Refreshment by Marcia Lee Laycock

It took us almost 5 hours. We had to walk through the jungles of Papua New Guinea to get to an airstrip where we would climb onto a small plane for the flight back to SIL’s mission station at Ukarumpa. I had prayed a lot, knowing that rain would make the trek difficult. God answered my prayers. There had been little rain all week so the rivers we had to cross weren’t flooded and the trail was relatively dry.

We chatted and laughed as we walked, my seven-year-old on the shoulders of one of the national men, my other two daughters easily keeping up using the walking sticks one of the men had provided. We had started out early in the day, but the jungle was already steaming with humidity, making our clothing cling to our bodies and our foreheads bead with perspiration. We used our water bottles often but the tepid water was not as refreshing as the chunks of sugar cane the men cut from time to time. The natural electrolytes in the stalks gave us the energy we needed to keep going.

An astonishing variety of insects kept up a constant buzz and hum and our heads often swivelled as brilliantly coloured birds and butterflies crossed our path. Their appearance spurred us on each time. The men got especially excited when a huge black cockatoo swooped by as we crossed one of the many rivers. The rare bird, they told us, was a good omen.

We stayed beneath the canopy of green, stepping out of it only when we reached the airstrip and realized how that high roof of foliage had protected us from the punishing tropical sun. The plane was waiting for us so there was no time to rest. My husband took off his shoes and handed them to the translator we had been visiting. His were falling apart. We pulled sweaters out of our packs and had them ready for the chilly temperature as the plane reached a high elevation, soaring over mountains and into the clouds.

By the time we arrived at our home at Ukarumpa we were all exhausted and thinking about only one thing – a refreshing shower. My oldest daughter made it into the house first so the rest of us had to wait our turn. My husband pulled out the box of mail that had accumulated while we were away. There was much excitement when we realized there was a “care package” from home, complete with newspapers, letters and photos from members of our Canadian congregation, packages of candy for the girls and many other delights. Suddenly our exhaustion was forgotten and we oohed and aahed over each new discovery. When Kate emerged from the shower none of us were eager to pull ourselves away from that connection to home.

But oh, the delight of that fresh running water! I had been almost ready to collapse when we arrived, but the shower and the delight of watching my family’s excitement over that care package revived my body and soul.

Refreshment. God provided it, in the laughter as we walked, in the delight over the beauty of the jungle and its creatures, in the natural boost from the sugar cane, in the joy of finding mail waiting for us and in the delight of a long cool shower.

“I will refresh the weary and satisfy the faint.” (Jer.31:25). That is a promise God made to the Hebrew people through His prophet Jeremiah. It is a promise He keeps to all His people, to this day.

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Marcia writes from Alberta Canada where she lives with her pastor/husband and two golden retrievers. Her three daughters are often fodder for her writing. She is a columnist with novelrocket.com and her devotionals are widely distributed. She also has three published novels and several ebooks are available from Amazon and Smashwords. Visit her website 

Barriers to Communication

It was a typical Sunday in the Papua New Guinean church. People had been gathering for over an hour; the rough wooden benches were slowly filling up. Murray had preached here many times so he knew to be patient and he knew to be prepared for distractions. Children of all ages wandered at will, as did a few chickens and the odd small dog. There were no walls to the church, other than a bamboo screen nailed to the posts behind a low table where Murray would stand to preach, so birds flew in and out, some of them squawking as they settled into the grass roof.  

When most of the benches were full the man who had been strumming a battered guitar nodded and Murray took his place. He spoke slowly in Pidgin, the trade language in the country, and waited for the man beside him to translate his words into the “Tok Ples” or village language. They hadn’t gotten very far into the sermon when Murray noticed everyone staring at a spot over his left shoulder. He wondered what might be happening behind him, but continued bravely until four young men stood up and made their way to that corner of the church. All eyes followed them. 

Realizing there was no sense in continuing, Murray turned just in time to see one of the men wrap a large banana leaf around the head of a boa constrictor that had begun to slither through the bamboo screen. As the huge snake went limp one of the other men grabbed it and pulled it through the wall. The other two stepped up to take the rest of the weight of the snake’s huge body.

Murray turned back to his congregation. He knew everyone was now thinking about how good that snake was going to taste. He said a brief closing prayer and sat down.

