FAIR SUNSHINE

F eeling a heavy disappointment that the fear of man had so easily overtaken me at Crossing Wet Market , I began a timid retreat toward home. I turned down a road I had never intended in taking, thinking only to clear my clouded mind with a longer ride. Yet, after some time, I found myself stopped at a most familiar intersection—a place where I had stood twice before with brethren. The afternoon was late, and the people filled the street in thick company. I saw a small space to park, yet my heart wavered; I passed it by, caught between the desire for the peace of home and the heavy 'woe' of the Gospel (1 Corinthians 9:16) . But seeing an opening in the road, I could proceed no further. I turned back. I had no leaflet to give away this time; my tracts were exhausted. It was now time to exhaust my voice. I stood before the thick of the crowd, and in that moment of extremity, I was empowered with a strange but familiar fire. It was a flame not of my own kindli...

W hat utterly despicable flesh is this.  Even after all these years of labor, I find that I still cower in fearful apprehension whenever the hour comes to step out and proclaim the Gospel. My flesh resists me at every turn, making excuses—the heat, the pain of my knee, the indifference of the crowd—anything to keep the Word silent. As the people go about their business, unmindful of the eternity that hangs over them, I find myself pathetic in 'minding' them with a weight that is almost too heavy to bear.  It remains a profound mystery of God’s wisdom that He would prepare this messenger by fashioning in his person a disdain for attention, one who loathes company, and despises the society of men, in order to speak His truths to men. Yet, it is in this very weakness that the excellencies of Christ are best seen; when a fearful man is constrained to address a crowd with a burning heart, it is plain to all that the strength is not his own, but comes from the throne of grace. Havin...

L eaving Pulilan , I rode towards the municipality of Plaridel . The park there was quiet this afternoon, save for a few souls sitting idly to pass the heat of the day. There is a small amphitheater, quite wonderful really, a place appropriately built that would suit the very purpose of proclaiming the Word to a great company; yet today, it stood almost empty and silent. I saw but one quiet person sitting alone in that space—a pleasant young lass who showed me a kindness not always found among strangers. Taking heart, I approached her with a tract and asked the simplest of questions: 'Do you know the Christ?' Her reply was the same as so many others I have met—a name known to the ear, perhaps, but a Savior unknown to the heart. Her name is E***a. She was kind and willing to acknowledge my presence and openly welcome a conversation. I was mindful to tread softly, for I had no wish to appear intimidating. We sat and talked as two strangers might, merely sharing st...

L ast Saturday evening, I was in a most excruciating pain, such that by the Lord’s Day, it took much effort merely to stand and take a single step. We chose to remain inside for now, unable to go out to Santa Maria; yet the Lord, in His wisdom, provided a message that was specially suited for the comfort of the saints rather than the public. By Tuesday, though the pain in my right knee remained as a thorn in the flesh, my spirit grew anxious. I have already lost two precious days of labor, and the harvest does not wait for my strength to return. Though I walk with a limp and lesser pain, I thought it well enough to risk the journey to Pulilan , some eighteen kilometers distant.  The weather of late has grown increasingly fierce, and the heat of these days has become almost unbearable. Yet, though the body makes every reason to cease, my mind remains fixed upon the work. I have weighed the trials of the road and found that I would much rather travel under the heat of a blazing sun ...

H ad it not been for the sustaining grace of God, I might have contentedly done the very least required. I might have simply passed out the tracts, turned my heel, and departed as soon as the last leaf left my hand. Though the journey here takes but a little less than an hour, the distance is no small thing, and the flesh is ever quick to seek its own ease. Yet the Lord was my stay.  All these years, I have found there are several ways I might 'ease' myself into the work. I can read prepared and selected Scriptures, or pass tracts to people, or even have conversation with a soul without attracting attention. These are paths I can tread with some measure of composure. But the most difficult hurdle—the one that has, in seasons past, caused my heart to fail and sent me retreating towards home—is finding the courage to stand fast before the multitude. To draw every eye, to command their attention, and to finally open my mouth to speak is a trial that no introvert such as...