There are many ways to spend a weekend. While we had no choice, to spend it with people (and occasional dogs and chickens) of far chapels of Benguet gives me some kind of unexplained gladness. While it is true that I miss a good bottle of wine with friends or a hot bowl of Tita Digna's chili, it is of no comparison to the opportunities to witness and share in the faith of indigenous peoples of Benguet.
In these places where pancit canton and tissue papers are offered among bread and wine in the Mass, plus the magnificent landscapes of mountains and clouds, I can't help but to be in awe of God's becoming man. He came that all may have hope, have meaning, have joy.
Lord, in times when I don't see your plans clearly, at least help me see you in people I meet on my way instead. Amen.
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