Part 1

Before the Mission

Growing up, Caleb often leaned on his family’s faith, but as he got older, he realized he needed to forge his own path. He remembered sitting quietly at home, pondering the questions that had been swirling in his mind. He wondered if he truly believed and if this faith was really his or just an inherited conviction. Through prayer and scripture study, he searched for answers. One evening, he knelt down and poured out his heart, longing for clarity. In that moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace and assurance wash over him. It was as if the Spirit whispered that he was not alone, that God knew him intimately and loved him deeply.

Caleb didn’t choose to serve a mission lightly. Growing up in the Church, he always felt the warmth of the gospel and the love it brought to his life and those around him. But it wasn't until he experienced some personal challenges and saw friends struggle that he truly understood the transformative power of faith.

The day his mission call arrived, excitement and nervous anticipation filled the Mortensen home. The envelope, thick and official looking, waited on the kitchen table. Caleb walked in with a casual stride that belied the life-changing moment ahead. His eyes widened when he saw it, and a grin broke across his face, lighting up the entire room. The family gathered close as Caleb held the envelope like it contained the secrets of the universe, his fingers trembling as he opened it.

At his farewell, Caleb stood at the pulpit, a rush of emotions washed over him. He looked out at the congregation—family, friends, ward members—and felt their love and support. He spoke about the journey ahead, the mission field waiting for him, and the importance of relying on his faith.

Before he left, his parents wrote to him, reflecting on the joy he brought into their lives.

Part 2

Philippines

The Philippines, officially known as the Republic of the Philippines, is an archipelago in Southeast Asia, set in the western Pacific Ocean. Its 7,641 islands stretch across about 300,000 square kilometers, forming three main island groups: Luzon in the north, Visayas in the center, and Mindanao in the south. With a population of over 114 million, the country ranks as the twelfth-most-populous in the world, making its cities and towns vibrant and bustling with life.

The missionary served in the Philippines Quezon City Mission, where Tagalog is widely spoken. Quezon City itself is part of Luzon, the largest and most populous island group. In this dynamic and densely populated setting, the missionary encountered a diverse mix of cultures, languages, and traditions, all set against the backdrop of the Philippines’ unique geography and warm, resilient people.

Place facts sourced from Wikipedia.

Part 3

President President Alvarez

President Alvarez was a constant source of strength and inspiration for Caleb throughout his mission in the Philippines Quezon City Mission. From the very beginning, Caleb felt the warmth and sincerity in President Alvarez’s leadership. His counsel, often shared in zone conferences, resonated deeply with Caleb and shaped the way he approached both his missionary work and his relationships with companions and investigators. President Alvarez’s words, such as, “In every door you knock and every heart you touch, remember that your love is the greatest gift you can share as a servant of Christ,” became guiding principles for Caleb as he faced the daily joys and challenges of missionary life.

During moments of self-doubt and struggle, especially when Caleb felt limited by language barriers or the weight of new responsibilities, President Alvarez’s encouragement helped him refocus on the Savior and the people he served. Caleb often reflected on the counsel, “In every moment of doubt, remember that your greatest strength comes from your faith in our Savior and your love for those you serve.” These reminders helped Caleb to persevere, especially when he felt inadequate or overwhelmed, whether as a new missionary in Fairview or later as a senior companion and zone leader.

President Alvarez’s emphasis on listening and understanding left a profound impact on Caleb’s approach to teaching and leadership. “In every conversation, remember that souls are at stake; listen more than you speak, and let your love shine through every word,” President Alvarez had taught. Caleb carried this wisdom into his interactions with investigators, companions, and fellow missionaries, striving to create an environment of trust, empathy, and genuine connection. When he faced the challenge of supporting a struggling district member or mentoring a new companion, Caleb remembered to “seek to understand before being understood; that’s where true connections are made and miracles happen.”

Through each area and assignment, Caleb felt President Alvarez’s support—not only in the formal guidance he offered, but in the personal encouragement that came through thoughtful responses to Caleb’s letters and reports. Whether Caleb was grappling with feelings of inadequacy as a trainer, learning to delegate as a zone leader, or navigating the bittersweet emotions of his final transfer, President Alvarez’s counsel was a steady anchor. The reminder that “in every challenge you face, remember that you are the answer to someone’s prayer; be the light they need,” inspired Caleb to see himself as an instrument in the Lord’s hands, even when the path felt uncertain.

