The banner photo is of the new 8.9 kilometer bridge that connects Cebu to Mactan Island. Our driving time from southern Cebu to the home of Abbey’s sister on Mactan Island was reduced by over two hours.

This collection of writings is comprised of stories from the Philippines!

 Walking with Jesus into the Darkness

   The following is a story about God’s grace following (Mike Garner) a young man into the darkness of the U.S. military’s sanctioned abuse of the women of the Philippines. The story takes place mainly in the year 1976. As a young religiously devout kid from California, a product of Pentecostalism and the Jesus movement in Costa Mesa he faces a dark reality with faith. The primary purpose of this piece is to express the divine aid of God in a life trying to do right. There is more to Mike’s choices than merely ‘white Knight syndrome’. This is affirmed in his life’s stories. Over the course of a long life (that is not yet over) he has continued to move faithfully through the decisions that were made by him as a young man.

From Fuji to Okinawa to the Philippines 

  I was in a helicopter squadron in the USMC. We transported our Cobra Helicopters in C-130’s and flew from Okinawa to a base below Mt. Fuji Japan for cold weather training. Upon completion we returned to Okinawa to load our Cobra helicopters aboard the USS Tripoli, a light carrier amphibious assault ship, to head for the Philippines.

A Child of Empire / Crossing A Bridge

   Upon arriving in the Philippines, we were sent to an orientation class. We soon learned that our little piece of the USA on the largest overseas military base in the world (262 sq. miles) sat in stark contrast to the city across the river whose stench garnered the name ‘shit river’. On the base were American style housing tracts, movie theatres, go cart tracks, churches, golf courses and access to all the products one would have in the USA. We were separated by a few bridges; the Magsaysay bridge was the busiest.

     The orientation class was about the area (Olongapo City) where we were to experience the Philippines; however I would leave the boundaries of Olongapo many times despite the sign at the exit to Cabalan that forbade us. The empire’s forces did not blend well with the poverty outside the gate. One of the orientation teachers was the protestant chaplain. He explained to us how throwing coins into the river for the begging children (boys) who would capture the coin under water and return with it between their teeth as though they had caught it with their mouth, led to an early death for most all the boys. He also told us it was impossible to live a Christian life in Olongapo, so we should avoid impregnating any of the many young girls and women who populated the bars (nearly 40,0000 at the height of the Vietnam era). I lost all respect for the chaplain in that class.

   It was the mid-seventies and martial law was in force under the rule of Ferdinand Marcos. One evening on my way into the City, while crossing the bridge just outside the gate of the base, I was overcome with anger. I was angry because of the way Olongapo was celebrated  by military personnel instead of being wept over. Although we had been asked during our orientation not to throw money into the brown water of the river for the young boys to dive in after, no one listened.

   These boys’ beautiful black hair would turn orange-blond from the pollutants in the river. Most of them would die within a few years from the effects of the water on their health. It was a painful spectacle to watch these boys - their skin burnt from the sun. Yet, they smiled, laughed and dove into the water to perform for the American GIs that threw in the equivalent of pennies. They dove into the murky brown smelly water; in moments they would arise from the darkness of the river smiling with the coin held in their mouth. This particular evening, I was not in a good mood. I knew these Sailors were killing these young boys who dove into this nasty water for a mere pittance. I began to punch my fellow soldiers, slap them in the head, and push them and tell them, "You are killing these boys. Why don't you just give them the money?" I made my way across the bridge yelling and punching and kicking, fortunately no one hit me - they all seemed dumbfounded by my behavior, a few were laid out on the ground (not a Christian response, but I was young, ignorant, and a Marine).  After reaching the other side I jumped the railing and gave all the boys paper money that amounted to more than the coins for which they were diving. I asked the boys to go home - they didn't.

    In the evenings, the crossing of the bridge was more pleasant. Some girls would dress in flamboyant native dress and sing from small three-person Bangka boats. Two Filipino guys would row the boat as the girl would sing. People on the bridge would throw coins into the canoe. The coins that did not make the canoe were hunted for by the young boys the next day. 

   The few the proud the drunken Marines and the drunken sailors were a bunch of misguided egotistical hell's angels with uniforms instead of motorcycles and leather jackets. America's military representation was no longer that of liberators from Japanese imperialism, but of an oppressor exhibiting arrogance more than compassion. However, in time I would learn that America’s first interaction with the Philippines was as a conquering empire (Philippine/American War 1898-1903).

    Olongapo City impacted me as a place depicted in a last day's Christian tract with images of sin and debauchery; tracts were small 2 by 4 comic book like stories that served as a popular evangelistic tool in the early seventies. One evening I was walking the street and half a dozen young girls grabbed me and pulled me into an open store front with stairs leading up to a massage parlor. They were groping me and laughing and telling me I was so handsome and how they wanted to give me a massage. They were quite forceful and I had to become quite aggressive in order to break free from their group hold on me. I can imagine a few innocent guys getting pulled into the debauchery by girls forcefulness.

 Read my blog on U.S. Complicity for the Sex Industry in the Philippines and a brief introduction to U.S. history and the Philippines.

    Unlike my fellow Marines, I was struggling with how to respond to this horrid mess of bars and abject poverty. There was a Christian Serviceman Center just across the bridge. I went there only to be discouraged by the few guys who hung out there and had no heart to help the victimized women and the struggling poor. I began walking the bar lined streets of Olongapo; there were two parallel streets outside the base. One was for American Servicemen of African Heritage and the other for us lighter skinned guys. At 11:30 all the bars shutdown and no one was to be on the street by midnight when martial law required everyone to be inside. Imagine nearly 40,000 women and at times tens of thousands of military servicemen all on the street. Some of the servicemen were trying to return to base, others were going to the women’s small rooms that generally shared a kitchen, shower area and toilet with others. When curfew was lifted (early in the morning) servicemen could be seen running to get to the base, to work, or to their ship on time. Often these GI’s were shoeless and shirtless, they had left their clothes behind as payment for their night of sex.

I began meeting children and adults fathered by unknown U.S. servicemen from my first time there in the military and throughout the years during my stays and at present 20 times to enter the Philippines. The first mestizo I met was 19 years old, a street hustler. Aside from his thick Tagalog accent he looked more like his unknown father than his mother. He had brown curly hair, a thick beard, and a hairy chest. I had never met a more wild child in all of my life. He knew the ‘ins and outs’ of living in Olongapo and I was amazed at his ability for capitalizing off the presence of prostitution, gambling, U.S. servicemen, and buying and selling pawned items. He had grown up on the streets and it was all he knew. Estimates for the number of children born from the presence of U.S. servicemen in Subic (Olongapo) and Angeles City outside the Clark airbase number at 30,000 per year.

Meeting Joseph Laxamana

    A Puka shell necklace street salesman named Joseph approached me and asked why I did not enter the bars like the rest of the U.S. soldiers. My friend Abe was with me, and we explained we were Christians. Joseph invited us out to his small Bahay kubo (a bamboo hut) in Pampanga amidst the sugar cane fields. He took us to the sugar cane factory where he worked and helped us obtain a stack of Tagalog Bibles. I had a plan to enter the bars and witness to the girls about my faith and give them a Bible.

    Abe pulled a few of us together and collected enough money to help Joseph build a larger house. His Bahay kubo or nipa hut, was only ten feet square and he had five children! After Joseph expanded his home, we helped him with some cash for furniture.

I spent the night at Joseph’s home several times before he enlarged it with the gifts we provided. He feared the local NPA would harm me so he did not want me to go out and night and relieve my bladder, instead I urinated in a pot. I thought to myself, ‘Now I know what the saying, not a pot to piss in means’. One morning after a breakfast of Duck eggs, dried fish and rice, Joseph and I were outside chatting when two U.S. fighter jets flew incredibly low over our heads. I wondered how I would feel if foreign fighter jets flew over my home. I wondered if we were in fact the good guys.

One evening Joseph asked me to attend a basketball game because he was on one of the teams. The basketball court was dirt and the hoops lacked any kind of netting. Basketball is the Philippines favorite sport, there are backboards, hoops, and makeshift courts everywhere. The crowd was packed around the court so tightly that I felt the need to find a better vantage point from which to view the game. So, I climbed up on the corrugated metal roof of a small shelter. Shortly thereafter so many kids climbed up to be near me that the building began to sway back and forth, I had to jump down before the entire building collapsed.

Joseph wanted to take me out to eat at a local karinderya. He asked me if I wanted some Aso and Rice. I replied, “Sure, sounds good, i’m hungry”. As we were eating I asked Joseph, “What is Aso?” He responded, “Dog”. I had already learned to enjoy eating dried fish and the dog tasted better than my first taste of dried fish so I kept on eating. Along the rice and sugar cane fields of Pampanga eating dog in a karinderya was not uncommon in 1976. On another occasion I just asked for some meat and rice. As I was eating meat off of some small ribs I realized I was eating a really little dog.

Later, because my squadron had returned to Okinawa my only friend was Joseph who stood in as my best man at the wedding ceremony.

Late Nights Rushing to the Gate

Nympha and I were attending the church on Hansen St. each evening and enjoying the Pizza place where folk singers and food was all that was, if you will, ‘on the menu’. When the Pizza place closed at 11:30 I would walk Nympha back to her room in the boarding house near the church. This often put me in a rush to get back to the gate and on the base before midnight. There was always something happening on the streets of Olongapo. I was making my way back and had only five more minutes to get to the gate. There was a lot of noise coming from a dark alley and I stopped to stand in the inset area of a bar entrance thinking that it was best if I not be seen until the noise was over. Then I heard the distinct sound of clomping cowboy boots and the laughter of a drunken American. There he was, one of my helicopter plane captain friends! He was always a wild one. He was laughing and opened his wallet to expose a large bundle of cash. He told me some Filipino guys tried to mug him but he beat them all up and took their money. I wondered if perhaps he just mugged someone and took their money. My economic situation was pressing so I just went ahead and grabbed a big wad of cash from the leather wallet and walked rapidly to the gate with Phil.

Another night I hit the peak moment when the crowd of women and soldiers were on the streets to get home or in the gate before midnight. The U.S. military personnel were headed towards the gate, most of the women were headed the opposite direction to their boarding houses. We were just a mass of conflicting flesh all moving, rubbing, bumping, and girls still grabbing soldiers to take them home. I looked up for a moment and saw the oldest bar girl on the street, her makeup caked on to hide the years. She locked eyes on me and I kept trying to avoid her as the crowd swayed and I was unable to determine my own path. Then there she was the oldest bar girl in Olongapo right in front of me. She grabbed my head and planted it in between her chest and said, “Handsome boy you want to come home with me”. I struggled to get loose from her!

The Navy Shore Patrol was often out on the streets to keep U.S. military personnel out of trouble. I was running late to get to the gate and the crowd was mostly dispersed. I saw a young guy spinning around on a street sign pole and laughing. Two shore patrol personnel were swinging their billy clubs at him and another was on the ground. Then I recognized him, another one of our squadron’s personnel. It was Gary, he had been a golden gloves boxing champion in Jersey and Phil was his best friend. Phil showed up from somewhere and encouraged Gary to stop fighting and run. I just ran along behind them and we all made it back to the gate.

