Showing posts from 2017

Irreplaceable Value

Crash.  Shatter.  The sweet ornament my three student missionaries had given to us last year had toppled to the tile floor. “Adopted with Love”, with each of their names personally inscribed had not even hung for 5 minutes in the small synthetic tree. The unforgiving tile floor.  Claimer of dozens of glass cups over the years and other pottery/porcelain like items. Usually falls resulting in no second chances.  No redemption.  Most of the time it doesn’t bother me at all.  Other than the risk, mess, and time to clean up countless pieces of shards of glass.  Almost all the homes here in Indonesia are tile at best.  Some are cement, others are dirt and a few are bamboo or other wood.  The tile is cool and easy to clean, but it does not give way to falling glass. Jacob and Nathaniel had decorated for Christmas while Darron and I were away in Australia.  We had left them home alone for 8 days.  Well not really alone, but really.  I mean they had many “Aunts and Uncles” taking them to schoo

To Medevac. To Not Medevac.

Last year we had a trend going on here in Sentani, Papua.  Every time our expatriate doctor stepped away from being “in town”, we (the nurses) ended up with a critical case in our lap.  Every time.   We threated to not  let our Doctor leave EVER again.  But in all reality, this was not realistic or practical or healthy ……  So she went and we learnt.  Fortunately, that trend seems to have been broken.  However, when our doctor leaves we use the skills and resources that we have, and we proceed to provide care, to the best of our ability.  Fortunately, it doesn’t take a doctor to diagnose “we are in trouble” and “this patient needs hospitalization or a specialist referral”.  Gratefully, we are not an island unto ourselves, as long as the phone and internet are working (one month last year, we had 95% of the time, no internet).  There are doctors with their ears to the ground, and will help give advice.  For this we are indebted and blessed that even though we are alone, we are not alone.

10 Months too Late. One Month too Early.

If receiving physical mail in your mail box is rare, here in third world no where, it is almost unheard of.  Actually we don’t have a mail box.  We have a P.O. Box, shared by the Aviation campus here.  Us, like you, delight to received hand written notes. They are so meaningful.  Yet we wouldn’t trade instant communication and modern advances. At the beginning of November (2017) I was quite surprised to open this envelope:  Dated: December 6, 2016 What a lovely charming Christmas card.  From. Last. Year.  Yes, it was 10 months too late and one month too early.  THANKYOU Auntie Sonia and Uncle Allan!!!! I actually have been DISAPPOINTED in how few Christmas cards we receive here in the mission field.  Isn’t the point of a Christmas greeting, is to remind people that they are thought of?  In America we would overflow with Christmas cards.  Many of them were handed to us at church by people we saw every week (that kind of humored me also).  Many of them just had the peoples signature on t

I’d Drive a Thousand Miles….if only

I was quite surprised this week when tears began to flow and this crazy Mommy urge to drive a thousand miles to see a boy or two filled my heart. It’s almost time for Thanksgiving break and boy #2 needed some help trying to figure out rides.  From the other side of the world, I am reaching out to friends and family to see who is going where and when and ……  It felt so complicated and difficult. It made me sad….because I recognized that I really just wanted to go and get him myself.  That most kids go home on break.  Most parents go get their kids on break.  Most parents are normal people who work 9-5 jobs and who live within a three to five hour radius of their children’s schools and Universities.  If only …….we were normal. I haven’t written about saying good bye to TWO boys at one time this summer.  Not a week goes by where fellow missionaries and local friends ask me,  “How are you doing without two boys?”  My standard reply is, “They are happy and I am busy, so it hasn’t been too b

Change Never Happens Fast, Except Today it Did

Today (Wednesday, Nov. 1),  Darron and Gary were leaving on an afternoon flight to the Philippines.  The nicer of our two cars had just been picked up from the repair shop ( it was an alternator this time).  They are at that stage.  Always, something falling apart.  With the mission mobile, we can’t complain.  It is 21 years old!!!!  Darron just popped down to the hanger to fill up the tires with air and I heard him pip the horn at the gate, to indicate he was read to go to the airport.  Yet, he had a different message.  The tire needed repaired…..or more probably replaced. Groan.  There is ONE thing, I disdain as a woman and that is handling car problems.  It’s hard enough to do it in your home country and a language you are fluent in.  Try doing it in a foreign country.  Also to me, it is a MANS world.  If you want to plop me in my discomfort zone, tell me I have to get the car fixed. So off we drive.  Air hissing out of the tire.  The good news, my husband is by my side.  The bad ne