As his mission drew to a close, Caleb found himself reflecting on the impact President Alvarez had on his growth as a missionary and as a disciple of Christ. The mission president’s example of Christlike love, patience, and wisdom became a pattern for Caleb’s own service. The simple yet profound truth that “in every encounter, remember that your smile is a reflection of Christ’s love; it’s the bridge that connects hearts,” reminded Caleb that the greatest legacy of his mission would be the love he shared and the lives he touched—an enduring testament to the influence of a devoted leader and mentor.

Part 4

Manila MTC

Caleb’s first days at the Manila MTC unfolded in a blur of heat, noise, and newness. The journey itself left him reeling, and he felt like a zombie trying to adjust to the heat that wraps around you like a warm blanket—but less cozy, more sweaty. Every step outside, the city pressed in: the air thick and humid, the sun relentless, and the traffic a wild choreography of jeepneys. Elder Reyes, his companion, quickly became both guide and lifeline, helping him cross the street and laughing off the stumbles in Tagalog. The two of them found humor in his early attempts at the language, and Elder Reyes’ patience and the warmth of their teachers made the daunting task of language learning feel possible. The MTC itself was a hive of energy and kindness. The cafeteria became a place of discovery, where the aroma of adobo wafting through the air made him wish he could bottle that smell and send it home. His first meal, adobo, was a taste explosion, and each bite of the local cuisine brought new sensations. He learned to eat with his hands, determined not to embarrass himself, and found that the food was more than sustenance. The rhythm of daily life was both exhausting and exhilarating. Mornings began with language drills and lessons, Elder Reyes by his side, both of them stumbling and laughing through new vocabulary. The afternoons brought teaching practice and, sometimes, real lessons out in Fairview. The first family they met, the Dela Cruz family, became a touchstone for Caleb’s early experiences. Mang Tony, the father, was wary at first but softened as the lessons turned to Christ and to faith. It’s moments like these that remind me why I’m here, Caleb wrote, and each return visit built a fragile but growing trust. Cultural immersion came in small, joyful moments: exploring the Fairview market and tasting fresh lumpia or sweet, silken taho from a street vendor. He set a personal goal to try every Filipino dish he could, and halo-halo became a favorite. Even the weather became part of the adventure: the heat is intense, and his shirt was perpetually drenched in sweat, but the sudden rainstorms were a relief. The city’s resilience impressed him; the people just smile and go about their day like it’s nothing, and their cheerfulness lights up my spirit. Basketball became an unexpected bridge. The local kids have some CRAZY skills, and playing with them, Caleb felt like a toddler trying to keep up. Yet, the games were a source of laughter and connection. Jomar, a tall, lanky boy, stood out. After lessons, they shot hoops together, and Caleb could see the seeds of faith being planted in him too. There were hard days—times when the language felt insurmountable, when the heat and homesickness pressed in, and when the work seemed slow. Tagalog is still a mountain I’m trying to climb, he admitted, and he missed Mom’s cooking, and the comfort of familiar sights. Yet, in the laughter with Elder Reyes, in the warmth of Ate Rosa’s lumpia, in the small breakthroughs with the Dela Cruz family, he found purpose and gratitude. As his time in the Manila MTC drew to a close, Caleb felt the swirl of emotion and growth. He was learning, he was stretching, and he was building a new family one lesson at a time. It isn’t easy, but I know this is where I need to be, he wrote. With every lesson, every plate of food, and every basketball game, I can see the rays of light shining through the clouds of uncertainty.

Part 5

Fairview

Caleb's arrival in Fairview was marked by the excitement of a new beginning. The anxiety of packing hung in the air, mingling with the ache of goodbyes. As the jeepney wound its way through the city, Caleb found himself tasting taho for the first time, marking the first of many small joys that would come to define his time in Fairview.

The apartment was a simple but cheerful refuge. Elder Santos, his trainer, welcomed him warmly, and together they set out to meet the people who would become the heart of Caleb's days. Early on, the Dela Cruz family became a significant part of his experience. Mang Tony, the father, was cautious, but Caleb saw the sparkle of interest in his eyes, and with each visit, small sparks of interest began to flicker.

