Behind the Overseas Filipino Workers' sacrifice is a child learning to wait with hope. Photo: Lilibeth Sabado
In 2009, I spent a couple of months immersing myself in communities in Mindanao where families of Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) lived. I felt it was important to understand the lives of those left behind so I could more effectively accompany and pastorally support the OFWs I was blessed to journey with during my assignment in Taiwan. While much attention is often given to migrant workers abroad, I wanted to listen to the stories of the spouses, children, parents, grandparents and relatives who carry the weight of separation at home.
Those months opened my eyes to the hidden sacrifices behind every departure. I encountered families living with both hope and loneliness, grateful for the opportunity migration provided yet struggling with the emotional costs of prolonged absence. I listened to children speak about parents they saw only on screens, spouses who carried the responsibilities of family life alone and grandparents who stepped into parental roles, or the eldest child taking on a parental role. The stories I heard then have stayed with me and continue to shape my understanding of migration, family and ministry.
On the other hand, I have met families who have become dependent on regular remittances from their loved ones overseas. In some cases, they stop working and rely solely on this support. I have also observed that the steady flow of money can blur the line between wants and needs, leading to unnecessary spending and unrealistic expectations. This highlights the need for responsible stewardship, financial literacy and shared family responsibility alongside the sacrifices of OFWs.
The experiences of OFW families are far from isolated. They are part of a reality affecting millions of Filipinos. According to data from the Department of Migrant Workers (DMW), nearly 7,000 Filipinos have been leaving the country each day in recent years, in search of work and opportunities abroad. Behind these numbers are mothers and fathers saying goodbye to their children, husbands and wives enduring years of separation and young people learning to navigate life without a parent’s daily presence.
While labour migration has contributed significantly to the Philippine economy and improved the material conditions of many families, it has also created a generation of children who silently bear the emotional costs of separation.
Now that I am assigned to my home region of the Philippines, those experiences have taken on deeper meaning. I have long hoped to start a support group for the children of OFWs. Although there is growing recognition of the need to support these children, establishing a dedicated program in our area has not yet become a pastoral priority. The stories and experiences of these young people remind us that their needs are real and deserve our attention.
I hope this ministry can help fill that gap and provide a space where they feel seen, heard and accompanied. Such a ministry would not only support their emotional and spiritual well-being but also affirm their dignity and strength as they navigate life with one or both parents working abroad.
Having been here on Negros Island for a year now, I no longer hear these stories only through interviews and conversations. I witness them in the lives of the people around me. One experience remains deeply etched in my memory. A neighbour who had worked abroad for many years finally came home - but not in the way her family had dreamed. She arrived inside a coffin.
Like many OFWs, she left home carrying hopes of providing a better future for her loved ones. Instead, they were met with grief and loss, a painful reminder that behind every migrant worker is a family whose lives are profoundly affected by the risks and sacrifices of migration.
Another story that touched me deeply was about a mother who left her three-year-old daughter to work overseas. The child was too young to understand why her mother had to leave. She could not grasp the economic pressures that forced such a difficult decision. She only knew that the person who hugged her, eased her fears and tucked her into bed each night was suddenly far away. Her story reminded me that migration often forces parents to make heartbreaking choices, choosing between being physically present for their children and providing the resources their children need to survive and thrive.
Yet amid these struggles, I have also witnessed remarkable examples of love and commitment. One such story involves a woman who cared for her girlfriend’s child while her girlfriend worked abroad. Though not bound by blood or marriage, she embraced the responsibilities of parenthood and became a stable presence in the child’s life.
I was also moved by the story of a student who celebrated her eighteenth birthday towards the end of her retreat here at the Columban mission centre. For many young Filipinas, a debut is a significant milestone - a celebration shared with family and loved ones. Yet for this young woman, the occasion carried a bittersweet reality. Her parents, working overseas, could not be physically present to celebrate with her, only joining via a video call. At the parents’ request and recognising the importance of the occasion, the teacher in charge organised a simple celebration to mark the milestone. What could have been a lonely day became a memorable and joyful experience. The celebration was simple, but it reflected something profound: the power of community. In that moment, the teacher became family, affirming her worth and accompanying her during a significant moment in her life.
These stories reveal a reality that is often overlooked. The children of OFWs are not merely recipients of financial support and educational opportunities. They are young people carrying complex emotions - longing, loneliness, gratitude, confusion, resilience and hope. While remittances help provide food, education and security, they cannot fully replace a parent’s presence during moments of joy, fear, uncertainty and growth.
As communities, schools, churches and organisations, we are called to accompany these children more intentionally. They need safe spaces where they can share their stories without fear of judgment. They need mentors who will listen, teachers who understand their struggles and communities that will remind them that they are valued and loved. For while parents may cross oceans to provide for their families, every child deserves a community that walks beside them and reminds them that they are never alone.
I feel deeply blessed that this hope is gradually becoming a reality. Together with my fellow lay missionaries, we have begun networking with a college here in Negros Occidental to host this ministry supporting the children of OFWs. We are equally grateful for the opportunity to partner with the Presentation Sisters, whose presence and commitment to young people bring encouragement and hope as we seek to create a nurturing community for children whose lives have been shaped by migration.
It is our hope that this emerging ministry will become a space where young people can find encouragement, healing and hope. More importantly, we hope to help them discover that while migration may separate families geographically, they are never alone.
Columban lay missionary Lilibeth (Beth) Sabado lives and works in the Philippines.
Listen to "The other side of migration: The children who wait"
Related links
- Read more from The Far East - September/October 2026