The next morning we were to have a PFT (Physical Fitness Test). I had been running several miles each day to the gate, impatient to wait for the bus. I was 5’8” and 129 lbs. of lean muscle and could run all day. Phil and Gary were in good shape but both of them were still drunk when we woke up at 4:00 am to meet for out PFT. Running on the road along the thick triple canopy rain forest in the humidity of the Philippines can drain one’s energy quickly. The officers were out running with us on this occasion. Phil and Gary were determined to beat the officers on the run in spit of their condition. I ran ahead of them and they did beat the officers but were laughing while throwing up at the finish line. Sadly, after we all came in a lone ‘newbie’ officer in his pride decided not to take the thirty days to assimilate to the weather and participated in the run. He was obviously in trouble, he was moving slower than a normal walking pace and thought he was running. A couple of the other younger officers ran to him and walked him in. He was a new pilot added to our squadron but we never saw him again.

Meeting Nympha (Trinidad)

   I had entered quite a few different bars; some were too loud to talk to the many bargirls that filled each one. I should mention that when you went into a bar you were likely to experience the signal of any girl that liked you rubbing your pants where you were most sensitive. I had to learn to protect myself from these casual actions that took place in the bars. Eventually I entered a country western bar and met the bar girl that would become my wife for the next forty years. She passed away in 2017 after suffering for years with terminal illness and the revisiting of the trauma that had been her early life. Together we had two children. I later adopted one of her two sons born before I met her. They were both left with family. the oldest with his Filipino father, and the other an unknown service man’s son with her sister. Her grandmother had called her Nympha but her given name was Trinidad.  

   I sat down at a table with several bar girls and handed Nympha a Bible and told her she needed to know Jesus. She responded with her limited English, “You give it to me! For free!” “Don’t cost me nothing?” “Yes” I responded to her. She asked me “What is your name?” I responded, “Mike.” She says, “Where did you come from?” I responded, “I live in California.” Her next line was nearly predictable, “How old are you?” I realized her ability to speak English was very limited. I later learned that the questions she asked were rehearsed phrases that her grandmother had taught her. Nevertheless, we continued to attempt conversation. My Filipino friend Joseph had been teaching me Tagalog phrases and words, which I had been studying everyday. Our communication was truly limited to basic statements.

     I had learned of an Assembly of God church down a small side street only a block away from the bar lined Magsaysay Dr. where I met Trinidad. The church held two-hour evening services seven days a week. The church was a great release from the life on the streets of Olongapo. There were only a few of us U.S. servicemen at the church services.

   I went back to the base that evening thinking about the girl I had met and wondering about my own feelings. The next evening, I went to the church and there she was! I went and sat next to her; she was cordial but disinterested in me. The preacher’s words were captivating her. His name was Rudy Guevara he was a Filipino national that has since gone on to be with the Lord. When Rudy gave the altar call that night Nympha was the first one to respond and ran to the altar. She cried out over and over, “Buligan mo ako Panginong ko. Buligan mo ako Panginong ko.” Meaning, “Help me, Lord. Help me, Lord.” She finally got up from the altar after a half-hour of crying and praying.

   I asked her if she would like to go downtown for pizza with me. She accepted and so we went and ate pizza, drank pineapple juice and listened to a Filipino folk singer as he sang songs by Neil Young, Cat Stevens, and Bob Dylan. I enjoyed the pizza place a great deal. I would take Nympha there every night after church, as long as I had some money. Every evening at church Nympha would respond to the altar call and cry and weep with lots of tears and say, “Buligan mo ako Panginong ko.” “Buligan mo ako Panginong ko.” Because Nympha had been raised in Catholicism she knew of Jesus the son of Mary, but not of Jesus the son of God. She had a little area in her room for some statues of Mary. I told her she did not need them because she could talk directly to God. She broke her statue and said, “This statue it never helped me anyway.”

Another one of my favorite pastimes was to attend the movies at the local movie theatre to watch Chinese martial arts movies. I enjoyed marital arts and had become quite skilled with some nunchucks and Filipino fighting sticks. I also enjoyed watching Filipino movies starring the child actor Nino Muhlach. Nino Muhlach was for me like watching Spanky from the Our Gang series. On one occasion Nympha and I were seated in a balcony watching a movie when an earthquake shook the place. The people all panicked and were trying to get out. I just sat still, not knowing that in the Philippines the older concrete structures were prone to collapse in an earthquake!

The photo above is of Mike Garner preaching at the Chruch on Hansen St. in 2006. The original church had suffered a fire but was rebuilt.

 The Church on Hansen St.

   When Trinidad (she preferred her given name as she got older) recalled those evenings at the little church on Hansen streets she says, “I don’t know why, I was just itching all over and knew I needed to go down to the front and accept Jesus. I used to be Catholic, but they never taught me about Jesus. I needed Jesus to help me because my life was like living a nightmare.” She says, “I really didn’t pay any attention to Mike because I needed Jesus. When Mike told me he loved me, I didn’t know what love was but he taught me.”

     I remember when I first walked the streets of Olongapo, alone and at night. I felt a terrible presence of evil, and while thinking of how I would lead people to Christ, this presence seemed to say in my thoughts, “Not here, this is my place, you can do nothing here.” I responded in my thoughts, “We will see about that.” How could I stand against a system that was condoned by both the U.S. and Philippine governments? How could a voiceless Marine Corp Corporal make a difference? In the end I stole from Olongapo a life that had been claimed and a soul that was lost. Throughout the years I would pray for the collapse of the system that kept Olongapo alive. I was blessed to return multiple times in the early 2000’s leading STM trips for bible college students. We were able to bless and help some of the girls. The work of my friend Shay Cullen of the PREDA Foundation was inspirational to me. He is an admirable servant of God, an exemplar of faith, a man who walked into the darkness without fear and brought light. The PREDA Foundation is a major NGO that resisted the trafficking of women and continues to rescue children from the streets. I was blessed to have Shay write a cover recommend for my book, Theopoetics.

PREDA Foundation  

    It seems I had been influential in bringing someone to Christ after all. Only problem was that I was in love with her, and she was one of the bar girls out of a club! Our evenings at the pizza parlor had led to walks and meetings during the day. Trinidad had quit her job in the club the night after she came to Christ, this decision left her with no income. A few goons came from the bar to take her to work and learned I was supporting her. Later, they returned again and said I would have to pay for her to be able to quit her job. I told them I didn’t have any tolerance for their thinking they owned another human being and to get out of my face. It was a tense moment, I made them understand that I was not fearful of them or their threats. There was three of them and in God’s grace they decided it was best to leave me alone.

   Trinidad had long beautiful streaming black hair that went down past her waist. However, she had only half a comb with half of the teeth missing. When she smiled, she had perfect teeth, but only her front teeth, for her mouth was filled with cavities. She loved people and loved to laugh and talk, she was full of compassion for others despite her own need (she did not change over the years). Her idea of a refrigerator was a wooden shelf with a curtain in front of it where she kept a bowl of old rice to eat. All her possessions could be placed into a small suitcase, and all of it an American would have thrown away.

     All naivety about the benevolent goodness of humanity existing within structures of legitimized violence was lost in a moment as I walked the streets of Olongapo. The systemic abuse of young women to relieve the sexual appetite of young and old soldiers was not representative of my concept of American virtue. The harsh contrast of wealth and poverty was an intolerable injustice.

    After three sleepless nights of wrestling with both myself and the silence of God, I chose to marry Nympha, for God was only silent because I already knew what I was to do. Once I made this decision God’s silence ended and my faith brought God into the world. Later in life I would learn the book of Hosea and learn that my experience was similar to Hosea’s.

During this time I was running from our barracks to Nympha’s boarding house each day after work. The bus came by our barracks every couple of hours but in my concern for her safety waiting for the bus was not an option. I was suffering dysentery and had become very thin yet still fit and muscular from running and working each day. During work I was walking in the hangar and braced my stance to remain upright because I momentarily experienced a blackout. I did go to the hospital and was given some medicine. While roaming the halls of the hospital I ran upon a wing where men were suffering from tropical illnesses and other diseases.

After work we rode up a hill from the airfield hangars to the barracks in the back of a grey colored military pick up. There was eight of us in the back of the truck. One was a sergeant (named Everett) who had been in the marines for ten years. He was bragging about having sex with, in his words, “A beautiful transvestite with a breast job”. I really didn’t like him at all. The guys told him I was marrying a girl I met out in town. He said, “You’re going to marry one of these ‘flips’”. This angered me so I reared my right arm back intending to punch him in the face but hit the tailgate so hard with the back of my arm that it opened and two of us fell out and rolled onto the asphalt. Sgt. Everett was the first one out of the truck to help me up. I think he knew he offended me and needed to calm me down.

When I made it to Nympha’s room I had to lie down on the bed, she put a fan on me and bought me some gin to help with my suffering. I was feverish and sweating. If my superiors knew I was this sick it would interfere with my effort to marry Nympha and bring her to the U.S. Feeling a lot of stomach discomfort I got up to use the common toilet that served several of the rooms. I was wearing a t-shirt and Levis. My pants filled with diarrhea before I got to the door. Inside was a bucket and faucet for showering so I cleaned myself up but was too sick to bother with my pants. I called Nympha over and cracked the door to show her what had happened. She got me a towel and I went back to bed until morning when I had to get up for work at 4:00 am. Later, Nympha told me she paid an old clothes washing lady to take care of my pants.

Initially I had to obtain approval from the U.S. military to marry Nympha, which was normally a six-month process. After a bold walk into the base commander’s office, (curiously no one stopped me as I walked past Marines in their dress blues). I received permission three days later in the form of a letter delivered to my squadron’s offices. Surely, God was with me in all my youthful acts of determination and faith. The marriage approval process normally took six months. After our wedding I began the visa paperwork. I was told the process to obtain a visa normally took over a year. This was unacceptable for me and so with my raw faith I moved forward.

 Meeting Nympha’s Family

      Our next step to marry required Trinidad’s birth certificate, a letter from her parents, and a letter from my parents to approve our marriage plans. Nympha and I called my parents via a phone that required we say over as we conversed back and forth. When they learned I planned to marry my mother says my dad laid on the floor pretending to pass out. They sent the letter and a copy of my birth certificate with the fastest available mail service. I was 20 and Nympha became 21 one day prior to our eventual marriage date. We took a Victory Liner Bus from Olongapo to Manila to catch a flight to the city of Tacloban on the island of Leyte where Trinidad’s family lived in the town of Lapaz.  

     The road to Manila was all dirt with lots of potholes and ran through the sugar cane fields of Pampanga. The bus would pull over and pick up a club-footed young boy of about 12 or 13, he was an acapella singer and would walk the aisle of the bus collecting tips and blessing all with his powerfully beautiful voice. The bus would stop to let him out and he would cross the road to catch the next bus back to where he was picked up. He road back and forth on the busses all day, singing and earning some money for his livelihood.

