Matthew 25:40

"The King will reply, ' Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."

Feedings.

We have all heard the use of that term before.

Mostly within the context of short term mission trips to third world countries.

"Today, I went to a feeding"

"We participated in five feedings during our recent trip."

But, what exactly, is a feeding?

While on the surface, that may seem a very simple question with an even more simplistic answer, but look beyond the obvious, the seen. 

On our first full day in Philippines, I was assigned to go on a feeding. I had heard testimonies. I had seen pictures. I was glad to finally be part of this event called a feeding.

I went to Tent City.

While misleading, the name is appropriate.

Located away from everything, Tent City is a community of misplaced families.

During one of the continuous ever present typhoons, the previous homes of the Tent City residents were destroyed. The government relocated the entire community to its present position. As the community evolved, tents were replaced by shacks made of whatever materials were available- sheet metal, scrap wood, fabric, and of course, cement.

Unfortunately, while being located on a less flooding prone area, Tent City is also located away from job opportunities, stores, schools. Basically, an island of isolation. Without cars and lack of the public transportation available in the cities, many are left without a means of support. Often the fathers move back into Manila to work in a factory, sending support back to their wives and children.

The drive to Tent City, merely an hour from K.I.M. took us away from the bustling, crowded city to a more quiet setting. Quiet, until we pulled into the borders of the crowded community.

Riding in the back, I knew we had arrived when boys carrying cups began running after our vehicle. My mind instantly flash backed to a picture my father had taken back in the 70's of a small Haitian boy running after a vehicle carrying the white foreigners. 

The alarm had been sounded. From every direction came running boys, girls, big, and small. All came wearing a smile and carrying a container of some type.

Patiently, they waited their turn to have their cup, their bowl, their container filled with a rice mixture full of nutrients and "flavor". 

While some of our teammates filled their bellies, the rest of us shared the love of God. 

Smiles.

Hugs.

Songs.

Games.

Even the simple exchange of names was a touch. 

A touch of love. 

Not my love, but God's love.

It required nothing on our part, except the sacrifice of time.

Conversations.

An exchange of love.

These were my girls- Catherine and Genevieve.

They held my hand. 

We sang songs together.

We played games.

While Tagola was their heart language, they knew enough English to make communication possible.

Catherine introduced me to her mother and grandmother.

  This is Catherine, her mother, and two of her younger brothers in front of their house. Catherine, at nine, is the oldest of six children. When asked, Catherine informed me she was in the third grade, but without a school nearby, she most likely is not schooled. 

While school attendance is mandatory, it is not enforced. Many families simply can not afford the transportation costs, as well as the uniforms and fees needed. 

The swim team took advantage of the large audience and using skits, shared the Gospel of God's love.

Abbi, with the help of a translator, explained the how God's love is the only thing that can fully satisfy our hearts.

Like Zaccheus, these boys climbed a tree to get a better view of the action below.

So while a feeding feeds their empty bellies, giving life sustaining nutrients, it also feeds their heart with life sustaining love. 

Food for their physical hungriness.

Love for their spiritual hungriness.

And its an ongoing progress. 

The King will reply, ' Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."