by Meer Francisco
Hello everyone, My name is Meer from the Philippines.
Back in the Philippines, I can say that I was living the kind of life I wanted. It wasn’t really that comfortable, but I was content with what I had at that time. I was with my family, working in the local government teaching music to local kids, and at the same time, I was also a performer. I had the opportunity to travel within and outside the Philippines to perform—and get paid for it. In other words, what I had back then was a treasure for me, something I could cherish and live with for the rest of my life.
And then the year 2015 came, when everything started to change. A conflict happened at work, and my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. The life I was enjoying back then was shaken. I would report to work feeling emotionally unstable, carrying some bitterness because of the misunderstandings, and at the same time trying not to show any vulnerability despite what my family and I were going through because of my mother’s condition.
Tita Maue was the person I would always run to whenever things felt too heavy. I couldn’t even utter a single word whenever I tried to talk to the Lord, so Tita Maue became my voice.
Every day was another level of struggle that I had to overcome. A battle that I need to face each day at work in order to provide for my mother’s needs plus the overwhelming feeling of uncertainty, wondering if I would still have my mother to talk to the next day.
In April 2016, my mother left us, and in June of the same year, Tita Maue was about to leave for Cambodia. For a time, I felt numb. During my mother’s wake, I didn’t really feel deep grief.
When Tita left for Cambodia, that’s when everything started to sink in. The grief slowly began to set in and it was the first time I felt deep sorrow. For some reason, I couldn’t get myself to sleep for a week or two—to the point that I could literally witness both the sunrise and the sunset. When the sun began to set, my heart would start to pound, knowing I was about to face another long battle through the night just to fall asleep. Tita Maue, Nang Recy, Nong Ken had been convincing me to come here but I felt reluctant and held back for the fact that I love my work in the Philippines.
Around that time, I received an invitation from Cornerstone Church's fundraising concert. I saw it as a way to escape from everything I was going through. But then my friends here started telling me to look for a job here and just stay in Cambodia. And that’s when the war in my mind began. A part of me was saying, “Maybe it’s time to leave my job since I don’t feel valued there anymore.” But another part of me was saying, “This is the only thing I know, the one thing I truly enjoy—it never even feels like work.” If I stayed in Cambodia, I felt like I would lose what I considered my treasure. I wouldn’t be able to perform anymore, and slowly, I might lose my skills in playing music. What would I do then? I didn’t even know how to teach in a classroom setting—and to make it harder, the idea of talking in front was the very thing I was insecure about. I’ve always been an introvert—quiet, reserved, and often keeping my thoughts to myself. I find comfort in what’s familiar and safe.
One night, while I was struggling with these thoughts, I opened my Bible and found myself reading Deuteronomy 1. The verse that caught my heart was when the Lord said to the Israelites,
“You have stayed long enough at this mountain. It is time to Break camp and move on…” (Deuteronomy 1:6–7).
At that moment, it was as if God was speaking those very words to me. I realized I had been staying too long at my own “mountain”—the mountain of comfort, fear, and security. I was holding tightly to what was familiar instead of stepping into what God was calling me to do.
Through that passage, God reminded me that just as He led the Israelites out of the wilderness toward the Promised Land, He was also calling me to move forward—to trust Him beyond what I could see. Cambodia, to me, became that “next step of faith.”
It wasn’t an easy yes. I had many doubts, questions, and worries about how things would turn out. But Deuteronomy 1 also reminded me of God’s faithfulness—how He went before His people, fought for them, and carried them as a father carries his child (verses 30–31). That truth gave me the courage I needed.
So I obeyed. I left my job and followed where God was leading me. It wasn’t a decision made out of impulse, but out of surrender. I chose to believe that if God was calling me to go, He would also go before me and provide what I need along the way. And through enough, I came here without spending a single penny, all expenses paid until I got my 1st salary.
Looking back now, I see how that moment became a turning point in my life. Cambodia is not just a place I went to—it is the place where God continues to mold me, teach me, and show me His faithfulness.
Deuteronomy 1 remains a reminder that we can’t stay forever at the mountain of comfort and fear. When God says “Go,” it’s because there’s a greater purpose waiting ahead. And though the journey may be uncertain, His presence is sure.
When I first saw the picture of a little girl hugging her small teddy bear while the Lord gently asked her to give it to Him—not knowing that He was holding a much bigger teddy bear behind His back—it felt so personal to me.
I saw myself in that little girl. There were things in my life that I held onto so tightly—dreams, the skills, people, and the passion in my work. Those things became my “small teddy bear”—my treasure. They gave me a sense of security and identity. So when the Lord began to whisper to my heart to let them go, I struggled.
Just like the little girl, I didn’t understand why He was asking for something that meant so much to me. I thought, “Lord, why would You take this away? This is all I have.”
But in that still moment, I realized—God wasn’t taking something from me to leave me empty. He was inviting me to trust Him. He was preparing something greater, something that I couldn’t see yet.
I’ve learned that surrender isn’t about losing—it’s about making room for God’s best. The very things I feared to release were the same things that held me back from experiencing His greater plans. And when I finally chose to open my hands and let go, I found peace.
It wasn’t easy. There were tears, doubts, and moments of wanting to take things back. But in every step of obedience, I began to see that God’s plans were far more beautiful than what I had in mind.
Just like that bigger teddy bear behind His back, He had blessings I never imagined—new opportunities, deeper faith, and a clearer sense of purpose.
Now, whenever I’m tempted to hold on too tightly to something, I remind myself of that picture. Because sometimes, what we call our “treasure” is only small compared to what God has in store.
Letting go was never about losing—it was about learning to trust the heart of a Father who always gives what’s best. 💛