Sometimes the distractions need to be dealt with before any kind of communication can move forward. It’s true in our spiritual lives, as is illustrated in the book of Matthew where we are told, “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift” (Matthew 5:23,24). 

There have been times when I’ve been blocked as a writer because of things in my life that needed to be resolved. God cannot speak through me when my mind, heart and spirit are distracted with unsettled and unsettling sin. They are barriers to communication, both between me and the Father, and me and my audience.

But there is good news ... “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9).

Is there a snake making its way through the wall in your life? Don’t let it become a barrier to the words God has for you to write.

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Marcia Lee Laycock writes from central Alberta Canada where she is a pastor's wife and mother of three adult daughters. She was the winner of The Best New Canadian Christian Author Award for her novel, One Smooth Stone and also has two devotional books in print. Her work has been endorsed by Sigmund Brouwer, Janette Oke, Phil Callaway and Mark Buchanan. Marcia's second novel, A Tumbled Stone was recently short listed in the contemporary fiction category of The Word Awards. Abundant Rain, an ebook devotional for writers can be downloaded here. Visit Marcia's website

One Year In Paradise – Part 3

In spite of our time at “jungle camp,” culture shock continued in Ukarumpa. We had to adjust to meeting people with every kind of accent, from Swiss to Korean, hearing broad banana leaves clapping in the wind one minute and the sighing of pine trees the next, shopping in the open market and remembering to always carry an umbrella for protection against sun as well as rain.

The first morning I approached the market I heard a loud voice and my heart skipped a beat or two. As I got closer I was able to make out words like "Bikpela God" and realized someone was preaching. Everyone listened attentively and bowing their heads in prayer when he finished, then rang a bell declaring the market open. I said a quick prayer myself, before milling among the people, being careful not to step over any food or touch anything before I bought it, two of the taboos we had learned. I was extremely grateful for the Pidgin classes, which enabled me at least to ask, “Em wannem samting?” (What is this?) and “Em i hamas?” (How much?) It was obvious, however, that the people spoke pidgin at a more rapid rate and with a different inflection than the Dutch teacher who taught us the grammar.

As the days stretched into weeks, activities like going to market became routine. I managed to engage in a bit of intelligible Pidgin conversation and gradually began to relax. I discovered many of the people came to the market from faraway villages, often waking at 4:00 a.m. to get to Ukarumpa in time. Then they travel the 7 km. by PMV (public motor vehicle), which could be anything from a jeep to a dump truck, to the nearest town, Kainantu, where they would continue to sell their produce. Kainantu is a conglomeration of tin buildings and clapboard houses, its streets crowded, especially on fortnight Fridays (payday) with Bouai chewing men, chickens, kids and the odd pig or two shepherded by wary women.

The women carry their vegetables, fruits and even babies in bilums, (brightly coloured string bags they weave themselves), placing the long woven strap on their foreheads, the heavy bag resting on their backs. It's common to see a woman carrying 30 kilograms or more, often with a small child on her shoulders or hip as well.

The men carry artifacts. Their basketry is beautiful, as is their carving on bamboo. There are always bows and arrows to be had, as well as black-stained pukpuks (carved crocodiles) with cowrie shell eyes. One day I was able to buy a well used Kundu - a tall hour-glass shaped drum carved out of wood with a snake or animal skin bound with vines on one end. I’d seen the Kundu used often at the Sing-sings – a raucous festival-like event where people gather from miles around in full regalia of feathers and paint to dance the stories and rituals of their lives.

As my language skills increased, so did my appreciation for the highlands people. Though they were at first reserved and unsure, I was able to establish relationships. The women are remarkable for their strength, not only of body but also of spirit, bearing hardships with both stamina and an unquenchable hope. These qualities have stood them in good stead in a society that is unpredictable, often violent, in a country where the infant mortality rate is more than 50% and adult life expectancy is relatively short. Their lives are hard but their souls are not embittered.

In that one year in Papua New Guinea, we were privileged to see and be part of a process that is having a positive impact. We met children and adults who are learning to read and write in their own language, because of S.I.L.’s efforts. We spoke with young people who have hope of going on to study in English and perhaps even attend one of the country’s few high schools. We saw healthy children and knew the medical assistance was making a life and death difference. In a world full of tragedy and heartbreaking despair, our year in Papua New Guinea was a year of realizing there is hope, a hope kept alive by people who truly believe “greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.”

