A Mother Named Mayang and the Echo of the Mayflower

One afternoon this week, my feet were again meandering through Lakandula and Wagas Streets in Tondo, Manila.

Walking here rarely follows a straight path.

You pass through narrow alleys.

You step over broken pavement.

Street children run past carrying toys made from scrap plastic and bottle caps.

Laundry hangs overhead like colorful banners between houses that seem almost close enough to touch.

That afternoon I was searching for someone.

Her name is Mayang.

She is forty-nine years old—a mother of five already carrying burdens heavier than many people twice her age. Her young adult children with her late first husband formerly imprisoned, with obvious mental immaturity by no choice, have to live in diferrent homes willing to show kindness to them.

Someone told me she was now living somewhere along an alley after she and her partner were forced by circumstances to leave the tiny room they once called home.

So I kept walking.

Turning corners.

Asking neighbors.

Meandering.

Until finally someone pointed toward a narrow wall beside a dim streetlight.

“There,” two of the stand-bys in front afternoon snack kiosk said quietly.

At first I almost missed it.

What they were pointing to looked like a shelter made of translucent plastic.

When the streetlight shines at night, the thin plastic glows faintly—

like a lantern trying its best not to surrender to the darkness.

That fragile covering

is now Mayang’s home.

Mayang suffers from advancing cataract, a condition slowly threatening her eyesight.

Her partner Edwin, now in his early sixties, walks with difficulty. The left side of his body is crippled, and he moves with the help of an old wooden crutch worn smooth by years of use.

Yet life continues.

Mayang washes clothes for neighbors to earn a little money.

Edwin repairs broken electric fans and small appliances whenever someone brings one to him.

Beside their shelter lives their loyal dog named Lucky.

Even in hardship, they care for that little dog with surprising tenderness.

Sometimes the poorest homes still nurture the richest kindness.

But imagine their life when the monsoon rains arrive.

Or when the fierce summer heat presses down on the alley.

Their roof is plastic.

Their walls are open air.

Their floor is a long wooden plank slightly elevated from the pavement.

Yet every morning, they rise again.

The Scriptures remind us:

📖 “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” —Psalm 34:18

When I met Edwin that afternoon, he was slightly struggling to breathe.

The weather had been shifting quickly that day—sun, wind, humidity—conditions that easily worsen coughing and phlegm for someone constantly exposed to the elements.

So we prayed.

Afterward, I showed him how to prepare a simple homemade herbal electrolyte drink that could help loosen phlegm and prevent dehydration.

I also bought him a small pack of ginger brew powder with honey.

It was a small gesture.

(For the recipe, just add 1 tablespoon of apple cider vinegar/white vinegar, 1/4 tablespoon of ginger brew powder with honey and a pinch of salt into a glass of tolerably hot water before 1 meal of the day).

But sometimes small kindnesses open quiet doors in the human heart.

Later, Edwin, a man who once kept his distance, tentatively shared that he'd try attending our Sunday Worship Celebration.

He's already made a significant step, successfully drawing his brother Edward into the warmth of our Church community.

And I remembered the wisdom of Scripture:

📖 “Do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.” —Hebrews 13:16

As I walked away from that alley, a thought slowly formed in my mind.

Perhaps it was because we are now in the month of May.

Or, perhaps, because her name is Mayang.

Then, suddenly, I remembered a small ship in history once narrated by Rabbi Jewish American Jonathan Cahn—the Mayflower, in one of his history founded Christian videos.

That humble vessel carried weary travelers across a dangerous ocean toward an unknown future.

History also records how Jewish communities scattered during the Spanish Inquisition wandered across many lands searching for refuge.

Many were rejected.

Many were displaced.

Many lived for years not knowing where home would be.

Yet in time, many eventually found new beginnings in lands that they would later get to know as the United States of America.

From exile came perseverance.

From wandering came renewal.

And suddenly the comparison pierced my heart.

I stopped walking.

A mother named Mayang.

Living in the month of May—the month when many honor mothers.

Her shelter is not a wooden ship.

It is a thin sheet of plastic.

Her journey is not across an ocean.

It is across the storms of poverty.

Yet like those travelers long ago, she too lives between two worlds:

The home she lost

and

the future she still hopes to find.

The Bible reminds us:

📖 “For I know the plans I have for you… plans to give you hope and a future.” —Jeremiah 29:11

As I continued walking through the winding streets of Tondo, another memory surfaced from my grade school days.

I once asked my mother why relatives from the province often stayed temporarily in our small home on Nicodemus Street.

We were not wealthy.

Yet people kept arriving.

Curious, I asked her,

“Why do we always let them stay?”

She answered with words that have remained with me all my life:

“Kindness plants a seed of hope that everybody needs to survive life, one day at a time.”

Perhaps that is the deeper message of the Month of Mothers.

Motherhood is not always surrounded by comfort, but rather by destined sacrifices.

Sometimes motherhood lives beneath plastic roofs.

Sometimes it washes clothes for neighbors.

Sometimes it survives sickness, uncertainty, and scorching heat.

Yet it keeps loving.

It keeps hoping.

Just as Scripture declares:

📖 “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” —1 Corinthians 13:7

So today I quietly pray that Mayang and Edwin will flourish someday.

Perhaps they will rent a small but stable room.

Perhaps Edwin’s repairs will grow into steady work.

Perhaps Mayang’s eyes will remain strong enough to see brighter days.

And perhaps one day they will look back and say:

“We once wandered…

but God led us home.”

So this month, as we honor mothers, let's all remember this:

Some mothers cross oceans.

Some mothers cross narrow alleys.

But every mother carries a priceless journey.

And sometimes the smallest act of kindness

becomes the little ship God sends

to carry someone toward hope.

How terribly I miss my mother, Conchita, who was 83 years old – from heaven and back in my yearning heart! I miss eveything about her. For sure, all of you do, too. Don't you?

🚢 "Sometimes, the smallest act of grace becomes a quiet Mayflower, launching dreams toward hope for someone who feels abandoned or forgotten. No one is a mere footnote in God’s story—we are all co-authors, and every life deserves to be heard.”

“Lord, open my eyes to the people around me who are struggling. Teach me to show kindness in simple ways so that Your love may bring hope to someone’s life. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Photo taken after our broad day light House Church in Tondo, Manila.

In broad day light, that's their same residence where we hold our Open Heaven at the House Church.

At night, that's their humble dwelling during wet or dry season.

“Meandering” is authored by Pastor Peter C. Fetiza of Walk in Love Church of Jesus (WiLCoJ) in Tondo, Manila, Philippines. In its church planting stage, WiLCoJ is committed to evangelizing and discipling individuals from all walks of life, warmly welcoming the underprivileged, people with disabilities, and all whom society may tend to overlook.

Facebook Page: Walk In Love Church of Jesus (WiLCoJ), Philippines

WILCoJ Ministry serves the impoverished in Tondo, Manila, Philippines