There were hard days, too—the Tagalog lessons that left him feeling out of place, the downpours that turned streets into rivers. Yet laughter was never far away. Elder Santos, quick to laugh at Caleb's linguistic stumbles, made every misstep a moment of camaraderie. The two of them found joy in the messiness.

Food and community wove themselves into every aspect of his service. Ate Rosa, the sari-sari store owner, became a favorite source of food and laughter, feeding him lumpia and sinigang. Her generosity was a constant, her store a sanctuary after long days. Meals with the Dela Cruz family were more than sustenance; they were a language of love and belonging.

The work was sometimes slow, sometimes exhilarating. Lessons with the Dela Cruz family were a study in patience and hope. Caleb learned to speak in analogies: just like in basketball, faith is built through practice. Basketball was more than a pastime; it was a way in, a common ground that broke down barriers and built trust.

Rain and sun traded places, sometimes within the same hour. Caleb and Elder Santos helped families with sandbags, wading through streets that looked like rivers. The hardship was softened by the sight of neighbors sharing snacks and laughter under makeshift shelters.

The weeks unfolded in a rhythm of service, teaching, and growth. Caleb's Tagalog improved slowly, but every new phrase was a victory. Homesickness ebbed and flowed, but the ache was softened by the love he found in Fairview's families.

The Dela Cruz family's journey was a thread running through it all. Caleb remembered the first hesitant conversations, the meals and laughter, the heart-to-heart talks that slowly opened the door to faith. When baptism finally came, it felt like an explosion of joy. The celebration that followed was a feast of halo-halo, and the sense of belonging was unmistakable.

Other breakthroughs followed. Ate Rosa, who had fed them her famous sinigang, was baptized as well. The small acts—helping Jomar build a basketball court, teaching neighborhood kids English phrases, sharing adobo in the rain—became the substance of his days.

There were still hard days, of course. The heat was intense, the rain relentless, and Tagalog remained a challenge. But the laughter, the food, the games, and above all the relationships, made it all worthwhile. By the end of his time in Fairview, Caleb could see how much he'd changed. The faces of the Dela Cruz family, the taste of adobo, the sound of laughter in the rain—these were the memories he carried with him. In Fairview, he found not just a place to serve, but a family, a home, and a deeper understanding of love.

Part 6

Montalban

When Caleb arrived in Montalban on October 21, 2024, he stepped off the bus into a world brimming with color, humidity, and possibility. The air was thick, and he felt the sting of goodbyes from Fairview. But the moment he entered the small apartment, he knew he was at the threshold of a new chapter.

He was nervous, too. This was his first time as a senior companion, and Elder Whitlock was looking to him for guidance. "Transfer day was quite the emotional rollercoaster," he admitted, heart pounding as he packed his bags. But the swirl of emotion quickly gave way to the daily rhythm of missionary life: lessons to prepare, streets to walk, Tagalog phrases to stumble through, and people to meet.

Montalban itself was alive with contrasts. The weather swung from hot to pouring rain, each day a negotiation with the elements. But the rain, the heat, the sticky humidity—these became the backdrop for the real work: building trust, sharing faith, and forging friendships.

Food was a constant thread, binding him to the community and the families he served. Meals were more than sustenance; they were lessons in love and generosity. Each dish was an invitation to linger, to listen, to belong.

The Dela Cruz family became a touchstone for his time in Montalban. At first, Mang Tony was a tough nut to crack, his skepticism a wall that seemed impenetrable. But week by week, meal by meal, scripture by scripture, those walls began to crumble. There were setbacks and slow days, moments when it felt like planting seeds in rocky soil, but then came the breakthroughs—a heart-to-heart where the tension in the air started to dissolve.

Basketball was another language, a way to connect when words fell short. Jomar was a constant presence—on the court, in lessons, and in Caleb’s prayers for the future. Caleb was always grateful for the way basketball bridged gaps and built friendships.

The work was never easy. Being a senior companion felt like trying to juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle, and learning Tagalog was like weaving through a jungle. There were days when the heat in their apartment felt like a furnace, nights when homesickness pressed in, especially as Christmas approached. But there was also the warmth of the Spirit, the comfort of knowing leading doesn’t mean knowing everything. It’s about loving and serving.

The holidays in Montalban were a riot of light and sound. Parades and caroling filled the streets, and every home seemed to overflow with food and laughter. New Year’s Eve was marked by fireworks and a plate of lechon shared with the Dela Cruz family.

