Much of our lives in Papua New Guinea (PNG) are consumed with fairly mundane activities. The fact that we live and work in the “exotic” tropical rainforests of PNG does not excuse us from tasks like washing dishes, doing laundry, and taking care of our kids just like normal people here in America. Many times our lives appear on the surface to be very similar to our lives in the States.
There are, however, those moments that punctuate the monotony that remind us that we are NOT living a normal lifestyle. Moments that shake us to the core, make us feel like we’re living in a National Geographic film, and leave us asking “What in the world are we doing here?!?!”
Our first three months in PNG were filled with those kinds of moments. In fact, I would say that during the three months of our Pacific Orientation Course (POC) those earth-shattering, exotic moments were more the norm than the exception.
Like the day I got stuck in quicksand, for example.
One Sunday, we had the opportunity to go on an optional swimming trip. Like most activities in PNG, this was a lot more involved than it sounds. A group of about 20-30 of us missionaries loaded up in the back of a large covered flatbed truck and made the hour and a half drive down the rough mountain roads to the village closest to the watering hole. (I could write a whole story on the trip down the mountain as it was an adventure in itself, but we’ll save that for another day…)
Once we got to the village we unloaded from the truck and began the 30 minute hike down into the ravine where our swimming hole was located. This probably ordinarily would have taken an hour, but whoever was leading the charge REALLY wanted to get to the swimming hole quickly. I was grateful at this point that Jennifer and the kids had opted out of this little excursion and stayed back at POC because it would have been a really difficult hike for them. It was pretty steep and I felt like we were basically jogging down the mountain most of the time!
But it was worth it. After a very sweaty hike through the jungle, we stepped out into the clearing where the watering hole was. It was breathtakingly beautiful. A stream came out of the mouth of a cave, cascaded over a short waterfall into a large rock swimming hole which overflowed into a series of smaller, cascading crystal clear rock pools before flowing off into the jungle as a meandering stream. The tall jungle trees surrounding the pools kept it nice and shady and cool. It was paradise.
We swam for a while, enjoying the cool, clear water and taking turns doing high jumps off of the rock formations into the deeper, main pool. Then, a group of us decided to hike around to the entrance of the cave and follow the stream through to the mouth where it emptied into the pools.
Hiking through the jungle in PNG isn’t for the faint of heart, but it’s always rewarding. I enjoyed the beauty of the jungle and the massive trees that form the canopy above.
Finally, we came to the cave entrance. The cave was 10-20 feet tall and wide at most places. There were lots of bats flying around and the cool stream was only a couple feet deep in most places. After 10 minutes or so of walking through the cave, we were at the mouth where it poured over the waterfall into the pools. There was no safe or easy way down the waterfall, so we took a short detour around the waterfall.
Most of this path was under 6-12″ of water from the stream, but it was easily traversable since most of it was peppered with larger rocks we could walk on.
Near the end, however, was a different story. I had lingered back a little from the group, enjoying the scenery around me, so I didn’t get a good look at where everyone else had walked. I hopped off of a rock ledge onto what looked like a short stretch of rock covered by about a foot or so of water.
I immediately realized my error. While the substance under the water had looked like solid limestone, it was in fact quicksand. My right leg immediately sunk up to my knee in the squishy sand and silt mixture which pulled my weight off-balance, forcing me to either fall headfirst into the quicksand or pull my other leg in as well. I pulled my left leg off of the rock ledge and into the quicksand so that I could stay upright and not make a bad situation worse.
As I tried to shift my weight and pull one leg free, the other leg only sank deeper. The suction from the quicksand made it completely impossible for me to free my leg, and any attempt to do so was threatening to pull off my Keens hiking sandals.
A brief moment of panic struck as the realization sank in–I was stuck in quicksand! My wrestling around had only served to make matters worse, and I was now up to my mid-thighs deep in the quicksand, with the water level close to my waist. There wasn’t really anything around for me to grab hold of (I had left my Indiana Jones’ rope back home…😂), and I realized I wasn’t going to be able to pull myself out of this one. Embarrassed at my blunder, I yelled for help–but not too loudly so as not to alert the entire group of my stupidity.
