“Give us money or we’ll turn you in for having these drugs on you—you’ll go to prison.”
The two captors showed me a packet of what looked like drugs—I’d never seen them before.
I showed them my wallet—I had a $20 bill and a 20 peso bill.
“My mission made me sign an agreement that they’d never pay ransom for me. It would put a price on every missionary’s head if they did.”
My answer angered them.
They continued to threaten me and drive me around the back alleys of Intramuros, Manila and finally dumped me out—unharmed.
* * * * * *
“Tell me why you think the new constitution of the Philippines should allow foreign missionaries to live and work here.”
The Philippine secretary of State had called me into his office and posed the question. Certainly, I was not the only one who had input but the new constitution did preserve a welcome for missionaries.
* * * * * *
Some short, pungent sermons our children preached to me.
“Daddy, it’s dark there—you go first.”
“Hold me, I’m afraid.”
“Please don’t leave me alone.”
“Will you fix this for me—I broke it.”
“My arms are too short. Please help me reach it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I can do it if you’ll help me.”
Now I’m watching as our grandchildren preach those same sermons back to their daddies and mommies..
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