanga City and that they have planes and a boat going to remote areas. Their vision was to serve Muslims. From time to time I might travel with the team in the boat or plane but basically my assignment was land based – a clinic in the coastal area of the city. The place was Rio Hondo.
Rio Hondo was a community of Muslims between two other Muslim communities. They said Rio Hondo was a place where bandits and wanted Muslim criminals hide. The place was packed with shanty houses built on stilts in the sea.
The medical clinic was named Lasa Clinic meaning “love.” We were told not to preach the word of God but to only show Christ’s love. By showing God’s love it means seeing patients, treating them, and giving medicines. We could do whatever programs we think were necessary to help the community, but we should never tell anyone about Jesus. Preaching God’s word was tantamount to asking for trouble and our lives could be threatened.
The clinic had a social worker, a midwife, a housekeeper, and another aid. We were all five women striving to make a difference in the community. Among ourselves we had daily devotions, bible study, and prayer meeting. In the mornings we had programs like mothers’ class, literacy class, feeding program for malnourished kids, and livelihood program. In the afternoons, we treated the people who came to the clinic. These are all done in the name of love.
Deep down I knew something was missing. I did not like the Muslims. I asked God why he allowed me to be placed in this area when my heart isn’t there. I was prepared for the tribes in the hinterlands where few or none had gone. I asked God to move me to another assignment where I could be refreshed. I was desperate.
Any physician could mechanically do what we were doing. I wanted to do more for the Lord. I have something that they don’t have and yet I cannot share it. And even if I could, I still would not. My heart was not into it. My aching to share my sweet Jesus was so strong and yet I was not even willing to share it with any Muslim because I did not like the Muslims. I knew something was wrong. The God that I serve is a God of love and yet for some reason I can’t even like these Muslims. I feel dried up inside and I asked God to please put me in another place where I could feel and know I am all right.
One day, I was told by the medical director that I would go on a ten day medical outreach to other non-Muslim tribes in Mindanao. The team was composed of doctors, dentists, and nurses: all women from different churches of the big city. All were spirit-filled women. We had a great time. I was so refreshed. The outreach was so fulfilling.
After the ten day outreach, I was back in Lasa Clinic again; back to the drought. I ache for the fellowship of the team and the joy of sharing God’s word to the tribesmen. That night I asked God why I had so much love for others yet I can’t love the Muslims. I was crying desperately. Then God opened my eyes of understanding. He brought to my mind the long forgotten past.
I grew up right outside a military camp in Cebu City. My father was not a military man; he just owned a land and built a house right next to the camp. Naturally my neighbors were mostly families of military men. The kids I ran around and played with were daughters/sons or sisters of military servicemen. In that environment, I felt like one among the bunch myself. It was in the mid seventies when there was an uprising in Mindanao. The Muslims wanted to be separated from the Philippines and its governance. They wanted autonomy. They wanted Mindanao for themselves. Many non Muslim civilians were killed. War was waged and soldiers were sent to fight. Even young draftees were shipped but most of them did not come back alive. Everyday one or more helicopters landed in the camp grounds bringing either injured or dead soldiers. Almost everyday we heard wailing and mourning of women in the neighborhood. The military chapel bells clang from time to time, never out of funeral service. That was when I started hating Muslims so much. I said many times, “If I were only a man, I would be in the military and I would kill them all!”
I was so shocked when I realized that not only did I dislike Muslims but I hated them. That hate was well hidden through the years, embedded within my subconscious. This was the reason why in spite of my calling to share God’s love, I did not have the tiniest desire to share it with Muslims. I felt so convicted. I asked Jesus to forgive me for hating them and give me the kind of love he has for Muslims, that unconditional love. God is faithful. He saw my willingness to change and gave me a gentle compassion for them. It was a wonderful feeling.
Night after night I prayed for them. I asked Jesus to help me share his love for them. I asked him what tools I should use. Then I was led to read Mark 16:17-18 “And these signs shall follow to them that believed…they shall lay hands on the sick and they will recover.” To them that believed. I thought praying for the sick and seeing them healed was only part of the ministry of great men like Morris Cerulo and Benny Hinn. But the word of God says, “to them that believed.” I realized that since I am a believer, this is applicable to me. So I told God that with this word I will stand in faith, believing that whatever I petitioned for, it is done in Jesus name.
