tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20099727010561152602024-03-12T18:01:44.470-07:00D and T in PNGAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-73265512956195256522017-09-25T01:52:00.001-07:002017-09-25T02:08:04.123-07:00Turning<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">It often happens like this. I will be doing something far from unusual, like doing the dishes, or laundry, or turning left at a junction and suddenly what I'm seeing adds an extra layer. I see a Papua New Guinean lady walking along the road, feel an absent friend's hand on my shoulder or a mixture of many memories, all at once, overwhelming, and then gone. These moments cause me to turn from life here, to life there and then back. There is so much turning in transition. I am dizzy. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">It's four months since we left PNG and things are going okay. Duncan is enjoying his new role with the Wales Air Ambulance, Reuben has started school, Rosa is exploding with thousands of new words and I am somewhere in the middle, turning between, turning behind, trying to turn forward. We are frequently asked if we are 'settling' and I suppose we are, but in a 'I'm trying to grab scattered bits and pin them down' kind of a way. Any one bit might spring back and hit me in the face at any moment and remind me that true settling is going to take a while. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">A few things have caught me out in the glorious fun that is re-entering life here. For example, who knew there were so many different ways to pay for car parking now? - or not pay, even though you definitely did. The wonders of 'contactless' payment, all the many million passwords, WhatsApp and hybrid cars. We have felt incredibly fortunate to have friends and family to help us navigate it all, start the settling thing and realise we are here now. The tricky bit is that I feel that in all this discovery and re-discovery, there is a forgetting and I'm not comfortable with that. You know when you're grieving for someone and something means you forget for a minute and then you remember again and it's fresh again and...yeah, it's like that. I don't want to forget but it's not healthy to remember all the time either. It can feel like our old life suddenly has nothing to do with the new one. But it does. Oh it does. We are different and in spite of all the unease, of all the missing people and the purpose we had, we still have steady peace that it is right to be back now. But peace doesn't hold off grief and that's okay. Our heads are still spinning from turning in so many directions, but there will be a settling and when it truly comes I hope we will be able to see how God has blended it all together to make us what He want us to be right here, right now. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">We want to say a huge thank you to those of you who have encouraged us during our time with Wycliffe Bible Translators in Papua New Guinea. Thank you too for reading this blog and sharing in it all. I wish I had the words to say what it has all been like. I've found a few along the way, but none of them capture it, or more importantly, the immense and complete grace of our wonderful God through it all. We know that most of you think we are bonkers, but our prayer is that you too will experience God's grace in your lives and you don't have to move to Papua New Guinea to find Him. He's right here, right now, waiting for us all to turn to Him. That's the turning I am going to be working on. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Yesterday, I realised that we haven't seen Autumn for four years. Last time, we had just had Reuben. As I walked through the gorgeous blaze of colours at a local National Trust garden with our new son strapped to my chest, I reflected on change, surprises, the turning of the season and miracles. In this new turning, I feel the same and for these last words, I am once again lost in the wonder of it all. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><font face=".SFUIText"><br></font><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34sTZ928i_-WN-vUmGMLBi2MgRTLWHGEsdsFbGqFAh0a4_nB2OBvH983TiLdDDuQzp9407FPMffDaLsdqU3Rt_W-q7yuMUv68PwDu8RGEl9IoV7ICL5nJr00KkTGc3jazhx0-Sx7PiyQ/s640/blogger-image-1229951385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34sTZ928i_-WN-vUmGMLBi2MgRTLWHGEsdsFbGqFAh0a4_nB2OBvH983TiLdDDuQzp9407FPMffDaLsdqU3Rt_W-q7yuMUv68PwDu8RGEl9IoV7ICL5nJr00KkTGc3jazhx0-Sx7PiyQ/s640/blogger-image-1229951385.jpg"></a></div><p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-11586838938617090642017-05-13T18:26:00.001-07:002017-05-13T20:21:59.948-07:00Leaving day<div>The clouds, still sleepy, are lying low in the valley and the moon is high. We slowly walk round the house, stopping in each room to say goodbye. There is a rush of bags, coats and last things and then we are standing outside in the cool clear morning, waiting. Reuben is very excited about going on the bus and skips around us. It comes. We get on. We go. So simple.</div><div><br></div><div>At our small airport we hang about with a group of loyal friends who have come to say goodbye. We discuss the journey, our upcoming holiday, how late to leave it before we go to the bathroom, whether the fog will lift and the weight of the luggage. We take photos. Inside we brace for the parting and when it comes, it is there and gone and then so are we. The small plane's engine drowns out the sound of my crying and in the blur I see our friends waving and Duncan's colleagues all lined up along the tarmac. As we flash by they walk forward, their hands in the air in farewell. Then there is sky and the views below take the rest of my breath. For a moment I am numb, stuck in sorrow, and then I breathe. Rosa starts wriggling and the rest of the journey is spent wrestling the little ones and trying to help them settle. The day goes by in the throes of travel and then, almost as if by magic, we are in Cairns and I can see the horizon from the window. Our valley walls are down and in all the openness I am finally and quite suddenly overwhelmed by the day. </div><div><br></div><div>So there it is. PNG is once again across the sea. We are facing in another direction and for all those who have encouraged us, there are those who don't understand too. That stings. We so wanted to finish well but we have realised it isn't entirely in our control. We are sorry for that and for pain caused, for things left unsaid and expectations left faltering. It is the same for us. Thank goodness for God, His grace and HIS control over this whole crazy wonderful experience.</div><div><br></div><div>For a moment I am numb, stuck in sorrow, and then I breathe. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPEfV2lXuSN4hRshRlqHEm2gf85aNC_G9yecZZdX3Bw02qpGNe7NnB3A79gicoealiWxNhdlHNuKd6KBrI6YtM5lPiIsgcfdrptBRY1-sL3RGcF1_cScj5H4SVEHak9Jm9pcAkRun_qM/s640/blogger-image-570490053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPEfV2lXuSN4hRshRlqHEm2gf85aNC_G9yecZZdX3Bw02qpGNe7NnB3A79gicoealiWxNhdlHNuKd6KBrI6YtM5lPiIsgcfdrptBRY1-sL3RGcF1_cScj5H4SVEHak9Jm9pcAkRun_qM/s640/blogger-image-570490053.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-20772117955874082202017-05-04T03:08:00.001-07:002017-05-04T03:28:44.720-07:00Wings<div>
I <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">saw them! For the first time I really saw them! Walking home a group of small parrots flew out of a tree and I actually saw them. (Forgive the repetition, but I'm so excited!) Usually they are a frustrating blur and then they are gone. They hide in the trees chattering away and even if I stand for ages they evade my view. But today they almost seemed to pause and turn their wings so that the sun caught them in all their glorious technicolor and I truly SAW them. After they had gone I paused to soak in what had just happened and to enjoy the sun on the valley. How beautiful it is here and so full of life to be witnessed in unexpected bursts of motion. </span></div>
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The beauty is not just in the view though. It's all about people for me. This extrovert has loved living in community. It is true that I have felt culturally isolated and misunderstood at times but those moments are massively outnumbered by deep connections and day to day togetherness. Losing friends and being lost is no fun. I have seen the colour of their wings and they have seen mine. I will not forget friendships that have sprouted from washing up liquid (dish soap), shared experience, proximity and coincidence. There are things that no one else can ever understand. The blend of life that we share is unique. But it is also characterised by constant parting and now it is my turn to go.</div>
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The goodbyes have begun in earnest and my heart feels raw. I want to stay. And I want to go. I want to be whole but I shall ever be in pieces. But God is constant and gracious. He is truly beautiful and He has given me more than I could have thought of asking for. </div>
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I shall not forget the parrots. Or the people. Or the broken beauty of this place and this life. Perhaps it will weave into new opportunities to glimpse colourful wings. I truly hope so.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-68532808242624176272017-04-29T15:19:00.001-07:002017-04-29T15:19:41.620-07:00Bare walls<div>The walls are bare and it's thundering outside. Both children are napping and I know I should be doing something. There is something else to clean or pack, or throw away. For you see, we are leaving PNG. </div><div><br></div><div>I close my eyes and try to imagine him. He's 17 and he's reading a book about a missionary pilot. His heart starts to beat faster. His eyes drink in the words. The floppy hair flops forward and right in that moment everything changes because he knows. Hundreds of miles south I am blissfully ignorant that my future is also forming from the words on that page. It is the beginning of so much.</div><div><br></div><div>So what do you do when God takes your dream, makes it real and then shows you that it is part of another beginning you hadn't thought of? What do you do when He redirects you so emphatically that you cannot but walk through the doors He has opened even though to do so creates such a whirlwind of mixed emotions you feel exhausted? For those of you who don't do God stuff, I'm not sure how to explain it any other way. You thought we were mad anyway. </div><div><br></div><div>The lived dream has been beautiful, broken, surprising and transformative. We are irrevocably changed. We are not returning to the UK because we are angry, in trouble or unwell. We still believe that the work of Bible translation is vital in both senses of the word. We have seen it change lives and communities. We have witnessed God's power in this incredible country and we will carry it all with us forever. We are grateful to have been here, to have loved and been loved. What we thought was fact finding research into the helicopter job market in the UK for use a few years in the future became an application to learn from, which led to an interview and a job flying helicopters with the Wales Air Ambulance. God is a God of surprises! And adventure. And hope. And new dreams that remember old ones and are thankful.</div><div><br></div><div>We have walked through the jungle at dusk and now it's time to come home. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-74303265272418918442017-01-17T14:50:00.001-08:002017-01-17T14:50:31.866-08:00Not my classroom<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Of course it has to be the 'Paw Patrol' shorts and yellow 'Thomas' t-shirt. It's rained fairly constantly for the last two days so they are a little bit damp, but the sun is out to shine on this first morning of school and he is delighted to wear his favourite clothes. I chase him round the house attempting to apply sun cream, direct him to the bathroom, make sure he has drunk some water and hasn't hidden any toys in his backpack. At last, I pull him onto my lap and as he wriggles with bubbly excitement, I pray. <i>Dear Lord, thank you for precious Reuben. Please bless this first morning of school.</i>..He plants a kiss on my cheek and I feel tears prick. It's only two mornings a week for goodness sake, but it's the beginning of everything too. It's only pre-school but it's the start of a long journey that I just know will be packed with stories. There is no <i>only </i>about this. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Unusually, he pauses patiently to grin for photos in all the right places and only then do I realise that he too is aware that this is a special moment. As we walk up and down rocky roads slick with mud and the odd dead frog, I am struck by the fact that this is hardly a normal beginning. Whatever normal is. Here it won't matter if he arrives with muddy knees and of course, we do. To begin with he holds my hand as we plod up the hill, but as we reach the top he lets go and dances ahead all the way down to the school. He is literally quivering with joy as he skips, but he must be nervous too. You wouldn't know it though as he kicks off his crocs and hangs his dinosaur backpack (a present from Granny) on a peg that has his name above it. He rushes off to greet friends and I am left at the door. The teacher assures me I may go in and watch these first moments but I know that this is not my classroom. He reappears briefly to give me a kiss and a wave and I go. I remember discussing this with him. </div><div>"Will you leave me mummy?" </div><div>"Yes my darling, but I will come back." </div><div>"You will come back?" </div><div>"Yes."</div><div>Yes. With all my heart. </div><div><br></div><div>On the way home, back up the big hill that Reuben has just hurtled down, Rosa snuggles into me and I look out across the valley. It is a gorgeous morning. Sun after dreary rain. A welcome breeze and the promise of my precious son's future in my thoughts. It's all in God's hands. