On The Other Side Of The River

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. — Isaiah 43:2 (NIV)

Every evening in Sau-on i stepped into the river carrying the same question: Would God really carry me through this? the water was shallow , but somehow, it never felt like a small thing.

Our team—my partner, Ate Minhee, Rona, and I—stayed in the home of a family who had only recently opened their hearts to God through the very evangelistic series we were supporting. They were new believers, their faith was still young , still learning how to stand. And yet, they welcomed us with love that felt anything but new.

For three weeks they shared their home, their meals, their time and their lives with us. They worshipped with us and willingly offered their house as a venue for the meetings. I remember thinking how beautiful it was—that a family who had only just begun walking with God was already opening their doors so generously to others. It was one thing Sua-on taught me: God often prepares the way long before we are being led there. In Sua-on, love was rarely loud. It lived in small things. We spent time laughing and playing with the village children.

Every morning, we visited Ate Sheila who had recently been baptized. The language and cultural differences sometimes stood between us, but somehow, care found its own language. We applied charcoal poultices to soothe her wounds, checked on how she was doing, and brought her freshly made healthy juices. There was no perfect conversation. No impressive speech.

Just a simple question: How are you feeling? And her warm gaze in return. Those moments taught me that God's love does not always arrive through grand words. It comes quietly through caring hands that are willing to serve. Then there was the river. Every evening, we had to cross a shallow river to reach the church for the evangelistic series and evening worship.

But crossing it was never something I could take lightly. Sua-on was heavily infested with tiny biting insects called tagnok, leaving us with bites and small wounds. Every time I stepped into the river, I worried about infection.

Still, every evening, we crossed. And every evening, God carried us through. Not one of our wounds became infected throughout those three weeks. The river that initially made me anxious slowly became something else—a daily reminder that faith does not always mean feeling fearless.

But the most unforgettable part of Suaon was not the river. It was the people waiting on the other side. When we took turns preaching and teaching Bible studies, I was deeply moved by the newly baptized members. Even when heavy rain poured down, they still came. They endured the weather simply because they wanted to know God more. I would look at their bright, eager faces and wonder: Where does this kind of hunger come from? And somehow, their hunger exposed my own weakness.

I have always struggled with communication. I am not naturally eloquent when teaching Bible studies, and there were moments when I wondered whether I was really making a difference. I sometimes felt that my words were not enough. But Sua-on slowly changed the question I was asking.

Maybe mission was never about having enough words, it was about the love people can see in the way we live. Because despite the language barrier, we connected. Not through perfect sentences, but through prayer, service, laughter, showing up, and through simply caring. For three weeks, I experienced a kind of happiness I cannot easily explain. My faith became more mature, more grounded, and somehow more personal.

Looking back, I realize that the river was more than something we crossed every evening. It became part of my testimony. Every step into that water reminded me to trust. Every rainy worship service reminded me that genuine faith does not always wait for comfortable conditions.

Every child’s laughter reminded me that joy can be found in the simplest places. And every person we served reminded me that God's work can happen through hands that feel inadequate and voices that do not always know what to say.

I went to Sua-on thinking I would be an instrument of God's love. But somewhere between the riverbanks and the rainy evenings, God became an instrument of His love in me. And that is what I will remember most. Not that I crossed a river every evening— but that, in Sua-on, God taught me how to cross the rivers within me.

Name: Kim Hyomin

Mission Field: Sua-on, Davao Del Norte