One month in Thailand. I can hardly believe it's already been a month since I moved to Thailand. So much has happened, more than I can easily put into words. On August 1, I finally moved into my apartment, just a ten-minute walk from the center where our organization is based. God has been so gracious in helping me settle in. For the first time since arriving, life is beginning to find its rhythm. So what does life look like here? Every Monday begins with our staff meeting as

What does love look like? Earlier today, I joined our team for an outreach at a school for children with special needs. I was there mainly to document the day, to take photos, capture moments, and tell the story. So we go on with the usual flow— greeting the students, a short singing time as an ice-breaker, introducing the team, telling them a Bible story, sharing a testimony, and, at the end of the program, handing out snacks: chips, biscuits, and jelly cups, which is how th

A friend once called me and told me how blessed she was by the support my family has shown toward my pursuit of missions. On a separate occasion, another friend shared his struggle because his family wasn't as supportive or understanding of him serving God full-time. If I were being honest, those conversations made me wonder: Was I simply lucky to be born into a family that supports me?

What if peace is not always the confirmation that comes before obedience? What if sometimes peace is the fruit that follows surrender?

I began to wonder, what if the transformation happening inside me is not secondary to the mission, but part of it? What if God is using missions not only to reach others, but to change me?

Maybe love does not always need to show up immediately. Maybe there is a better time to show up. Maybe it needs to anchor itself first in purpose, so that when it is finally released, it tells a truer, fuller, and more redemptive story.

Love held me at my worst. Held me even when my own grasp failed. Love held me in broken places, gathering the pieces and putting them back together—more beautifully than I ever could. It held me in the dark, reminding me that I am not alone. It held my doubts and questions with patience, unoffended and unrepulsed. It held my fears until they no longer ruled me.

What if love covers not just the sin we commit but even the ones we could have committed but did not because of love? What if love covers sin not only after it happens, but before it even begins?

One of the most important things I’ve learned is to give myself grace for not knowing better back then, for not handling things differently when I simply couldn’t. I’m also just living my life for the first time, too. And somehow, my mistakes, instead of ruining me, have grounded me. They’ve kept me humble, human, and becoming.

And when I held that child, I realized: the smell wasn’t offensive, it is the kind of smell Jesus would draw close to, not avoid. It was the scent of someone who is loved. Someone whose worth isn’t diminished by their circumstances. Someone whom Jesus, if He were here physically, would embrace without a moment of hesitation.

The beauty of a yoke is this: it teaches two to walk in rhythm: If one pulls ahead, the other feels the strain. If one lags behind, the journey gets harder. But when they move together, step by step, the burden becomes bearable.

Grace reminds me that I wasn’t given a spotlight, I was entrusted a role. And that the things I profess in public should permeate every aspects of my life, even in the things unseen; How I prepare in private, how I treat others behind the scenes, how I worship when no one is watching, the integrity of my heart. All of it matters!

Being reliable is not just a responsibility; it is a privilege, it’s a reflection of God’s heart. It’s holy. It’s worship. So I keep showing up. Not because I’m strong, but because He is.

Karangalan speaks of achievements. Dangal speaks of identity, of who you are. And it hit me: The honor God gives me is not karangalan. There’s nothing I’ve done that could earn that. It is dangal. A declaration of identity and worth rooted in His love.

This should be our posture in missions: longing. Not ambition. Not pride. But yearning. A holy desire for our Beloved to be near. More than doing things for her Lover, she wants to be with Him.

Maybe this is why God allows us to walk through seasons of difficulty—not to test if our love for Him is real, but to reveal it to us. To take our faith from mere words to something tangible. To show us that what we thought was weak is actually stronger than we knew. Because love and faith aren’t just something we say. It’s something we live by.

I have been clinging to many things, but God is gently peeling my fingers away from them, one by one. Maybe the real question is not whether I will lose everything but whether I will finally let go and trust that Jesus is, and always will be, enough.

The Lord may not have provided in the way I expected, but He provided in ways I needed. He gave me strength to persevere, love beyond my own capacity by serving Him and those around me despite my weariness, patience to trust that even when I cannot see His hand working, I can always trust His heart, and faith to believe that even when I don’t understand His ways, He is still good.

We can stand in the wreckage of our choices, look at what we’ve done, and decide—this is not who I want to be.

Have you ever been in a position where you had to release forgiveness? Betrayed? Hurt? There was a time when I was betrayed by the people closest to me. Words couldn’t touch the depth of that pain, and for a season, it was like I’d been left alone, cut off from the friendships I had once held so close. The hurt was like being stabbed in the heart, and it ached in a way that left me feeling empty.