     After arriving in Tacloban late in the evening we stayed with Nympha’s older sister Norma. Norma had a small store near the open air market. She sold mangoes and other fruits throughout the year. Early in the morning I went to take a shower and was told to walk down between the narrow space that separated the buildings. Norma’s storefront sat inward from the wall of the store next door. It was a passage about two feet wide. The ground had some boards on it to walk on rather than the mud from the evening rain. There was a piece of corrugated roofing metal placed to mark where the ‘shower’ area was. There was a spigot and a bucket, I hung my clothes on some nails in the wall and turned on the spigot. It ran very slow so I had to fill the bucket and use the plastic pot floating in the water to wet and rinse my body. Between the walls of the two buildings it was dark, wet, and a bit smelly. Then I heard a pig on the other side of the roofing metal begin to snort and bump the barrier of corrugated metal roofing. After showering I stepped out into the street, I was the first one up and the street was beautifully empty. As the sun began to rise and I viewed this strange new world, I knew I would return one day and start a church in this city.

Later that morning we rode a jeepney to the bus depot located along the harbor. A jeepney is an old diesel jeep converted into a brightly decorated passenger vehicle. Jeepneys are the major form of public transportation, however many only move people around within the city in which they work while a few make long trips. The harbor bus depot was a conglomeration of different busses going to various destinations. The market is located there with an assortment of fish and meat hanging in the open air. Men yelled for any last passengers as their busses were ready to depart. Trinidad and I found a smaller bus headed for Lapaz, (where she was born) and boarded the bus.

    The bus had plywood seats and was filled beyond capacity. The windows were all open and people were packed in like sardines. Some men with chickens and food items climbed on top of the bus to make the trip to Lapaz. Trinidad and I sat together as we began our life’s adventure together. She had her newfound faith in Jesus Christ and the curly-brown-haired American of her childhood dream at her side. We were filled with peace from Christ and an assurance that we were to have a wonderful life of service together.

      We had sent a telegram to Trinidad’s parents to inform them of our trip and our purposes. When the bus stopped, I noticed a tall Filipino man. He was wearing a cone shaped bamboo hat and bore a Fu-manchu mustache, alongside of his leg was strapped a large Bolo knife used for chopping wood, coconuts, bamboo etc. Then Trinidad nudged me and said, “That’s my Dad!” I thought to myself, “Oh boy am I in trouble.” Trinidad’s father Porferio turned out to be a very nice man, although he was an alcoholic addicted to the native drink Tuba, (a fermented concoction of coconut palm sap). Porferio could read and write English and did so with real flair. He had learned to read and write english from U.S. troops in WWII.

 Living History in an Old Father    

     Porferio had read our telegram and was prepared to help me obtain a birth certificate for his daughter. First however, Itay (Dad) had plans to enjoy the afternoon and obtain the birth certificate the next day. He told me that I was like Marco Polo traveling great distances to foreign lands. He shared with me his experiences of fighting alongside U.S. soldiers during the liberation of Leyte. Porferio had been hired by the U.S. military to guide them throughout the island and root out Japanese troops.

     We sat on wooden bench at a table outside a sari sari store; Itay on one side and I on the other. He insisted I taste the local drink ‘tuba’. The tuba made from white sap of the palm tree and was the reddish variety colored with the bark of the Lauan tree. I explained that I practiced abstinence from alcohol consumption. Itay insisted that since I had traveled such great distances, since I was going to marry his daughter and in light of the possibility that he would not see her again, I must drink with him because he was a ‘drinking man’.

    I’m not sure I gave much resistance, eating balute and dried fish required some sort of strong redeeming chaser! So Itay filled my rather large cup with tuba. I took a sip and the tuba needed a chaser it was not a palate pleaser; Itay recommended a little coca cola. We sat and ate, as time passed I consumed my tuba. Quietly so as not to be noticed Itay ensured the glass never emptied.  

    In the midst of stories about life as a Filipino, Itay shared with me his militaristic version of the Lord ’s Prayer. “Our father who art in the states, building great battle ships to fight in the Pacific, great be thy name, thy ships come, thy will be done in the Philippines as in the United States. Give us this day troops to fight and plenty of ammunition, so that we may overcome our enemies, and lead us not into defeat but destroy our enemies. For thine is the power, the might that rules the world.”

    As a young man from a small town I had been struggling with the apparent power of the American empire. The behavior of the U.S. military around Subic Bay I found despicable and inconsistent with all I had ever been told about the honor of the U.S. and her efforts in the world. Itay’s inversion of the Lord’s Prayer was both comical, and tragic. I laughed with him, but through my intoxicated state I knew I would never forget this moment and this prayer.

   I was sitting on a bench like any picnic table bench and if you slide to far near the end without other persons holding down the bench, well it will topple, and you will fall on the ground. I laughed so hard with Itay that I had slid to the end of the bench and fell on the ground. A little later we began making our way back to the family home.

   La Paz was without streetlights, candles and little bottles with some kerosene and a wick provided light for people in their homes. It was very dark; we had been sitting, talking and laughing until late. The clouds darkened the night, blocking the light of the moon and the stars. Itay and I were walking with our arms around one another and singing the Philippine national anthem which he was teaching me line by line, the memorable opening words ‘Bayong Magiliw’ . These words are heard every morning as Filipinos sing their national anthem in school, businesses and malls. The entire town was silent, the candles and lanterns had been extinguished, it was late. The animals were howling back at Itay and I. Then he said, “Ah Oh”, it was Nympha and her mother (Inay). They had come to retrieve the drinking buddies that were disturbing the whole town with our singing.

Writing Trinidad’s Birth Certificate

    Early in the morning we went to the Catholic Church to verify the date of her birth with the local baptismal records. Next, Porferio (Itay) and I went through the records and he showed me an entry for of one of his sons who had died a few days after being born. We found Trinidad’s record, June 4th 1955.

     Porferio insisted that I call him, “Itay”. Itay and I went to the city-hall, there was no one there but the doors were open. He told me that he used to work here and he knew what to do. Within a half-hour Porferio had made Trinidad an official birth certificate. Complete with an embossed stamp and a glue on stamp.

   Over the years I grew to understand and love this man, Porferio. In the following years I would witness his kindness and generosity and learn to understand the subsistence ethic required of the poor. For years, each month I sent Porferio a check for support of the family and to buy birthday and Christmas gifts. When I arrived to visit in 1982, the family had moved to a Barangay in Tacloban. I and my brother in-laws built an extension onto the home. As I spoke with the neighbors I learned that each month Itay shared the small gift I sent the family by purchasing food for others in the little area of Sagkahan. Itay and I communicated by air mail for many years. His poetic eloquence shined in everything he wrote as did his patience and love for his family. Porferio lived a typical Filipino life at a very different time than I had witnessed. When I returned in the eighties Itay began to read the bible, pray, he attended my church meetings and one of my Filipino pastor friends baptized him at the beach.  I will see him again.

After obtaining Trinidad’s birth certificate, Porferio’s youngest son Artemio who was 13 asked me to go walking with him. In Lapaz Leyte most of the children had never seen a white person before. As we walked around literally hundreds of kids came out to see the spectacle of me walking around. The bolder kids would attempt to sneak up and touch my hand then run away. They were shy for the most part and just laughed a lot. I enjoyed their attention.

The Earthquake

       When I write and share some of my stories, I often experience deep-seated reluctance. This is so because my stories are a result of my choices and my life, which is but one amongst the myriads of human beings who have lived and died. I am sure that God watches the unfolding drama of humanity each day and is ever seeking signs of faith mixed in with the struggles of being human. The raw personality holding to faith with unwavering conviction often matures into a different person than when their journey began. Such persons possess a faith that brings God into the world and are unfamiliar with a world where God is only silent, or where nature replaces God.

       Prior to the day of the earthquake - the day that set my life firmly in place and affirmed my choice to be God’s choice - was a series of profound experiences where God touched hearts on my behalf and honored my faith with favor. It is this series of events that make the earthquake more than chance, and so it became a pivotal moment in my faith development.  The entire event is built around experiences that occurred while I was a young man in the Marines, a young man appalled by the abuse of power evident in the exploitation of the Filipina and the Philippines. 

      My squadron was leaving to return to Okinawa and I received permission to remain in the Philippines on two-day rest and relaxation orders. My C.O. (commanding officer) told me to stay as long as I needed. I had been suffering dysentery for a couple of months but I did not return to the infirmary because I knew they would keep me. I had experienced fever and blackouts but I kept going, believing God was with me (and watching).

     It was a typical hot day in the Philippines and I had an appointment with the American Embassy to turn in my wife’s visa application. The U.S. embassy required a $40 waiver fee because Nympha had worked in a bar. The hypocrisy was strikingly evident for me because the system of women and bars was governed over by the U.S. military and my own government required $40 from me, a young enlisted man.

My faith and determination to bring her home with me was immovable. We stood before a woman sitting at her desk. I placed the papers on her desk and asked when I could expect to have the visa approved. She informed me that I had married a foreigner and that it would be months before I heard from the embassy on the visa application. I informed her that I had married this woman and that I was going to bring her home with me. So, I asked if I could take the papers over to the foreign affairs office and to the labor department to be signed rather than wait for some bureaucrat to mail them across town.  

      She placed her hand on the papers and said, “Young man it is against the laaaaaa….” at that moment an earthquake shook the Embassy. The woman looked at me as if I was responsible for the earthquake and handed me the papers. I’m not sure why I wasn’t surprised. Perhaps I had received enough divine favor from God through human beings that the extraordinary was closer to my experienced reality than at other times in my life. For me, this moment, the earthquake, makes believing that Elijah called down lightning an event within my own personal experience. Raw, innocent, uncomplicated faith ready to receive God into the world often belongs to people from the backwoods, the small community. I grew up in a small town near a condor sanctuary and spent a lot of time alone in the mountains and working an orange orchard. I had come face to face with a large cougar (stared it down with a hoe over my shoulder until it ran off) and numerous black bears and other wild creatures; I was not a city boy. I was a Pentecostal with a radical pursuit of God's Spirit melded into my religious training. In my faith God acted on behalf of his servants who walk before him, knowing that God is watching. 

      As a young man, I thought God had provided an earthquake solely for my wife and I. As I grew older, I questioned whether the earthquake was only felt by us and the embassy employee or if God had timed our meeting. Regardless, there was an earthquake and because of that earthquake our visa process was expedited beyond any normal experience. I also recognized the voice that silently shears the human heart had been at work in the people who helped me along the way. Today, I wrestle with the two, the power and the voice. Who God is can be hidden by acts of power, yet God longs for us to know who he is and to hear his voice. God longs to be known for his nature (holiness) not for acts of raw power.

      I quickly took the papers from her hand and went across town to the foreign affairs office where I walked to the front of the line and asked to have the papers signed. Then I went to the Labor Department office, walked to the front of the line, paid a fee and had the appropriate papers signed. No one objected or questioned my actions when I walked past numbers of people to insist my papers be signed immediately. I returned to the U.S. embassy in Manila the same day. I talked my way in to see the woman who handed me the papers. When she saw me she asked how I had fared. I responded that I had the documents signed. She said “Great, when do you want to return and pick up your wife’s visa?” I left that day with an appointment to pick up the visa on July 8th.

   I had to return to Okinawa for two weeks because I was scheduled to rotate back to the U.S. Upon arriving in the U.S. I had ten days leave to drive from California to Camp LeJune in North Carolina.