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbN-vDFRuLnqvUcjLox3AH5l5bN5tX_GxCYT9z-_5SUixp6ZsyHJk3zdVaUZIfiNokMsuj9UBWptgaEO3Qx22Bc3_kn4bMTbiWwIxmHoopPfW5bI3Ky2d2_5jjWFX8MdiqSvPGsm7K6Y/s640/blogger-image--436465501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbN-vDFRuLnqvUcjLox3AH5l5bN5tX_GxCYT9z-_5SUixp6ZsyHJk3zdVaUZIfiNokMsuj9UBWptgaEO3Qx22Bc3_kn4bMTbiWwIxmHoopPfW5bI3Ky2d2_5jjWFX8MdiqSvPGsm7K6Y/s640/blogger-image--436465501.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtN8sjT6Ozkm2f3m2UgDCRLUXd_gvrQ23XV9gyyLfUmihjqUSDm6oT70-H-AOry2nxWesnPyfoW9WW_tComWVEfeqSujhIop8BnjRS_T-YPdCBKn_vnsiYbMfkleW4PpO62EZShrBep7o/s640/blogger-image-1865977465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtN8sjT6Ozkm2f3m2UgDCRLUXd_gvrQ23XV9gyyLfUmihjqUSDm6oT70-H-AOry2nxWesnPyfoW9WW_tComWVEfeqSujhIop8BnjRS_T-YPdCBKn_vnsiYbMfkleW4PpO62EZShrBep7o/s640/blogger-image-1865977465.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicThcS0wqXjO0vix7EgjPWPVYZlM6qJYOe2qF4M2JDHJwNMf8FXk9T85Th0TQ6fTUH9EzK3xaiy90egXDHUTStS8USptLM4uOIosilAJXd6a_gJsPUGGgC0Vqb6hgG8tlhGSde2jpdOE0/s640/blogger-image-2087997262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicThcS0wqXjO0vix7EgjPWPVYZlM6qJYOe2qF4M2JDHJwNMf8FXk9T85Th0TQ6fTUH9EzK3xaiy90egXDHUTStS8USptLM4uOIosilAJXd6a_gJsPUGGgC0Vqb6hgG8tlhGSde2jpdOE0/s640/blogger-image-2087997262.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdZjjOTmaJ6ScqKsm1TjgKDjjH4KZcy-tQzFle55Xlg9SzdAsgrCK-zUvpf4BLHppnq5Uc8spmcBZZgLCjap7lHUpJtkoCNIvHaCXQyKmuSk9wSwMzH4Sz8vCBLq9VyhvkPf9x3yxFys/s640/blogger-image--1499027880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdZjjOTmaJ6ScqKsm1TjgKDjjH4KZcy-tQzFle55Xlg9SzdAsgrCK-zUvpf4BLHppnq5Uc8spmcBZZgLCjap7lHUpJtkoCNIvHaCXQyKmuSk9wSwMzH4Sz8vCBLq9VyhvkPf9x3yxFys/s640/blogger-image--1499027880.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-73980216341462996502016-12-13T02:07:00.001-08:002016-12-13T02:09:00.866-08:00Sounds of Life<div>An alarm that is hurriedly hushed. Whispered goodbyes. Footsteps trying to be quiet and a door closing. His motorbike engine fading into the dark. Quiet again and then the birds, some so insistent that their voices rise in a crescendo of excitement. Perhaps some dogs and the sound of thick tyres on dusty rocks. Maybe the rain. And then the rustling, snuffling of awakening and a squeak. A happy sigh as tired arms reach for eager ones and the joyous scramble for food. Gentle sucking, happy sighing and of course, a burp. Now comes more rustling from behind the wall. "I want to wake up!" The sound of my assent and the rush of footsteps thundering out of bed. And so it begins - the chattering, laughing, cajoling, whining, chattering, whining, giggling, shouting, whispering, chattering, laughing symphony of the day. In the background the washing machine grinds, the bread machine thuds, clean dishes clink as they make it into the cupboard, soap sloshing round dirty cereal bowls, toys joyously dumped, floorboards squeaking, the rhythmic swish of the brush as I sweep away crumbs. Then the rush of leaving, shoes on, the excited skip of feet on the path and squeals at the sight of a friend. The adults speak low so the little ones don't hear as we tell stories of their exploits. Instead they giggle and shove, bustle and push. The sound of life at high pitch, full on, full tilt, full. The click of the nursery gate, snotty kisses and my feet sliding on wet grass as they try not to rush away. Sweet sighs from the little one relaxing into her morning nap, door closing and brief quiet. My finger tapping on the iPad screen, clothes pegs pinging and jumping on the line, a whoosh of parrots' wings, their chatter and a shouted hello to a friend walking by. Footsteps on the verandah and another language spoken. Stories of family, life and death, sorrow and joy, needs and hopes. My screen door closing and water running in the sink. Sometimes the sound of sitting, of silence, maybe of prayer. Sometimes, depending on the day, of tears for the stories just heard, for far away faces or just for release. But then there is the getting up again, the brushing away, the little one waking and the rest of the day coming.</div><div><br></div><div>Later there will be more - the beat of the helicopter returning, the grind of his motorbike engine getting louder and the creak of the shed door. Heavy boots on the path, excited children and greeting. His face brushing mine, stories of the day and togetherness drenched with squealing, chattering, laughing, bath time splashing, bed time praying and finally gentle breathing and doors closing. So many sounds. So much vibrant living. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-45076020680079576032016-10-18T02:52:00.001-07:002016-10-18T02:53:02.221-07:00The little things<div>Ants. Let's just say I hate them. They bring out the absolute worst in me. There are just so many varieties and my house has enough cracks and holes to welcome them all. When we first moved to PNG, a friend advised me to let my ant anger go - it's a battle you will never win she said. She was right, but I have not let it go.</div><div><br></div><div>We have been back in PNG for nearly two weeks now and I'm already being reminded that it's the little things (literally in this case!) that get me down. I hate ants because I think their presence means I haven't cleaned. But here the ants have unusual (as well as usual) tastes. They like water, lettuce, sweat...I think they just like going for a walk, having a look round, saying hi. I hate it when they walk across the baby's mattress, when they are in the kitchen or on the sofa or on my face. They refuse to leave no matter how rude I am to them. </div><div><br></div><div>It is true that I hate ants but I realise too that they represent a target at which I can aim general frustration. My reaction to discovering some is usually a good barometer of how I'm doing. When we were in the UK we went on holiday in the Lake District. The place we were staying in had an ant problem and I, well I freaked out. They were big and black and they were walking around the kitchen. I was shocked by the vehemence of my desire to have them instantly eradicated. Inside I was thinking, 'THERE ARE NO ANTS IN ENGLAND. THIS CANNOT BE!' Looking back, this is rather funny, but at the time I was genuinely unsettled and distressed. When I discussed it with Duncan, he said he was surprised by how strongly I reacted too but as we talked about it we were able to recognise it as a symptom of transition. It wasn't and isn't really about the ants (although I do still hate them). I have accepted that ants are not only a problem in PNG, that neither of my 'homes' is without significant challenges, and that I must stop trying to make things perfect, without flaws, without ants. </div><div><br></div><div>As we stepped off our final flight we were met by friends. We felt loved and wanted. In the joyful rush of return I did not think about ants. We soaked up the welcome and did not dwell on the little things that can make life hard here. Now I am reminded again, I can't pretend that they don't exist. In fact it is better that I admit it and develop strategies for coping. It's not going to be perfect, but it is already wonderful anyway - ants and all - to be back. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-2234887342569444342016-09-24T13:26:00.001-07:002016-09-24T13:26:28.693-07:00Chairs<div>Outside, the sky is completely clear and although the air conditioning is trying its hardest, it cannot not cut through the hot afternoon rays of North Carolina sun bursting through the window. But the chair is comfortable and the baby sleeps in my lap and so I sit on. These special times are when I think and now I am thinking about this chair and more importantly, who has sat in it. </div><div><br></div><div>We are at JAARS in Waxhaw, North Carolina. It is an organisation that exists to facilitate Bible translation by offering practical services such as aviation training, which is why we are here. Duncan is receiving refresher training before we return to PNG in a few weeks.</div><div><br></div><div>Four years ago, I was sitting very close to here, but I was alone. We had a smaller apartment around the corner, so the view we have here is similar but from a different angle. Oh how true that seems of life now too! Back then, Duncan was gone during the day learning to be a missionary pilot and I was struggling to imagine how we had got to this point! We were headed to Papua New Guinea to work as a teacher and a pilot and we had little idea of what lay ahead. Whilst we were here people poured encouragement and love into our hearts. We learned a great deal and when we were in PNG, I lost count of the number of times I thought back to it and tried to apply what we had been taught. Now we are here again, but this time we have lived and worked in PNG for three years - we have friends and a life there - and Reuben and Rosa are with us. As I write that, I am struck afresh by how completely and utterly amazing that is! If I had known when I sat at our kitchen table in the apartment round the corner four years ago, that I would sit here now, I would...well I'm not sure at all what I would have said. Having these weeks here is a powerful reminder of God's blessing and just when I needed to hear it. For you see, even though we have come through so much and seen God work mightily, I still let fears creep into my heart. </div><div><br></div><div>Rosa is stirring a little. She lets out a sigh and I try not to laugh at the intensity of her seriousness! She is so, so precious and I suddenly feel fiercely protective and uncertain that we are doing the right thing in returning to PNG. I wonder if others who have sat in this chair have felt the same niggling doubts or if I am alone in the lack of trust department. I suspect I am not. I decide to get brave and instead of pressing the fears down, I take each one and talk to God about it. The air conditioning whirrs as I lay out my anxieties. Once again, I have a feeling that many, many people have sat here doing this and that they, like me, wonder at the graciousness of serving a God who will listen. </div><div><br></div><div>My mind flicks back to my chair at the kitchen table in the apartment round the corner. I cried a lot at that table. I was grieving for a life we were giving up, hopes we were laying down - I was trying to acknowledge the losses we were about to face so that we could step forward healthy. But I got too consumed in the loss and nearly forgot the gain. But God picked me up and sent me anyway. The truth is that God has given us much more than we could have hoped for - and I don't just mean the children. And yet I fear for them?! They are His. THEY ARE HIS. And so are we. </div><div><br></div><div>It has been so wonderful to reconnect with friends here at JAARS and to sit in their chairs! We feel refreshed by this place in between our homes and by the God who has given us this space. Thank you, JAARS...PNG...ready or not, we are coming! </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuioHNkxyN8zUo0oGVN3fp930nOIbERUmrXoyDaIY0TkM72j44eRvIw83-3IqkQ1hXMUhA3CAcntoUEeKF4btKoDTm8aPVfQN9ZBL6ipUqpWS-lykjaAufCyiXtja7HhrUkpKJT76t_xI/s640/blogger-image-1226334858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuioHNkxyN8zUo0oGVN3fp930nOIbERUmrXoyDaIY0TkM72j44eRvIw83-3IqkQ1hXMUhA3CAcntoUEeKF4btKoDTm8aPVfQN9ZBL6ipUqpWS-lykjaAufCyiXtja7HhrUkpKJT76t_xI/s640/blogger-image-1226334858.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-86117895811842846612016-08-13T11:52:00.001-07:002016-08-13T11:52:26.484-07:00On the beach<div>I'm standing on the beach. Rosa is asleep in my arms, the waves are rushing in and a cool, gusty breeze carries sounds of my family playing nearby. I lift my face to the sun and enjoy. Reuben is dancing around with his spade, his body reflected in the wet sand. Duncan watches over him, his jeans rolled to the knees, and I wonder what he is thinking. Is he wondering how to freeze time too? </div><div><br></div><div>I love the beach and it occurs to me that I will miss it terribly - that I will miss a lot of things, terribly. And with that the faces of our furlough come, playing like a movie, moving me gently until the salt in the air, is also in my eyes. I am remembering times of connection - of small talk and deep talk, news of birth and news of death, hugs hello followed too soon by hugs goodbye, trying to get that one photo with everyone and trying to leave each one well. </div><div><br></div><div>I can hear Reuben designing an airport in the sand - his imagination evolving with each stroke of the rake and I think of all the new experiences he has had...new foods, launching bottle rockets, watering strawberries, picking cucumbers, feeding a wild bird from his hand, play doh, jigsaws, using a saw (!), soft play, museums, going on the bus, shopping centres, swimming, chips and nuggets, television, going to the zoo, new friends, Octonauts, stickers and family.</div><div><br></div><div>It's all coming to an end and suddenly, after eight months, we must go. I push down the sense of panic, sadness, elation and anticipation that are all rushing through me. I close my eyes and the wind blows cold. But then Rosa stirs, Reuben advances bubbling with stories of his creations, wet shorts and sand everywhere and life continues. Loss and hope together - the many faces of furlough, this beach, my daughter in my arms and fresh salt in my eyes. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-73158805917607748312016-08-04T06:52:00.001-07:002016-08-04T06:52:37.951-07:00Enough<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We have been in the U.K. since December and have had a busy time. Beautiful baby Rosa joined us in February and we have visited friends, family and supporters around the country as well as welcoming many to our home on Anglesey. Thank you to all who have travelled to us and to all who have hosted us. It has been great to reconnect and share lives again.