When Elder Cruz arrived in January, the tempo shifted again. Together, they braved the wild swings of weather and continued the steady work of teaching, listening, and loving. There were mistakes, but always, there was laughter and grace.

Spiritually, Caleb found himself returning to scriptures that spoke of faith, patience, and the joy of service. He learned to see each day as a little slice of heaven, even when the heat feels like an oven, and each challenge as an opportunity to grow.

By February, as his time in Montalban drew to a close, Caleb could look back and see the arc of change—not just in those he taught, but in himself. He had helped Mang Tony edge closer to faith, watched Jomar prepare for a mission, and seen the Reyes family embrace the joy of temple blessings. He had learned to find joy in the rain, in the heat, in the laughter of children, and in the endless generosity of friends. Montalban had become more than an assignment. It was a tapestry of faces, flavors, and memories—a place where faith and friendship flourished amid the bustle of daily life, where the Spirit’s warmth was as real as the heat of the midday sun, and where love was measured in bowls of soup, games of basketball, and the laughter that echoed long after the rain had stopped.

Part 7

Antipolo

When Caleb arrived in Antipolo on February 24, 2025, he stepped into a chapter that would become one of the most vibrant and formative of his mission. Leaving Fairview behind was no small thing, and the memory of Mang Tony’s hesitant smile and Ate Rosa’s laughter lingered with him, as did the taste of her lumpia. The journey to Antipolo was filled with colorful jeepneys and the scent of fried adobo. The city itself greeted him with a sprawling view framed by mountains, and he sensed the spirit of the area. He was welcomed by Elder Ferraro, his first companion in Antipolo. The work began at once, with lessons to prepare and new families to meet. Jomar, a teenage basketball player, quickly became a friend and a focus. Caleb’s new responsibilities as district leader weighed on him, but he felt the Lord’s hand guiding him. Life in Antipolo was full of ups and downs but ultimately a thrilling adventure. The heat was relentless, but the warmth of the people made up for it. The Dela Cruz family quickly became his anchor. Mang Tony was still on the fence about getting baptized, but each lesson, each meal brought him a little closer. Jomar was blossoming both on and off the court. These moments of play and laughter became teaching opportunities too. The days were long and sometimes discouraging, but the Dela Cruz family always welcomed him and his companion with open arms. Even Mang Tony, often reserved, seemed to really open up. Basketball remained a thread running through his weeks, a way to connect with Jomar and the neighborhood kids. Food, laughter, and faith wove together seamlessly in Antipolo. The hard days were real, but the breakthroughs were just as real. The baptism of Jomar on April 28 was a high point. Caleb had the privilege of baptizing him, and the chapel was full. Jomar’s excitement was contagious, and now he was preparing to serve a mission himself. As the summer deepened, the work continued with Elder Mendoza, his new companion. Mendoza brought an energetic vibe, and together they visited families, taught lessons, and sweated through basketball games. They found joy in the chaos of the weather and in the comfort of familiar faces and food. The Dela Cruz family remained central, their home a place of gathering, learning, and laughter. Caleb watched Mang Tony slowly warming up to the idea of baptism. He delighted in the simple joys: the way the shaved ice mixed with all the colorful toppings was a beautiful chaos. There were moments of spiritual clarity, too. Teaching about prayer, he felt the Spirit wrapping them in a warm embrace. He saw the gospel changing lives—Jomar’s, the Dela Cruz kids’, the Reyes family. As his time in Antipolo drew on, Caleb saw himself growing alongside those he served. The language came slowly, but the small victories felt significant. Despite the craziness, he was filled with gratitude for these experiences. The people here truly felt like family, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. From the first dizzying transfer to the last humid days, Antipolo was a place of deepening relationships, spiritual breakthroughs, and the joy of sharing food, laughter, and faith with a vibrant community. Caleb’s story in Antipolo became a whirlwind of blessings and basketball, a time when the people here were teaching him just as much as he was teaching them.

Part 8

Marikina

From the moment Caleb stepped off the jeepney in Marikina, the city’s energy swept him up in a current of new beginnings. The transition was bittersweet—packing up his things in his former area felt like packing away a piece of his heart. Yet Marikina, with its bustling streets, quickly began to work its way into his soul.