Fortunately, one of our PNGan guides was nearby and turned around to help me. It took him a good bit of effort to pull me out, but I did finally make it out of the bog, shoes and all!
While I wasn’t in any real danger, the shock of the incident taught me a valuable lesson: when hiking through the jungle along a stream, test your footing before leaping in!
Oftentimes we treat our jobs, homes, health, family, and financial status as if they’re trustworthy foundations upon which to build our lives, but they’re not.
On a deeper note, sometimes things in life which appear to be solid and stable are in fact unsuitable foundations. In PNG, between the quicksand, earthquakes, and landslides even that which you most take for granted–the very ground under your feet–can prove to be untrustworthy. But oftentimes we treat our jobs, homes, health, family, and financial status as if they’re trustworthy foundations upon which to build our lives, but they’re not. “At least my job has a guaranteed paycheck,” we say. Does it really? Are you guaranteed your job? Or, “I’m reasonably healthy, so at least I don’t have to worry about getting that illness.” Do you really think that you have control over your health?
It’s true that God expects a certain amount of responsibility and good stewardship from us in these areas of our lives. We cannot live a fiscally irresponsible life and expect all to turn out well. Nor can we treat our bodies with disregard and expect to live a long, healthy life. But we also cannot put our trust in these things. If we do, we will soon discover that they are “broken cisterns that can hold no water” (Jer. 2:13), or shifting sand unfit for a firm foundation (Mt. 7:24-27).
The only sure foundation upon which to build our lives is Christ and his Word. He is the only thing in this life that never changes, never disappoints, and is never affected by the chaos of this world. And because he is trustworthy, his Word is also trustworthy.
For millions of people around the world–including the Mubami people with whom we work in Western Province, PNG–the firm foundation of God’s Word is inaccessible to them because it is not available in a language that speaks to their hearts. Our mission is to bring God’s Word to the Mubami people in their own language so they can have access to God’s Word and know how to build their lives upon Christ. Click the link below to learn how you can partner with us in our Wycliffe ministry to translate God’s Word into the Mubami language.
*This is the fourth of a seven-part series on our pre-allocation trip to the Mubami people of Western Province, Papua New Guinea. The primary purpose of our trip was to discern God’s will in starting a new Bible translation project with the Mubami people.
Day 4, March 2, 2018
What a day! This morning we packed up our stuff again and ate breakfast. (You’ll never guess what we had for breakfast today…tuna and rice! Surprised?) This time, the truck came as planned and we took off down the logging roads in the back of a small pickup towards Sogae.
Thankfully, the roads were dry and made out of packed red clay, so they were surprisingly smooth! In fact, I think that outside of the roads in Port Moresby, this dirt logging road was the smoothest road I’ve been on in PNG! Granted, if it had just rained these roads would be impassable. But, so long as it’s dry, it’s smooth sailing.
We drove past Newtown and then kept going deeper and deeper into the jungle. We saw parrots and cockatoos flying overhead and someone even caught a glimpse of a red bird of paradise! The scenery around me was like something out of a movie. We were probably driving at 30mph for the majority of the time (a pretty good speed in PNG) and the cool breeze was a welcome relief from the heat. We must have driven for 30 minutes before I saw another human being, and even then, we only saw a couple men on logging company equipment. The thought occurred to me, “I wonder what we do if the truck breaks down or runs out of gas?” I was grateful that we had been able to get a SAT phone before our trip! Fortunately, we made it without incident, except for having to swerve around a large pile of dirt placed inconveniently in the center of the road. Who put that there?
As we were driving along, Rex told me, “Brother, I had a dream last night that you preached on Sunday.” I nervously chuckled. I thought to myself, “How in the world would I find time in this crazy week to prepare and deliver a sermon—a sermon in a foreign language, at that!” I didn’t quite know what to say because I wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea for me to preach to a group of people whose culture I didn’t have a good grasp on yet. I’ve learned the hard way that such a situation is rife with potential cultural pitfalls and potential for misunderstanding. Before I had a chance to reply, though, Rex sealed the deal—“Yes, I think that’s what we will do. You will preach Sunday. The people will hear the gospel from the white man.” “Oh boy,” I thought, “I’m not sure if this is a blessing or a catastrophe waiting to happen!” But Rex had made up his mind, so that was that. I was preaching on Sunday, ready or not!