</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div><br>Although we have been back from PNG for what seems like a long time, we seem to have always been in some kind of transition or another and now there are further big changes ahead. Soon we will return to PNG (after a short stint in America where Duncan will have refresher training) where we will continue to serve as support missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators. There are still around 300 languages (out of 800ish) that still do not have any Scripture in their language and we want to help change that in our roles - Duncan as a helicopter pilot and me supporting him from the home front! We believe people need to read the Bible in their own language so that they can make their own minds up about what it's all about. <br><br>With only weeks to go there is much to organise. Whilst Duncan handles all the paperwork and formal side of the preparation, I have to make sure we have what we all need for the next couple of years. I have been slowly amassing things and many have generously given the children clothes and toys. But as I have been doing it and as I now try to review and check what we have, I am bothered by the question of when to stop. When do we reach enough? To be quite honest, I am rather concerned that deep down I think our future happiness and success in PNG depends on whether I have ordered enough stuff from Amazon. I know it doesn't but that's not how I'm acting!<br><br>When I look back over our first term in PNG I only encounter memories of needs being met. What we didn't have was provided by friends around us, or sent from home, or did not turn out to be that vital after all. I have blogged before about wanting the best for the children and how we have been repeatedly blessed with exactly that. So what am I worrying about? I think it is because when I look back, I also remember some of the tough times emotionally and it is embarrassing to realise that my inner self still thinks an extra pair of crocs will help in the inevitable future times of challenge. Sigh. <br><br>It's also hard to focus on leaving in the way I think I should be because there are two small people with big needs who fill my day with fun, but also challenges as we navigate potty training, establishing good sleep and eating habits and build relationships between us. I am planning for lots more lovely visitors, cooking, doing laundry and somewhere in all of this I must decide how many pairs of socks my future 4 year old will need and what my husband might like for Christmas the year after next. Many have done this before me and with many more challenges to face, but I'm still struggling to juggle it all and keep everyone happy as we also begin the essential, but difficult process of goodbyes. <br><br>In this rare moment of quiet I feel rather panicked by all that must come in the next few weeks. It would be nice to run away and just magically be in PNG again. Or what would be even better would be to arrive a few months in when friendships have been re-established, the house sorted and the cooking underway. But that isn't how it works. This transition must be lived and lived not just by us, but by those letting us go and those on the other side. But here's the thing - in all this exhausting anticipation I know that these shifting sands are underpinned by a firm path. As we step onto the bridge between our two lives as a family of four for the first time, we can be sure God has us and those we love in each place, in His hands. And that is more than 'enough'.</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37ELs4aPeSkjQjm2DpoT7jzAJMDD2sQ9p20AfXWd7B1Xgf_ChppnVzml-VgRTVxLpQIallOf_jejlBFxwedtCQfgrXsveMe8zvPuF-KpJAd51rbxJ97avlemNMpTDBnYuA6Zkf-jcPXA/s640/blogger-image--106105787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37ELs4aPeSkjQjm2DpoT7jzAJMDD2sQ9p20AfXWd7B1Xgf_ChppnVzml-VgRTVxLpQIallOf_jejlBFxwedtCQfgrXsveMe8zvPuF-KpJAd51rbxJ97avlemNMpTDBnYuA6Zkf-jcPXA/s640/blogger-image--106105787.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-29710613257783269102015-06-28T03:34:00.000-07:002015-06-28T03:34:34.487-07:00Christmas in June<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Last July we were in Cairns and as we wandered around the shops and looked at all the things it is possible to buy for a baby, we felt overwhelmed! How did we know what Reuben would like to play with this time next year? It was hard to choose and I remember thinking, "We live in PNG, we need to get this right now! Who knows when we will be here again!" In my 'I want my child to have the best of everything' head, it felt like anything less than instant access to a toy shop was a sacrifice. <br /><br />So fast forward a year and as I have already written about, it's June and some dear friends and neighbours have just returned to their passport countries. I think I established in my last blog that this is a sad time. But this year, we have experienced a very surprising silver lining. The truth is that people who are leaving need to get rid of most of their things and Reuben (and we) have been the recipients of some incredible generosity. <br /><br />Reuben is now the proud owner of his own little table and chairs, new books, a huge crate of 'Thomas the Tank Engine' Duplo, a box of about thirty cars and a bag of shoes in the next few sizes. I look back at myself feeling sorry for him and laugh. As he played happily with a friend in a muddy ditch this afternoon I laughed again. Covered in mud and grinning from ear to ear he did not look like a child suffering from lack of proximity to shops. So thank you, friends - for your willingness to share toys and things that have been precious to your children and yourselves. You have made a little boy and his parents feel loved by you and by a God who provides in ways we rarely have the faith to imagine. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-62666393684859944902015-06-19T02:27:00.001-07:002015-06-19T02:27:25.168-07:00For Kate<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I woke up this morning with a familiar ache spreading across my face. Ah yes, I thought. Of course. From time to time this memory of old tears comes back to remind me that I'm grieving, even when I think I'm doing rather a good job of pretending I'm not. It is hard not to marvel at how my body tells me what my mind is blocking and I know from experience that this is not a reminder to ignore. Perhaps you think that this is too personal to share with the world, but if you are really interested in what it means to be a missionary then talking about loss is essential. <br /><br />One of my very best friends left Ukarumpa today and she is not coming back. Before she left, I considered publishing a blank blog. I thought the white space might serve well as a picture of how I feel - empty, unable to find the right words, but also hopeful for possibilities to fill and find. Yet today, having stood in drizzle and watched the plane taking them away disappear, I find that in place of the blankness I thought I would encounter, there is instead a surge of something else. As we said our goodbyes I felt my body literally convulse. Frankly, it was not very British. I barely held it together. It was overwhelming, intense, physical. <br /><br />Before she left, my friend instructed me not to turn to chocolate and I will obey. So what now? What do I DO? I remember when my brother died, that I turned to a friend and asked her to tell me the procedure. I wanted to know how grief worked and what to expect. In this case, my friend has not died - God willing, I will see her again. But I know enough about different types of losses, to know that the days ahead will be unpredictable and there is no point trying to pretend otherwise. There is no procedure and everywhere there are reminders. My plan is to feel what I feel and try not to be too hard on myself, or those around me - we are all navigating our way though the same sea after all.<br /><br />Do you know what the best thing is though? As I watched her walk away my arm was linked through the arm of another beloved friend. As I felt the physical wrench of separation, I felt the joy of connection at the same time. How's that for God providing in every moment and in every way? <br /><br />So...for all the world to read: Kate, you are wonderful. You have lovingly encouraged me through my early days as a missionary and a mother. I will miss you dreadfully, and will pray for you every day as you walk through your new beginnings and beyond. </span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-6777609509525863152015-05-30T20:59:00.000-07:002015-05-30T20:59:22.798-07:00Bugs<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Bugs! That had been one thing we had been dreading before going on orientation. All manner of creepy-crawlies to come face-to-face with.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It started off pretty tame ... just an average beetle in the room.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Then we had to run the gauntlet of this fella to get to the bathrooms.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We tried not to think about where the rest of his family might be!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Back in the room, geckos and small lizards were fairly common, but just outside we found this little guy.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Baby dragon?!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Oddly enough, in the village the supply of wildlife was no less! We often had small tree frogs come and sit on Reuben's bath.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Their other favourite trick was to come inside our house and be on the ceiling above Trudie (always her for some reason). Then every now and again they'd fall off and make her jump out of her skin!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The greener-coloured tree frog also liked to come and visit...</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">but I wasn't quick enough with the camera to capture it.</span></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-46034659862641417342015-05-25T04:40:00.001-07:002015-05-25T04:40:05.578-07:00In the quiet<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Reuben and I are sitting in the window enjoying a rare moment of quiet. Mum left this morning and even my vivacious toddler is subdued. The hum of the aeroplane that carried her away is fresh in my memory and I imagine her looking out at the beauty of PNG at her feet. This is the season for goodbyes and it would seem that it does not get easier. Last hugs, whispered encouragement, snatched minutes before the miles gape between us again. And again I am struck by the sweet sorrow of these moments, of this life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Sitting here in my patch of silence I reflect again on the cost of this being a missionary thing - for us and for our families. Gazing at my son, I glimpse future goodbyes between us and for a second a strange and frankly awful feeling grabs hold of me. I push it down. Those days are a long way off, but I wonder if this is how mum felt this morning, even after so many goodbyes. We had a great time together and with Duncan's mum when she visited us at Christmas - now we feel grief, but if there can be such a thing, we feel GOOD grief. The knowledge that we love and are loved makes it more painful and more bearable at the same time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />There are more goodbyes on the horizon too. The end of the school year means many are leaving for furlough or 'going finish' (not coming back). This time, some of our 'family' here are returning home for good and our hearts are heavy with the thought of losing them. For a moment I feel overwhelmed, but then suddenly strangely elated. We are so fortunate to have such friends! When we watch them fly away I know there will be tears on my cheeks, but much joy too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />It's still not quite eight in the morning and our world here is waking up. Reuben looks out of the window, spies a friend walking down the road and waves happily. This friend and her smile fill me with hope. Not everyone is going! My friend and haus meri is about to arrive too. I think about the stories of our week we will share and the laughs we will have as Reuben dances around us and tries to steal pieces of our snack. Again, I feel a surge of hope and gratitude.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Reuben looks at me and grins cheekily. He is reviving...now he is trying to tempt me into a game of peekaboo....and who can resist? </span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-5012242257737577502015-05-17T22:00:00.002-07:002015-05-17T22:00:55.835-07:00Cooking from Scratch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">People's ideas about what constitutes 'cooking from scratch' seem to vary. For some it may mean not buying a ready-made meal, for others it might require only using 'fresh' ingredients. The family we were staying with took it to what was, for me, a whole new level! They had a garden, but the food wasn't yet ready to be harvested, so instead their staple diet was cooking bananas in coconut milk. The bananas grew all around and the coconuts were gathered off the jungle floor.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgee6n-zzFFZ3n-BbTM-ajQg_6aHgsJIf3KTyAEVVz-XE5UhQFRMpSQPU_0GI7Uk1sHZF6ceIwln_ji6X8JySocPPw6YaPzWLvKIFvSWKxGt-fmCaTBKCzh7yTBRdFbnBhmNvA4er9oPO4/s1600/P1000339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgee6n-zzFFZ3n-BbTM-ajQg_6aHgsJIf3KTyAEVVz-XE5UhQFRMpSQPU_0GI7Uk1sHZF6ceIwln_ji6X8JySocPPw6YaPzWLvKIFvSWKxGt-fmCaTBKCzh7yTBRdFbnBhmNvA4er9oPO4/s1600/P1000339.