   A couple of weeks had passed since my squadron had left. I walked out on the airfield to board a C-130 headed for Okinawa whose flight schedule was written on a chalk board. I approached the plane captain and talked my way onto the plane; my two-day R&R papers were obviously outdated!  When I arrived at our squadron offices to inform the C.O. (Major Mitchell) that I had returned. The squadron’s security officer wanted to lock me up, but I walked passed him to the Major’s office. Major Mitchell had told me long before that anytime I needed to talk to him just knock on his door and skip the chain of command. Needless to say, those who outranked me were not happy about this ability to bypass the chain of command.

    Major Mitchel had advised me to get a U.S. Passport and fly back to the Philippines aboard a commercial flight and purchase tickets for my wife and I to fly from the Philippines to California. He also told me to report in at Norton Air Force Base after arriving at LAX.

    I flew in from Okinawa to the Philippines at midnight, it was the era of Ferdinand Marcos’ rule and martial law was in effect. When I arrived at the airport in Manila, I was given an international traveler’s pass to travel at night to Subic. The taxi ride was a wild trip. The driver sped along the pothole filled dirt road, desiring to make the trip as quickly as possible. Somewhere along the stretch through Pampanga a PNP (Philippine National Police) officer jumped out from the sugar cane with his shotgun pointed at us. The PNP officer was not familiar with an international traveler’s pass and the conversation with the taxi driver was loud and intense. He eventually let us continue our journey to Olongapo City. The following day Nympha and I left for Manila, went to the U.S. embassy and picked up her visa. 

    My orders were to take a military flight from Okinawa to Norton Air Force base in California. When I arrived at the counter at Norton (a few days later than my orders) the check-in officer was disturbed and had lots of questions as to how I got from Okinawa to California. However, I was on leave and just told him what I had done, so technically I was not AWOL.

   I had married Trinidad on June 4th 1976, obtained her visa and flew out of the country with her on July 8th of the same year. This is not a normal timeline for obtaining a U.S. visa for a Filipina in 1976. My wife and I flew to the U.S. aboard a commercial flight. One year later, on July 8th, our son was born. 

The banner photo is from 1982 my kids Gregg and Trinity are in the center.

Facing the Challenges

When I rotated back to the U.S. Nympha and I drove from California to North Carolina where I completed my four years in the military. We attended church each Sunday and lived a relatively quiet life renting a mobile home from a farmer. During the transition my service pay records were misplaced and I was not being paid. I had owned a motorcycle which I sold in California prior to driving to North Carolina. The monies from the motorcycle enabled us to live for awhile. .

The challenge of living without a paycheck required borrowing cash from friends and selling a banjo I had bought in Okinawa to sustain Nympha and I. After three months I had ran out of patience and made a ‘request mast’ to speak with a General. My C.O. was a Lt. Colonel and he wanted to know the purpose of my request mast; he assured me he could take care of any problem. I asked, if he could not solve the problem immediately that I would want my request mast to continue. He told me, “Young man, I assure you I can take care of any issue you have and if not you may continue your ‘request mast’ to the General (I do not remember the name of the General).

I explained that I had not been paid in three months and had resorted to borrowing money from friends and selling personal property in order to support my wife and I living off base. He called the disbursing office and spoke to the officer in charge. After being frustrated by the disbursing officers lack of assurance that I would be paid, my C.O. told him, “I am not requesting that you look into this problem, I’m ordering you to pay this young man today for the time he indicates that he has been without pay.” When I arrived at the disbursing office the officer in charge was angry and attempted to take it out on me by ordering that I get a haircut first. I had not gotten a haircut regularly as was my habit because financially I was struggling to survive. I borrowed a dollar from one of my friends and got the haircut. When I returned to the disbursing office a female clerk, a civilian had been told to issue me a check.

She was very kind and had overheard all the conversations between the disbursing officer in charge and how he spoke to me when I arrived. She said to me, ?I suppose they did not pay your wife’s plane ticket from the Philippines to the U.S.” I said no ma’am they did not. She said, “ They pay for the officer’s wives and so today they’re going to pay you for her flight.” She knew that enlisted men were not granted the benefit of payment for flying home your wife if you were married abroad. The average cost allotted was over $800 I do not remember the precise amount. So I left the disbursing office with three months pay plus the bonus of being reimbursed for the purchase of Nympha’s plane ticket. Just another of the many moments when God’s grace used other folks to bless me.

On July 8th Nympha gave birth to our first child, our son Gregg. My parents flew out to be present when their first grandchild was born. In March of 1978 I received an honorable discharge from the USMC as an E-5. I left the Marines and drove to California . I would attend church and work for my father for many years. At the same time I obtained a ministers license from the Assemblies of God, went to college at night and earned my first degree; an A.S. degree in simplified engineering.

In 1982 I had put down $5000 on a home to purchase for my growing family. I was at work when the Lord touched my heart and I felt the need to use the downpayment to go to the Philippines and help my extended family. Michael had not yet been located, Teresita was not in touch with the family. I prayed to be able to get my down payment back without any complications or fines. Once I received the monies I purchased tickets to take my family to the Philippines for a couple of weeks. While we were there I built the family an addition on their small bahay kubo (house), bought Artemio a guitar and helped the other brothers with their needs. After I left the USMC and moved to California, Nympha and I sent packages of gifts often and a monthly check without fail to bless the family.

When we arrived I was busy chatting laughing and thinking. My first thoughts were that staying downtown in a hotel was not an option since the need of Nympha’s family was so great. I thought, “I’m going to have to make this place livable for Nympha and I and our kids.” I took Milly and Artemio with me to buy tools to work with and ordered the materials we needed at the local lumber yard to be delivered. The foundation posts had to be a certain type of tree that was resistant to rotting in the wet ground. Milly borrowed a small cart with wooden wheels that we pushed by hand for a couple of kilometers to buy the posts.

I planned out the addition in my head and built the walls separately, leaning each wall against a coconut tree. This was not how Filipinos built their houses so my building style garnered a lot of attention and laughs.

Nympha was busy evangelizing the ladies. She had bought an abundance of hot pandesal and began teaching the women. Itay had begun roasting his little pig and entertaining his grandson Gregg. Trinity stayed close to her mom for a few days before loosening up and enjoying the company of her cousin Lucy.

In the excitement I had not seen Nympha. She had removed her makeup, changed her dress, and her high heels for the traditional clothing of the women in the barangay. I was calling for her and everyone began to laugh. She was standing near me but blended in with all the women so well that I missed seeing her.

Initially I was unhappy with Itay because he had not used the additional monies I sent him specifically for purchasing a pedicab so his sons could gain some income. A pedicab is a bicycle with a side car for transporting people. However, when the poor of Sagkahan began telling me stories of how he shared with them each month from the monies I sent and how it kept them from hunger, my disappointment was accepting of what I later learned is referred to as the ‘subsistence ethic of the poor’. Basically the ‘subsistence ethic’ of the poor is to share with their neighbors whenever they have a blessing so that the neighbors will likewise share with them.

•  The banner photo is left to right, Luciana (Nympha’s mother) Michael, and his uncle Artemio the youngest of four boys.

 Michael’s Story (Part 1)

Marlon is Nympha’s first and oldest. We would not find Marlon until he was over thirty. Michael is Nympha’s second born son. Michael’s father was an unknown U.S serviceman who likely doesn’t know he left behind a son. The following is Michael’s story. It is made up of my memories and some of Michael’s recollections of his years as a small boy. Michael was 10 years old when I adopted him.

When Nympha told me she had given birth to two sons I was not deterred in my determination to marry her and take her away from the darkness of this world created by the presence of an empire’s military in the midst of an island peoples poverty. It is not an easy decision for a twenty year old man to marry a woman from such a complicated and oppressive past. Her love for Christ and desire to live a life free from the trappings of the world she had crashed into was apparent in all her words and actions. My disdain for the existence of Olongapo and the grace of God in my soul kept me focused with an immovable faith.

I first met Michael one evening when Nympha had him brought over to the boarding house where she lived. He was but a baby in diapers. When he was born, Nympha’s sister Teresita and her husband (a U.S. sailor stationed at Subic Bay named Patrick) were present at this birth and falsified his birth certificate. Nympha identified herself as Teresita and Patrick Sayre as her husband.

I felt no immediate responsibility for Michael’s care since the events that placed him with Patrick and Teresita took place before I had met Nympha. Later in life I would have to pay a doctor to affirm that Teresita had never given birth and was sterile in order to get Michael’s birth certificate changed. I learned in 1983 that Teresita had returned to Leyte to live with the family and Michael was with her. By this time Nympha and I had two children, the oldest Gregg and his little sister Trinity.

During those years prior to gaining contact with Teresita, I had been caring for the family with a check sent via air mail each month. I had also been able to contact Patrick Sayre in hopes he might have heard from Teresita. We were aware that she had Michael and was wasting the monies Patrick had sent her to obtain her visa and come to the U.S. This was a difficult time in Michael’s life. As a young mestizo boy on the streets of Olongapo with a mother (Teresita) still working in the bars he had been living wild and abused.

Michael’s story is that he referred to five different men as Dad over his years with Teresita. He had a scar on the side of his face near his eye where Teresita put out a cigarette. He was left alone and once spent three days in a closet before being released. Michael spent a lot of time just living in the streets and had gotten lost more than once.

When I learned that Teresita had returned to the family with Michael then Nympha and I decided to tell my family. My father asked me how much would it cost to get Michael. Honestly, I expected my trip to get Michael would be filled with God’s miraculous aid and that I would bring him back in just a couple of weeks.

I obtained his birth certificate, flew to Manila, paid for a Philippine passport and got it in one day with a little help from the cash in my pocket. Next step the U.S. Embassy! My naivety drove my faith. I showed up at the U.S. embassy with Michael and a passport and a story, expecting to leave with a visa. There was no earthquake or divine grace touching hearts on this day. Rather, the woman behind the desk this time suggested I might be a pedophile trying to take this boy out of the country. I thought her suggestion absurd, it was obvious that Mike was mestizo, I was completely honest about all the details of who I was and who Mike was, but it was not enough.

I left the U.S. embassy determined to get Michael the brother of my kids and make him a part of our family. After returning to California to our little town, I shared with our church that it was time for me to go to the Philippines and do missionary work while cleaning up the mess of paperwork that prohibited me from bringing Michael home. One year later I had enough funds to leave.

Consider the following section to be a ‘back story’ a brief interlude for the purposes of better understanding the socio-cultural, religious dynamics, family, and small town that formed my younger self.

Introduction to my Early Years

I grew up in Fillmore California, it is a small town in a citrus valley that is located between two rivers and a creek with surrounding mountains. At 13 years of age I worked during the summer with the Braceros who lived in a labor camp near the local packing houses. ‘Braceros’ was the name of a temporary migrant worker program. Although, the program ran from 1942 to 1964 the remnants of its effort remained in the temporary housing built for the workers as one of the surrounding industries birthed to accommodate their labor force. At 5:00 AM my mother would drop me off at the top of the driveway that descended to the labor camp barracks that were built alongside the railroad tracks.  The train tracks ran alongside docking points with the local packing houses for transporting the lemons and oranges harvested from the fields that adorned the Santa Clara river valley.

