Joselito, 59, passed away just before midnight today.
I am at a loss for words.
Life is so short in the dumpsite.

During our Roots and Routes Advent programme,
his youngest son interviewed him
to learn more about their story.

As a young man, he left his province
and travelled to Manila,
taking on odd jobs just to survive.
Along the way, he fell in love with a kind woman.
They settled in Payatas
and built a loving home with three children.

He ran a small sari-sari store
at the foot of a mountain of garbage.
It was never safe.
Often, tragedy was only a door away.

But he provided.
He stayed.
He loved.

When his youngest was ten,
his wife succumbed to breast cancer.
They could not afford treatment.

Broken-hearted and depressed,
he continued to run his store each day.
Quietly. Faithfully.

His eldest son once shared
that on his fourth birthday,
their house burned down.
Joselito wept whenever he remembered that fire.
“No one came to help,” he said.

So he raised his children
to be the ones who help.
Today, the eldest volunteers with the fire brigade.

Every Saturday morning,
his sons jog around Recuerdo behind their home.
They often pass their mother’s grave.

In the days to come,
they will lay their father to rest beside her.

I think about this big man
with his big smile,
who raised three children
despite poverty and suffering.

I think about how, in his quiet way,
he passed on his faith.

Not through preaching.
Not through abundance.
But through endurance.
Through presence.
Through love that stayed.

An ordinary, unremarkable, short life —
at least in the eyes of the world.
But in Yours?

Lord,
You see what we do not see.
You weigh what we cannot measure.
Receive him into Your Kingdom.