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our 'Papa' with coconut he has just scraped out of the shell, and bananas behind him</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">However, whilst we were visiting, they also cut down a sago tree to give variety to their diet. Turning the tree into food is an amazing process...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The first thing is to find a tree which is ready and then fell it.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6sDlbMGn0b2xWNvx-2QJhWDrVMqvmagf98YWJJ3KXxEAPOmkKpof2KxXypkBqo5TQbYEuI3Y4XecypxVbDr1fj8cCjBwv6024WJeL-w9gMFjbj4CWqWkHZ2iDMUYFki5QIOi1CQHVGTg/s1600/P1000344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6sDlbMGn0b2xWNvx-2QJhWDrVMqvmagf98YWJJ3KXxEAPOmkKpof2KxXypkBqo5TQbYEuI3Y4XecypxVbDr1fj8cCjBwv6024WJeL-w9gMFjbj4CWqWkHZ2iDMUYFki5QIOi1CQHVGTg/s1600/P1000344.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The trunk can be seen here lying on the jungle floor</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then the bark is cleaned and removed. The bark is pried off such that it can be laid as the basis of a bed on either side of the trunk. Linbum leaves are then laid on top of the bark bed </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">to catch the sawdust which will be produced. If a sack or tarpaulin is available, it too might be used.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijqR0TjHgz2W4Wg9f-ysx28FfxckHYLu8Zue05kUoIVZejLUdY07B530A9yVx7k0t4IOhOuj0OUXCeXz9wlKNVa14Y22D6E7u5KtPIeJWb2_yg3kDPCpbiZ5UUfCCIYBnQ8Nz-Wzqwf5Q/s1600/P1000348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijqR0TjHgz2W4Wg9f-ysx28FfxckHYLu8Zue05kUoIVZejLUdY07B530A9yVx7k0t4IOhOuj0OUXCeXz9wlKNVa14Y22D6E7u5KtPIeJWb2_yg3kDPCpbiZ5UUfCCIYBnQ8Nz-Wzqwf5Q/s1600/P1000348.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The bare trunk with the bark and leaf bed being prepared</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The aim now is to break the trunk down into pieces fine enough to be processed further. The main tool we used was a 'saw', though a mallet is also popular in other parts of PNG.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh78V5WDbi26iVgf-tPfE0kuExGFUXOJXh_e-l537-yaEvWwYsh_4zI7Ect9a9VMkRiikYPuR1GLGtXuwDeZgrg064CdzviPbANOg7K6u3_KIJP6Jy5Ocv0EO9b4LwS88bxTRJg9yiWDFk/s1600/P1000349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh78V5WDbi26iVgf-tPfE0kuExGFUXOJXh_e-l537-yaEvWwYsh_4zI7Ect9a9VMkRiikYPuR1GLGtXuwDeZgrg064CdzviPbANOg7K6u3_KIJP6Jy5Ocv0EO9b4LwS88bxTRJg9yiWDFk/s1600/P1000349.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The two-handled saw with nails in to break up the sago</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then it was a team effort to saw through the trunk, with various members of the village taking their turns.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKApg0YxluK4XFLTUyebWxIIeTjCpB01KDLA_WAYzZrCCHaTRO4x55xQnvZeDzZ-QYoDWlZHO6_aDUOXSZ0bEsax_d_1kRmC5DAJpqyP4y77btvfDSFkMh8Wb0j1FjuyXTOMT59rNj9s/s1600/P1000371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKApg0YxluK4XFLTUyebWxIIeTjCpB01KDLA_WAYzZrCCHaTRO4x55xQnvZeDzZ-QYoDWlZHO6_aDUOXSZ0bEsax_d_1kRmC5DAJpqyP4y77btvfDSFkMh8Wb0j1FjuyXTOMT59rNj9s/s1600/P1000371.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Sawing through the trunk; the mallet can be seen in use in the background</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Once the tree had been turned into sawdust, the work was just beginning. The sawdust was loaded into bags and carried to the nearby water to be 'washed'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6-wZvzJ3kb2vpNuu5ARCBWPmBKjLZ6-q5Sv2Uv-InfoKIuzkgY6HnSMIYB6EiYw8nhxQW-1xqtgRdG6tUv9UFOQXBynx1Z3zLxphS0Y8ovBfCcPecFOYq_tct9Pfek9zucXMYfdMt8k/s1600/P1000381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6-wZvzJ3kb2vpNuu5ARCBWPmBKjLZ6-q5Sv2Uv-InfoKIuzkgY6HnSMIYB6EiYw8nhxQW-1xqtgRdG6tUv9UFOQXBynx1Z3zLxphS0Y8ovBfCcPecFOYq_tct9Pfek9zucXMYfdMt8k/s1600/P1000381.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The washing stand, linbum leaves and water buckets</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The stand was constructed of a top layer of hessian bag, with two layers of linbum leaves underneath. Sago sawdust was scooped from the leaf on the floor into the hessian bag. Water was then poured onto it and squeezed back out again. The squeezing process was then repeated a few times before the sawdust was discarded and it all started again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Back up at the house, the product is strained again to prepare it for cooking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEZvTsRjzS9l4MMKWeu25k4S07obrPwVzaIQfN_cqEe0L96L8q9O7MKbTxFwjDaDSmIC7GTLXCXahTnlO9vgspxVopmvTQa_MFRo8VBz0Uk0sq09S-6ATZhQE314MMVyfnXNTkmgsL-E/s1600/P1000419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEZvTsRjzS9l4MMKWeu25k4S07obrPwVzaIQfN_cqEe0L96L8q9O7MKbTxFwjDaDSmIC7GTLXCXahTnlO9vgspxVopmvTQa_MFRo8VBz0Uk0sq09S-6ATZhQE314MMVyfnXNTkmgsL-E/s1600/P1000419.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Straining through a sieve</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then it's finally ready to be cooked and eaten in any one of a myriad of ways: fried, baked or 'turned' with dry coconut or some other accompaniment.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaUyAbN5VqC5N8T3X0ofyDJ86Y8gkGx_Yb19mwTZ8tI3te-SrsciRil2L0itKK_iCSL3nVpt7z70SgJDaSlwLFc_m8DImRPz3zyN3EEoYJKTUs3T1kZT2hu4m_VQ_gs6z_JNAX-KdceI/s1600/P1000454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaUyAbN5VqC5N8T3X0ofyDJ86Y8gkGx_Yb19mwTZ8tI3te-SrsciRil2L0itKK_iCSL3nVpt7z70SgJDaSlwLFc_m8DImRPz3zyN3EEoYJKTUs3T1kZT2hu4m_VQ_gs6z_JNAX-KdceI/s1600/P1000454.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">'Turned' sago being served</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Alternatively, it can be packaged and taken to market to be sold. A useful source of income.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfWSBkLlEuk_1FvjG7ybSuNZu6jC860VdlBw4gqj_GDZZ8L7a88CUNe0x8xrbDryMTYw31xZaXQm5JQiV2ic_4niFaMBFC0hmKx0UpDXDdQyQiumqGRHnG5Nwp8FxX9oFIQn6yXePSleU/s1600/P1000464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfWSBkLlEuk_1FvjG7ybSuNZu6jC860VdlBw4gqj_GDZZ8L7a88CUNe0x8xrbDryMTYw31xZaXQm5JQiV2ic_4niFaMBFC0hmKx0UpDXDdQyQiumqGRHnG5Nwp8FxX9oFIQn6yXePSleU/s1600/P1000464.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Leaves were used to line a pot and form a case</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnX7WtbfC8298LDvOzOm9bQjhSq48mZuu3y2OO7l837lNM8gx3Xc_zRsACD92ViYz7ADirHy7ppc97GFYKPgUswksprY6ZWnd5sCeL17q6yu_bv9gBeczGwBvbdcTdKA9_kSbtypNdd0/s1600/P1000465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnX7WtbfC8298LDvOzOm9bQjhSq48mZuu3y2OO7l837lNM8gx3Xc_zRsACD92ViYz7ADirHy7ppc97GFYKPgUswksprY6ZWnd5sCeL17q6yu_bv9gBeczGwBvbdcTdKA9_kSbtypNdd0/s1600/P1000465.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then the sago was packed down to fill the pot.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBRYpHDJ8CxVMzgQ2U9sMyLrHnCGvkab1S3YwXRLOSLrIoam1QO6PMVI8B39KHyKmIuvaqe8ks4z7Phpanwe4LRhqleh_mOY8dovRKjt6U-KF4bSgJljzqTYP9CMjy8KDIcRnGFiBxaQ/s1600/P1000467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBRYpHDJ8CxVMzgQ2U9sMyLrHnCGvkab1S3YwXRLOSLrIoam1QO6PMVI8B39KHyKmIuvaqe8ks4z7Phpanwe4LRhqleh_mOY8dovRKjt6U-KF4bSgJljzqTYP9CMjy8KDIcRnGFiBxaQ/s400/P1000467.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The leaves are tied over and cut off, then the package is ready</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Whilst these formed the bulk of the diet, meat was a much rarer commodity. If the the family was lucky, maybe a bush rat or wild pig might be caught in a trap; though that didn't happen whilst we were with them. What we did see were tree-grubs, a kingfisher and (during a visit to a relative) some fish.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5Jq83bUjkL0DyfXddM5KUKVNwqt_yBaLfrzbk29CT2AOV-YXG98jmfZIZx5dw3BZDA6qbvrSLye1bupHMaOyadTtl1x1ce2uQ0kbMg65Hv-85WsUyUvc09hqkr2a5BxhPw0vLhCx1hk/s1600/P1000553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5Jq83bUjkL0DyfXddM5KUKVNwqt_yBaLfrzbk29CT2AOV-YXG98jmfZIZx5dw3BZDA6qbvrSLye1bupHMaOyadTtl1x1ce2uQ0kbMg65Hv-85WsUyUvc09hqkr2a5BxhPw0vLhCx1hk/s400/P1000553.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">No food miles - caught in the water in the background and eaten right there</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-15957445543865668912015-04-19T03:08:00.000-07:002015-04-19T03:08:15.241-07:00Stretched but safe<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We're back! Hurrah! I remember promising you stories of our adventures and adventures we have certainly had. The knotty problem of how to tell you about them has been occupying me since our return. What to say? <br /><br />Before we went to POC (Pacific Orientation Course) I was worried about hiking, bugs, being hot, cooking over a fire, washing in the river and physically making it back to Ukarumpa in one piece. We are in one piece and we did, or encountered, all of the aforementioned things and they were, yes, I am going to say this..fun (mostly). Don't get me wrong - I am VERY happy to be back in our home...running water, electricity (most of the time) and floors are things I will try never to take for granted again. I will never forget the thrill (yes, I mean 'thrill') of walking through the jungle and thinking, "I am in the jungle, I AM IN THE JUNGLE!", of washing clothes and bathing in a river with sunlight trickling through mambu and of seeing children running ahead of me down the winding path to the water. There are smiles and eyes that are lodged in my brain, sounds of the jungle and of people murmuring into the night...all seared into my memory, part of me now.<br /><br />There are stories we could tell of sticks that were scorpions, gallant frogs and cheeky geckos. (They all have happy endings). But for the moment, they are not really what is on our minds. The truth is that Reuben didn't sleep much, so neither did we. A sort of fog descended over us as we spent endless night hours slumped over the side of his cot. We got very, very tired, and here, at the ends of the earth, we came to the end of ourselves. Do you remember that we asked you to pray for us? Well, we needed it and in those end places, we met God, just as we have met Him in every other place we have ever been. POC isn't really about hiking and learning a language, even though those things are a valuable part of it. For me, for us, it was about learning to trust God for every minute and to feel His presence with us, even when all seemed bleak. To be quite frank, I was right to be frightened about going to POC, but I am grateful that we did. We have been stretched and drawn out beyond our boundaries, and when the dust settles we will be the better for it. <br /><br />Perhaps reading this will worry you. Well don't be! The scorpion didn't bite me (apparently he was put off by my white skin) and we are all sleeping better. We have learned a great deal about PNG, people and ourselves. It was good, but we are tired. Thank you for your prayers and praise God from whom all blessings flow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJk7lI0hoRXUO0ZbPy9zqNfEwYfWAGpbwRQrYT-qYD005iAZHJN0l6eI-r5ZrxHyvIToQWwNCgP2L1aFDXrLAFZHsPfxtAUOoVg1BfYxw3JAzgeCpsJSCbYEPch_jTm3-h22Y3FuGbrE/s1600/P1000117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJk7lI0hoRXUO0ZbPy9zqNfEwYfWAGpbwRQrYT-qYD005iAZHJN0l6eI-r5ZrxHyvIToQWwNCgP2L1aFDXrLAFZHsPfxtAUOoVg1BfYxw3JAzgeCpsJSCbYEPch_jTm3-h22Y3FuGbrE/s1600/P1000117.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This is our outdoor kitchen where we learned to cook over an open fire</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPmjNrhjDXQEwlvxz_rZ2u7nnl74gMnPbVhisUSAplIMOWzG7d3mFrDWr7jsgm5MJrXHe2pqoyAs6Rt7lv-mpTaQHlOa4ZjqsXjXtrje4zc_k9sb5CMSbZTZZyJL7zRCuZXGya4uTmC0/s1600/Group+Picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPmjNrhjDXQEwlvxz_rZ2u7nnl74gMnPbVhisUSAplIMOWzG7d3mFrDWr7jsgm5MJrXHe2pqoyAs6Rt7lv-mpTaQHlOa4ZjqsXjXtrje4zc_k9sb5CMSbZTZZyJL7zRCuZXGya4uTmC0/s1600/Group+Picture.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our course</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2ngPsrdklAQVrjubitm1f9QN4iNjXKCGBPs0QdazaO2JSRXgRLYqa0aomWNRDb_n7qhJsyNzTzP7Kph54-T7ORKaV8nzG9sRoTXIuUwDkViA36Wp9ZutVyXsosl5b30ktw58GRwDI-o/s1600/P1000390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2ngPsrdklAQVrjubitm1f9QN4iNjXKCGBPs0QdazaO2JSRXgRLYqa0aomWNRDb_n7qhJsyNzTzP7Kph54-T7ORKaV8nzG9sRoTXIuUwDkViA36Wp9ZutVyXsosl5b30ktw58GRwDI-o/s1600/P1000390.JPG" height="400" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The river where we washed clothes and ourselves</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU96wRLL10x3EIF1cit_35qQYNhyzPY1tNWPeQOT-2PW3VcKZ9Ize7a1vMspamq-g5iEy4LG4udIOAFgMASKNYR7ZX6nmf7vr8tgGJeds0y3tPQMc3g-3PUjEDXtUWroaQpdfGZY-pt8I/s1600/P1000618.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU96wRLL10x3EIF1cit_35qQYNhyzPY1tNWPeQOT-2PW3VcKZ9Ize7a1vMspamq-g5iEy4LG4udIOAFgMASKNYR7ZX6nmf7vr8tgGJeds0y3tPQMc3g-3PUjEDXtUWroaQpdfGZY-pt8I/s1600/P1000618.