Macaiban Floodway 120.9747, 14.8178

For three weeks, the southwest monsoon brought with it heavy rains, depriving us of three days of our weekly street meetings. It hath now been two weeks since the last public pleading; and had not my equipment failed me after getting drenched, I would gladly have continued even through those wet and troublesome days. But my gout also returned with greater pain, disabling me for a full week and some days besides.

Thus, determined not to remain idle, I devoted myself to writing, finishing my appointed readings, and study. These were profitable employments, and I was thankful for them; yet the long inactivity from the public work brought my spirit very low. To be kept from that labor wherein my heart longs to spend itself is a peculiar trial of its own.

Today was the first day of sunshine, and I knew not where to go. And so I began where I have learned always to begin—before the Lord in prayer. I did not feel inclined to go. I did not desire it. I would rather have rested. But oh, to throw away another day as though I had many more to spare! This wretched heart is indeed a factory of excuses, and can furnish reasons enough whenever the flesh would be left undisturbed. I knew there would be greater regret in yielding to timidity than weariness in going forth to labor. I shudder at the thought that the ever-changing temper of my soul should dare  determine whether the name of Christ is worthy to be proclaimed, as His worthiness changeth not, much less with my fickle disposition. 

I elected not to take my usual medicine, hoping thereby to spare my poor liver somewhat. The recovery was slow, and even this morning I continued to limp. Yet I could move. The first day of sunshine had become also my first day of mobility.

I had hoped to visit my uncle's resting place in Novaliches; but it was already late in the afternoon, and I knew that, by the time I had travelled the great distance, the cemetery would likely be closed. Somewhere in the midst of my journey, I suddenly drew aside by the road. My thoughts returned to a certain place which I had passed perhaps fifteen minutes ago, and I found myself strongly minded to turn back. And so I did. 

The bridge was under heavy repair; yet the river beneath it provided many families with both food for their tables and fish to sell for their livelihood. Along its banks had arisen something of a makeshift wet market, where travelers passing by would stop to purchase the day's fresh catch. I had travelled this road countless times and passed this very place without much thought. Yet this day, for the first time, I was minded to take my stand among them, and proclaim the Gospel.

I left the house knowing neither whither I should go nor what I should say; yet now I found myself opening before the people the sixth chapter of John, from the twenty-seventh unto the thirty-sixth verse, and the words flowed forth like a mighty river. How often doth the Lord suffer His servants to go forth empty, that they might learn from whose fullness they must speak. Before me were men and women laboring daily for that food which perisheth with the body. Their hands drew their living from the river, and their tables depended upon the same; yet here was occasion to speak of another food, that spiritual food, even that which came down from heaven and nourisheth the soul unto everlasting life. God now openly receiveth repentant sinners, and justifieth the ungodly through Christ! 

Where may a man who possesses much wealth turn to, and purchase peace of mind or an hour to extend his life? There is no place in this world where such are sold. For what availeth all that a man may possess, if he remaineth unreconciled unto God? The Peace which passeth all understanding hath come down to show us that peace cometh not with a full table, but in reconciliation with God through Jesus Christ. And so these people, gathered beside the river seeking bread for another day, heard of that Bread which, if a man eat thereof, he shall never hunger nor thirst, but live for ever.

I was met with strange looks from the men and women who passed me, carrying their lines and cages of fish as they made their way back toward the road to sell their catch. Yet yonder, upon the other side of the river, were rows of people seated along the dam, their faces turned toward me as they listened. Others stopped upon the road, though they had come to buy nothing.

My heart, though unknown are they to me, went out unto them. I grievously pleaded with them, and begged them to be reconciled unto God through Christ. For who can tell whether, to some soul within hearing, this might be the last time the Gospel should sound in his ears before he is taken away that very night? I do not know. Thus I can never address them as though there will be tomorrow. And perhaps it is because I do not know that the thought presseth so heavily upon me.

How strange that the same heart which would gladly hide from the eyes of men should, when stirred from its timidity, find itself pleading with strangers as though it might never see them again.