Sweating Upon the Narrow Path

The house we have been generously supplied by our Nazarene Hospital hosts is, in short, luxurious. When we first accepted a position in the rugged Highlands of Papua New Guinea, we fully anticipated our living quarters to be meager at best. Apparently, The Lord had something entirely rich in mind, which I have found is usually true once you place your Trust in Him and walk the narrow path presented. 

Our house here on station is one of the three new "Doctor Houses", commissioned 1-2 years ago by the hospital to accommodate new volunteer docs such as myself. All three are identical:  three bedrooms, one bath, combined kitchen/dining room/living room, and they are marvelously outfitted with brand new appliances, hardwood floors, and vaulted ceilings which sport exposed beams. Of interest, each of the three houses' largest cross beams have been hand decorated with wood burning art. Apparently, a gentleman who is well known to the Station for his wood burning skills (usually with pieces of bamboo), thought the beams were magnificent enough to warrant decoration. So, for a small commission, Mr Lostman (see story of his name below) spent three months reclined upon a tall scaffold, Cysteine Chapel style, burning traditional Papuan art into the beams. Needless to say, we have since become acquainted with Lostman, and placed an order for some of his original bamboo artwork. 

SIDE STORY:  The Naming of Lostman
Once upon a time, in a small Papuan village settled deep in mountain jungle, a young couple was pregnant with their first child. They lived in peace among family and friends, working their gardens and raising pigs, and as the baby grew inside, they hoped for a boy - another pair of strong hands to help support and defend both family and tribe. In those days of evil spirits and tribal rivalries, more men meant more safety, and every man was valued. One clear morning, far along into the pregnancy, the man took down his bow and arrows, and found them in good order - he was good with his hands, known among the tribe for the fine quality of his arrow tips. Leaving his wife to tend the garden, he went into the woods as he had done hundreds of times before, in search of fresh meat. When the sun met the mountains, and he had still not returned, his wife became worried. Spending the night outside the safety of family and fire, among wild beasts and evil spirits, could mean death for anyone. Whispering prayers to the spirits of her ancestors, she hurried (pregnant waddling) up the hill to her brother-in-law's house, and relayed the message. Within a matter of minutes, a handful of men had gathered, each outfitted with spear or bow, faces set in stern readiness. Hours later, as the moon began its ascent, the search party returned, but empty handed and with worry etched across each brow. The village fires burned later into the night than usual, a beacon of hope for the man's return. As though he knew the importance of this night, a strong cry from the woman's newborn boy pierced the darkness - a siren of new life beckoning his father to return. Days passed, then weeks, and finally a ceremonial funeral among the tribe acknowledged their loss. His death was blamed upon a rival tribe, but hearts remained empty without evidence or recompense. With a high rate of infant mortality, the naming of a child was usually postponed for months, an emotional attachment for the child allowed once named. In this story however, out of respect for the deceased, and in faith the baby boy would survive to take the his father's place, the village elders named him *Lostman*. 

~ The End ~

While our new home is indeed rich, I was (secretly) pleased to find there had not yet been any landscaping done around the house. As many of you know, I quite enjoy garden dirt up to my elbows and don't mind the calluses that form after hard digging or wall/patio/fence building. So, in short order after getting settled, I obtained permission from the Hospital Admin and started working on the first (of many) projects. Fitting with the title of this Blog entry, I decided my first project was to build a walkway from our front door to the road. 

Every morning when we leave for work, we avoid getting our feet soaked in the lush dewy grass by going the "long way" around via the driveway. The path I have designed cuts more directly from our front step to the road, but it does so gracefully, with two gentle curves winding through the lawn as you might expect a lazy creek to meander. 

Using bamboo cuttings from our back yard, I began the project meticulously measuring and staking the outer lines of the path, which I then joined with cord to provide my eye with a rough idea of the shape. One of my neighbors, Adam Peterson, works here as the hospital's Project Manager, and more than a couple times stopped by to lend me his practiced eye on my design and methods.

Very much like the porch in Dusin, I have found that spending time working in the front lawn provides a wonderful opportunity to catch up with other missionaries on Station. The "1 mile marker" is just in front of our house, so in addition to neighbors swinging by, I would also stop digging to meet/greet those walking "the loop". To my dismay, when working closer to dusk, I have also been visited by smaller passersby - the kind that think my blood tastes fantastic. But, nothing a quick DEET BATH can't manage! In truth, I'm quite thankful we live at a high enough altitude that Malaria is not carried by our mosquitos. I see Malaria manifested frequently in our patients from lower elevations, and it's not pretty.



The top soil of this tropical land is rich, and the pieces of sod I cut out for the path were heavy, rain-soaked chunks - usually 10"x16" and ~6" deep. I used a number of these lawn blocks to fill in a lower area of my lawn which had been pooling runoff, and I eventually wheelbarrowed the rest to a low area in my neighbor's lawn. For the next phase of the path, I had asked around how one might obtain a load of stone/gravel from the river, and I was pleased to find allies for this project within the Hospital Administration and Grounds Management. Within a week, a small dump truck appeared upon my path and gave birth to a sizable load of gravel, sand and stone. The free time of my weeks to come will be spent organizing the larger stones into a smooth surface, a welcome avenue not only for us, but for every pair of servant feet who call this place their home. 



REFLECTION:
While the people of PNG are expert gardeners and can dig all day at amazing speeds, I have found my back seizing up after each day's digging and heaving. Even so, the Spirit inside of me rejoices in the labor, bringing Scripture to mind that compares this sweaty, painful task with Spiritual growth. 

Hebrew 5:7-9
During the days of Jesus' life on earth, He offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the One who could save Him from death, and He was heard because of His reverent submission. Although He was a son, He learned obedience from what He suffered and, once made perfect, He became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey Him.

James 1:2-6
Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.

As children of God, we are Loved, and our response to His perfect Love can only be Obedience. Walking the narrow path to which He has opened our eyes will never be easy, but if we can Trust Him, rely on His strength, and allow His Love to flow through us to others, then our obedience in every trial will produce Eternal Fruit, which is the measure of our Salvation. I pray that all of you, my readers, take hold of this Freedom for yourself. 

By Grace, Ted