When we arrived at Sogae my first thought was, “Oh, so this is what Jesus meant when he said ‘…and to the ends of the earth’!” Sogae is literally in the middle of nowhere. Assuming the road is passable, it’s a little over an hour drive from the Kamusi airstrip (which is already pretty much in the middle of nowhere) and an hour and a half canoe ride from the other closest airstrip at Sasereme.
There were a number of homes scattered along a half mile stretch of the Wawoi River. Most of the homes are built right along the banks of the Wawoi. We were greeted by a number of people including the new pastor of the church at Palieme and his family. He and his wife are Gogodala missionaries and they had arrived at Sogae only a week before we did. He will soon take up his post as pastor at Palieme. He and his family were a notable exception to the PNG norm of quiet, reserved women and outgoing men. He was one of the quietest men I have ever met, and she was outgoing even by American standards! Plus, she spoke fluent English—better than any of the Mubami.
Rex Amadi, as the denominational leader in the area, was our primary “guide” during out time with the Mubami. He had happened to be at Kamusi for a denominational meeting with the Mubami pastors when we arrived, but his home is at Sogae. He showed us to his home, a simple home with two bedrooms and a larger living area. It was a typical construction for Mubami homes, as far as we could tell. It was built on stilts about 8 feet off the ground along the edge of the river bank. There was a makeshift ladder to climb up to the veranda to enter the home. Fearing that the ladder might not support my weight with my luggage, Rex motioned for me to toss my bag up to him before I climbed up. The roof was old, rusty metal with nail holes from where he had removed it from his previous home to reattach to his new home. The floor was off-cut lumber from the sawmill with nails sparingly and sporadically placed throughout. (Nails are expensive and hard to come by for most PNGans.) I had to watch my step in the home because many boards throughout the veranda and in the home were not nailed down at all and the opposite end would pop up if you stepped in the wrong place. Others were just much thinner and felt like they might break under my much-larger-than-your-average-PNGan-weight, so I just made sure to stick to stepping on the floor joists. The windows were simply framed holes in the wall, though the “master” bedroom had some spare roofing metal propped up in it to provide some privacy. There were, of course, no lights or electricity, no indoor plumbing, no carpet, no decorations, and no furniture or beds. Rex and his family moved their belongings out of the two bedrooms and into the living area to provide a room for Jennifer and I and the other room for Phil and Adau (Domai had stayed at Kamusi with some relatives). He and his family slept in the living area.
After setting up our bedding, we went outside to sit down and visit. There’s not much purpose to being inside in a typical PNG village house. It’s hotter inside and there’s no breeze, plus there’s no lights or electronics to entertain yourself with, anyhow. A house is a place for sleeping, that’s about it. So, most people socialize underneath their house where it’s cool or in their haus kuk (an outdoor kitchen.) I walked along the veranda, carefully hopping from floor joist to floor joist, watching for boards that wouldn’t support my weight. In my careful attention to my footing, I failed to notice that the roof of the haus kuk—which is attached to the opposite end of the house and veranda—was much lower than the roof on the house. That’s no issue for most PNGans, who are usually shorter than the average American, but I banged my head straight into the edge of the low hanging roofing metal. Fortunately, I had my hat on, so it didn’t cut my forehead. It only took me running into it once more for me to figure out that I had to duck to enter the haus kuk.
The haus kuk was of similar construction—up on stilts even with the level of the house and with lots of boards not nailed down. Actually, about half of the covered area of the haus kuk didn’t have any boards at all! So if you didn’t watch your step carefully, you’d end up falling into the cassowary pen underneath the haus kuk! (One benefit of this construction is that it’s super easy to feed the cassowary. Just toss your scraps over the edge of the haus kuk!)
The ladies busied themselves preparing a simple meal over the fire in one corner while we and the men chatted in the other. While in Kamusi, Rex had repeatedly and excitedly promised that once we got to Sogae they would give us “real” village food. Boy, did they deliver! Some of the village boys had been splashing around in the river with nets and had caught some freshwater prawns! So, the ladies roasted them on the fire along with some fresh greens and, of course, sago.