I was the only white kid picking oranges. Later in life my mother told me that picking oranges was my idea because I wanted to have money to spend. At twelve years old I went to our local post office and filled out the papers for a work permit and a social security card so I could work washing dishes at a local highway restaurant named Henry’s. I also worked a paper route that served the blocks near our home and delivered the papers via my bicycle.  At Christmas time I would scour the local trees down by the creek to pick mistletoe and go door to door selling it neatly bagged with a red bow; my mom helped me package the mistletoe. I had been knocking on doors since I was eight years old, a small boy selling Christmas and all occasion cards in order to select the earned gifts; a BB gun, a record player, a bow and arrow set, and other items that boys enjoyed. I had found this opportunity in an add on the back of my comic books.

I was not a big kid, at thirteen I was a freshman in high school, and was four foot eleven inches tall. The picking ladders were constructed of wood and the larger trees required a five-foot wooden extension in order to reach the top of the trees. It was a challenge to carry the ladder when we moved from one area to the next. However, I enjoyed working with the Bracero’s they were always kind to me and taught me Spanish phrases and words. The jeffe or mayor (boss) of the crew was a Hispanic man named Fred Ortiz. Fred had ten children and lived in an old house across from the primary school, I remember him being a very kind and happy man.

It was a hot sunny day and we were picking a grove of oranges near the dairy on the other side of the Sespe river on the north west side of our little town. This day marked my first encounter with the powers of the U.S. government to interrupt the life of working people. Immigration agents arrived in force, two helicopters, three vans, and multiple men armed with clubs. It was quite a display of power to chase down poor working men. There were only two illegal workers in our crew. One of them stopped and looked at me with fear in his eyes.

It was the summer when the smaller hand carried wood boxes for handling oranges was replaced with large boxes that were lifted onto the trucks with a forklift. I looked at my box, I had been stacking my oranges to one side. I also had a full bag around my shoulder, so I motioned and simply said ‘here’ in Spanish to the frightened man. He stepped inside the box and rolled up as small as he could, I quickly covered him with oranges. The other man was fleeing, a loudspeaker from the helicopter was directing the agents on the ground in pursuit of the man. The fleeing man was captured that day. At thirteen, my thoughts were overcome by the display of power for capturing only one man seeking to send money home for his family.

The following summer Cesar Chavez would bring his labor rights movement to our little town. Once again I was the only white kid out picking. The organizers had begun a strike and the need to harvest the oranges brought an invitation to our High School for the older boys to come out and pick. We were all sent to a grove located next to the packing house and because it was in town it had a chain link fence surrounding it. The organizers of the strike had arranged for a march up through the area we were working. I stepped aside from where I was working to view the parade of protesting workers with their brightly colored signs.

A man called to me and I walked over to the fence, he offered me twenty dollars to hop the fence and join the workers. I explained to him that I was just a kid trying to make a few dollars and didn’t think my continuing to work would have any impact on his efforts. I told him that I was happy he was helping the workers to be paid well and not taken advantage of by the wealthy landowners. Although I was young, I was quite aware of the economic differences that separated people. The owner of the orchard called me over and asked me if I knew who I was talking with and I replied that I did not. He informed me that I was speaking with ‘the man himself, Cesar Chavez’. I should have hopped the fence. Later in life I would teach others about the non-violent work of Cesar Chavez and his successes. The voice of nonviolence has been reaching out to me all of my life. Unfortunately, my church had left behind their nonviolent views and over time became nationalists, subject to militarism.

Over the course of life, I have worked as a farm hand, on oil field worker, a helicopter mechanic, a plumber, a missionary, a pastor, an expert witness, a bible college professor, and now as a writer.

A Church on Every Corner

The main street through Fillmore included the business district and was also lined with churches on most of the corners, on both sides of the street. When the Catholic kids went to catechism we attended a ‘protestant’ version at the Presbyterian church. The Catholic church was across the street. I could not help but notice the disparity of income in the people who populated our AG Pentecostal church and the Presbyterian church. The wealthy and educated populated the Presbyterian church. The Pentecostal church was populated with oil field workers and less educated persons. It was in this AG Pentecostal church where I experienced God and also grew in awareness of the lack of intellectual rigor in my church tradition. It was this same church and people who would send me on my missional journey to get Michael and serve the people of the Philippines with the Spirit and enthusiasm that was part of my experience.

When I had first graduated from High School I attended the AG school in Costa Mesa. At 17 years old I was not prepared for Wellhausen’s JEPD documentary theories. I was a charismatic kid who consistently led people to Jesus. Source criticism was, to me, not an appealing insight that had any real benefit.

The Calvary Chapel movement was being birthed and with my long curly hair I felt more at home in the Jesus movement than in an institutional school. Unfortunately, I was simply young and too immature to adapt to the scholastics of a Bible College. This led to my joining the USMC thinking I would gain some worldly experience, the benefit of the G.I. bill and likely some discipline. Well, I got all that and more; more being an awareness of the vastness of the U.S. empire and a Filipino wife whose innermost self had been harmed by this gargantuan power and by the cruelty of her impoverished life in a nation I have grown to love.

Becoming a Licensed Minister

I had left the USMC March 17, 1978. During that time I had been appointed the ‘protestant lay leader’ of my squadron and enjoyed working with the chaplain. When I was issued a leather flight jacket I wore a leather patch embossed with gold lettering that read ‘preacher’.

It was 1980, I was 24 years old and at the Southern California District Council of the Assemblies of God to interview for a ministerial license. I had been raised in an AG church in Fillmore Ca. The pastor of my youth (Jimmy Guinn) left an enduring impact on my pursuit of Christ.

I entered the room well prepared. I had taken their courses and had been reading from my (at the time) small collection of research resources and theology books. During the interview, I used some theological words like 'ecclesiology' and they all laughed. They explained they were not accustomed to applicants using theological terms. As the interview proceeded I felt accepted and it was apparent they liked me.

Then, they asked me to bring in my wife. She entered the room wearing a dress with heels and a million-dollar smile. I looked at the men in the room, the distinguished leaders of the district, to see their eyes drop to the floor as disappointment replaced their enthusiasm.

I studied the origins of the Assemblies of God and learned of their racist beginnings and failure to work with the 'black' community that first provided for them their ministerial licenses so that they could function as ministers. Bishop Mason of the COGIC (a 'black' denomination) helped the first white Pentecostals but they did not want to work with a 'black' denomination and sought to begin their own movement for white people. I also learned that in California there was a law on the books until 1965 that did not allow 'white' people to marry Filipino people. I was married in 1976. Racism permeates every aspect of American life and history - it must end.

My relationship with the church tradition of my youth was tenuous. I wondered how near illiterate persons could have taken the scripture written in other cultures, in other languages, and decided they were right in all their claims. The sixteen fundamental truths of the AG were not foremost on my mind as I studied and learned beyond my immediate peers. I had a growing library and an unquenchable thirst for reading.

In our AG church, I was introduced to Genesis 22 the Aqedah (the binding of Isaac) at around four years old, the images of this unique event displayed on the flannel board placed upon a wooden tripod are still visible in my memory. Our sweet old Sunday School teacher (Katy) told us Abraham was obedient to God and a great person of faith. My thoughts were in shock, as a small child I had embraced my own doctrinal stance that consisted of two songs. First, Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so, and Jesus loves the little children all the children of the world, red and yellow black and white they are precious in his sight Jesus loves the little children of the world. So I thought adults suffered some form of craziness to think God would even ask a father to kill his son. I tell this story because it attests to my existential leanings even as a small child. It also affirms a deep religious devotion being formed within me at an early age.

When our blessed pentecostal preacher (James Guin) would preach on Sunday nights I chose to sleep on the front row. I thought if some of the saliva from his enthusiastic Spirit anointed preaching would land on me when he left the platform to get closer to the people then I would be more like him. He was more lover than Bible Scholar. Later when our teenage youth group exploded with barefoot long haired kids he was all for us!

 Grace and Missions

Setting the Scene

I had a budget of $800 a month and enough immediate cash to purchase plane tickets for my family. I contacted Jim Curtis an AG missionary located in Manila who had lived in Leyte and built a few churches in there for AG trained pastors. We spent a night at his house prior to leaving for Tacloban City. In Tacloban he had leased a second home in a development on the outskirts of the city. Initially we lived in this home for $100 a month until we rented a home a few blocks away. When we moved Cora left and we added another Yaya, her name is LynLyn. She would eventually attend Zion Bible Institute and marry Pastor David Pica. I have worked with David and Lyn on several occasions in the early 2000’s and in 2016.

After placing our suitcases into the mission home in Tacloban we left to go to Sagkahan and bring Michael to our new home. He would meet his mother and brother and sister for the first time. He was 9 years old, malnourished and a typical little Filipino kid at home in the barangay. Initially our days were busy settling in, purchasing bunk beds for the boys, and a bed for Trinity. Our first Yaya or (helper) was Cora. She worked for the Curtis’ and lived in a small room separate from the house at the back of the lot. Within a month we added a helper named Ining who walked the kids to school and helped Nympha with the cooking. After we

My first friend in Tacloban ‘James Balista’ had been Jim’s traveling partner and was on Jim’s payroll. James and I are still friends. James drove me around in an old green van that was used for transporting the Bible college students at Zion Bible Institute. ZBI was originally founded on the island of Samar by Pastor Levis Montes. Levis and his family immigrated to the U.S.; at the time of this writing they have been living in California for over thirty years.

I was awaiting my tax return to purchase a jeepnee like passenger vehicle. In the meantime, James had an old Suzuki 80 leaning against a banana tree that was not running. James had a larger 80’s style dirt bike that he rode. I took the Suzuki downtown and managed to get it running. Each evening I would drive into the Tacloban market to purchase our evening meal and daily food. One day I took my entire family, all five us, on the Suzuki across the San Jaunico bridge to Samar; just a little family sightseeing jaunt.

With the help of James’ brother Gunder we rented a large room at Leyte College and began holding church services. For our services at Leyte College we used a ‘minus one sing along karaoke machine’ - small PA with a cassette tape player and microphone plug ins. During the week I use the minus one machine for holding evangelistic meetings in the Barangays that surrounded the City. First, I went to the local hardware store ran by Robert Yao to purchase a hundred feet of Romex cable with plug ends for a lengthy extension cord. Barangays usually had a community meeting place where we could set up and have singers and seating for people. We had to arrange our events with the local Barangay captains. These were outreaches to the poorest people in the city. They were our first church attendees aside from the small group of college youth Gunder had been teaching.

This was the beginning of Living Word Christian Center in Tacloban City. When I left, I asked Levis to become the pastor and he bought land and put up a building. The church grew into three separate locations with others to serve as the pastor because people could not afford the cost of traveling from the far side of the city.

I enjoyed preaching at LWCC. I worked with various persons as my interpreters; James Balista, Gunder Balista, Levis Montes, and a Foursquare pastor named Jessie. After the church in Tacloban was doing well, I began traveling throughout Leyte, Biliran Island and over to Cebu to preach in churches and bible schools. Initially James was my traveling partner. Rolito Cruz also made a few trips with me. After a few months I began traveling alone in order to keep the schedule I had made to preach in churches that had been established by graduates of Zion in Leyte and of IBC (Immanuel Bible College) in Cebu.

