An Unexpected Disaster [Jeff’s 3rd and Final Blog from Cambodia/Philippines]

16Feb

An Unexpected Disaster [Jeff’s 3rd and Final Blog from Cambodia/Philippines]

Where's my mommy? This cry, whether spoken through the tears of a small child, or unmistakably etched on his or her face, is all too common in the chaotic wake of a natural disaster. Families are separated or displaced—sometimes permanently—and such perilous circumstances are, for opportunistic human traffickers, like fishing in a stocked pond.

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10Dec

Philippines Disaster… Again

It’s likely that you’ve heard about the destructive path of Typhoon Hagupit (locally called Ruby) as it raked across the Philippines just a few days ago—just over one year from when Superstorm Haiyan ravaged the island nation. Late last winter I told you about Mahalit, a small fishing community that had been devastated by Typhoon Haiyan. Through our friend Pastor Lot, we helped rebuild the decimated fishing boat fleet in addition to helping rebuild damaged homes.

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01Jul

God Gives Again

Like the rest of the fishermen of Merida Village, Jerome dragged his small fishing boat up the beach, further than usual, and tied it firmly to a coconut tree. Menacing clouds were approaching from the southeast, and everyone knew it was wise to take precaution. Weather reports indicated a typhoon was headed towards the Philippines, but that was nothing unusual for those who call the island of Leyte their home. Most likely, there'd be no fishing that night or the next day. The rising winds were a scant harbinger of what lurked behind the darkening clouds on the horizon.

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01Jan

Saint Gary from Alabama

What can one person do to make a difference in the wake of the most devastating typhoon in recent history? Quite a lot, especially when that one person is connected to the Lord and other like-minded people. Gary Hawkins, a native Alabaman with an accent you could pour over pancakes, is living proof.

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01Aug

Out of My Comfort Zone

I was not prepared for what I was seeing. Sitting silently on elevated tiers of benches, about 50 young women sat under glaring lights. Like items to be auctioned, they were all marked with white badges emblazoned with black numbers. Each was dressed seductively. Some shifted nervously.

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