Moses and the River

Lots going on in recent days: discipleship training, speaking opportunities, counseling sessions, fellowship meetings, lesson writing, office work, medical check-up, home schooling, and an occasional drop-by trip to McDonald’s for a 50 cent hot fudge sundae. Twice this week, while visiting friends, I had the opportunity to tell one of my favorite stories that illustrates the kindness of Filipinos.

I was the scheduled speaker for the second and third day of a youth retreat in the mountain village of Malag-it. On Sunday afternoon, the happy campers had walked along a dirt road that crossed a dry riverbed before reaching the church building – the venue for the retreat. My part didn’t start until the second evening, so after walking for about a mile, I came to the dirt road around mid-afternoon on Tuesday. But the entire previous day saw heavy rains that, rushing down the mountains, now filled the once dry riverbed. How was I going to traverse 50 feet of swift flowing, waist-high water, and still be presentable enough to speak in 2 hours from now?

I thought about stripping down to my shorts and swim through it while holding my dry clothes above me, hoping I wouldn’t get swept away by the current. But people were lined up on both sides of the water, watching the rare sight of this overflowing river. I decided that the image of a near-naked white missionary publicly splashing in the water wouldn’t go well with my topic later about holiness. Then I had a crazy thought: “My name is Moses, isn’t it? Hey Lord, if you want to get people’s spiritual attention, I know what you could do about getting me through this water. You’ve done it before!” But at such thought, the water seemed to rise higher and flow faster.

About that time I noticed a man directly across from me, eying me from a distance. Soon, he walked right into the river, clothes and all, coming straight toward me. The water rose to his chest, but he kept coming. After about 5 minutes, he came out of the water right in front of me, dripping wet, looked me in the eye, pointed to his shoulders and said, “Punko ka di” (You sit here). I tried arguing with him, explaining that I was too big for him to carry. But he would have none of it. “Punko ka di,” he kept saying.

So, reluctantly, as he entered the water, I draped my legs over his shoulders. He reached out and up with his arms for me to grasp as handles as we began the trip through the river. Twice he nearly stumbled, but was able to steady himself, barely keeping himself above water. Onlookers nervously followed our progress while I nervously prayed for his progress. Amazingly, after several tense minutes, he landed me on the other side. Later, I was able to deliver my message in dry clothes. In the land of Philippine hospitality, I learned that there is more than one way for a Moses to cross a river.