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Us on the verandah of our village house</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-85794256180599561792015-01-03T02:32:00.003-08:002015-01-03T02:32:43.986-08:00Faltering Forward<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sorry we have been a bit quiet recently, but we have had Duncan's mum visiting, been celebrating Christmas and preparing to attend a twelve week Pacific Orientation Course in Madang. It is on the east coast of PNG - think incredible beauty, incredible heat/humidity and incredible range of insect life... It will involve cultural training, outdoor living skills training, Tok Pisin lessons, hiking, swimming and a four week village living phase. We were meant to attend this course in January 2013, but Reuben came along and changed everything, so this will be our second attempt. We have been cleaning, sorting, packing, panicking...there is a long list. <br /><br />In the midst of all of the above we are also trying to prepare mentally and spiritually. I have never pretended that I relish the thought of POC. In fact, when we first found out that it was a requirement, I told Duncan the whole being missionaries in PNG thing was off. In my high heel wearing, 'Hello' magazine reading, comfort loving, heat hating, bug hating, camping hating, risk averse mind there was no way in the world that I could survive. But, I was persuaded it was necessary, that I would get through in God's strength rather than my own, that I might discover I was the female version of Bear Grylls after all, that it would be entertaining for others to watch, that in short I would survive and might even possibly enjoy it, or bits of it anyway. I felt ready, I was determined. Actually, I was still terrified, but somehow or other I got on the plane. And then out of the blue we weren't going anymore, because a miracle struck and suddenly Reuben was in our lives. So here I am, two years later, with a gorgeous, bouncing, teething boy in my arms and I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous... I have heard so many stories about the 'adventure' we are about to undertake that I am overwhelmed by possibilities. God has proved himself bigger than any of my fears so many times in my life and yet, prepare to be shocked - I am faltering. Panic is setting in. I know how I should feel, even what a 'good attitude' looks like, yet once again I don't have the words to explain in the 'right' way how afraid I am. I know, I know, I'm talking a lot about feelings and they are not necessarily reliable. But God is. God is. I am convinced of that, but as we head to a place and an 'adventure' that will prove it again, my knees are still knocking. I am craving peace - that sometimes elusive blessing that will help me put one foot in front of the other, that will quiet the panic and remind me that God is with me, with us. If you are a praying sort, could you ask God to help us? Thank you! <br /><br />So there will be stories, no doubt many stories, but our internet access will be very limited, so don't expect to hear them until April. God is about to give us another opportunity to testify to how big He is and it looks like we have to take it. In fact, even though we are frightened we want to take it. There is a part us (yes, even me) that is...wait for it...EXCITED. Is it possible to be panicked, scared and excited at the same time? It would appear so. So let's go! Bring it on! We will go: faltering forward, excitedly scared and panicked, but trusting our great big God.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVGLQp6U7HtYuPPmotIF1bPKrDusJ9CtnEPP8SBCKr7HyPiHX9xG8onJb8lTSp6zxzx-zX6mIwwJif8LwkN69yvQtsjnIMQSdL5Vc-0fvMMnlikQ15W30mivueWLGehheHYWQzQiAJsI/s1600/IMG_1233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVGLQp6U7HtYuPPmotIF1bPKrDusJ9CtnEPP8SBCKr7HyPiHX9xG8onJb8lTSp6zxzx-zX6mIwwJif8LwkN69yvQtsjnIMQSdL5Vc-0fvMMnlikQ15W30mivueWLGehheHYWQzQiAJsI/s1600/IMG_1233.JPG" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-43749507629738254372014-11-30T04:20:00.001-08:002014-11-30T04:20:57.161-08:00Mobile Medevac<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Why is it always Friday afternoon when you get the call for an urgent flight? Why can't people be sick on a Monday morning?! This time one of the mobile phone companies has a sick worker at a cell tower site, isolated on the top of one of the many mountains in PNG. It was too late to be able to collect him that day as, apart from anything else, the site was already shrouded in cloud. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, early Saturday morning I prepared to collect him. Despite the early start, the weather was already not looking too promising as I approached the site.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignJKn7Igv2qiyGqUaVOBJ0D4At42mtX6RyC99HI9Nobw5jL1Tq29m7W9CzRHQYIzjUDc_sRm1epcqeGB6-_xUMunMDks8qoP6s1hblijtb5vFEBZ2QySOA8UJfsqe0YsGnhMdamdJvGQ/s1600/IMG_0899.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignJKn7Igv2qiyGqUaVOBJ0D4At42mtX6RyC99HI9Nobw5jL1Tq29m7W9CzRHQYIzjUDc_sRm1epcqeGB6-_xUMunMDks8qoP6s1hblijtb5vFEBZ2QySOA8UJfsqe0YsGnhMdamdJvGQ/s1600/IMG_0899.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But thankfully appearances can be deceptive - the cloud was sitting in front of the hill, so the site itself was clear.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFNn1Bkzyc9I_QjdiIbZpKczxNCJNJXuznDanW7gjmFKjyjYTQxog-21rUcGSdgBZiOGVM3PDhr2QebeBr5X3GWm2Re-tE-ZUWnrkXMSxciI2LFTlAmlG_Gjmx9nlRh3ElT1yD17Gq10/s1600/IMG_0900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFNn1Bkzyc9I_QjdiIbZpKczxNCJNJXuznDanW7gjmFKjyjYTQxog-21rUcGSdgBZiOGVM3PDhr2QebeBr5X3GWm2Re-tE-ZUWnrkXMSxciI2LFTlAmlG_Gjmx9nlRh3ElT1yD17Gq10/s1600/IMG_0900.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was grateful to have recently completed my refresher mountain training, as the site was at just under 8000 ft - our company limit for normal mountain ops. And also because, whilst they clear sufficient space to land, it's not exactly generous.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The landing site is to the left of the tower</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There's enough space for the skids, plus a bit to be able to squeeze from one side of the helicopter to the other - what more could I want?!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhoTV7nK0jAuVLT0lvZrIzOadDCbkgcj0-5RTN-AOId0nUi19bY5HrBPoOU7CSU2-L0KIOxol4vu-zcUlZClPOPqtbWoa1QmPkPBwSvWxIqwRr7MaQfp-SECBsT-uAw5hOjgeeQHAns_Y/s1600/IMG_0897+-+PG3517+maybe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhoTV7nK0jAuVLT0lvZrIzOadDCbkgcj0-5RTN-AOId0nUi19bY5HrBPoOU7CSU2-L0KIOxol4vu-zcUlZClPOPqtbWoa1QmPkPBwSvWxIqwRr7MaQfp-SECBsT-uAw5hOjgeeQHAns_Y/s1600/IMG_0897+-+PG3517+maybe.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">At least I don't have to worry about anyone walking into the tail rotor!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The rest of the flight was thankfully simple - load the passengers and head back to base. I believe the sick guy was fine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I really take my hat off to the guys who re-supply these places with loads slung 200 ft or more under the helicopter - that's some tricky flying!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-88642868251027018762014-11-14T01:50:00.003-08:002014-11-14T01:50:53.076-08:00Tapini<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Papua New Guinea is an amazingly beautiful place. Every time I think I must have seen the most stunning part of it, a new sight mesmerises me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We went to Tapini to move building materials for a classroom and aid post, provided by a charitable foundation, into a remote village. Thankfully it wasn't all work and we got a chance to explore some of the surrounding sights.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tapini sits on a small plateau, surrounded by mountains.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8_XjfNTFlYETqNCzpbztGmSlGWCIYNdre6NXIHvJTlxQ3-3bVu9ypo9ITzzuc2EWi2u3WMqZjSBD01-6IwKc6Hu3Qx7Qk11mNS5lP4aY0d0IMwlOuJywSb5XYzlBCseUW2IuDwNgpz0/s1600/IMG_0691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8_XjfNTFlYETqNCzpbztGmSlGWCIYNdre6NXIHvJTlxQ3-3bVu9ypo9ITzzuc2EWi2u3WMqZjSBD01-6IwKc6Hu3Qx7Qk11mNS5lP4aY0d0IMwlOuJywSb5XYzlBCseUW2IuDwNgpz0/s1600/IMG_0691.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Tapini</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> We were mostly slinging various external loads: steel, timber, cement...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1sts1SCWUk9Dn4weOz2uMssc3f5QEGtmW32D84Jwy0CclQb6v9NaFtebC5TJ2uZg0szW2nkIMAf2akUBphcQjj0dFV9i-8tGc7PTI7C4vBQfIW2E0tQFUzGvacjuK9nYGjNlEnvoXn4/s1600/IMG_3206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1sts1SCWUk9Dn4weOz2uMssc3f5QEGtmW32D84Jwy0CclQb6v9NaFtebC5TJ2uZg0szW2nkIMAf2akUBphcQjj0dFV9i-8tGc7PTI7C4vBQfIW2E0tQFUzGvacjuK9nYGjNlEnvoXn4/s1600/IMG_3206.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lifting a timber load</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Between each load we re-fuelled from drums driven up by truck.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This video shows one of my colleagues taking-off after a re-fuel and lifting a load of cement and concrete flooring.</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw9tYOmS4FSf7AX7K-wRHtSh_OuSRiJw_tFqNv2T9HXC5PMxuom3A2WCYNPed24Ho8XkWJeYtEKHy0Ll1R0Ng' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The destination is Kerau, a village at 7000' (4000' higher than Tapini). It is an interesting mix of old colonial housing and traditional bush buildings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In this clip you can see the distinctly foreign constructions, the materials which have already been transported laid out and the open area we were dropping them off in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Along the ridge from there are some homes made from more readily-available materials.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBGtT1-GfMLmgN8G0V4BZWgEPHmXHDbgqbW5EwWgjvh7UxJDJuToakb4yU6mD-DYDXP3p95k0nJUl_4pJHk9Yl0Pfet8BSMjvA8DBHQ76cCZFL10rEdwp7aD8uBM5nH2MII1u6owQhb8/s1600/IMG_0846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBGtT1-GfMLmgN8G0V4BZWgEPHmXHDbgqbW5EwWgjvh7UxJDJuToakb4yU6mD-DYDXP3p95k0nJUl_4pJHk9Yl0Pfet8BSMjvA8DBHQ76cCZFL10rEdwp7aD8uBM5nH2MII1u6owQhb8/s320/IMG_0846.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Part of Kerau village</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> When we weren't moving materials, we had a chance to go on a couple of walks to investigate the village amenities and a waterfall we had seen from the helicopter on our flight in.</span><br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPeqGypbHd-K_yTe-x7WxO_87qq_dT4e890Lk3NiBVJeaO-mFqH_o1jH2SBC3MWE6xlDDyvVtPgDaesp6XbMU5RPhUUerhbR8f2R1o9bIvzQofRacJusvKwpkVD58ELGPemvkam-wJxc/s1600/Tapini.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPeqGypbHd-K_yTe-x7WxO_87qq_dT4e890Lk3NiBVJeaO-mFqH_o1jH2SBC3MWE6xlDDyvVtPgDaesp6XbMU5RPhUUerhbR8f2R1o9bIvzQofRacJusvKwpkVD58ELGPemvkam-wJxc/s320/Tapini.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Waterfall, hydro plant and water source</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The village has a reliable power supply from a small hydro-power turbine. It's amazing how thankful you can be for being able to easily do simple things like cook and wash after dark!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Just outside the village, the stream is coarsely filtered, before part of it enters a pipe and flows down to this building.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36y_46CIJXZ0YNxBd-11t9Ivuj1ii85GnY3ecVQDGMektl9wye1YrohhR0XplH1BATyV1aePf_JV3KBnAtOT3F0Egl7zlPAJzmXWKsxABNZFlZYPGzA762xNbWof86OITt9gBe4oXEeU/s1600/IMG_0827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36y_46CIJXZ0YNxBd-11t9Ivuj1ii85GnY3ecVQDGMektl9wye1YrohhR0XplH1BATyV1aePf_JV3KBnAtOT3F0Egl7zlPAJzmXWKsxABNZFlZYPGzA762xNbWof86OITt9gBe4oXEeU/s320/IMG_0827.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The generator hut (and our guide)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Inside are the turbine and generator</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFXsT0Glu0ch3J9HaLQrIG27pd0NW85QK8nPS90tIe5MHypMQLXFE0xIr40UZ23FYlu1wsnpj1d4_g4qjLehkeI8P8Tgu4WKYKsORe_OuZdccnFHwqeLUnmUKEQrPh5MWoOWTLQYJRtY/s1600/IMG_0834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFXsT0Glu0ch3J9HaLQrIG27pd0NW85QK8nPS90tIe5MHypMQLXFE0xIr40UZ23FYlu1wsnpj1d4_g4qjLehkeI8P8Tgu4WKYKsORe_OuZdccnFHwqeLUnmUKEQrPh5MWoOWTLQYJRtY/s320/IMG_0834.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Above the village is another area where a stream is coarsely filtered and piped - this time providing fresh drinking water to the houses.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwV7wNoGe-rGXHttNzSuJp8Zl_h2RQHhnhy0bYSC4AtufyXmF-hvhnCXxhdQmI541wy15HJmhHLkbdGOp703mL1fYbMlADlY5bZ1RCDo3wy6oFdq5gE2tbd79A_DlHCAu8-RoENBZXJ4/s1600/IMG_3190.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwV7wNoGe-rGXHttNzSuJp8Zl_h2RQHhnhy0bYSC4AtufyXmF-hvhnCXxhdQmI541wy15HJmhHLkbdGOp703mL1fYbMlADlY5bZ1RCDo3wy6oFdq5gE2tbd79A_DlHCAu8-RoENBZXJ4/s320/IMG_3190.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The water source (with another guide)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But the highlight of the trip has to have been the waterfall!</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ND7Jczn1E5QkDnQI24sZgTLidhiUMuQIDDS41v2nGe2YtmM6qtpyTL8Q0YNv6Iftwae_CX3nX27ufeMouZSfK-VCtu21XqjXQk0IVzo58Qf-RXiPFq8C0dC8Ok8s9520hhr8mgEEuN4/s1600/IMG_3166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ND7Jczn1E5QkDnQI24sZgTLidhiUMuQIDDS41v2nGe2YtmM6qtpyTL8Q0YNv6Iftwae_CX3nX27ufeMouZSfK-VCtu21XqjXQk0IVzo58Qf-RXiPFq8C0dC8Ok8s9520hhr8mgEEuN4/s320/IMG_3166.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The beautiful waterfall (with one of the SIL loaders who went to help rig the sling loads)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Even the flight home afforded some great views:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1EQdA7dYElUTKa3y6FpLJ1uCHW4Zz1tgZB-bY-ULHbfjYkFgEYrOSD0ycyxLs3UOOXdfvB0lR-5aUtaKkOd-LDLibS3E2_5q2qe3sV2spBo8ngvJnat3iAX8KoKDFxpk6Ec93TeSrMbE/s1600/IMG_3242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1EQdA7dYElUTKa3y6FpLJ1uCHW4Zz1tgZB-bY-ULHbfjYkFgEYrOSD0ycyxLs3UOOXdfvB0lR-5aUtaKkOd-LDLibS3E2_5q2qe3sV2spBo8ngvJnat3iAX8KoKDFxpk6Ec93TeSrMbE/s320/IMG_3242.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">All the classroom and aid post building materials ready to be put together</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQUaY34HAqbSkRceTssRwWBFWkLmpPOXMzT6EGIfv9pFh7SxltDoy0rqrLjbeBSWxmHAkFZ5O9p5GWFTHf-vXntkDEjDKZojN15T5frmC-w_qQ0D2dcIz2pvxsUexHRDlQrPVSgLAJVA/s1600/IMG_3245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQUaY34HAqbSkRceTssRwWBFWkLmpPOXMzT6EGIfv9pFh7SxltDoy0rqrLjbeBSWxmHAkFZ5O9p5GWFTHf-vXntkDEjDKZojN15T5frmC-w_qQ0D2dcIz2pvxsUexHRDlQrPVSgLAJVA/s320/IMG_3245.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The valley leading up to a ridge we needed to cross at around 10,000'</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVe_d4dIugcpua6kIwDDtH-WaVG_xSzodJVKKyyMSLjKXCWmf42jeXFKLZDZ9upxRMiFjq8mzyqLwTAFSQFVRHZ26YyCxQmBsunZs6flF7Crx4ZfCFE8t-4V93ffUlvrXD7BRBSAc2LyI/s1600/IMG_0880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVe_d4dIugcpua6kIwDDtH-WaVG_xSzodJVKKyyMSLjKXCWmf42jeXFKLZDZ9upxRMiFjq8mzyqLwTAFSQFVRHZ26YyCxQmBsunZs6flF7Crx4ZfCFE8t-4V93ffUlvrXD7BRBSAc2LyI/s320/IMG_0880.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Lake Wanum near Lae</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-60609496409152940962014-10-19T03:55:00.000-07:002014-10-19T03:55:14.241-07:00Contrasting Chronicles Part II<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0800 - We start the workday
