Going

I had many reasons to go.

These I pondered as I packed my clothes for the trip that would take me to Antique and then finally to Negros. I'd be out of town for two weeks, so I had better have my clothes, socks, and underwears ready--or I'd have to wash them in the course of the trip. Because I'm a pretty light traveller, I packed as few clothes as I could. You're free to disagree with me, but I believe that the enjoyment in travelling decreases with an increase in baggage. I'll bring a tote bag if I can help it.

I was going on missions. To tell people of Christ. To show them that they can be assured of their salvation. To remind them of God's love and mercy. After I finally zipped my bag, patted it like a man would to a friend, I said, "Ayos! Ready to go na."

But was I ready?, I asked myself. In my room, I pleaded God to search me. After all, I might just be going with all the wrong motives--for sheer companionship with dear friends in the fellowship, for experience's sake, or for self-glorification in that fact that I have gone somewhere to do Christ's work. I was guilty of all these. But inside me, I found a burning passion: I wanted to know God more.

For three years of being in DCF, I've heard my friends tell of the wonders God had performed during the annual missions trips (I've never been to one; this was my first time). I've personally seen how much they've grown in faith and in love with Christ. In a way, like them, I too wanted to be changed.

And what a changed man I've emerged after the trip. And what wonders the Lord has performed!