That day before clinic time I prayed that I would stand in faith and would pray for my first patient. A little while later the first patient came in. She was the woman I call Gaisano. Gaisano is a department store in Cebu City advertised as “One store has it all.” Indeed, this patient had it all – bronchial asthma, hypertension, arthritis, congestive heart failure, obesity, diabetes, and other ailments. I told her that in her Koran, Jesus is a prophet. In my Bible, Jesus is not only a prophet but also the Son of God. In her Koran, Jesus is a physician. In my Bible, Jesus is also a physician, and my Bible says, “He is the same yesterday, today, and forever and that if we ask anything in his name, he will do it.” She listened intently to me. Then I said, “I want to pray for you. Would you allow me?” “Aho, aho (yes, yes),” was her answer. Then I asked, “Would you allow me to pray in the name of Jesus?” She said, “Aho.” I prayed out loud ordering the sickness to leave in the name of Jesus. After prayer she looked at me in disbelief. She felt her breathing was all right again. I checked her breath sounds and praise the Lord, it was clear! Her breath sounds were normal – no wheezing. She checked her knees, bent it, jumped, and looked and me with the widest of eyes, kissed me, and left hurriedly. I was left wondering what has become of her. She came back panting, bringing another woman. She ordered, ‘Pray!” So pray I did. Each time Jesus healed. They both embraced, cried , and then kissed my hand. This was a high form of respect in Muslim culture. Then they thanked me. I told them to thank Jesus because it was Jesus who healed them. They both said, “Magsukol Isa, magsukol!” Thank you Jesus, thank you! They repeated these raising their hands to heaven. It was a blessed moment.
That incident was the beginning of more exciting happenings. I became very fond of the woman too and I started calling her “babu.” This is addressed to older women whom one respects. That pleased and honored her. Babu brought in more patients after that day. I started holding closed-door bible studies before clinic time. I knew I was putting myself in a dangerous spot but I never realized how dangerous. All I knew was I was following the heart beat of Jesus.
One day, while crossing the bridge and passing by the mosque of the community, I heard Father tell me, “Child, this is your last day here.” “Father God, am I about to die?” I did not understand. When I reached the clinic, everyone was busy with their own task. I never anticipated any trouble. I just noticed the windows of the neighbor’s house were closed. They were on vacation. At lunch time when kids were brought in by mothers for the feeding program, I heard a commotion in the other room. Five men barged in and threatened everybody. They kicked the plates filled with food. The kids were so frightened, they could not even cry. Their mothers quickly carried them home to safety. I heard an angry voice asking for the leader in the clinic. I told him to come in. I was then face to face with an angry man. “We don’t want any Christians here. We are in the city. There are so many doctors in the city. You go up to the mountains to those ignorant people. Maybe they need your Christ. But Muslims don’t need your Christ. There is only one God – Allah! There is no other God beside him! So you Christians stay away from our place. This is a Muslim area. If you come back, we will kill you. I am not afraid to kill a woman. In fact, the crabs in the ocean need something to feast on! You see this knife? I can kill you with this. I warn you, do not come back! Go away now!” He was almost shouting. But while he was threatening me, I noticed that he did not look at me straight in the eye. Muslims don’t look straight in the eye during conversation if they respect you.
My temper was also rising while he was threatening me. It must have been my pride, but I pounded my fist on the table and answered very firmly. “Nobody orders me to move out. Unless my God tells me not to, I will come back here.” While looking at him sharply, I saw babu next room pale as paper, crying and pleading me to leave. I knew she was not far from passing out so for her sake, I said I would leave after I lock all the windows and doors. I noticed that none of my staff was around. My coworkers had left me. The only one in the clinic was babu who received her healing and God had used to gather others. She had stayed because she was concerned for my safety. I locked all the doors and windows. The members of the gang even helped me. They were courteous and that amazed me. How come?
