HARVEST

Here in Davao City, we citizens are celebrating our harvest festival called Kadayawan.  Originating from the native Mandaya tribe, the word literally means all things good, bright and bountiful.  The festival is traditionally held in August, which (barring climate change) is the month of harvest.  Thus, Kadayawan is a thanksgiving celebration for the fruits of the earth that are ready for the picking during this season.

As a Manilena who migrated to the city 19 years and 5 months ago, my personal Kadayawan celebration is a daily supply of MANGOSTEEN and RAMBUTAN.  The mere sight of clusters and clusters of the plum-colored fruit hanging from makeshift stands, and baskets and baskets of the furrier version of the lychee makes me want to celebrate Christmas in August.  They are a temptation too hard for me to resist, and my husband always obliges this indulgence.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner, merienda - when I say "I'm done", what I actually mean is "Five more pieces before I get up from this table".

This personal fruit festival of mine got me thinking.  Do the farmers who grow these fruit trees ever think of me?  As they prepare the soil, plant the seedlings, nurture the trees and harvest the fruits year in and year out, do they know that somewhere in Matina, a middle-aged woman was experiencing heaven on earth?  Unlikely.  And yet, while their intention was simply to gather xxx kilos of fruit to sustain the needs of their families, I was an accidental beneficiary of their toil.

That's how God's goodness spreads and grows.  He takes every act of love and kindness that we do, and multiplies it a hundredfold.   He waited for the boy to give his humble "baon" of five loaves and two fish, and took care of feeding the five thousand.  He sits as the servants brings the clay jars filled with water, and then creates vintage wine in an instant.  He waits for us to make that decision to do good, and He takes it from there.

Many years ago, my youngest child befriended a classmate in school.  Throughout the year, he was extra close to this young boy, and I saw it as nothing but an innocent classroom friendship.  At the end of the school year, my son's teacher confided in me that the young boy was one of the school's slow learners.  Because he couldn't catch up with the rest of the class, he did not have any real friends.  Until my son came along.  As that friendship blossomed, so did the young boy.  His academic performance exceeded the school's expectations.

All that my son wanted was to have a friend, and to be a friend.  But he did so much more than that.  I think that's what HARVEST really means.

Note to self:  Kiss and hug my son when he wakes up.