I had a decent
sleeping mat and the woven floor of the hut had enough spring in it to be
comfortable, but the rhythmic beat of the dancers’ feet outside the door and
the cadence of their chants kept my brain from shutting down for the night. That, and the embers in the fire pit in the
center of the hut were making it uncomfortably warm. I glanced over at Mark, the only other
occupant of our sleeping quarters—he appeared to be dozing soundly under a
mosquito net. Thinking uncharitable
thoughts about Mark, the dancers and the embers, I stripped down to my boxers
and once again shut my eyes.
The only photograph I took of the hut that night. Fire pit in the center of the floor. |
Some time later,
still unable to sleep, I rolled over and in the process must have accidentally jostled
open my heavy eyelids. In the glow of the
fire pit I could make out a stunning image: a group of men, seated in a semi-circle around
me.
The one closest to me
spoke my name. It was Demi. By now the once-droopy eyelids stood at full
attention having auto-adjusted to the position commonly referred to as wide open. I counted 12 men in the hut. I’m not sure how long Demi would have waited
for me to open my eyes, but my guess is a very, very long time—the Ketengban do
not share their Western brothers’ lack of patience. Whipping on a t-shirt, I made a mental note to
find my bucket list and cross off “opening
eyes to find self surrounded by 12 men while self clad only in boxers.”
Demi, a long-time
friend who helped with the New Testament translation for his Ketengban people,
explained that these men were the elders from three distant villages. They had hiked through the mountains—some of
them had been on the trail for days—to get to Marbata because they had heard
through the jungle grapevine that Mark and I would be here. One by one the elders made their case,
pleading with us to come to their villages and open the runways their people
had built.
I listened to these
dear men speak with earnestness and humility. When it was time for me to speak, I wished
that I could promise them something. All
I could do was attempt to convey how much our team cared for each of their
communities, but what a huge undertaking opening each new runway was for us,
and how limited our capacity was as a team.
We talked deep into the
night. Eventually we spent some time
praying together, asking the God we all worshipped to make a way for their runways
to be opened and their communities to begin to benefit from the ministry of the
aircraft. Each man then filed past my
sleeping mat and we shook hands before they slipped out the door into the
night.
I looked over at
Mark’s corner of the hut. He was still
dozing peacefully. More uncharitable
thoughts.
With Demi, a few weeks after the night in the hut. |
-----------------------------------
I write this sitting at
a kitchen table a world away from that hut deep in the Star Mountains of
Papua. Sheri and I miss many things
about living and ministering in Papua, but near the top of the list has got to
be the opportunity to fellowship with dear believers like those men in the
night. Believers who, though so
radically different than us, love the same Lord and inspire us with their
patience, endurance and joy in the midst of lives much more difficult than our
own.
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