I left the clinic and walked through the wooden walkways on stilts. The neighborhood was deathly silent. It seemed like they knew beforehand the plan and what was happening at that moment. Some houses were even shut closed. What was strange was, in every corner that I needed to take a turn a member of the gang was there. I felt like Queen Elizabeth, having guards in every turn. The last gang member was standing by the edge of the big bridge and he escorted me to the only remaining public transportation that was parked. The absence of passenger vehicles was unusual. The young lad asked forgiveness for what they had done to me and my coworkers. I forgave him and told him that I know deep down he is good. I told him that when God created man, he saw that it was good. Man just turned the other way and chose to disobey God. So God gave his son to die for man’s sins, that if anyone would believe on this son, and ask him into his life, he would be saved. He then said, “I could not run away from the gang. If I do, they will kill me.” I told him he could have a sweet fellowship with Jesus secretly. That was the last I saw of him.
As I sat on the vehicle’s seat, the driver started his engine and took off quickly as if an angel struck his back to move on. So I asked the driver if he was not losing in that trip since I was the only passenger. He said it was all right.
I reached the mission base and everybody was there praying for me. They were so happy to see I was all right. They had prayed that God would confound the Muslims’ minds. I guess even before they had prayed, the angels did their job.
The following day, someone came to see me. She was one of the mothers in Rio Hondo. She came to let me know that the gang ransacked the clinic, that all the doors and windows are now open. She said that when I was gone, that was the only time the gang remembered their plan. Their plan was to have me for the leader’s wife, and if I would say no, they would take turns on me. It was only then that my medical director and coworkers told me about the missionary before me.
The missionary before me worked for another mission group in the next Muslim community from our clinic. She had a Day Care in the area. She was warned about the bad guys in the place but she never took the warning seriously. Soon she was kidnapped. They asked for ransom money. Everybody in the missions knew that once ransom money is released, the other missionaries would be endangered. No ransom money was given for her release. Her captors finally released her after over a year, and this time she came back with a baby in her arms. She didn’t know who the father was for they were many. The story shocked me. I could not help but be very thankful for God’s intervention. I am so grateful for his arm of protection.
Later that day, I went to Rio Hondo with six Philippine Constabulary men and a coworker. We saw the damage. They mixed our cooking ingredients with medicine, took anything valuable from the clinic, and everything was in disarray. My coworker nailed the doors and the windows closed. We wanted the people in Rio Hondo to know that I would be coming back one of these days to serve the people.
The leader of the group must have understood the message. A week later, I received news that they dismantled the whole clinic from roof to posts. They sold every thing from slabs of wood, sheets of roofing, benches, tables, and everything. I was so dismayed and hurt. I missed the people. I have learned to loved them. I missed the work. Seeing them everyday was a thing I looked forward to but now everything is gone. I asked God why he allowed that to happen…but I heard no answer. Deep down, I know that whatever he does, it is for my good yet still I needed answers.
Reports say that they were selling the materials at a very cheap price but there were others who wouldn’t buy. They don’t want to have anything to do with it because “they believe that the God of ‘doctora’ is powerful.” Whether they were aware of this or not, they gave God the honor and glory. Hallelujah! Also I heard many families were moving out from the community because they were harassed by the gang and they were afraid for their lives. These were the families whose mothers/wives/husbands had closed-door bible studies with me. They say there’s too much tension and unrest in the area. They moved to a non-Muslim community where they can openly have fellowship with other Christians and openly worship the Lord.
A week after that I heard the leader’s father died of a massive heart attack. Then another week passed the youngest gang member died, then the next week another died, then another week, another died. I was seeing a pattern. I immediately went down on my knees and pleaded God to spare the leader’s life. I prayed that God would extend his mercies and give him another chance. Who knows if someday he would be saved? I prayed for his salvation. The man that kills for P 5.00 (a dime) may one day be holding a bible and boldly preaching the word of God. I had that kind of faith. God heard my prayer and indeed he was spared.
Three months later after leaving Lasa Clinic, bandits had an encounter with the authorities. The three Muslim communities were sealed. The military stationed guards in the gate. Nobody from inside could get out and nobody from outside could get in. Many died from the encounter. Houses were burned and some suffered from stray bullet injuries. The area was sealed for several days and weeks.
I realized that if we had still been there, we could have been harmed – co workers, sympathizers, new believers, their families, and I. But we were all spared. God worked in so many different mighty ways. The incident taught me a lesson in trust. So when things don’t seem bright and right, I know that everything is in God’s control and he keeps the apple of his eyes on safe grounds.