Shadow of Death

You can probably recite the verse with me, ….”Yay, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”  This week has been one of walking through the valley of the shadow of death with my Papua friend, Ida.  I have always thought of this verse as pre death, but this week I have taken comfort in these words, in post death. (If you didn’t read last weeks blog here is the link: ) Every day I have been looking for signs of Jesus comforting her.  I actually have been surprised at the strength Jesus is giving her each day.  Oh……I’m not saying it is easy.  There still has been much weeping, sighing, grief, not understanding, lack of energy, not feeling well, but every day Ida has found hope and strength in Christ. I feel like a cheerleader standing on the sidelines.  Encouraging.  Shouting words to inspire.  Flashing smiles and eye contact.  W

Anguished Hearts

Image after image flashes through my mind.  I see little but “growing bigger and stronger” two and half year old Azarya coming towards me on the gravel runway.  Wanting to give me a high five and nothing warms my heart more.  Knowing that this is the little boy who drank his way back to life with goats milk.  More images of all over campus this little boy waving at me and smiling shyly, running and playing like normal children should.  Every time I saw him, I rejoiced in the second chance that Jesus had given him.  More images of being with his Mommy and Daddy and their JOY and gratefulness in Ayarya’s strength and change as he transformed before their eyes from being severely malnourished to vibrant.  Ida, his Mommy, is my closest Papua friend, and I see so many images of her and I chatting and laughing together and enjoying her new fat little baby boy, now two months old.  Despite that Ida was still morning the unexpected loss of her father and still mourning the loss of her first ch

Jungle Non Sky Team Members

Imagine the small bush plane landing on the jungle grass airstrip.  Upon landing there are so many things on the pilots mind.  Passengers getting off and all their things.  New passengers jostling for a ticket on.  Limited seats.  Limited weight.  Limited fuel.  Fuel awareness.  Weather awareness.  Time awareness. I’m guessing that there are many more things on a pilots mind.  These are just the obvious things.  On grass airstrips there are no secretaries taking money and selling tickets.  There is no hanger help, fueling the plane or loading the items or calculating the weight.  Nope.  In the middle of the bush, it is up to one man. The pilot. That is how Simpson’s mother slid onto the plane with her baby.  Oh her presence was noted, but there was too much going on for it all to be processed what her intentions were.  And normally this is not the pilots job, to ask flying sky team members and non members…..”Why, are you flying today?” It’s not the first time Simpson’s mom has flown

One Month Deep

It’s hard to believe that we have been back from furlough a month already.  Though some days it feels like we never left.  Honestly life moves along at a blurring pace.  Darron teases me (and there is much truth mixed in) that even when all our children have flown from the nest, I will still be busy, because I create things to do.  Yep….that’s me.  Guilty as charged! So what do I do?  haha  Even one of my kids, state side….wants to know, what I am doing…..Thus this blog inspiration.  Well let’s just say that everyday in Papua is a kitchen day.  Even with so many less mouths to feed, I still spend at least two hours a day in the kitchen.  That is a light day.  Jacob and Nathaniel are in the “two or three plate” stage per meal.  Which is how my house helper worded it.  Kitchen day only works if there are groceries.  I survive grocery shopping here by doing a once a month BIG grocery shop for all the staples and weekly market shopping for all the fresh veggies and fruits (which are abunda

Look Over Your Shoulder

As parents we are sometimes not even aware of what we have taught or failed to teach our children.  As our MK’s (missionary kids) transition back to America……some interesting lessons are emerging from growing up in Papua.  One area is driving.  Here we use our mirrors constantly to check what is going on all around us.  Honestly, there is rarely time to look over your shoulder because if you do, you are very likely to miss or rather HIT the numerous things that could have darted out in front of you during that split second glance.  Which include, but are not limited to, pedestrians, goats, motor cycles, children, bicycle riders, dogs, cars, vending wagons, pot holes and I am sure I am forgetting a few things……ahh yes, pigs. So, we were actually humored when one of our transitioning sons, mentioned that his driver test personal kept calling out the inaccurate technique of lane shifting that our MK was using.  Fortunately the license was granted and it was noted that in America there is


Fifty baby chicks.  All in the name of missions.  That’s what I find on my screened in porch last week.  So cute and fluffy.  “Yes, dear, they can stay until they can be flown to Hobotongo.”  I graciously permit.  These chicks will provide eggs for the missionaries and villagers there.  This is where we have a thriving school and a growing church, in a very remote location.  I continue making supper as the chicks settle down in their makeshift box home, thinking, “I don’t have time to mess with chicks, this is Darron’s project.  They can stay here, but I’m not taking care of them.”  Rapidly a few days pass by.  Darron, Jacob and Nathaniel care for the chicks and I enjoy their little chirps and dislike their odor.  Otherwise, I ignore the happenings in Chickville.  Until Wednesday morning.  I am busy at the clinic and Darron keeps sending distressing messages to my phone.  “Chicks are getting sick.  What is going wrong?  What can be done different?” Dr. Di, who loves animal husbandry an