  Stories from Southern Leyte

On one occasion James Balista and I were in the school’s green van on our way to a wedding in Southern Leyte. It was my first trip to a town past Sogod. We were driving at night and James was the first to spot the bed of an approaching dump truck was loaded with NPA (New People’s Army) insurgents all carrying M-16 rifles was driving towards us. James put his hand on the back of my head and forcefully pushed me into the floorboard of the passengers seat. He said, “Mike its NPA get down.” James feared they might take me hostage. When we arrived at the church there was a large foxhole dug at the rear of the building for the congregation to shelter from firefights between the NPA and the Philippine military.

The wedding was a pleasant event and I enjoyed the feast afterwards. However, I had not yet learned that when eating one small particular squid the crunchy cartilage had to be removed because it was poisonous. My room for the evening was on the second floor of an old wooden house and I slept on a bamboo bed. The owner of the house locked me in the room and the door to the open air window was locked from the outside also! He feared if I looked out the window at night I might be shot. He locked the door fearing that if I got up I might be seen and shot, so he left me a pot on the floor to relieve myself.

As I slept the slats of bamboo (normally quite comfortable) began to feel like iron bars, I had a fever and was sweating profusely. The poison from the squid cartilage (no one noticed I did not remove the cartilage when eating) was hitting me severely. I stood up wanting to open the window door and could not. I attempted to open the room door and could not, so I threw up on the room floor and was to sick to speak so I layed down. I threw up two more times before falling fast asleep. When I awoke in the morning the floor was clean and shiny and I was greeted with smiles and breakfast.

James had figured out that it must have been the squid and asked me if I had removed the cartilage with his big smile and boisterous laugh. I said, “No James I just thought it was crunchy and easy to eat”. I still eat that tasty little squid but these days I pull out that cartilage! Although during my stay in the Philippines while in the military I had learned to like dried fish, eat balute and century egg, I had not been introduced to this tasty but potent lill squid.

On occasion, James and I would travel to Southern Leyte and use the busses. These are full sized passenger busses. As we passed through the mountains there was an area where a mudslide had washed most of the road away. When a bus came to this point and another bus was coming from the opposite direction the first to arrive to the narrow passing went ahead and the other waited. At this point many of us would climb out the window to relieve our bladder behind the nearest tree. The reason for using the window as an exit is because lots of folks were getting off the bus to relieve themself and the bus driver might drive off without you if you took too long. So, when your sitting at the back of the bus, the fastest way in and out was via the window.

The buses also attracted slick pick pockets who worked elaborate schemes to pick pocket a foreigners wallet. For example, a person drops a few coins and behaves as if this is all the money they have. During the commotion the easiest target is the person sitting on the aisle seat with their wallet in their back pocket on the aisle side. In the loud chatter and everyone moving to get out of the way the companion of the one who dropped the coins would releive their target of their money, perhaps put the wallet back too after emptying it. To avoid these kind of encounters I usually sat in the back and carried my money in my shoe.

Meeting Pastor Ray Nemenzo

Pastor Ray Nemenzo and his wife Emerose are delightful people. Like James and his wife Lily, they have become lifetime friends. It was late when James and I arrived in Sogod so we enjoyed a meal and went to bed. We slept on bamboo beds with mosquito nets at a room in the back of the church. There was a large foxhole behind the church here also. That evening it rained and the mosquitos were unstoppable. Jame and I put on our clothes, covered our bodies with the bed sheet and yet the mosquitos kept us awake most of the night. In the morning we were up with the sun to enjoy a wonderful Filipino breakfast. Ray was concerned because the mosquitos had favored me with hundreds of bites including some on my face! Regardless, we went to the river that flowed clear, cold, and swiftly from the mountain. We all took a smooth stone, sat out in the middle of the river where the water was flowing about 18 inches deep and rubbed our bodies clean with the stone.

It was Sunday morning so we dressed for church. I was speaking and wore Filipino style clothes, a barong, black slacks and dress shoes. Ray was my interpreter, side by side we passionately preached to the folks that came down from the mountain for service. After about an hour and a half I was ready to stop. Ray elbowed me in the side and said, “Mike these people came a long way to hear you preach today. We’ve got all day, don’t stop yet”.

On another occasion Ray had me return to be the speaker for the youth camp sponsored by the churches of Southern Leyte. I think this was the trip that I brought my boys along; both Gregg and Michael. Michael was happy to eat balut during the bus ride to So. Leyte. He had bought a couple hot ones at the bus depot in Tacloban on our way out of the city. They were fascinated by the large (16”) Tokay lizard referred to by Filipinos as tuko. Tuko is phonetically closer in sound to the loud cry of the lizard that often goes on throughout the night. Gregg and Michael’s tuko spent the night on the wall near their bunk bed. I don’t know what I was thinking but I took them past military points where fifty caliber machine guns were hidden behind bamboo blinds. I suppose I had made enough trips to Southern Leyte to know how to avoid the NPA.

Ray and I had a joyous time speaking for the youth. Ray was my interpreter and each night the youth would be so moved that they ran in mass to the front with their hands in the air, weeping and calling on God. They also had a ‘Jesus March’ on the streets of the town we were in. Ray and Emerose came to visit Nympha and I in Tacloban, he was very happy to see the growing group of people we had in our Sunday service at Leyte Colleges. On occasion we had around 300 adults and an abundance of children.

Ray had prepared for a crusade type event in the grass field of the school. There was a nice stage with lights and we preached to a good number of people. I really have no idea how many because the lights were focused on the stage, it was dark where the people were and the light was blinding for us on the stage. We did have an altar call and a good response. Prior to the closing of the night I was sitting in one of the chairs on the platform. A large insect kept diving for my head and I would duck and attempt to slap it away. The crowd was laughing, then I hit the insect to the ground and they laughed louder. The insect looked just like a fly only it was the size of a man’s hand. I thought they must have prehistoric flys out here in the jungle areas and stomped it dead with my foot; I was wearing black dress boots, slacks, and a barong.

In later years (2007) I would bring a group of young people on an STM trip to Ray’s church in Cebu where he worked both his church and a ministry to help people who scavenged at the Lapu Lapu dumpsite. It is the same dumpsite that my wife Abbey and I brought meals for the people through the years of 2017 to 2022.

On one of my trips I was walking alone through the Palm trees and Nipa homes when I saw a tall, older man of African heritage. In my naivety I assumed he was an American man. I smiled and said, “Hey man, how are you?” He responded in his thick Samarenyo accent (Samarenyo is the language of the Waray Waray people in Leyte) “I’m going for a walk.” So I asked him where he came from and he told me, “I’m a souvenir of WWII”.

Note: Southern Leyte is in the present (2023) is home to beautiful resorts, white sand beaches, and an abundance of beautiful caves to explore. The Philippines is a tourist friendly nation and foreigners can expect kindness everywhere (as long as you stay away from the seedy places in the cities). These days across the archipelago’s 7,641 islands tourism is a primary business for Filipinos. Its more fun in the Philippines!

 Zion Bible College

My friend Levis Montes was the person who began Zion Bible College on the island of Samar with the help of James. These two guys were pioneers of the AG group in Leyte and Samar. The U.S. AG missionary James Curtis brought needed finances into the life of these Filipino Pastors. James took me to the Cebu district to obtain ministerial license with the Visnomian District of the AG. He helped me obtain my drivers license and introduced me to traveling on a regular basis. James was the presbyter of the churches in Leyte.

Zion had been built in a swamp, the school’s property was all raised via loads of dirt from dump trucks. One of the rules was to never step into the swampy water surrounding the school because the area was filled with the parasite that causes schistosomiasis. Nearby was a center for studying the parasite, and the disease in hopes of curing infected persons.

The chapel building at ZBI was the only concrete building at the time. Early each Sunday morning I would drive out in my small passenger truck to pick up ZBI students to teach Sunday School classes at our growing church, Living Word Christian Center located in Leyte Colleges. James was the president of Zion Bible Institute (at the time it was an institute) and invited me to teach at the school. I taught for a semester but enjoyed traveling and preaching more and did not continue once the semester was over.

I was writing on a small chalk board and teaching a class at Zion when a cobra made its way across the dirt floor. One of the male students jumped up, grabbed a stick and beat the cobra to death. While I was teaching I built a 4 foot by 8 foot chalk board. I literally bought a piece of thick plywood and framed it in a stand and bought ‘chalk board paint’ to put the green coating on the board. When I returned to visit Zion 20 years later the chalk board was still in use; I must say I was surprised.

 Typhoon Agnes November 3rd 1984

My family and our Yayas were all sitting in the living room of the residence we rented from the missionary Jim Curtis when the storm hit. Fortunately, due to ‘brown outs’ (Filipino for black out) we had purchased plenty of candles. The house windows were the old style glass slat (louvered) that opened with a lever. The wind from the typhoon was so strong the slats seemed to flex or curve and the rain blew into the house. We had a few coconut trees surrounding the house and the winds blew the coconuts into the roof and it sounded like canon balls hitting the metal roofing. A week later I hired a man who knew hot to cut the top of the coconut tree so that it would cease to produce fruit. We were relatively safe inside out concrete domicile. Outside the development other folks, living in traditional Nipa homes suffered both loss of shelter and life.

United Nations Disaster Reflief Organization final report.

PHILIPPINES - TYPHOON UNDANG (AGNES)
UNDRO INFO REPORT NO. 6
21 DECEMBER 1984

SITUATION

1. FINAL REPORT OF CASUALTIES AND DAMAGE FROM TYPHOON UNDANG FROM UNDRO/UNDP RESIDENT REPRESENTATIVE AS RECEIVED FROM NATIONAL AUTHORITIES:

• 862 DEAD, 197 INJURED AND 217 MISSING.

• 1,495,738 PERSONS (293,998 FAMILIES) AFFECTED.

• 765,965 PERSONS (126,996 FAMILIES) RENDERED HOMELESS.

• 176,272 HOUSES TOTALLY DESTROYED, 115,296 PARTIALLY.

• TOTAL DAMAGE PROPERTY, CROPS, LIVESTOCK, ROADS AND BRIDGE PESOS

• 1,929.5 MILLION (APPROX US DLRS 96.6 MILLION).

James made his way over to my house, he lived a few blocks away. We managed to drive into the city in the school’s green van (maneuvering around the downed electrical poles and lines that filled the roads). We would be without electricity for nearly three months. I purchased a Coleman type gas lantern fuled by propane that set atop a pole attached to the lantern making the lantern nearly six feet off the ground.

In our area alone tens of thousands of people were homeless. At Zion Bible College the only building left standing was the chapel where the faculty and students sought shelter from the storm. When we made it out to Zion we tried to use ropes to stand the housed that had simply blown over back on their posts. The houses were simply to heavy for us to pull up with ropes. The students and families of the school staff were collecting their clothing that was scattered across the windblown landscape. There was a well with a lever for pumping up clean water from the ground to wash the clothes. James and I went to the World Vision office and obtained lots of bags of rice. As often as we were able we delivered rice to needy folks in the Barangays where we had held our evangelistic meetings. We had our own homes and families that needed our care. The challenge of getting to the market each day to purchase food took half a days effort. Within a couple of weeks we had some sense of normalcy aside from the loss of electrical power. The pole and electrical lines had been removed from the roads and life became a little easier for market runs to buy fish and vegetables. I often used the Suzuki and went alone to the market.