Sago is the staple food in much of PNG and is made from the starchy center of the sago palm tree. The tree is cut down, stripped of the bark, then pounded to get out the starch. That starchy pulp can then be prepared in a number of ways. The most unappetizing method is to simply boil it in water. This results in a very stringy, white, tasteless blob which I affectionately call “snot soup,” for obvious reasons… Needless to say, we’re not big fans of this method of sago preparation.
So, we were very pleasantly relieved to find that the Mubami people roast their sago inside of bamboo. Sometimes they roast it plain, but often they mix it with coconut, bananas, and other foods to give it a flavor. Sometimes they even mix in pork, fish, greens, or other savory foods, too. While the resulting reddish-brown colon-shaped sago still doesn’t look very appealing, it’s much more palatable than any other version of sago I’ve tried…if you can get past the rather unsettling resemblance it has to its digested version, that is…
After we finished lunch, we all made our way down to the dinghy. Getting into the dinghy from the muddy bank without falling into the water took a bit of effort. We took off south down the Wawoi to go visit Palieme. The new pastor and his wife came along, too, so that they could see the village where they would be working and living for the next few years.
We puttered along in the dinghy for about 15 minutes to Palieme, then got out and hiked up the hill to the village. It was a scorcher that day. We walked around the village for a few minutes and then the whole village gathered in the church building.
Walking through the church was an even more risky affair than walking through the village home. About 50% of the floor boards were rotted enough that they would not support pretty much anyone older than a child. The bottom step going up to the veranda of the church broke when Jennifer tried to climb up it.
About 40-50 people gathered in the hot, stuffy church to see why the white visitors had come, and after everyone got settled, Rex invited us to introduce ourselves and explain why we had come. We thought it best to let the pastor and his family introduce themselves first, so his wife introduced their family. Then, we explained why we had come. At this point, Jennifer was fairly confident that God was calling us to the Mubami, but still wanted a little more time to think it over and pray. When God calls a husband or wife into a ministry, he calls the spouse as well. So, even though I was confident of our calling already, I knew that Jennifer needed a little more time to pray and wasn’t quite ready for a commitment. So, I explained that we were here to prayerfully consider whether God would have us to come help them with Bible translation. I spoke in pidgin and Rex translated for me. Very few, if any, understood me when I spoke in pidgin or English. Their reaction was much the same as what we saw at Kamusi and Sogae. They passionately explained why they needed scripture in Mubami and explained that they thought they were the last language in PNG left that needed Bible translation. I explained that there were actually over 300 other languages in PNG alone that were still waiting for scripture, and many, many more throughout the rest of the world. As you might imagine, that was of little comfort to them, but it did help to know that they weren’t the last ones and that our organization hadn’t forgotten about them.
I asked them to pray for us to have clarity and promised to pray for them. It gave me great joy to be able to tell them that people back in America have been praying for the Mubami for three years now, and they were very happy to hear that, too. Phil and Adau explained that a Bible translation project is primarily the job of the people, not the foreign missionaries. Without a lot of commitment and local ownership, Bible translations rarely succeed. Phil and Adau explained that Adau and his wife, Domai—not Phil Carr—are the Bamu Bible translators and that if the Mubami wanted a Bible they would have to be willing to commit to the work.
The people seemed to agree with that and were enthusiastic about the idea of starting translation. We prayed and adjourned and cautiously made our way back out of the church and down the rickety steps and back to the boat.
Rex had told me that they had been working on building an airstrip near Palieme for several years now in preparation for a missionary coming to help them with Bible translation. It wasn’t finished, but they had all the plans made out for it and had started the work. We planned to swing by and take a look at it on the way back, but just as we were getting close to the airstrip we got caught in a torrential downpour. I attempted to shield myself with an umbrella, but eventually just gave up because there was no point. I was getting soaked anyhow, so I figured I might as well enjoy the cool down! I laughed to myself as I remembered an episode of Planet Earth II that we had watched just the week before our trip. In this episode, the film crew were filming freshwater dolphins in the Amazon River and got caught in a torrential downpour. I looked around us at the dense jungle on all sides, looked at Jennifer and said, “Hey, you remember that episode on Planet Earth?” We both laughed as we realized the insanity of where we were and what we were doing.
