I could see her moving across the small bank parking lot with a dirty baby on her hip and her hand cupped. She was short, face puffy, and hair orange from malnutrition. She looked about twelve. The baby surely was her brother. I edged a little closer into the ATM line, and watched her slowly climb the concrete steps. She was ignored by most, but that cupped hand pushing towards me demanded my attention. I asked her her name. She refused to answer. Either, it was too personal or she didn't speak Tagalog. I told her that I wouldn't give her money but that I would give her food. She edged up to the European family at the adjoining ATM. The tourist-mother turned furiously and started making a hissing TSK, TSK sound, like we use with stray dogs in the streets.
We're a family on mission to bring the good news of Jesus to the Philippines.