Stories from Sesame St.

Soon after the typhoon we left the first home and moved to live on Sesame street. I had purchased enough furniture for the empty house we leased. James and I loaded it on top of the green van and moved it all to our new place.

One afternoon I was sitting home studying and preparing sermons for my many invitations and for our church services at Leyte colleges when a kind, needy, and desperate woman knocked on the door. She wanted some help to buy a dress so she could be employed (the dress was a requirement). My $800 a month was split to $400 for supporting my family, and $400 for missions work, and renting the location for our church services. My pants had been hand scrubbed so often that the crotch area was worn thin to the point of becoming see through. However, I couldn’t just ignore or reject this poor woman. She told me where she lived and I told her I would be there in the afternoon to confirm her story and help her. When I arrived she had been able to rebuild her little Nipa hut. Her place was located outside the city towards the San Juanico bridge. Her children were all without clothing and there was a lack of food. I helped her with her most pressing issue which was buying the required uniform for her job offer.

It was always exciting on ‘Sesame’ street where we lived. There was a young man his skin darkened from being in the sun constantly. He was about twenty one but mentally a child. His body was lean muscle and he could frighten all the neighborhood kids and many of the adults. His name was Paulie. One evening Paulie was angered by a local policeman patrolling the streets on his bicycle. When I looked out the front window to see what all the yelling was about I saw the policeman’s bike crashed on the curb and he was pointing his 45 at Paulie who was yelling at him and holing a big rock in his hand. I had my wife, kids, and helpers all lie on the floor for safety. Paulie’s mother came out and pleaded with the policeman to put down his gun and leave. Fortunately he listened and the situation was diffused. Paulie never spoke to me and avoided bothering me. I did tell my kids who rode their bicycles out front not to get involved with Paulie in any way.

All three of my kids attended the school that was just 100 yards away from our house. Ining and Lynlyn walked them to school each day. Their mother ‘Nympha’ would ensure everyone was well before leaving to buy hot bread and conduct a Bible study prayer time in one of the nearby barnagays.

Our house was on a corner, and next to us across the street was the local hangout of the hubog hubog or drunkards. These guys just sat around consuming Tuba, smoking and eating. On one occasion a local dog decided to bite a child and promptly became their afternoon BBQ. I wasn’t surprised, it would be shocking to some folks to see how a dog is bled and skined for human consumption. For this reason I didn’t let my kids watch the hubog hubog slaughter the dog.

Trinity surprised me with her ability to speak Waray Waray when playing miniature pool with her friend. Michael had learned Tagalog, Waray Waray, and English. Gregg studied Tagalog at school and picked up a little Waray. Gregg and Michael used their new tennis shoes for brakes while doing stunts on their bicycles! They were good kids and didn’t cause any trouble beyond what little kids do.

 Biliran Island

My popularity as a speaker was growing amongst the pastors of Leyte and nearby islands. As I remember most of them equated my ease to stay in their homes and eat their food reminded them of Dwight Palmquist. I never met him, he was a legend amongst the Filipinos. He spent his life, over 47 years in the Philippines and passed away in the Philippines. I considered this attribution to be the highest compliment I could receive.

I was at my home in the development of V&G outside of Tacloban city when Pastor Arthur arrived to invite the American evangelist (me) to his place on Biliran Island where he had a home church. He was a kind and humble man. I was traveling alone regularly by this time. It was fairly easy, catch a bus at the terminal or a jeepnee if the town was not too far away, and let the Pastor know the day and approximate time of my arrival. The final leg on the way to Biliran island required hiring a guy on a motorcycle to take me to Arthur’s place.

Arthur’s house/church sat on the beach and was part of a small fishing village. The wealthiest family in the area owned the larger boat with a motor for transporting the daily catch each morning and included a generator to keep the fish on ice. It was a typical Bangka boat with the bamboo outriggers, just larger than the fishing boats of the families living on the beach front. In the evening Arthur and I went fishing. Arthurs boat was about ten feet long and 30 inches wide at the center. Arthur hung a coleman lantern on the small post erected on his end of the boat. It was a dark night and we were out so far that I could not see a single light from other boats or from the shore line of Biliran. We were not catching an abundance of fish just a few. After the net was thrown and while it was left out in the sea for awhile, we would hook the squid attracted to the light from the coleman lantern. A single line with a hook was all we used to snag the squid and pull them up into the boat.

When we left after midnight and about 4:00 am we began rowing our way back to shore. I could see nothing and thought I was going to see the sun rise and be out in the middle of the sea without any land in sight! Arther kept putting his hand in the water ant telling me which side of the bangka boat to row on. After about an hour I saw a light and felt relieved. The light was leading us right back to the point on the beach from where we had left. As we neared the shore I saw the other boats returning from their nights fishing.

During the day I swam in the ocean the water in the bay was clear and the sand was white. There was a large tree branch out in the bay that the young boys would climb on to dive off into the water. I swam over to chat with them and noticed little brown floating objects in the sea, it was human excrement. Arthur had told me they did not build any comfort rooms (outhouses) but just relieved themselves on the beach in the evening. As I witnessed later that day, some folks couldn’t wait till evening. This failure to dispose of their body waste disturbed me. I shared with Arthur how Moses had commanded some men to build latrines to keep the camp clean because the Lord walked through the camp (jokingly I added that the Lord didn’t want to get his feet dirty). Arthur built the first CR or comfort room up from the beach where the sand gave way to soil.

The next morning I awoke early so I could shower without a scene. My light skin and foreignness attracted a crowd and I wanted to shower without onlookers! The shower area was outside and you wore a short pants to shower in. As I was dousing myself with water I felt eyes staring at me from the tree line of the nearby slope. I spotted a young mestizo boy with curly hair like mine watching me shower. I felt for him, thinking he wonders who his father is, or where he might be, or if he would ever know him. I had to shower quickly the sun was rising and people were starting to move around.

Leyte Landing 40th Anniversary October 20th 1984

Rev. Levis Montes

Rev. Levis Montes was working as the editor for the major newspaper in Tacloban City. He also served as the Pastor in his home church. I had invited Levis to be my interpreter at our Living Word Christian Center meetings. One of my fondest memories at LWCC was a sermon I preached with Levis interpreting; the presence of the Lord filled the room. LWCC was doing well with a consistent group of a couple hundred folks on Sunday mornings. The offerings were paying the venue rental, and several church workers salaries. Later I would ask Levis to pastor LWCC. Over the years he purchase land, built a building and be instrumental in producing two other churches in Tacloaban that grew out of LWCC. Later, Levis and his wife Becky migrated to the U.S. and pastored in Oceanside California for many years.

Levis had obtained press passes for his self, James, and I to sit on a platform just a few feet behind Marcos as he gave his speech at the Leyte Landing 40th anniversary. All three of us were aware of the risk because the NPA were active all across Southern Leyte. One Sunday morning I had a young man at LWCC want to speak with me in private. He told me he was going to serve Christ but wanted to give me his gun because he was a member of the NPA. I’m sure he was sincere, but of course I was not going to take his gun. There had also been marches in Tacloban with folks carrying signs that read, ‘Americans go Home’. This particular sign was carried by some of my church ladies! Of course, they were poor and being paid to carry the road sized banner that stretched across both lanes.

I mentioned to Levis and James how a few years earlier the Egyptian President Anwar Sadat had been assassinated in a flurry of indiscriminate automatic weapons fire and had my concerns as the crowd grew and was becoming uncontrollable. Some yellow nylon rope had been stretched forming an open area in front of Marcos’ platform to keep a distance from the crowd. We all knew that rope was not going to hold the crowd. One of us said, “Maybe we should leave in case someone tries to shoot Marcos”. We all agreed and quietly dismissed ourselves while Marcos was releasing his rhetorical powers as a speaker to hang on to public opinion. He even spoke in the Samarenyo dialect rather than Tagalog.

The Leyte landing anniversary included over 400 veterans from the U.S., Australia, and Japan plus thousands of Filipino veterans (including my father in law Porferio). The celebration was alive with old U.S. ships in the bay, WWII planes in the sky, and charges going off on the beach as the battle was re-enacted. The most moving event I saw that day was uncommon for many of the veterans were not happy about the presence of the Japanese veterans or of the U.S. acceptance of Japan as an ally. However, there were a few U.S. veterans who wept with the Japanese as they remembered the battle and the friends they lost. Some of them were seasoned by time and no longer held any animosity for the other side; they wept together.

All across the Philippines there is evidence of WWII. The Marston matting used for laying down a safe landing field has been serving as fences and walls in homes all around Tacloban for decades. On many islands you can find small concrete bunkers used by the Japanese.

The MacArthur memorial is still home to periodic anniversary celebrations. The MacArthur beach hotel that I enjoyed for many years has been replaced by a Japanese owned hotel named, ‘The Oriental’.

 Ministry in Tacloban

The Provincial Jail in Tacloban 1984

James and I would go to the provincial jail in Tacloban to teach the inmates. The inner square was dirt and open, the walls were lined with concrete rooms. Each room had wooden beds three to four high on three walls. The other wall had the opening for an entry which was chiseled out concrete as though it was once a solid wall. The walls were high enough as to be confining and had a type of barbed wire looping along the top like a loose slinky. There was possibly two hundred men in the facility.

At the far end of the courtyard was a latrine and a single faucet. I remember a very skinny man dying of tuberculosis who squatted alone near the latrine waiting to die. Neither James or I had the resources to help all of these men. We did teach them and pray with them. I still have a ship in a bottle made by one of the prisoners. He presented it to me and had placed my name inside. I gave him what I had in my pocket which converted to about two dollars.

Many of the jails in the Philippines are much more humane and the prisoners eat well. There are still exceptions in the larger cities where overcrowding exists.

LWCC Offices

I opened up a little office for our ministry, it was across the street from Divine Word University. World Vision supplied us with guitars and mandolins and Mercia (a graduate of Immanuel Bible College in Cebu) ran the program for teaching music to the kids. World Vision also supplied us with backpacks, notebooks, pencils and other items to give to the poorer kids at the beginning of the school year. Because we held evangelistic meetings in the poorest barangays our LWCC services had a lot of needy kids. Next to the LWCC office was a teen ministry ran by JoJo. We were like a small ministry family doing our best. I taught a Wednesday evening Bible Study each week for college age people.

Trinidad’s Ministry

Trinidad was always on the go. She had her own calling to gather the poorest women in the poorest areas around the city and teach the all she had learned. She always brought plenty of hot bread and taught and prayed with them for hours. She asked me to come say hello to the women all meeting in a house in Siren. When I arrived more women came into the twenty foot square room and soon the posts were swaying with the weight. Trinidad’s American husband attracted too much attention!

One of the women in Siren was a grandmother. Her little house sat on stilts over black waste water. Her granddaughter was a mestiza, her name was Gene. Gene’s grandmother had been spiritually enriched by Trinidad’s ministry and began putting money in the LWCC offering. I would always give her back more than she gave by way of visiting her house and bringing food and other gifts. The mother of Gene lived in Angeles City and worked in the bars. She eventually married a G.I. of African heritage. He adopted Gene and brought her to live with her new family in California.