We got back to Sogae that afternoon, just as the rain was stopping, just in time to see a large tugboat pulling an enormous barge down the river piled high with logs. It was coming from Sasereme, another logging camp north of Sogae along the Wawoi, and was heading downstream to the ocean. It was a bit strange seeing such a large technological contraption so far out in the bush.
When nightfall came we again took bucket baths. We could have gone down to the river and washed in the river like they do, but it had rained in the afternoon and the path down to the river was a muddy, slippery mess. I imagine that it would have done more harm than good to try to bathe in the river! Plus, Jennifer was a little nervous about bathing in the river at night knowing that there are, at least occasionally, crocodiles in the area. The people had told us not to worry about crocodiles because “when they see black skin, they know not to come close.” Surprisingly, that didn’t give us much comfort. We didn’t vocally oppose bathing in the river, but I think they figured we were too clumsy to make it down and back without wallowing in the mud, so they just filled a five-gallon bucket with river water and brought it up to the veranda for us.
Bathing in a village setting is rarely a private affair—there’s almost always someone around who can see you—so, you have to stay partially clothed. Women usually bathe in shorts and a t-shirt or just a knee-length blouse, while men just bathe with shorts on. Still, for us Westerners, bathing out on the veranda where people can see you is, at best, an awkward affair. Two women took it upon themselves to stand there on the veranda on either side of Jennifer just to be certain that nobody watched her…except them, of course. The awkwardness of public bathing is just the price you pay for cleanliness and a little relief from the heat. Oftentimes, it’s the little nagging things—like lack of privacy—that wear on you in a village setting. Full immersion in another culture takes a toll, so every missionary has to figure out ways of compromising between the target culture and their own culture. For us, that’s probably going to mean me constructing some kind of outdoor shower stall to provide a little more privacy for taking a bath.
That night we had a good, hard rain. The metal roof amplified the sound so that the rain was deafening. Of course, the water found its way through the various nail holes to drip on us, but overall, it wasn’t too bad. Even though we got dripped on a bit, it was a more than fair trade-off for the coolness that made it easier to sleep that night.
Today we were supposed to catch a ride from Kamusi across to Sogae. Pastor Max spent most of the day yesterday trying to arrange a ride and he told us that there would be a truck coming for us today. So, like the Westerners we are, we assumed that a truck would be arriving today. Before breakfast, we packed up our belongings, neatly organized them by the door and waited for the truck to come. We sat around for a while chatting with whoever came by, and Jennifer enjoyed getting to hold a cute little Mubami kid in her lap.
While we were waiting, I had the chance to talk with a few of the Mubami men underneath Pastor Max’s house (homes here are built on posts raised about 8-10 feet off the ground). An elderly man named Gaulei showed me his tattered and torn Gogodala Bible. The Gogodala are a very large language group just south of the Mubami who have had foreign missionary influence since at least the early 1940’s. Their New Testament translation was completed in 1981 and they have been a powerful missionary force in the surrounding region. Four out of the six ECPNG churches in the Mubami area have Gogodala missionaries as their pastors. Gaulei proudly showed me his Bible and I couldn’t help but think that it seemed to have gotten more use than most Bibles I’ve seen in the US. To be fair, though, paper doesn’t fare too well in the tropics so Bibles age quickly.
I asked Gaulei to read me a passage, curious if he knew Gogodala well enough to understand the Bible in Gogodala. Typically, in a village setting like this, elderly men may know some other languages from nearby peoples, while young men with more access to education may know some basic English or Tok Pisin. Women and children typically don’t know any other language aside from their mother tongue with any significant fluency, though there were a couple exceptions to this norm.
Gaulei struggled through a couple verses with what I would probably classify as the equivalent of a third or fourth grader’s reading ability in the US. But, knowing how to sound out the words of another language is very different from understanding their meaning. I can stumble through reading German—not well, mind you—but I understand basically nothing of it.