His companion, Elder Kim, was a greenie. Caleb saw a reflection of his own early days in Kim’s wide-eyed wonder at the city’s rhythms. Their laughter, even in the midst of nerves and the chaos of learning Tagalog, helped stitch together the first days in their cozy little place. The apartment’s walls became a daily reminder of the beauty and culture surrounding them.

Marikina’s sensory world was vivid and immediate. The smell of adobo wafting from a nearby home was a delight, and the promise of the best halo-halo in town from the sari-sari store down the street became a small but persistent joy. Food was more than sustenance—it was comfort, connection, and often the bridge into people’s hearts. Dinners with the Reyes family and the Dela Cruz family became highlights, full of laughter, stories, and the kind of home-cooked meals that made Caleb feel both welcomed and nostalgic.

The work was demanding, and training a new missionary was like having a little brother around, always asking questions and keeping things interesting. Caleb described their early days together as juggling flaming swords while riding a unicycle. Yet, through the awkwardness and the inevitable language blunders, they found camaraderie and growth.

The families they taught became the heart of their days. The Dela Cruz family, especially Mang Tony and Ate Rosa, transformed from hesitant acquaintances to a second family. Over time, the walls began to come down. Family Home Evenings, lessons about faith, and the simple act of sharing food created bonds that felt as enduring as blood.

The Reyes family’s journey was a thread of hope and joy running through Caleb’s Marikina chapter. From their first meeting, there was such a warm spirit in their home. The missionaries watched as the family’s faith deepened, culminating in their sealing at the Manila Temple. Their home became a place of laughter, shared meals, and spiritual milestones.

Basketball was a constant—an entry point into local life and a way to connect across language and culture. Caleb played pick-up games with Jomar in Antipolo, often feeling like an old man trying to keep up with all their energy. Yet, these games were more than sport; they were moments of mentorship and joy, a way to encourage Jomar’s dream of serving a mission.

The rhythm of daily life was shaped by the city’s unpredictability. The weather swung from intense heat to sudden downpours, reminding Caleb of life’s ups and downs. Language learning was a source of both humility and hilarity. Caleb’s Tagalog improved in fits and starts, peppered with mistakes that became inside jokes between companions and lessons in patience.

There were hard days, too—moments of homesickness, exhaustion, and the slow, sometimes imperceptible progress of hearts changing. Yet, these challenges were met with faith, often bolstered by scripture and the support of companions.

When Elder Kim transferred, Caleb felt the shift deeply. With Elder Tanaka, the work took on new energy. Together, they continued to nurture the relationships Caleb had built, especially with the Reyes and Dela Cruz families. The lessons became richer, the laughter deeper, and the sense of partnership more solid.

As the weeks raced by, the small, everyday moments became the memories that lingered. Feasts at Ate Rosa’s sari-sari store and late-night walks under the stars, reflecting on the journey so far. Marikina became a place of transformation, not just for those Caleb taught, but for himself. Every meal shared, every lesson taught, every game played, and every awkward Tagalog phrase was woven into a chapter of growth, laughter, and enduring connection.

Part 9

Cubao

When Caleb arrived in Cubao on November 3, 2025, it was as if the city itself swept him up in its arms—a whirlwind of a week. The abruptness of leaving Fairview, with its familiar faces and the comfort of Ate Rosa’s adobo, left him breathless. The journey into Cubao was a collision of senses: loud music on the jeepney, the aroma of street barbecue, the laughter of children as he and his new companion, Elder Bautista, navigated the bustling streets. Going from Fairview to Cubao felt like jumping from a calm lake into the roaring ocean, and the wall of excitement and a bit of chaos that greeted him was palpable. The apartment was cramped but cozy, with a small balcony overlooking the city’s constant motion—a new home base for a new chapter.

Caleb stepped into his role as zone leader with a mixture of exhilaration and gravity. He could already feel the weight of the responsibility, his head swirling with new names and faces. Elder Bautista became both mentor and friend, helping him adjust to the relentless pace. The first zone meeting was overwhelming but energizing, and he quickly found himself swept up in the contagious momentum of a city buzzing with life and energy.

The daily work in Cubao was relentless and rewarding. We hit the ground running, and each day brought encounters with families whose stories would soon become woven into his own. The Dela Cruz family was a constant thread—Mang Tony, cautious but curious, slowly opening up in lessons that sometimes felt like watching a flower bloom in slow motion. There were moments when his eyes light up, especially when a story from the Book of Mormon resonated, and Caleb could sense the light bulb went off. Family home evenings were filled with laughter and food—Ate Rosa’s adobo and kakanin, chewy, sweet goodness that reminded him of home, and the children’s joy contagious, their faces beaming with happiness.