One Year In Paradise, Part 2 (See part 1 here)

An S.I.L.(Summer Institute of Linguistics) worker met us at the Madang airport and ushered us to our "taxi," a one-ton truck with long wooden benches down the sides and middle, covered by a steel frame and canvass tarp rolled up on both sides. We, and another family, loaded our considerable gear into it and clung to the metal frame as we lurched up a narrow trail toward the site of the Pacific Orientation Course (POC), also known as “jungle camp.” For those of us without fear of heights, the view was breathtaking. The rest preferred to admire the banana and coconut trees on the mountain side.

At POC, we were met by "wantoks" – a PNG term meaning countrymen, those who speak the same language. It was wonderful to see those smiling Canadian faces. They introduced us to life at jungle camp. Our accommodations consisted of one room divided by a plywood wall with two mosquito-screened bunks on one side and a double bed on the other. Showers were around back, made out of a bucket on a pulley and sporadically heated by a wood stove. We quickly learned to give the bucket a whack before using it, to dislodge the geckos and spiders.

Meals were taken communally with eight other families, all of us assigned to work together to help prepare and cook the food on a huge wood stove. Often it was a challenge to guess what we would be served at the next meal. On one occasion we were told we were eating “Sepik chicken.” After we had taken a few bites, the cook explained the Sepik is one of the country’s largest rivers and the "chickens" have thick leathery skins and large teeth. We were savoring crocodile tail. It wasn’t until a few months later that we were offered another traditional delicacy, roasted sago grubs. As I accepted the skewered grubs, blackened by an open cooking fire, I was thankful for the “jungle camp” experience and tried to pretend I really didn’t know what I was popping into my mouth.

Our days at P.O.C. were filled with lectures on the culture and customs, covering such things as the taboo of stepping over food, even though it may be scattered on the ground, and the common practice of holding hands or linking “pinkies” (your smallest finger) as you chat with a member of the same sex. Language learning (Melanesian Pidgin), taught by a young Dutch woman and a Papua New Guinean man, also took up many hours as we practiced dialogues and concentrated on grammatical construction. The rest of our time was spent swimming and snorkeling in the ocean and hiking in the tropical heat. By the end of the two weeks we were feeling much more comfortable with it all and felt confidant as our orientation ended and we boarded an S.I.L. plane for the short hop over the mountains to Ukarumpa. The highlands town is S.I.L.'s main centre housing about 450 translators, literacy workers and support personnel.

In spite of our time at P.O.C., culture shock continued in Ukarumpa.

Part 3 coming soon …

Marcia Laycock writes from Central Alberta Canada. Visit her website - www.vinemarc.com

One Year In Paradise - Part One

It wasn't until we landed on the airstrip at Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, and stepped out into the humid heat, that I first asked myself, "What on earth have we done?" It had taken me and my family 26 hours to fly from Vancouver, Canada, north towards the top of the globe, down the coast of Russia, China and Japan to this South Pacific island just north of Australia. We had driven through a blizzard to reach Vancouver, and knew the shock of arriving in the tropics would be great. It began to dawn as we stood under slow-moving fans in the long line at the customs counter, aware that we were the only "whiteskins" with perspiration dripping off our noses! Our passports and visas checked, we made our way to the waiting area, tried to find a seat directly under a fan and bemoaned the fact that we hadn't yet changed our Canadian “loonies” into PNG Kina, making the CokeT machine inaccessible!

People-watching helped pass the time. Women stood and squatted in the lines, many in national dress, the bright "meriblaus," a full top extending almost to the knees and "lap-lap," an ankle-length piece of cloth wrapped around twice and tied at the waist. Some bore facial tattoos, blue lines and dots on their foreheads and cheeks. Almost all of them had children on their laps and at their knees. The men were small-built, all wearing shorts and T-shirts, some bearded and a couple with matted hair braided and tied at the back of the neck. Almost no-one wore shoes.

The noise in the room was considerable. If my ear had been able to distinguish at the time, I would have picked out several languages, (there are 869, at last count, in a country roughly the size of Alberta). I was having trouble just trying to understand the common trade language, Melanesian Pidgin, which blared over a loudspeaker whenever a flight was ready to board. The national folk didn’t seem to have the same problem as they surged toward the exit at each announcement, leaving emptied seats snatched up by those sitting and squatting on the floor.