“Do you understand what you just read?” I asked him. Gaulei stared at his Bible for a moment then looked at me and shook his head “no.”
I felt like Philip with the Ethiopian eunuch. The Ethiopian eunuch couldn’t understand the Isaiah scroll he was reading without help, either, probably because there was no Bible in his mother tongue at the time. He was probably reading in Greek or Hebrew. Without someone skilled in these languages to interpret for him, he would have been hopelessly lost. Even with Philip to translate and explain it for him, eventually he would need the Bible in his language if he ever hoped to reach his fellow Ethiopians with the Gospel.
Rex reiterated what he had told me yesterday. “He can’t understand it because this isn’t his language, it’s the Gogodala language. So, he can read the words but the true meaning—he’s not able to understand that.” Since there’s no secondary school (grades 9-12) in this area, the vast majority of children don’t make it past grade 8 in the Mubami area—most don’t make it that far—leaving them with far too little English to understand the Bible in what has been described as one of the world’s most complicated languages.
Around lunchtime, the people explained that the truck that was supposed to come get us had to first deliver some people to Diwami, but that upon its return it would take us to Sogae. That was fine by us—as long as the truck arrived by 1 or 2pm we should be able to make it to Sogae before dark. By 2:00, we were beginning to have some serious doubts about our travel plans. Someone told us that they had heard that the truck had to take a ferry across the Wawoi River and take someone a little further towards Balimo, but that when it returned we would all go to Sogae. Balimo is a very long way from Diwami, so we quickly got the point. PNGans are typically less direct than Westerners and have a cultural aversion to disappointing someone. They don’t like to deliver bad news. So, if they know what you’re expecting or hoping for, that’s what they will tell you. (One has to be very careful, therefore, not to ask leading questions, because you’ll almost always get the answer you’re looking for whether that’s the “truth” or not! This often-disregarded cultural phenomenon is probably the source of many misleading statistics.) They hadn’t lied to us, they had simply used a culturally appropriate way of telling us “Yeah, that truck ain’t coming today.” We haven’t been here for a long time, but long enough to be able to read between the lines of this gentle PNG let-down. So, we unpacked our stuff again, set up our beds, and resigned ourselves to traveling tomorrow.
Since we had some free time and I was starting to get bored, we walked down the logging road about a kilometer to see another Mubami village called Newtown. While it’s still a part of the Kamusi area, it’s in its own little area off by itself. There were about 10 or 11 homes, most made out of off-cuts of lumber from the logging company with metal roofs, typical construction for the Mubami area. We didn’t really spend much time at Newtown, just walked down there and then back to the church.
That night a group gathered in the church sanctuary around electric lanterns and we talked and ate dinner. I think three different people brought us three complete meals that night. Just as we were finishing the first meal, the second arrived, and then the third. We were stuffed. There’s just only so much rice and tuna I can handle in one sitting, and after having rice and tuna for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past two days, I was not terribly thrilled to see a third helping coming our way. So, we politely nibbled at it a little so as not to offend and then shared it out with all of the people sitting around watching us eat. (Which, by the way, is as awkward as it sounds.)
After eating we chatted for a couple more hours. Phil amused everyone with a funny story about an elderly couple vacationing in an Asian country where they didn’t speak the language. The couple had brought their beloved house dog with them on their vacation. One night, they went to a nice restaurant and brought their dog with them. Since they didn’t speak the language, when they ordered their food they just had to use hand gestures. Wanting to order some food for their dog, they pointed at their dog and then made the gesture for eating food. The waiter grinned, nodded to acknowledge his understanding, picked up the dog and walked back to the kitchen. Later, he returned with the couples’ food. They ate their meal and then flagged down their waiter to pay their compliments and retrieve their dog from his meal in the kitchen. They motioned for their dog and the waiter just gave them a puzzled look. Finally, the waiter mustered up what little English he knew to say, “You already ate it!”
Everyone, including myself, was dying with laughter at the mortification of the elderly couple who had just discovered that they had eaten their beloved pet. As I looked around the room at the men and women laughing, I felt for a moment like I was with a group of old friends. After just two days, they already become like family to me. I looked over at Jennifer who was sitting on the floor with a group of women and smiled because she looked perfectly at home, like she belonged there despite her different skin color, language, and culture.