with a brief prayer time. Today we particularly remember one of our colleagues
who was seriously injured in a motorbike accident two days ago.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0810 - Fire up the computer
and see what the email has brought for today.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0815 - I get 2 phone calls:
one from Trudie saying the Reuben was not exactly overjoyed to be left in
daycare [he was fine after 5 minutes], and the other from a colleague saying
he's going to be late into work as it's the primary school's sports' day, so
he's going to be there supporting his son.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0820 - Taking care of our
fuel caches around the country is one of my office jobs. I try to follow-up on
a shipment I'm trying to get on a vessel today. The fuel company isn't
answering the phone so I email the shipper to see if the fuel drums have
arrived, and to check on payment for the shipping. The ship has been delayed,
so at least I have some more time, now. Trying to call the fuel company becomes
a recurring part of my morning.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0835 - We are no longer in
need of one fuel cache we have. Thankfully we've used all but 1 drum there, but
follow-up on selling that drum to another mission.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0845 - Follow-up is turning
into a big part of my morning. A nearby company has agreed to lend us an aircraft
seat whilst one of ours is sent off for repairs, so check to see if they've
managed to identify a seat we can borrow yet.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0850 - The same company have
agreed to provide us with some training whilst our own trainer is out of the
country. I check-in to see how arrangements for that are going.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0855 - We have had an email
from a church team coming to PNG, to see if we'd be willing to offer them
helicopter support should they get into difficulty. I put my thoughts down and
forward them to the chief pilot.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0910 - We are trying to
expand the commercial flying we do with the helicopter, so as to generate
income to support the translation work. We expect sling loads to form a
significant part of that, so I look into getting one of our ground personnel
some training in the preparation of sling loads. We have a job next week that
will be really good exposure for him, so I start to see if we can have
everything in place for him to be able to come along.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1000 - Break time. Malolo -
relax.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1015 - Look at a request to
take an MAF pilot into an airstrip with the helicopter, so he can evaluate if
it's safe to take an aeroplane into. We have a flight going that way it might fit into, but it
will make it a long day.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1035 - Speak to the person
we are considering for the sling load training, to check they're interested.
Then check with their supervisor that they're ok with us borrowing the
individual for a couple of days next week.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1050 - Someone we're
collecting from the village next week has emailed to say they're expecting a package
to come on the flight out. Go to look for it - it's not arrived. Email them to
let them know. When looking for that package, I notice a box for a translation
team Trudie and I are the support team for. Email them to see what they want
done with it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1105 - In order to be able
to train the ground crew for sling loads, the pilot who will be working on the
cargo with them needs to have that authorisation renewed. In order to renew
that I need to get authorised to give training in that area. So, I get the
Principles of Instruction module and start reading. Something I'll come back to
throughout the rest of the day.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1130 - I need a break from
reading so check the email again. It seems that I couldn't get through to the
fuel company because they're on strike. As they provide most of our fuel around
the country I take a preliminary look at how that might affect upcoming flights
and the fuel caches we have.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1200 - Lunch. Jump on the
bus home.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1300 - The missing package
for the village was found over lunch; pass the news on. Continue reading about
instruction.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1335 - I complete the sale
of our excess drum of fuel to the other mission. Cross it off the 'To do' list.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1355 - Fill in some
applications for time off. One for time I get in lieu of a night I was away
from home, and a day off for Trudie's birthday.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1415 - Try to enhance the
Search Engine Optimisation of the website I recently developed for the
department (shameless plug - <a href="http://www.silaviation.org/">www.silaviation.org</a>).
I find the address for the sitemap and upload it into Google's webmaster tools.
I also email a few colleagues to see it they will link websites they control to
our new one.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1500 - Break. Sit, chat and
eat passion fruit.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1515 - Back to reading.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1545 - Finish the initial 'read
through' and email our training manager to see what the next step is.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1630 - We try to keep the
fuel drums in our caches off the ground to reduce the rusting they experience.
So I go to look for some suitable wood to take out to a site where I noticed
the wood was pretty rotten last time I went through.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1700 - Home for the weekend.
Tonight the teens are serving burgers as a work experience / income generating
/ community service opportunity; one not to miss.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-37115084368666604132014-10-15T04:43:00.001-07:002014-10-19T03:58:27.759-07:00Contrasting Chronicles Part I<!--[if !mso]>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I thought I would find it
interesting to chronicle a couple of my days at work, to contrast the
difference between when I fly and when I don't. I have to say, though, that the
flying day is not exactly my average outing!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBz5HlETteodeqWU0TGBajYihZG7zjnA863-eoFqIJNnMiR45-NUDGo5HpNys30z46Bz5uWFy7dSSw_Cl9XCWmZp_86e9tQi2O1U3hVTXu77ak18rUmsElvIOGJfiOBAOZWF4MB5uPGGI/s1600/DSC03254F.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBz5HlETteodeqWU0TGBajYihZG7zjnA863-eoFqIJNnMiR45-NUDGo5HpNys30z46Bz5uWFy7dSSw_Cl9XCWmZp_86e9tQi2O1U3hVTXu77ak18rUmsElvIOGJfiOBAOZWF4MB5uPGGI/s1600/DSC03254F.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our Kodiak & helicopter fleet</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><u>09 October 2014</u>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0545: Arrive at work. I
should have been in earlier, but I should be ready as I spent yesterday
preparing for this flight and if I arrive too early then I risk exceeding the
12 hour duty limit if there are any delays. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The loading is complicated
- split over 3 aircraft, so I go over its division with the loaders, who'll
also weigh and prepare it. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cargo that was dropped off
yesterday is loaded into the helicopter whilst it is still in the hanger.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When it gets light, I
start checking the weather on the couple of web-cams that cover my route. I
need to decide whether to track more-or-less direct to my first destination, or
take the longer but more likely to succeed coastal route. The critical area
isn't visible, so I decide to think about it for a while, hopeful that the
Kodiak will get airborne first and then I can ask them for weather. A report
over the radio from the destination says that conditions are good there. So at least
I know that if I can get there, I can land.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Go to chat to the Kodiak
pilot. He's sick - a replacement</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">pilot
will be on their way in soon. So much for asking the Kodiak ahead of me for
weather! </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our home airstrip is
currently sitting in fog, so everything's going to be delayed! Go and pass on
the 'good news' to the passengers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Push the helicopter
outside and load the rest of the baggage so we'll be ready when the weather
clears up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Look at more weather
information to try and decide which route to take. I need more fuel to be able
to take the longer route, but if I take extra fuel and then can route direct
I'll arrive too heavy to be able to carry my cargo for the next leg. Text a
friend who lives in that area to see what he can see, but no reply. The edge of
Australian weather radar shows a fair amount of cloud around where I need to
cross a 7200 foot high 'gap' in the mountains, so I decide to take more fuel.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The replacement Kodiak
pilot is nearly ready to go and the fog is lifting, so I load my passengers and
start up.</span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymbTagoeK4m8s9CE6OJxg77MGljgdnq8n58xoAhaa8imb91lPhyphenhyphengiSNW1CpHnaXmDMrZLswN_wyFJEmpmSO5Yr_4hFJVxoVcRm5Fu3Q-qNx6kljx68ankujZVjFA1pwj8xWIRDFn-M8M/s1600/Blog+leg+1+V2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymbTagoeK4m8s9CE6OJxg77MGljgdnq8n58xoAhaa8imb91lPhyphenhyphengiSNW1CpHnaXmDMrZLswN_wyFJEmpmSO5Yr_4hFJVxoVcRm5Fu3Q-qNx6kljx68ankujZVjFA1pwj8xWIRDFn-M8M/s1600/Blog+leg+1+V2.jpg" height="187" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leg 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0736: Get airborne. I am
35 minutes late, but couldn't be helped, given the weather. A few minutes later
the Kodiak gets airborne, too. Just as well, as I need them to overtake me and
drop my cargo for the next leg at my current destination! Thankfully they go quite
a bit faster and are able to go direct, through the weather, rather than going
around it like I expect to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The weather isn't quite as
good as I'd hoped. I have to follow the 'low route' out into the main valley,
and even there I have to be wary to keep clear of cloud, both vertically and
horizontally. I look towards the more direct track - it is totally obscured by
rain and cloud; I am glad I've taken the extra fuel.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm now in controlled
airspace and have an aircraft taking-off towards me. Eyes peeled to make sure I
don't get an unpleasant surprise from a medium-size jet appearing out of one of
the clouds around me!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I am getting pushed lower
and lower. I cross overhead the airport to the south-side of the valley so I
can follow a river. Having taken off at 5100', I am now down at 300' peering
through the rain to avoid the birds and find the coast. My passengers had
expressed an intent to sleep on this flight. It would seem they have changed
their minds!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The corner looms up and I
turn south. One of the webcams had shown that things should improve down the
coast, but no sign of that yet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A few minutes later the
coast is still shrouded in rain and cloud, but up to my right the mountain tops
are clear with blue sky visible beyond. I contact the Kodiak, which is now
ahead of me, to check the weather there. I decide to cut inland to investigate.
I am fortunate - after a bit of climbing and weaving to find the best route
through, the cloud allows me pass over the ridge and down into the valley
beyond. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1GehtGA0wFEacMUzqZdHrk2i0TxUxkv2Dc4_AZZIlXdmLEb-8KpktGlWMlFt0XGQICpW61LgnqFnGnXD3RychEfirkaLO5HCBmqwdpWbKsmyGwj46c4Yb_mQpRen5Qgk87DZa5sNV-s/s1600/P1250877+-+Garasa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1GehtGA0wFEacMUzqZdHrk2i0TxUxkv2Dc4_AZZIlXdmLEb-8KpktGlWMlFt0XGQICpW61LgnqFnGnXD3RychEfirkaLO5HCBmqwdpWbKsmyGwj46c4Yb_mQpRen5Qgk87DZa5sNV-s/s1600/P1250877+-+Garasa.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our first stop</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0907: Gratefully, we
arrive at stop number 1. The Kodiak is still on the ground, but thankfully has
offloaded its cargo which enthusiastic locals are carrying up into the village.
