Santa Barbara, Iloilo — Faith isn’t a mood. It’s not that soft-focus filter we slap on a tough week. It’s not goosebumps during a worship song or a perfectly timed sunset. This week, in a rain-drenched barangay hall in Santa Barbara, we remembered what faith really is: not a feeling—but a fight.

At SEA Inc.’s Inner Conditioning Workshop (ICW), part of the IPAT-SIAD program, people didn’t come to pretend everything’s okay. They came to tell the truth. And in telling the truth, they found each other. They found God. They found faith that breathes and bleeds.

Amelda said it out loud like she was claiming her birthright: “Faith is the substance of things hoped for.” It’s a Bible verse, sure. But it didn’t sound preachy—it sounded personal. Because in their nightly 7PM Kamustahan, faith wasn’t something to memorize. It was something to live through.

Then there’s Jocelyn. Twelve people in one house. Four siblings with disabilities. Her days are full of chaos and caretaking—and yet she smiled and said, “I’m not strong—I’m just held.” No drama. Just depth. That kind of faith doesn’t come from nowhere. It’s built in the quiet seconds between breakdowns. In the breath you take before choosing not to give up.

Hernan, who’s seen the world’s wars and pandemics, leaned into the silence and offered this: “Sometimes, God saves you by slowing you down.” The room fell quiet. Because yes, we all needed to hear that. That maybe the delays we curse are actually divine detours.

And then there’s Cheryl—one of our own from SEA Inc.—who’s walked long roads in development work. She said it straight: “IPAT-SIAD isn’t just governance. It’s soul work.” And we believed her. Because some of the hardest rebuilding happens inside hearts, not just halls.

This week’s ICW wasn’t a Kamustahan, really. It was a sacred pause. A shared breath. A circle of people saying, I don’t have it all together, but I’m here.

It reminded us of this truth:
Faith isn’t about feeling brave. It’s about being brave enough to show up.
Even when it’s raining. Even when you’re tired. Even when it feels like hope is something you have to borrow.

So here’s to faith that limps but keeps walking.
To community that listens before it fixes.
To the kind of inner work that makes outer change possible.

Because the real miracle?
We came. We cried. We laughed. We showed up.
And somehow, that was enough.