 The David Livingstone Missionary Foundation in Cebu

James and I went to Cebu to visit Bethel Temple, walk Colon St. in Cebu, and vist the David Livingstone Missionary Foundation whose primary leaders were Philippine AG officials.

Evening in Ormoc

We rode a bus from Tacloban to Ormoc City to catch a ferry to Cebu. Our evening in Ormoc left a memorable picture and feel in my mind. James was hungry and so we went to the evening BBQ and Karinderya shops that lined a concrete wall. The shops were all under a single simple lean to roof that seemed to stretch fifty yards in length. It was a rainy evening and so everyone was seeking shelter from the rain increasing the BBQ and Karinderya shops evening business. The smoke under the roof was able to find its way out the Nipa roof so the air was breathable yet the canopy of smoke building under the Nipa roof was thick and visible.

The smell of different shops was discernible as we walked the narrow passage way. I think the lean to roof extended outwards less than 10 feet, 5 feet wide for shops and a 5 foot wide walkway. The entire scene was fascinating with all the people politely walking around one another and eating their BBQ. The Karinderya shops had small stools for customers that lessened the walking path for persons passing by. I do remember the BBQ (assorted types of meat pieces on a stick) and Maize (Corn on the cob) were delicious. Although, you never really know the type of meat you might be eating!

Rusty Ships

We purchased our tickets for an overnight ferry to Cebu. James and I both preferred sleeping in a cot on the deck over the tiny cabins. I had also read news (multiple times) of these old rusty ships sinking and didn’t want to get caught in a cabin. The ships are much safer in the present and have been for decades now. The deck was filled with green colored army like fold out cots. Tarps were stretched over the open sides of the deck to prevent the wind from blowing in the cold air on those attempting to sleep. I don’t remember sleeping at all, the ride was a little over five hours.

Exploring Colon

We visited Colon st. first. James really wanted me to experience this old part of Cebu. It is still an interesting place where you can buy forged documents, and counterfeit coins, even old American coins which aren’t silver so easily detectable as counterfeit. Colon St . has everything for sale and in abundance.

Bethel Temple

Mike Pilapil was the pastor, I think it was 1985 when we made this trip. Bethel Temple was a city church in the Capitol City of Cebu and was much finer than the churches I had been preaching at in Leyte. Mike Pilapil migrated to Hawaii where he continued pastoring.

David Livingstone Missionary Foundation

My first trip to DLMF was with James and I met the older fathers of the AG movement (I remember Roque Cagas) in the Visayas who were working with DLMF. They invited me to return and preach for morning and evening chapel services. Within a few weeks I flew back to Cebu and one of the DLMF employees met me at the airport and ensured I made it to the DLMF location in the mountains.

It was a wonderful time for me. Bible College students are an easy group to speak too. They are young, hungry for God, attentive and respond to lively preaching. I was young and lively and God’s Spirit was with me and there for them. I preached twice a day for morning chapel and special evening services. I loved preaching and teaching young Filipinos who were preparing to become pastors in the Philippines. After three days of strenuous exuberant Spirit moving preaching I lost my voice and didn’t speak for the better part of a week.

I had been so busy and absent from home so often that I missed my children and wanted to go home, rest, and hang out with my family. The evenings really touched my emotions for spending so much time away from my kids because I played in the grass with the orphans at DLMF and just let them climb all over me.

 Grandma’s Visit

At this point in her life my mother was 46 years old had not been out of the U.S. except a few quick excursions into Tijuana for some souvenir shopping with her sister who lived in San Diego. I flew to Manila to pick her up and brought her to the domestic airport to make our flights to Tacloban. This trip was quite an adventure for her and although she had nightmares most every night, during the day she enjoyed the places we visited around Tacloban City.

The wife of my friend Robert Yao wanted to take my mother out to eat at the Leyte Park Hotel, have us all over for dinner at her home and make my mother feel comfortable. Robert owned the local hardware store, a printing press, an auto repair business and other business ventures. Each month I Robert would cash my U.S. dollars check for a better exchange rate than the local bank, plus at the bank I had to wait a month and Robert cashed my check immediately. He worked his money through foreign exchange rates using a Hong Kong bank.

When I would visit Robert at his hardware store he often had the evening dinner on small nylon rope tied to the leg of his desk; in particular a duck or a goose. Robert also used old Chinese medicinal cures including eating dried pig veins. He was kind to persons of faith and contributed to the Buddhist monks, the catholic priests, and helped me too!

My mother’s visit was around 12 days during which time we took her to our church service, out to dinner at the nicest place in Tacloban and to MacArther Park Hotel to swim with the kids in the swimming pool. When she walked along the beach I teased her and said, “Mom your legs are so white they look like two fluorescent bulbs walking”. My mother purchased us a 19” black and white TV that we enjoyed.

During our missional efforts from 1982 to 1985 taking photos was not a major concern. I used a few for our monthly newsletter and my camera was a simple Kodak Instamatic. So, some places I did not take a camera with me at all.

 BayBay Leyte Crusade

I had met Pastor Joe Anitpuesto at the youth conference in Southern Leyte. He came to my home in Tacloban and asked me to come preach a crusade in the evenings at the town square of BayBay Leyte. Joe arranged the entire event. Joe had a very nice ‘house church’ and was interested in expanding his ministry in BayBay.

Joe had paid to use a Barangay facility with an outdoor covered stage for the crusade location. He also made arrangements to show the ‘Jesus Movie’ that was popular in 1985. I remember preaching to a standing group of people that evening.

 Tagharigue

Cruz Lapura was one of the teachers at Zion Bible College. He was a kind soul with a gentle spirit. He and I had a lot of discussions together on various theological subjects. Later in life he became the President of Zion Bible College until his untimely death in an auto mobile accident. Cruz like all the ministers in the Philippines liked to travel and visit churches in remote areas, especially if the pastor was a former student of Zion.

The church in Tagharigue was on the top of a mountain. The floor was dirt and the benches were boards about 8” wide and six feet long. A few of the people came from a remote area. This group of people were all very attractive. They however had a genetic commonality, they all had big strong feet and wore no shoes. Cruz introduced me to them and pointed out the curiosity of their feet, they all laughed. I preached, Cruz interpreted, we prayed for people’s needs and for the to be blessed in their farming projects.

San Jose

One of our yayas, or ‘helpers’, was Ining she was from the church in San Jose. The church was spacious yet open for the air to blow through the many windows. There was a platform and a small simple wooden pulpit. I cannot remember the pastors name but I can see his face and smile in my mind. Last time I asked James he couldn’t remember either.

Catbalogan Samar

Levis had arranged for me to meet his brother in Catbalogan. His brother had a good sized church and a growing Bible College. I rode the bus from Tacloban to Catbalogan. It was a beautiful morning with a cool breeze in the air . I was energetic, happy, and the music being played on the bus was some of my favorite folk singers. Levis brother was ill and I did not spend a lot of time with him. I spoke at the church and was fed well. I just loved on everyone as much as possible and prayed a lot.

 Michael’s Story (Part II)

Although I led a busy ministerial life, I did not neglect the needs of my family. I built a swing set for my kids out of logs and bamboo with nylon ropes attached to bamboo seats. Prior to the building of the swing set I spent a lot of time digging up all the trash buried in the backyard. V&G did not have trash disposal services and so trash was burned and buried or taken out to a surrounding field where rats and other pestilence found a home. We kept our area as clean as possible. The Philippine beaches are always relaxing, some more so than others, the beach at MacArthur Park Hotel was okay but was not a pristine clear water beach. The kids needed the pool more than the beach so they spent most of their time in the pool. I also make a habit of taking them out for Halo Halo, a type of Filipino Sundae.

My kids were always happy and busy, well dressed, clean and excelled in school. I had taught both Gregg and Trinity to read before they entered kindergarten. I was concerned for Michael because he had not been circumcised. Knowing that in the U.S. he would one day shower with all the boys after gym class, I wanted to get him circumcised before he became any older. Because most Filipino males at this time were circumcised (turi in samarenyo) at puberty. Our helpers Ining and Lynlyn knew it was best to bring a skirt along for Michael to wear in the jeepnee on the way home. He was not happy about wearing that skirt or the circumcision. Unfortunately, the doctor did a poor job and Mike had to go again to get it corrected! I felt so bad for him but knew he would be better off circumcised when living in the U.S.

In order to prove that Nympha was Michael’s mother, and did not belong to Teresita I brought her sister to a doctor who confirmed she had never had a child. She also affirmed the story of how his birth certificate was drawn up due to the deception of names used at his birth. The doctor’s eventual testimony and notarized statement also enabled us to change his birth certificate, and for me to adopt him. However, his aunt Teresita decided to sue me in court for the years she cared for Michael. I argued before Judge Artique that her claim was not supportable because she voluntarily broke the law to change Mike’s birth certificate and that I had been supporting her and Michael for a year prior to our arrival. I also stated how I had supported the entire family for over seven years. Nonetheless, he required I pay her a settlement of $500, stating, “You’re an American you can get $500.

I didn’t know when we would leave the Philippines, all was well until Gregg became pale, lethargic, and didn’t want to eat. We were not making any progress on seeing him get better so I decided we needed to get back to the U.S. I came to add a son to our family not lose one.

With the corrected birth certificate and the adoption completed I obtained Mike a Philippine passport and hired a local lawyer to fill out the U.S. Visa forms. My friend Robert Yao purchased all of our furniture we had acquired, my little truck, and old motorcycle. It was enough money for plane tickets. I used our last months budget to pay for other expenses as we left the country.

When I arrived at the U.S. embassy, I knew that one of the requirements was that Michael live in our home with us for two years after the adoption by myself was complete. This fact troubled me but I was determined. After all when I appeared at the U.S. embassy for his mother’s visa the earth shook (in God’s gracious favor to us). Nonetheless I had a back up plan. We went to the embassy with a rather large stack of papers. We were sent to the room of an embassy person, a young American man. I scouted out the area and decided if he refused Michael’s visa I would place a chair in a blocking position against the doorknob and hold him in a chokehold (like I was taught in the USMC) and make the news. My thought was I would embarrass the U.S. for its failure to address the rights of all the children born to U.S. military personnel throughout the decades.

To my surprise the young man behind his desk looked at my lovely, well dressed family, all five of us, and said, “That is quite a stack of papers you have there. You want to tell me your story so we can get you out of here?” It was late 1985 and the Marcos regime was in trouble. Marcos would be ousted at the end of February 1986. I expect this was part of the reason the embassy official was so congenial to help us. The other is God’s grace. I’m so happy God has helped me when I would have had a mess if I had to respond in my own power.

Curiously, I had already bought plane tickets for all of us! I was happy, we were on our way out. We were through customs and walking an airport hall headed for our gate. There was a small money collection station. It was some type of environmental fee. I did not have a single peso in my pocket, we had spent our last pesos on food and a couple small souvenirs there at the airport. So, I explained to the men at the collection station. They told me to go back and go to the bank and get the money. I was angered, I broke their sign and told them we were going through their blockade anyhow. Suddenly security guards showed up and I apologized and explained to the guards. The guards let me through; God’s grace again, in spite of my tendency to take matters into my own hands.

Michael married a Japanese girl while in the Air Force. He is still married to her, her name is Erina and together they heave three lovely daughters.