I land in the village to collect it and have a chat with the guys who have been
storing cargo which was dropped-off for us yesterday. They agree to have it,
and a fuel drum, out and ready for my return as I need to fly this leg twice to
be able to carry everything.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
<br />
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeTCdo8aefdhQghAZhqjw5-AghNjAfY52jseXdxCQnR-78jPHsiSHfKlO3kdY4kuMns6EcKXjgiIqtBNK2CdBqko-fyaZbQE5qNZYVAhiHkPZxAjXJHBKMTvAajDvdYhQ0Z4rFhLs21a4/s1600/Blog+leg+2+V2+(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeTCdo8aefdhQghAZhqjw5-AghNjAfY52jseXdxCQnR-78jPHsiSHfKlO3kdY4kuMns6EcKXjgiIqtBNK2CdBqko-fyaZbQE5qNZYVAhiHkPZxAjXJHBKMTvAajDvdYhQ0Z4rFhLs21a4/s1600/Blog+leg+2+V2+(3).jpg" height="187" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Leg 2</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0920: Depart my first stop
and head out towards the coast. Thankfully the weather isn't as bad as it was
further north, but I still have my fair share of cloud to work around and
under.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Shortly after taking off I
get a message that the delays with our initial departure mean the plan needs to
change, or the second aircraft I am to meet won't finish before dark. They want
to drop my second trip to the village I am going to until the next day. I have
a quick think about the fuel implications and check with my passengers (whose
stuff it is) and say that it is fine by us.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRV8L9Qf5b7oI_7YxC2lDqrF3IQ8RtaEbNV57FkuMD7SYO3_1PwabU26jCZ_EQj2aslQPPbk-kG0RM75yLwhOGDeO4sUjpbmAeVe42izEwdUs9UgUSpDNwAxJX9MHBqj5nA60wusK9i_4/s1600/P1250851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRV8L9Qf5b7oI_7YxC2lDqrF3IQ8RtaEbNV57FkuMD7SYO3_1PwabU26jCZ_EQj2aslQPPbk-kG0RM75yLwhOGDeO4sUjpbmAeVe42izEwdUs9UgUSpDNwAxJX9MHBqj5nA60wusK9i_4/s1600/P1250851.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our second stop</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">0947: Drop off my
passengers and cargo. Part of their cargo is Scripture portions (a few books of
the Bible) that they have just finished translating and had printed. There is a
small celebration to welcome them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqd4dlom7treG6dseEKhwvm7IE3ljEUi-cekRROIChkAqdUAFbnYv5apsGp-ZqRY6mL2NQ-QYb4CinNupIHV-5zPd-RVf1WxykKF2joqbtUbCEUAOt6pAqvo5k_nelLRgimmc0K0qVPFQ/s1600/IMG_0808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqd4dlom7treG6dseEKhwvm7IE3ljEUi-cekRROIChkAqdUAFbnYv5apsGp-ZqRY6mL2NQ-QYb4CinNupIHV-5zPd-RVf1WxykKF2joqbtUbCEUAOt6pAqvo5k_nelLRgimmc0K0qVPFQ/s1600/IMG_0808.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Boxes with Scripture portions in</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8YxBshusJTg_WsMRG9f1bEE3t8ELK8ev-39HgEp7CGZ7LeWWPGbHuK1R_LhpLFFI4w3GcRp-ZcCkSHy0gh8pdiHBnUDGZdmzHPtUDbzFM-0frnx-GGe_JVLKqzmXhrKC-PHgRxYK-oo/s1600/Blog+leg+3+V2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8YxBshusJTg_WsMRG9f1bEE3t8ELK8ev-39HgEp7CGZ7LeWWPGbHuK1R_LhpLFFI4w3GcRp-ZcCkSHy0gh8pdiHBnUDGZdmzHPtUDbzFM-0frnx-GGe_JVLKqzmXhrKC-PHgRxYK-oo/s1600/Blog+leg+3+V2.jpg" height="187" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Leg 3</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1016:
Depart stop 2. Thankfully the weather is now much better and I can pretty much
track direct.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
<br />
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 6.0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 6.0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1044:
Land at stop 3. The Kodiak that dropped cargo at my last stop also brought some
passengers and cargo for me to this airstrip. Unfortunately I can't carry it
all on my next leg as it is too heavy (which was planned), so I leave some for
the following aircraft to collect and bring to us later. I speak to them on the
radio to ensure they know to bring the bags we left. They were a bit late
leaving due to a maintenance problem, so I am able to take my time getting
ready - nice in the heat and humidity of the lowlands.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 6.0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After
re-fuelling, we load up and go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 6.0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 6.0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 6.0in;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQu3u1rzOpODV32Izl72tqmTxmZut82v9HgzkngxsyskJdrlSaC7cRv1UXfU0qtxQau6W74u0k6sxKRHgL3LNeU9522S2LIPTgvL1-b9nUMVhnHuc6i1Mx4F7dBzYg-cFvjdeY0PQonq8/s1600/Blog+leg+4+V2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQu3u1rzOpODV32Izl72tqmTxmZut82v9HgzkngxsyskJdrlSaC7cRv1UXfU0qtxQau6W74u0k6sxKRHgL3LNeU9522S2LIPTgvL1-b9nUMVhnHuc6i1Mx4F7dBzYg-cFvjdeY0PQonq8/s1600/Blog+leg+4+V2.jpg" height="187" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Leg 4</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1142:
Depart for our next village. Weather again is good, so apart from following the
coast to avoid going too far out over the sea, we can go direct.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1212:
Land to another small ceremony. The village translators have arranged for one
of the doctors from our centre to visit for a week, so the villagers are
honouring their guest's arrival. The doctor plans to have immunisation clinics,
before doing as much General Practice as time and supplies permit.</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyE9-AKTmk1DiSmmxmpCv3Ew3WdmujZw_wI1olpzN8WvHuDsZ4Ig5gK02dZ7KzCHOVsSZQhQZaMMpaBobQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Load
my one remaining passenger for departure. As the Kodiak meeting me at my next
stop is carrying Jet fuel, they are not allowed to take passengers as well, so
I have to fly the passenger between our two meeting places.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oyfpO5XjgKykAlR6lNLMfpbtARyE9q6RgvXT-OTP5beUMs9JTWUKOnl-tNkHYH9W9hzzvm7zoe8qu1VdbaPuJEee6CUbGIHdNj14eZn_mLT-nNxUJkBO65_L_qMivlvE-oPaiu9UG84/s1600/Blog+leg+5+V2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oyfpO5XjgKykAlR6lNLMfpbtARyE9q6RgvXT-OTP5beUMs9JTWUKOnl-tNkHYH9W9hzzvm7zoe8qu1VdbaPuJEee6CUbGIHdNj14eZn_mLT-nNxUJkBO65_L_qMivlvE-oPaiu9UG84/s1600/Blog+leg+5+V2.jpg" height="187" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Leg 5</span></td></tr>
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</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1231:
Take off to meet up with the Kodiak once more. I've not been to my destination
before, so am interested to see it.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYc6YL5caBYsRDGjLVoWxh2sSTbV5VHOflOCLIv8hS1nH0wVP0rqPbjhN5uIvdQkpXafLJVK_mnjeJ2po4-r_f0eoCDCQMu5QW8fG7Dj0sFfpr_cpuviA2eB2MGA006V450tEVgVR5Trs/s1600/IMG_0816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYc6YL5caBYsRDGjLVoWxh2sSTbV5VHOflOCLIv8hS1nH0wVP0rqPbjhN5uIvdQkpXafLJVK_mnjeJ2po4-r_f0eoCDCQMu5QW8fG7Dj0sFfpr_cpuviA2eB2MGA006V450tEVgVR5Trs/s1600/IMG_0816.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1244:
Land and find some shade. It is going to be a while before the Kodiak arrives,
so I relax and chat to my passenger.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgT0BDNzefmPA_r_OcHeETcWdQqngFw1RbEvyFgUxsD5H3d5vK3vKGLHk_EU4B3_lI2fD2NWtdsF4t23U3BFZ0oz19BJZdpnPthwaubbq3QMDerl-PuSiZQdc-Z3eWXV_0fUrgntwMjg/s1600/IMG_0820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgT0BDNzefmPA_r_OcHeETcWdQqngFw1RbEvyFgUxsD5H3d5vK3vKGLHk_EU4B3_lI2fD2NWtdsF4t23U3BFZ0oz19BJZdpnPthwaubbq3QMDerl-PuSiZQdc-Z3eWXV_0fUrgntwMjg/s1600/IMG_0820.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Waiting</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Having
sat around, it is now time to move. We roll the fuel drums from the Kodiak up
to the helicopter, set up our pump and start cranking the handle to put the
fuel in the chopper. Whilst one person pumps, we roll up a second drum as one
will not be sufficient for my next leg and return. Then we get the liferaft and
life jackets ready as I am going to be crossing over to one of the islands. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2aLFjSauo7XeLLFoXmbROzYspYsAglwMdOK95WKiGlFmd3B_GFff1Fv6E_QbldIdjydwWCLg8ipQUsbLOPptCWVx9GMZu7vbpqq1QiNw1lZ2prGfWcPuOSw6lG8tdM-fUumAjLRVPRI/s1600/Blog+leg+6+V2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2aLFjSauo7XeLLFoXmbROzYspYsAglwMdOK95WKiGlFmd3B_GFff1Fv6E_QbldIdjydwWCLg8ipQUsbLOPptCWVx9GMZu7vbpqq1QiNw1lZ2prGfWcPuOSw6lG8tdM-fUumAjLRVPRI/s1600/Blog+leg+6+V2.jpg" height="187" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Leg 6</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1412:
Depart on leg 6. As I have no passengers, I take the opportunity to try to do
some fuel planning for the cargo run which was cancelled earlier and put into
tomorrow. Where am I best to take fuel from and how much? How much fuel do we
have where and how old is it?</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvyBXYAIhAfehHLvEpb-lBksh9dXHHV9jWsYVeH40XYMCUQid9YYk4dt2Hk1SpgqQTSjQpBE5OFbLWwA2t5dXysysLQx1qiJtP5V9URyf3kCNqMV6chqd-b9ANveEt2gQNIiD_SuCJa28/s1600/IMG_0823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvyBXYAIhAfehHLvEpb-lBksh9dXHHV9jWsYVeH40XYMCUQid9YYk4dt2Hk1SpgqQTSjQpBE5OFbLWwA2t5dXysysLQx1qiJtP5V9URyf3kCNqMV6chqd-b9ANveEt2gQNIiD_SuCJa28/s1600/IMG_0823.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The landing site cut out of the jungle</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1509:
Land to collect the translator. This is my first time into their helipad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1520:
Depart back to where I've come from. Chat a little to my passenger; the
translator is leaving the village so that they can help another language group
by checking some of the work they've done so far.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I
call ahead to the shop near the airstrip - they are to bring out supplies for
me to carry into my final destination for the day. I also text the waiting
Kodiak to let them know when I will arrive. They too have goods to unload for
me to take on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1626:
Land back with the Kodiak. I finish off the second drum of fuel and we load the
empties into the plane. They take my passenger, I take their cargo and they
head off. The van from the shop arrives and I load the goods onto the
helicopter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1709:
Depart back to the village I left the doctor in. The doctor may only be staying
a week, but the translators will be there a while longer, so I am taking them
food and supplies.</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzl2qlkLmIGcQgSkNkVrShQI2g1mynkc2tG_386kww0t7CmaqUQbJDjmjsxt5vYBBEE-pe1HQteSexFJj1U8Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1722:
Land for the night. We unpack the cargo and I 'put the aircraft to bed' just in
time to remain under my 12 hour duty limit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then
it is our turn to eat and get ready for bed.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XKBTccB9aX6cG2a0xe7u3yRVDvzjs0kQuFXFvwh-f-lhuR7glCpStsAJ-Cfm8fDkZT6UtKnrvKueBp-LCS_Q4p35c3kMAp0GjcKOCPUgcHLt1ilrYyzGGGK27KiiipeEWJzZQmr27UA/s1600/IMG_0824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XKBTccB9aX6cG2a0xe7u3yRVDvzjs0kQuFXFvwh-f-lhuR7glCpStsAJ-Cfm8fDkZT6UtKnrvKueBp-LCS_Q4p35c3kMAp0GjcKOCPUgcHLt1ilrYyzGGGK27KiiipeEWJzZQmr27UA/s1600/IMG_0824.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I slept under the translators' house</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The full day</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The
following day I re-trace my steps, doing the cargo run I missed out and collect
another translator from their language group along the way.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The following day's route</td></tr>
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</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-66777102570939185142014-10-02T20:38:00.000-07:002014-10-02T20:40:36.858-07:00I can't find Autumn<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sometimes I
am at a loss about what to blog about and yet I feel the need – must blog,
haven’t blogged for 6 weeks, must blog, must blog…and so here I am sat at the
laptop on a sunny Friday morning. Reuben has just begun his morning nap and I
am listening to the competing sounds of the bread machine, the washing machine
and the birds singing outside.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My thoughts
are a jumble. There are so many things I could write about and yet nothing
seems big or important enough. I feel overwhelmed by small stuff, but I am not
sure any of it is the stuff of blogs. I am momentarily put off, distracted by
other things I could or should be doing, and yet…</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Something I
have started thinking about in the last few days is seasons. People are posting
pictures of their children playing in piles of leaves, friends here talk of
yearning for ‘fall’ days and trying to wear orange scarves even though it’s too
hot for scarves, and it has gradually dawned on me that this is the first
autumn we have missed. In 2012 we experienced ‘fall’ in the US when we drove
along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway in late October – the colours were
incredible, burning themselves into my memory with their intensity. Last year,
we were in the UK with new baby Reuben and I remember walking through a forest
near our home with him sleeping on my chest in the baby carrier. This year,
there are no visual changes in my environment that refresh memories or thrill
with their vividness. And yet, the more I ponder, the more I see that there are
‘seasons’ here – some that are predictable , but most that are not.</span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span id="goog_332674819"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We have
noticed that the jacaranda trees bloom at this time of year. The centre is a
patchwork of purples and they are truly beautiful. Indeed, we have just planted
some where the much missed trees were in our garden. They are tiny now, but we
hope that they will grow. You can buy mangoes again at the market and the
kingfishers are in residence for a time. Other markers recently have been the
end of the financial year (here, it is the end of September), so everything has
been shut for stocktake. Worst of all, the store was shut for over a week, but
the inconvenience of its closure has now been replaced by the relief of
reopening and the reminder of how lucky we are to be able to access so much, so
much of the time. It is easy to forget that we live 5,000 feet up in the
mountains and expect things to be the same as they are in the UK.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The seasons
I feel the most here are those that occur in relation to people. July is the
main time people leave for furlough (a year in your home country) and everyone
braces for a time of loss. But then new people arrive and the cycle begins
again. But other exits are more unpredictable – people suddenly disappear for a
whole host of reasons and suddenly a season has changed and you had no warning.
