Dressed Up to the Nines

“Tailored by Love: How I Found a Spiritual Family in Ungab Congregation”
by: A Boy Dressed by Faith and Covered in Love

Days after my first privilege to read Bible in the stage of the Kingdom Hall of Ungab Congregation, I am attending meetings wearing a lime-green long sleeve shirt and a matching necktie—an outfit that made me look like a walking highlighter trying to find Jehovah. It wasn’t exactly subtle. I stood out like a neon sign in a candlelight vigil.

And the story behind that outfit? It’s not as fashionable as it is emotional.

Back in 2014, I won the 10th spot in the Division Intel Science Fair at Santa Rosa, Nueva Ecija. Not bad for a boy who grew up with more questions than answers—both scientifically and spiritually. While other kids were probably asking for new phones or celebratory trips after the win, I asked my Science teacher if, instead of a t-shirt or a short, I could receive a long-sleeve shirt and a necktie. She raised an eyebrow at first, probably thinking I’d lost a few brain cells along the way. But when I explained that I wanted to wear something appropriate for a congregation meeting—the kind Jehovah’s Witnesses wore—she softened.

You see, I was born into a family that had little to give—and I mean that in the most generous sense. Materially, we had enough to survive. Spiritually? Well, if spiritual support were a bank account, mine would’ve been screaming in overdraft. I never received spiritual support from my family. There were no shared prayers before meals, no Family Worship evenings, and no excited rush to prepare for the meeting. I grew up spiritually starved, and at the time, I didn’t even know I was hungry. My spiritual progress was like planting a seed in a crack of concrete—lonely and often overlooked. And I didn’t receive any budget to have my own formal robe to attend meetings. So that lime-green outfit became my uniform of hope. It was bright, yes. Maybe too bright. But it was mine. A gift earned by Science, repurposed for faith.

And so, in that outfit—part victory, part vulnerability—I found my seat in Ungab Congregation.

Now, I wasn’t expecting much. I figured I’d attend quietly, maybe sit in the back, and leave unnoticed. But Jehovah had other plans, and so did His people.

It started small. After a few meetings, a sister approached me with a gentle smile and said, “Want a polo shirt? It's cooler for the ministry. It doesn’t fit my son anymore anyway.” A few days later, I was handed a crisp formal shirt that smelled like fabric conditioner and spiritual encouragement. Then came the neckties—darker, more serious ones. One had tiny blue pinstripes that made me feel like a circuit overseer in training. After that came formal shoes, a ministry bag, and eventually, twenty-peso cash—quietly handed with a warm whisper: “Just a little something for merienda, brother — don’t spend it all on siomai!”

Every single item was given without fanfare. No announcements. No pity. Just love.

I still remember the first time someone gave me a real pair of ministry shoes. I had been wearing a pair that had more scuff marks than a playground swing. One day, after the meeting, a sister gave a box, and there they were: polished, sturdy black shoes. “It’s for you,” he said. “Looks like you’ll be walking far in your service — might as well do it in good shoes! It doesn’t fit Xander anymore either.”

I was speechless. And if you know me, that’s rare.

I’d come from a place where spiritual conversations were awkward at best, non-existent at worst. But in Ungab, people didn’t just talk about Jehovah’s love—they showed it. They made me feel welcome, wanted, and worthy—even when I didn’t own the right wardrobe or have the “perfect family” behind me.

There were times I walked to the meeting with an empty stomach and walked home with a full heart—and sometimes, a full plastic bag with merienda inside. There were times I thought I couldn’t afford to join the ministry, and someone would discreetly offer me a ride. Or someone will say with a smile, “We can just walk — as long as we’re out in field service, we’re good!” There were moments I felt weak, and someone would send me a text that read like a hug in words.

I remember others teasing me, “Wow, you really have some pull with Ate Iyyang, huh!” But honestly, I never felt like a charity case. I felt like a brother. A son. A part of something big, and kind, and steady.

The truth is, Ungab Congregation didn’t just clothe me with fabric. They covered me with dignity, wrapped me in compassion, and tucked in the loose corners of my life that the world had left undone.

That yellow-green long sleeve and tie? I’ve lost them because of being nomadic. But I still have them tucked in my memory, forever a symbol of where it all began. It reminds me that I once walked into a hall unsure of my place in Jehovah’s family—only to find that He had prepared a seat for me all along, along with a full outfit.

So no, I didn’t grow up with spiritual support at home. But Jehovah made sure I was never without it. He gave me a family dressed in faith, who taught me that being rich in love is better than being rich in anything else.

And sometimes, all it takes is one Science Fair, one bright shirt, and one congregation full of kindness to change your life.