Two long hours later we boarded our Air Niugini flight to the other side of the island where we would go to "jungle camp," the orientation spot for short term workers in the country. The shock of arrival continued when we flew over the lush landscape, but it slowly gave way to wonder at the beauty of P.N.G. The coast-line quickly gives way to jungle and Sago swamps (Sago palms provide the staple food, even though they have 6 inch thorns surrounding their trunks). The swamps in turn give way to a ridge of mountains running like a spine down the full length of the island.

Our small plane bounced as we neared the high ridges but we ignored the instability and peered down at clusters of village huts and gardens cut into steep slopes. The land descended quickly as we approached the city of Madang, clinging to the edge of coral reefs in the clear waters of the Bismark Sea. The airport in Madang is a smaller version of Port Moresby, minus the fans. It was at this point we realized that, although we were visitors in this country, we would not be tourists. We had come to work at a centre called the Summer Institute of Linguistics, (S.I.L.) and we would soon learn that we had our work cut out for us.

To be continued …

Marcia now writes from central Alberta Canada. See her website - www.vinemarc.com

Operation Christmas Child in Papua New Guinea

Narelle here. I’d like to welcome my dear friend, Marie Barendrecht, to our blog today. Marie (far right in the photo) has recently returned from a Discovery Trip with Samaritan’s Purse in Papua New Guinea (PNG).

Narelle: What drives your passion for Samaritan’s Purse and Operation Christmas Child?

Marie: I grew up in Namibia and South Africa, and I’ve seen extreme poverty up close. The kids in receiving countries of Operation Christmas Child boxes are very poor, and the shoe boxes open doors for Samaritan’s Purse church partners to plant churches and provide clean water systems, sanitation, health training and emergency relief. Every country has different needs and Samaritan’s Purse works with local churches to enable the local people to work in their community.

Narelle: Papua New Guinea (PNG) is a small country to the north of Australia. Tell us about the children you met in PNG and their living conditions.

Marie: In Port Moresby, the children live in settlements, which are tin shacks with poor sanitation and limited access to running water (see photo above). There are so many orphaned and abandoned children in the settlements (see photo below).

I visited a Moale Feeding Program and we fed more than 800 children in one day.

In the remote villages, the kids are often taken care of by extended family (tribal system) and are much better off than the kids in the settlements in Port Moresby.

I met some children who received Operation Christmas Child boxes 2 years ago, and one girl had the most beautiful handwriting. She’s so thankful for the Operation Christmas Child project because she received stationery in her shoe box (see photo on the left).

Narelle: What was the highlight of your trip?

Marie: We’re on the truck, travelling to remote villages with Operation Christmas Child boxes. There’s this one village that were always friendly but previously wouldn’t allow Pastor Magi to enter their village. We stopped at this village, and got permission to enter with Operation Christmas Child boxes.

Before we left, the village elders exchanged phone numbers with Pastor Magi, wanting a church to be planted in their village. I was amazed to see God working, and seeing these people wanting to learn more about Jesus. Below is a photo of Pastor Magi giving an Operation Christmas Child box to a young boy.

Narelle: How have your experiences in PNG impacted your faith?

Marie: It has strengthened my faith and my desire to do missionary work. It’s taught me that we need to be passionate as Christians. The Christians I met in PNG are so happy to be Christians and share their faith. We need to not be ashamed of our faith and be more active in reaching people for God.

Narelle: Tell us about the work you’ll be doing for Operation Christmas Child in 2010.

Marie: My goal for 2010 is to share my experiences in PNG with as many people as possible. The Operation Christmas Child boxes do work – they are a tool for the local Pastor’s to use in their community to reach people for God. I’d like to see as many boxes as possible put together in my local area and I also speak to community groups, churches, and schools promoting the work of Samaritan’s Purse.

Narelle: Marie, thanks so much for sharing some of your experiences from your amazing trip to PNG. I’m so inspired by hearing all your stories and seeing your photos from PNG. If you’d like to learn more about the work of Samaritan’s Purse and their Operation Christmas Child project, please visit their website.

Narelle Atkins writes contemporary inspirational romance. She resides in Canberra, Australia with her husband and children. She can also be found around the inkwell at the Inkwell Inspirations blog. To learn more about Narelle, please visit her website.