Turning

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.  

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

                               

Leaving day

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.

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. 

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.

For a moment I am numb, stuck in sorrow, and then I breathe. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Wings

I 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. 

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.

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. 

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.

Bare walls

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. 

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.

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. 

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.

We have walked through the jungle at dusk and now it's time to come home. 

Not my classroom

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. Dear Lord, thank you for precious Reuben. Please bless this first morning of school...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 only about this. 

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. 

"Will you leave me mummy?" 

"Yes my darling, but I will come back." 

"You will come back?" 

"Yes."

Yes. With all my heart. 

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. 

                                

     

     

                                

Sounds of Life

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.

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. 

The little things

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

Chairs

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

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! 

                              

On the beach

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? 

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. 

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.

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. 

Enough

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. 

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. 

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!

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. 

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. 

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'.

Christmas in June

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.

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.

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.

For Kate

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.

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.

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.

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?

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. 

Bugs

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.

It started off pretty tame ... just an average beetle in the room.

 Then we had to run the gauntlet of this fella to get to the bathrooms.

We tried not to think about where the rest of his family might be!

Back in the room, geckos and small lizards were fairly common, but just outside we found this little guy.

Baby dragon?!

 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.

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!

The greener-coloured tree frog also liked to come and visit...

but I wasn't quick enough with the camera to capture it.

In the quiet

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

Cooking from Scratch

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.

Our 'Papa' with coconut he has just scraped out of the shell, and bananas behind him

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...

The first thing is to find a tree which is ready and then fell it.

The trunk can be seen here lying on the jungle floor

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
to catch the sawdust which will be produced. If a sack or tarpaulin is available, it too might be used.

The bare trunk with the bark and leaf bed being prepared

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.

The two-handled saw with nails in to break up the sago

Then it was a team effort to saw through the trunk, with various members of the village taking their turns.

Sawing through the trunk; the mallet can be seen in use in the background

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'.

The washing stand, linbum leaves and water buckets

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.

Back up at the house, the product is strained again to prepare it for cooking.

Straining through a sieve

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.

'Turned' sago being served

Alternatively, it can be packaged and taken to market to be sold. A useful source of income.

Leaves were used to line a pot and form a case

Then the sago was packed down to fill the pot.

The leaves are tied over and cut off, then the package is ready

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.

No food miles - caught in the water in the background and eaten right there

Stretched but safe

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?

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.

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.

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. 

This is our outdoor kitchen where we learned to cook over an open fire

Our course

The river where we washed clothes and ourselves

Us on the verandah of our village house

Faltering Forward

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.

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!

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.

Mobile Medevac

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. 

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.

But thankfully appearances can be deceptive - the cloud was sitting in front of the hill, so the site itself was clear.

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.

The landing site is to the left of the tower

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?!

At least I don't have to worry about anyone walking into the tail rotor!

The rest of the flight was thankfully simple - load the passengers and head back to base. I believe the sick guy was fine.

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!

Tapini

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.

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.

Tapini sits on a small plateau, surrounded by mountains.

Tapini

 We were mostly slinging various external loads: steel, timber, cement...

Lifting a timber load

 Between each load we re-fuelled from drums driven up by truck.

This video shows one of my colleagues taking-off after a re-fuel and lifting a load of cement and concrete flooring.

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.

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.

Along the ridge from there are some homes made from more readily-available materials.

Part of Kerau village

 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.

Waterfall, hydro plant and water source

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!

 Just outside the village, the stream is coarsely filtered, before part of it enters a pipe and flows down to this building.

The generator hut (and our guide)

 Inside are the turbine and generator

 Above the village is another area where a stream is coarsely filtered and piped - this time providing fresh drinking water to the houses.

The water source (with another guide)

But the highlight of the trip has to have been the waterfall!

The beautiful waterfall (with one of the SIL loaders who went to help rig the sling loads)

 Even the flight home afforded some great views:

All the classroom and aid post building materials ready to be put together

The valley leading up to a ridge we needed to cross at around 10,000'

Lake Wanum near Lae

Contrasting Chronicles Part II

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.

0810 - Fire up the computer and see what the email has brought for today.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

1000 - Break time. Malolo - relax.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

1200 - Lunch. Jump on the bus home.

1300 - The missing package for the village was found over lunch; pass the news on. Continue reading about instruction.

1335 - I complete the sale of our excess drum of fuel to the other mission. Cross it off the 'To do' list.

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.

1415 - Try to enhance the Search Engine Optimisation of the website I recently developed for the department (shameless plug - www.silaviation.org). 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.

1500 - Break. Sit, chat and eat passion fruit.

1515 - Back to reading.

1545 - Finish the initial 'read through' and email our training manager to see what the next step is.

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.

1700 - Home for the weekend. Tonight the teens are serving burgers as a work experience / income generating / community service opportunity; one not to miss.