Food became a language of its own. Meals at Ate Rosa’s sari-sari store—adobo, lumpia, sinigang, and the occasional daring taste of balut—were more than sustenance; they were acts of love and community. Even the weather, oppressive and humid, became part of the rhythm: The heat hits you like a warm hug—but not the nice kind. Yet, stepping into a home, feeling the cool breeze from a fan, or sharing a meal, brought relief and connection.

Service projects with the Reyes family brought a sense of fiesta to ordinary days—delivering food to the needy, cleaning up backyards, and gathering neighbors for Christmas carols and nativity plays. These moments of laughter and muddy camaraderie reminded him of family gatherings back home. The Reyes family’s sealing in the Manila Temple was a milestone that filled their home with contagious joy and gave Caleb a front-row seat to the transformative power of faith.

Basketball was another thread, stitching together friendships and lessons. Games with Jomar, the teenage convert from Antipolo, were both exhausting and exhilarating. He’s got skills that would make any PBA player jealous, and though he often joked about trying not to look like a dying dinosaur, the games were less about winning and more about building trust and sharing the gospel in ways that felt natural. Jomar’s journey—from newly baptized youth to mission prep—became a source of pride and inspiration for Caleb, who saw in him the young man he has become.

The holidays in Cubao brought homesickness and hope in equal measure. Christmas lights on tricycles, the aroma of lechon, and the calligraphy of decorations reminded him of family traditions, and yet, the streets are buzzing with excitement, it feels like the entire city is alive with anticipation. Meals with the Dela Cruz and Reyes families, like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a chilly night, helped fill the ache of distance. He learned to say Maligayang Pasko and found comfort in the shared joy of simple celebrations—every meal shared, every laugh exchanged, and every hesitant heart opened.

Leadership brought its own set of challenges and growth. I’m trying to lead by example, he reflected, studying harder and praying for inspiration. Zone leader councils were exhausting but also invigorating, fueling new ideas for reaching out to the community. The responsibility was heavy at times, but he found strength in companionship and in the small victories—Mang Tony joining family home evening, or a child’s question that showed real engagement.

As the weeks rolled on, new companion Elder Lewis brought fresh energy—a basketball rookie with the energy to run circles around me. Together, they tackled the heat, the language, and the endless stream of appointments. Caleb found himself savoring every moment, aware that the end of my mission is creeping up on me like a cat stalking its prey. The laughter shared over banana cue, the lessons with the Dela Cruz family, the pandesal and hot chocolate at Ate Rosa’s, all became precious as the clock ticked down.

Breakthroughs came slowly, but they came. We had a breakthrough with Mang Tony this week, it was like watching a flower bloom before our eyes. The family’s journey toward baptism was marked by cautious steps and genuine questions, but also by unmistakable warmth—I could see the hope in his eyes as he talked about wanting to guide his kids through faith. Lessons were often followed by bowls of adobo or lumpia, food and faith intertwined.

There were hard days—humidity that makes you wonder if it’s time to start taking cold showers regularly, the exhaustion of leadership, the ache of missing home. Yet, the joy was real: The laughter, the food, the connections—it’s been a canvas of experiences painted in vibrant colors. Service projects, basketball games, and shared meals became the anchors in the swirl of missionary life. Each day, I feel a little more grounded, even when the heat and humidity can make it feel like I’m melting into the pavement like an ice cube in a hot cup of taho.

As his time in Cubao drew to a close, Caleb’s letters brimmed with gratitude. Life here is richly woven with laughter, shared meals, and heartfelt testimonies. I can’t help but feel that God is in the middle of it all, guiding us through every joyful and challenging moment. The city, with its bustling streets, vendors everywhere, and kids playing basketball on the streets, had become home. The families he served—the Dela Cruzes, the Reyeses, Jomar and his friends, Ate Rosa—were no longer just names, but part of his heart.

In the end, Cubao was more than just an area on a map. It was a tapestry of energetic work, deepening friendships, delicious food, and spiritual growth, a place where every meal, every game, every lesson became a stitch in the fabric of his mission. I’m really growing to love this place, despite the challenges, and it was clear that Cubao, with all its chaos and beauty, would stay with him long after he left its busy streets behind.