It’s unsettling, confusing and occasionally frustrating, but it is just part of
life here and being in this job. And then there is the constant hum of
homesickness that unpredictably starts to buzz so that you can’t ignore it and
makes you spend hours languishing on facebook, emailing and yearning for
family. It stings, it subsides into the background, it stings, it subsides, it
becomes like a season that I dread and yet desire.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On the home front
it feels more like we are navigating milestones than seasons as Reuben grows
and develops. He is really walking now and into everything. He is weaning,
stacking rather than destroying, opening and closing doors, trying to talk,
sharing, finding his ‘will’, waving, high-fiving, mimicking, making friends,
wearing shoes, moving things, exploring and and and…surprising us with his
energy, yet reminding us of his vulnerability. He is even experiencing some
independence as I begin some teaching again in the next few weeks. He is very
sociable so we hope that going to nursery regularly will be fun for him. But it’s
definitely a season change for him and me. I am going to teach a short course
on basic critical thinking skills to new Papua New Guinean Bible translators. I
haven’t taught adults before, so no doubt it will be a steep learning curve.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I told you
that my thoughts were a jumble, but here they are anyway. Now, I must hang out
the laundry, finish dealing with today’s vegetable haul from the market and do
some more lesson plans before Reuben wakes up. Tell autumn that we miss her.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-33793625120101011052014-08-15T22:34:00.000-07:002014-08-15T22:34:08.368-07:00The trees<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On Friday morning, as I prepared our weekly fruit and vegetables for the fridge, I looked out of the kitchen window and contemplated an empty patch of sky I am not used to seeing. The thing is, our trees are gone and worse than that - we had them cut down. To me, cutting down trees is like burning books and so to say that it hurt to watch the trees fall, would be an understatement. But, the hard facts were that the trees were too tall and they couldn't just be topped without killing the trees anyway. A similar tree had fallen on a house in recent years and some were worried that that might happen again or that someone might be injured. People who know about trees said they needed to come down and so come down they have.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When our organisation moved to Ukarumpa 55 or so years ago, we planted trees in the valley that was just covered in kunai grass.</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, the centre is covered with trees and I am so glad, but they do get too tall...So w<span id="goog_1284692955"></span><span id="goog_1284692956"></span>e employed a team from our 'Construction and Maintenance' department to do the work and last Monday they arrived. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0HLNxq3abFxF7ITTkluzT7Uu22vPblJSgW7Gq41jywOsjn3ONVv0FMuutHGzo2OaPBl-UdFY32vQrbb4S1HN7cDDrbvJB9MghhIfxVDQFsZ8xd55yOgtRvJxg8vCJcsANO0s8c9Mpb7M/s1600/SAM_2246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0HLNxq3abFxF7ITTkluzT7Uu22vPblJSgW7Gq41jywOsjn3ONVv0FMuutHGzo2OaPBl-UdFY32vQrbb4S1HN7cDDrbvJB9MghhIfxVDQFsZ8xd55yOgtRvJxg8vCJcsANO0s8c9Mpb7M/s1600/SAM_2246.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It is hard to find a picture that really communicates the height of these trees...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I watched in awe and quite a lot of fear, as Tama, the Papua New Guinean tree man, scaled the first tree (the one on the right) and began cutting off branches with an axe. Another man stayed on the ground and collected the branches after they fell.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As you can see from the pictures above, it is pretty precarious work, but amazingly skilled too. It was interesting to watch Tama prepare to go up the tree each time he had to re-ascend. He would approach almost reverently, stare up at the tree, take a few minutes and then finally begin the climb. Later, he told me that in the stillness before the ascent, he always prayed. Tama carefully created 'steps' for himself as he cut, and all his movements were very slow and considered. <span style="font-size: small;">I hope he didn't mind me watching. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Very soon, there was a very big pile of branches.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">At the end of day one.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On day 2, work began on the middle tree. Half way up this tree, the trunk split into three separate trunks, so it presented some new challenges. At one point the man on the ground was holding a rope attached to the middle trunk and Tama was working on cutting it through. Unfortunately the wind blew in the wrong direction at the just the wrong moment and it fell towards the house, instead of away, as was intended. The man holding the rope fell on his face, but his actions saved the roof of our house. I happened to be outside videoing at the time. I dropped the camera in my surprise (fortunately, I was wearing the strap), but everyone was okay, if a little shocked.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWyC4ebQ7T9T4zF9lLt0Jm74zBvnrBphOJfcZ3KSyyMNh0S-0jhLBKUGBnDXlTyieIAiXkSvkPBm9qlwtpE1HfNOaJJBjtHY0ZyGLVlbLTlB6YdgtYXlS9xWQr3XIq2Q8lWD6GXpUDXE/s1600/DSC_2946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWyC4ebQ7T9T4zF9lLt0Jm74zBvnrBphOJfcZ3KSyyMNh0S-0jhLBKUGBnDXlTyieIAiXkSvkPBm9qlwtpE1HfNOaJJBjtHY0ZyGLVlbLTlB6YdgtYXlS9xWQr3XIq2Q8lWD6GXpUDXE/s1600/DSC_2946.JPG" height="320" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The end of day 2.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After the excitements of day 2, it was decided that they would just cut the trees down without removing any further branches. So on day 3, 12 men arrived with chainsaws and more ropes and Reuben and I were asked to come out of the house so that we could watch from a safe distance. Tama climbed up each tree in turn to attach ropes and then all the guys held onto the rope to direct the fall of the trunk down the the road. Then he came down and whilst another man used his chainsaw, Tama used his axe to help as well. The three trees were safely felled and the trunks cut into 5 metre lengths and removed by a large digger, and all by lunch time!</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The ground shook as each tree fell, and friends all over Ukarumpa said they heard the noise as they hit the ground. It was sad, horrible and impressive all at the same time. When the first tree was about to fall, Reuben reached out his hand from the stroller to take mine. I don't know who was comforting who.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByqSVO5xdP3tPENmarTW43CwHy4FO3LdrkIvFlQexX5rLXVcqCGW0UhLi-wrE94GNAgwImQopC0CDYfAp0o1Dc2a8PiU_sXcOi7IssB2-r-fuLOyP5dhkoa8AilwIOB3sI-LgoeAPoTA/s1600/DSC_3030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByqSVO5xdP3tPENmarTW43CwHy4FO3LdrkIvFlQexX5rLXVcqCGW0UhLi-wrE94GNAgwImQopC0CDYfAp0o1Dc2a8PiU_sXcOi7IssB2-r-fuLOyP5dhkoa8AilwIOB3sI-LgoeAPoTA/s1600/DSC_3030.JPG" height="320" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Tama and his axe.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpeIqzMnV6hdEMcumOSlBFZlJ3DTP_e5tressP1KlW-6sOmVn_m3ktl6Q8GBaA41GERSa2wg8iJNQFjE-qATGz0AYKdc3m1jbrRV8EOrG_fPcsWDy3cpDN8NlYZU1cx8W6aASqej-OO-U/s1600/DSC_3032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpeIqzMnV6hdEMcumOSlBFZlJ3DTP_e5tressP1KlW-6sOmVn_m3ktl6Q8GBaA41GERSa2wg8iJNQFjE-qATGz0AYKdc3m1jbrRV8EOrG_fPcsWDy3cpDN8NlYZU1cx8W6aASqej-OO-U/s1600/DSC_3032.JPG" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Some of the team.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAJyEvKuOfF4VG0oo9zeeqdJrGtTdBY54cDf8xBRbloqgiBgI4Jo7dm-TEYm62EvrXb3guZatslg-g8tUpjBR7qvR0Mla5phzVOc_G5n4EpSsyGWvXDN0qoJ4p8YulNmE7KPHonyzL64/s1600/DSC_3038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAJyEvKuOfF4VG0oo9zeeqdJrGtTdBY54cDf8xBRbloqgiBgI4Jo7dm-TEYm62EvrXb3guZatslg-g8tUpjBR7qvR0Mla5phzVOc_G5n4EpSsyGWvXDN0qoJ4p8YulNmE7KPHonyzL64/s1600/DSC_3038.JPG" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">:(((</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And so they are gone. I think there is a little more light in the kitchen. We might, perhaps, get more hot water because our solar panel won't be shaded at certain times of the day and we can plant something else. Suffice to say, we will miss the trees. Maybe I have read too many books about trees that talked and even walked. Maybe I have been too emotional about this, but I'll always wonder what they could have told me if they could talk...but now we can plant new trees and give them new stories to tell...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As I typed the paragraph above, Reuben took three steps towards me. HE TOOK THREE STEPS TOWARDS ME. I have my perspective back.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgho8z23Ko3JWCzh5fo2Zk_eugHafj8KXy7OcR8ncc02hOd8iWLBf-dtsVjoJvIIf3jP3wqF3mDbixzcPrp8djdUFHwyeo18R9btYLGR1PSTYTrjXNxb4-_RJoS28nl8TLHqLDzz3zORTk/s1600/DSC_3027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDy5i3wapmD0tGA4xbxgp3QwWwjpOMqhK7Y10149KWCGLZ32MXdnSAwO84NiSY05C9AtiZrJgCeDVoeSoeWMOZbhB-T_Gf-FKPNcgZbjmrEQvENYSLvetktIEQhiznmfDYohVVWLYVw18/s1600/DSC_3001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-58129496626455135642014-08-01T03:03:00.000-07:002014-08-01T03:04:18.823-07:00Losing my voice <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">When we first started blogging we had a particular audience in mind - people who didn't receive our prayer letter updates, but who wanted to follow our adventures in PNG. We imagined that only our friends would read it - people who knew us, our personalities, our senses of humour, our voices. We have both blogged from the different perspectives our different roles have given us and tried hard to portray our lives here honestly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Early on we realised that it wasn't just people we knew who were reading the blog. We were pleased and excitedly looked up the statistics page, enjoying how our readers seemed to be spread across the world. What I didn't do was think about how this would affect how I wrote and how it would affect how I would be understood. I didn't think about how our voices might change either, or the ears that might be hearing them. This is interesting because back in my university days, this is exactly the sort of thing I was fascinated by - I was excited by what happens to meaning when it is interpreted by someone else who has a different perspective. Now that we live and are heard in a cross-cultural community in the middle of a country with a very different culture to the one we knew, I often find it a struggle to feel understood, even by those with whom I share a language. 'Do you know what I mean?' is a question often on my mind and in my mouth. Most of the time I think I am blissfully ignorant to the oddities of how I sound to the people I meet. I assume understanding and when I realise I have been mistaken, it is hard. I have started to think that I don't know how to say what I mean out loud or through written words. I have been wondering if I have lost my voice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We love getting responses to our blogs, but some of the feedback I have received about the ones I have written has made me question myself because I have inadvertently implied things I didn't mean to. I have gone back and read over what I wrote to see how I could have given the impressions I have and am left confused. I can't hear my voice through all the different ears and make it say what I want it to, to them all. And so I have been silent. It's not as if what I am writing is particularly earth shatteringly exciting anyway - I seem to have been mostly concerned with laundry, washing-up liquid and cooking after all. So I have been wondering if it is better to stick to putting up photos of Reuben and the helicopter..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In the end it seems I can't resist having a go anyway and hoping it will be all right. I can't completely control how you will read me - how your experiences, impressions, cultural context or emotions will influence, but I think I still want to risk the attempt to communicate and let the chips fall where they may. I can't deny that it is frustrating to feel misunderstood, but it is also enriching and refining. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I suppose the truth is that this blog really isn't about whether you hear my voice as I want it to be heard, or Duncan 's. It's meant to be a glimpse into why we are here. It's God's voice that transforms everything and everyone deserves the chance to hear it in their own language. Perhaps you really don't know what I mean when I say that, but I hope you will keep reading, as I hope to keep writing. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03537649171489373120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2009972701056115260.post-34191961467304852762014-06-29T05:00:00.000-07:002014-06-29T05:00:45.366-07:00Crawling<span id="goog_1555955762"></span><span id="goog_1555955763"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We can't believe we haven't blogged since the end of May! Sorry! We blame Reuben and the fact that he is ON THE MOVE! He is LOVING exploring everywhere and gets braver everyday. It is wonderful to watch him, but slightly scary too. Pray for us all as we enter this next, exciting but terrifying stage.</span><br />
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