It’s hard to explain why or how, but in that moment I realized that God had given me the answer I’d been praying for. Before we left, I hadn’t made out a list of “qualifications” for what I was looking for in an allocation. I know that lots of people do, and there’s not necessarily anything wrong with that as long as you’re willing to set aside your list if God says so. Some people’s list includes things like “an airstrip within 10 minutes,” or “cell service in the area,” or any other number of qualifications. But for me, such a list couldn’t answer the primary question I had which was simply this: “Are these the people you want me to serve, God?” That question, for me, was the only one that mattered. The rest is simply logistics. So, instead of making a list, Jennifer and I decided to simply pray that God would make his will clear to us. God knows us far better than we know ourselves, so I knew that He would know exactly what would make his will clear to us concerning the Mubami. And in that moment, as we all laughed so hard we cried, it was clear to me. These people were hungry for God’s Word and we had already formed a bond with them that I simply couldn’t explain. Like Jonathan and David, my heart had been inexplicably and inextricably tied to theirs and I simply couldn’t walk away. They were no longer statistics or stories, they were my brothers and sisters, people that Christ died for.
In hindsight, I’m grateful that the truck didn’t come as planned and I’m glad that I didn’t make out a list of qualifications. In all my planning and careful consideration, I’m pretty certain that such a list would not have helped me to discern the difference between God’s will and my own. And most of all, I’m thankful for that elderly couple who sacrificed their dog for a people group in Papua New Guinea that they had never met.
God has done a lot in our lives since we sent the last email and we are thrilled to be able to announce that we are now Wycliffe members! (We even get our own “@wycliffe.org email addresses! haha) Although our official employment date is not until September 1, our employment paperwork has all been submitted and we have received our job offer from Wycliffe to serve in Papua New Guinea (PNG). Thank you all for your prayers and support—God answered your prayers in ways we could have never dreamed! In the name of brevity, I won’t list all of the ways God provided for us in this email, but if you want a glimpse of his provision, check out our previous blog post here.
While we will miss our family and friends greatly, we know beyond a shadow of doubt that this ministry is where God is leading our family. There are currently over 1,900 languages in the world without a shred of scripture. Imagine having no access to scripture in English! Think of the last time God revealed something profound to you that changed your spiritual walk. Was it while you were reading scripture? While you were listening to a sermon on a passage of scripture? In your small group at church, talking over a passage of scripture? What would your spiritual walk look like if you never heard God’s word in your language? Carl F.H. Henry once said, “The gospel is only good news if it gets there in time.” Similarly, it’s only good news if they can understand it! We will have the incredible privilege of being a part of bringing God’s Word into one of those 1,900 languages—specifically, one of the 300+ languages without scripture in Papua New Guinea. (For more information about Wycliffe and Bible translation, click here).
But, before we can jump in and start translating, there is a good bit of training we must undergo, and we need your help! Our first part of training for Wycliffe will be a two-week training session and orientation in Orlando from October 18-31. Our cost of attendance, which covers room and board, airfare, and cost of training, is about $3,500 for our family. We’ve sold just about everything we can sell to meet our financial requirements for application, so we need ministry partners who are willing to pray for us and partner with us financially to bring God’s Word to the Bible-less. Would you prayerfully consider advancing the Kingdom by partnering with us in our ministry? If God is leading you to partner with us financially, please look below for information about making a tax-deductible donation.
We also desperately need prayer partners. The task of translating the Bible into a foreign language is a God-sized ambition, and is something that will only come to pass with God’s miraculous provision. Please pray 1) for our training, 2) for God to raise up other prayer and financial partners, and 3) for God to begin preparing the people to whom we will minister to receive the Gospel.
We hope to begin sharing our vision for ministry soon with local churches, so if your church would be interested in having us speak, please contact me and we can make arrangements. Again, thanks for your prayers and support! Please continue to pray for us as we take these next steps in our ministry.
Donations can be sent to: Wycliffe Bible Translators P.O. Box 628200 Orlando, FL 32862-8200