In the quiet corners of life, where the world is barely looking, little things happen. They are the kind of moments we rarely celebrate, but which carry with them the power to change everything. I know this because I am a product of the little things.
The power of small things
I grew up in San Carlos City, Negros Island, Philippines, a place that was once the missionary territory of the Augustinian Recollects. They were not 
grand or towering figures in history: there were no famous saints or legendary heroes about whom people wrote books. They were men who simply did their duty: they preached the Gospel, baptized children, built a cathedral brick by brick, prayed with families and walked with the people. They lived and worked, often unseen, and then moved on to other missions.
However, their small, faithful acts sowed seeds. Seeds that, over time, shaped the faith of my ancestors, my parents and, ultimately, me.
As a child, I barely understood what these missionaries had done. I didn’t know their names or what they had left behind, beyond a church building. But I felt the weight of their legacy in the way my family prayed, in the way my community celebrated faith and in how I grew up knowing that God was near. That legacy was what called me to my own vocation.
Without those missionaries, I would not be here today, in Sierra Leone, Africa, serving as a Recollect missionary.
And here I am, thousands of miles away from home, in a small town called Kamalo. I see it happening again: the power of small things. It is present in the everyday: celebrating the sacraments with the people, digging wells for clean water, building schools that nurture hope, empowering girls through education and providing opportunities in a boarding school where they are pulled out of cycles of early marriage and abandonment; sitting with families as they tell their stories, praying the rosary at night with the community and just being with them: sharing their joys and burdens, their hopes and fears, in a place where Christians live as a minority, bearing witness to 
faith through presence and service.
I have come to understand that this is how God works.
He begins with something small. Like the mustard seed in Luke’s Gospel (13:18-19): the smallest of seeds grows into a tree big enough to give shelter to birds. But it does not happen overnight. It happens in silence, with patience, in small, consistent acts, repeated with love.
I think of those Recollect missionaries in Negros who never saw the fruits of their labor. I think of how their constant little acts have crossed centuries and oceans to this moment, where I am now, doing the same.
We live in a world that glorifies the big and the loud.
We want to see results, to measure success, to know that we have made an impact. But the kingdom of God doesn’t work that way. It begins in whispers, in invisible acts of love, in planted seeds that we may never see grow.
Jesus understood this. When he said, “When you have done all that you were commanded to do, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants; we have done what we ought to have done'” (Lk 17:10), he was not diminishing the importance of work. He was elevating the simplicity of faithfulness. 
The gift I received from the Recollects in Negros is what I now bring to Africa. I may never see the fruits of my labor, but that is not the goal. My vocation is to be faithful, trusting that God will use these little things to create something bigger than I can imagine.
Here in Kamalo, these small things – digging wells, building schools, teaching children, praying together – carry with them the seeds of transformation. The impact of these efforts may not be immediately visible, but it is not for me to see. My call is to remain steadfast, doing these small things steadily and with dedication, knowing that God will do the rest.
If you aspire to great things, as our Order’s motto from last year reminds us, start with the little things. The world may not notice them, but heaven will. And sometimes, it is the smallest things, done with perseverance, that change the world.
I know it well. I am a product of them.