Any Given Day

I took a day off a few weeks ago.  As is my habit when I’m not in the office, I logged in to our flight tracking site that morning to see what our aircraft were up to… and took the screenshot below.

On any given day, you’ll see our fleet, the yellow dots, streaming into Papua’s interior to touch the least of these… and retrieve bundles off the ground.

On this particular day, the yellow dots were out serving missionaries, picking up two sets of patients, and flying for the local people of the Eastern Highlands.

Would you pray for those yellow dots?  Each one represents a generous gift God’s community has passed along to Yajasi to be used to reach the isolated peoples of this region.  Each yellow dot has a pilot on board needing to make good decisions under pressure all day long.  Each yellow dot has a team standing behind it—a group of dedicated mechanics, finance people, ground operations staff and administrators tirelessly doing their jobs to keep the yellow dots in the air. 

Pray for the dots!

An Unwrinkled Nose

The bundle on the ground

I walked from the airplane to the bundle on the ground.  The first thing I noticed was the flies.  Then the smell.    The smell was the smell of death, and the flies flew vulture circles around the bundle.  The bundle on the ground contained the perfectly still figure of a tiny woman, the image of God clinging tenaciously to her tired features.  All that is evil and broken in this world sought to mercilessly destroy this weak and weary image-bearer.  

She’d been carried on a makeshift litter over the steep mountain trail from a nearby village to reach the airstrip where my airplane was now parked.  Her husband stood beside her, holding another bundle in his hands, a noken—one of the net bags woven from tree bark fibers that his people have been making for as long as anyone has memory of this place.   I peered into the noken.  It contained perhaps the most uncorrupted vision of the image of God we’re likely to see on this broken planet: the woman’s perfect newborn child.  While the child’s mother lay on the ground enveloped in a struggle for life, her baby slept serenely in his father’s arms.  The miracle of childbirth, cursed when our race turned away from God, now threatened the life of the baby’s young mother.

Moving her into the aircraft

Stepping out of the airplane in Sentani, I went to help one of our ground staff with the stretcher.  As we gently moved our patient from the airplane to the stretcher, I watched my co-worker’s face as the stench hit him.

Not a flinch.

Not the tiniest wrinkling of the nose.  I knew that the only reason he didn’t react to his senses was out of respect for this little tribal woman, wrapped in filthy, blood-soaked blankets.   You don’t wrinkle your nose at someone you believe carries God’s image. 

Our team has had to navigate some really rough waters this year.  At that moment under the wing of the PC-6, watching my colleague restrain the very natural instinct to gag, my heart leapt and said, 

Yes!  This is it.  This is why we’re here.  This is why we fight on.  This is why we don’t quit when everything in us wants to.  As a flawed and broken team, we’re somehow being used to touch the least of God’s image-bearers.’

Sometimes all that's asked of us is an unwrinkled nose.

The brand new image bearer