Part 10

San Mateo

What a whirlwind of a week it was when Caleb found himself suddenly transferred to San Mateo. The news from President came so early in the morning that it hardly felt real. The excitement of a new assignment mixed with a twinge of sadness as he said goodbye to Fairview. The Dela Cruz family gathered to send him off, and Ate Rosa, ever thoughtful, pressed lumpia into his hands. Packing was a comedy of its own—trying to fit in all the little pieces of home that he’d gathered. He even found room for one last slice of adobo, not knowing when he’d taste it again.

The journey to San Mateo was its own adventure. The heat made the travel feel even longer. He described being crammed in the back of a jeepney, the ride bumpy. Yet, after all that, the new apartment greeted him with a view of the mountains and the promise of taho from the nearby store—a small comfort in a world that suddenly felt very new.

Elder Hansen became his companion, and the two quickly discovered their shared sense of humor and camaraderie. Caleb dove into the work, reaching out to local families, though nostalgia for Fairview and friends like Jomar and the Reyes family lingered. But he held onto hope, writing, "I’ll find new connections here that will feel just as precious." That very first day, he stumbled upon a plaza gathering—families dancing to traditional music, the scene reminded him of the fiestas back in Fairview, but with its own unique flavor. He even tried to join in, laughing at himself.

The weeks that followed were filled with joy, laughter, and a sprinkle of craziness. He and Elder Hansen threw themselves into lessons, service, and the daily rhythm of missionary life. The Reyes family welcomed them warmly, and after a lesson on family prayer, Sister Reyes treated them to halo-halo. Caleb wrote, the cold, colorful dessert melting away the heat of the day. Food became a bridge—each meal, from Ate Rosa’s adobo to her crispy lumpia, was more than sustenance; it was an expression of love and belonging.

Basketball, too, became a thread that wove him into the fabric of the community. Games with Jomar and the local youth were a highlight, and even when running on fumes, he relished every moment. Jomar, once a shy kid he’d mentored in Antipolo, now practically carried them through with his skills in neighborhood tournaments. Watching Jomar’s growth, both on the court and in faith, was a joy.

Teaching was not always easy. Mang Tony, a fixture in the Dela Cruz family, was still hesitant about baptism, but Caleb and Elder Hansen pressed on, sharing Alma 32’s lesson that faith is like a seed. He wrote, "I could see the wheels turning in his head as we talked," and each small breakthrough felt like a victory. Sometimes, the lessons were punctuated by laughter or by quiet, spirit-filled moments.

His letters are full of the little details that made San Mateo home: the humidity on morning jogs; the Tagalog learned slow and steady; the sunsets over the rooftops of San Mateo painting the sky like a watercolor. There were festivals with the vibrant colors and aroma of fresh mangoes and bananas, and district mango feasts where you can almost taste summer in every bite. He missed home, especially just chilling in the kitchen with his mom, but he found comfort in the warmth of the community and the food.

As his time in San Mateo drew to a close, Caleb reflected on the growth, the struggles, and the joy. "Some days feel like I’m pushing a boulder uphill, but then I remember how beautiful the view is from the top." The families he’d taught, the laughter and shared meals, the games of basketball and lessons about faith—all became treasures. "Service is like the rice to a meal—it makes everything better," he wrote.

His last days were full of gratitude and a touch of sorrow. He tried to help Ate Rosa wrap lumpia this time, but he ended up making more mess than actual food. He played one last game of hoops with Jomar, who’s really become a brother to him, and gathered for a final meal—a huge platter of lechon, surrounded by all the people he loved so much.

As he prepared to leave, Caleb wrote, "I know I’ll always carry a piece of the Philippines in my heart." The flavors of San Mateo—sinigang on rainy days, halo-halo in the heat, the explosion of lechon and adobo—became part of him, as did the faces and friendships. "I hope you’re ready for me to bring back stories galore and maybe a little extra weight from all the adobo!" he signed off, grateful for every moment, every lesson, and every person who had shaped his journey.

Part 11

The People

A mission is, in the end, people. What follows is a directory of those who shaped Caleb's — companions who became brothers, the families and friends taught, the members who fed and sustained Caleb, and the leaders who guided the work. 19 names, each one a part of the story.