When You Don’t Feel It (Pt. 1)

September 2022 Village Trip, Part 1

This post is part 1 of a series about Jason’s trip to the Mubami people in Papua New Guinea in September 2022. In this Post: Jason struggles with a bad attitude and culture shock as he struggles to transition back into life in PNG but God is faithful even when we’re not.

Can I be honest for a moment? When we first got back to Papua New Guinea (PNG), my heart was not in it. An extended stay back in the US for study leave made our return very challenging on many levels. The truth is, over the 3 ½ years we spent back in the US, our friendships with people back home deepened, we spent a lot of time with family, we had a nice home and cars, and we invested in the lives of those around us, and our kids were older and more invested as well. Leaving all of that behind was painful.

I remember the day that the sale of our house closed. We had taken the kids back over to the house for one final walkthrough. The walls and floors were bare and lonely. We had made a lot of memories in that house in the past three years. We went to the backyard to let the kids play one last time on the epic swing set and jungle gym I had designed and built for them myself only a couple years ago. They had said tearful goodbyes to their beloved bunny and cat, now to their home, their swing set, many of their toys, and soon they would say goodbye to their family and friends. Josiah, now 9, would be a teenager before he saw many of them in person again. Some of our loved ones we would likely never see again this side of heaven. As I thought about the sacrifices I was asking of my family, the pain was almost unbearable. It felt like my heart had been ripped out and I broke down and wept.

One of many goodbyes

I wish I could say that the excitement of getting back into our ministry in PNG made up for all the pain, but the fact is that the pain remained for a while. I think coming back for our second term in PNG was even more painful than leaving for the first term because this time we knew all too well what we were giving up and we knew the trials we were likely headed back to. This time, there was no rosey-eyed “honeymoon phase” when we came back to PNG. The first two months of our time here I found myself often wondering, “Did I make a mistake? Were we supposed to stay in the US?” There had been many signs and confirmations that returning to PNG was God’s will. Nevertheless, doubt nagged at me, worsened by the fact that my heart simply wasn’t in it.

As I thought back to the excitement I had felt when we first left for PNG, I wondered, where was that excitement now? Even after the trials we went through in our first term, God had somehow preserved my excitement for the ministry here and the trials had seemed worth it. Life wasn’t half as bad now as it had been then! In many ways, things were much better and more comfortable now than the start of our first term!  Yet, where I had once enjoyed the lush jungle scenery, I now thought of all the things in that jungle that could make you sick or kill you. Where I had once enjoyed the beautiful mountain vistas, I now bemoaned the difficulty of travel and the absence of creature comforts like smooth roads and Amazon Prime. Where I had once felt privilege at being a part of translating God’s Word into a new language and seeing lives transformed by the gospel, I now thought of the many years of grueling toil that it would require and wondered if I’d ever actually see any fruit from it all. Would it even be worth the sacrifices in the end? And then, on top of all this, the civil unrest, security issues, difficulty of getting things done here, and the constant lack of good internet dripped on my forehead like Chinese water torture, slowly wearing me down.

So, you can imagine how excited I was for my first village trip…

In truth, I wasn’t really looking forward to leaving my family behind for 2 ½ weeks and leaving what few vestiges of my American lifestyle still remained at our home at Ukarumpa. Yet, I was also keenly aware that my attitude stunk. Bad. So, I prayed for God to work in my heart and rekindle my joy for the work and set out to the Western Province anyhow.

Waving goodbye to Jennifer and the kids as we took off from Aiyura airstrip

I flew out from Aiyura Airstrip early the morning of September 5, waving goodbye to my family and prayed for an extra hedge of protection around them while I was gone. When I arrived in Kamusi, I was greeted by some familiar faces—Pastor Max and Paul Piopai, amongst others. But, overall, there weren’t a whole lot of people there to greet me because they were not expecting my arrival. I hadn’t been able to get in touch with anyone in the area since we had left PNG four years ago in 2018!

We made the trek from the airstrip over to the church building, about a kilometer or so away, and they showed me to the pastor’s office where I would spend the night until they could arrange transportation to Sogae village (about 50km away by logging roads through the jungle). It was the same office where Jennifer and I had stayed during our pre-allocation trip in 2018. I thanked them for their hospitality, but inwardly I was really missing my comfortable bed! All I had with me was a 1″ backpacking air mattress, and there wasn’t much airflow through that little office. It would be a long night as I sweated myself to sleep.

The office where we stayed during our pre-allocation trip

I sat in the church building and chatted with the people for a while. I breathed a sigh of relief when I found out that my good friend, Rex, was still alive. It had been four years since I had seen him, and given the dangers of life in this region, I didn’t know what to expect. In fact, though Rex was fine, his brother had died from a Death Adder bite a few months ago while checking his pig traps in the jungle and Rex’s mom had just passed away in July from tuberculosis. It was a chilling reminder that death is never very far away in this area.

After a couple hours of chatting and catching up, another friend came by—Jimmy Botovi. Jimmy informed me that it wouldn’t do for me to sleep there in the church office, so he had made arrangements for me to stay in the logging company’s guest house instead. (The Mubami people have always been incredibly hospitable, giving us the nicest accommodations they can muster.) So, I began gathering my things and walked with him over to the guest house. As I walked into my room I noticed an air conditioning unit on the wall and a bed with a real mattress! I was shocked, and also extremely relieved. The room wasn’t fancy by American standards, but it was luxury for this part of the world and I was grateful. Even though my attitude wasn’t right, God had still provided a luxury I never could have expected. I said a silent “THANK YOU GOD!” prayer, set my things down, and followed Jimmy to the mess hall. He had also arranged for me to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the mess hall. Much like the accommodations, the food wasn’t anything you’d expect from a restaurant—usually just rice with some form of questionable looking canned meat on top—but it was more familiar to my palate than sago.

The guest house room where I stayed at Kamusi

I slept like a baby that night, thanking God for his provisions in my weakness, but I also knew these accommodations wouldn’t last long. We were already trying to secure transportation (from the logging company) eastward to Sogae, and there was no A/C or mess hall at Sogae. The creature comforts were nice, but we had already determined that Kamusi would not be a suitable long-term location for real, incarnational ministry.

I spent the next day (September 6th) listening to stories, learning some new Mubami words and phrases, collecting contacts, discussing logistics, and discussing our plans for the Bible translation project. I had some revealing spiritual conversations with some of the people (which I will share in a future post) and I had the opportunity to share the gospel with a small crowd of Mubami men in the market at Kamusi.

The following morning, September 7, the truck was ready to take us to Sogae. It had rained a lot in the previous days and it was overcast and threatening rain already today, so I questioned whether we would be able to make the trip. That concern proved valid as we repeatedly got stuck in the wet clay on the way. There were several times I thought we would not be able to get the truck free and might have to continue the journey on foot. The 50km (30 mile) trip took over 2 ½ hours and we got stuck at least 6-7 times, even in the very capable four-wheel drive Landcruiser.

Driving down the logging road from Kamusi to Sogae as the rain rolls in

When we finally arrived in Sogae I was greeted by a large crowd of Mubami men, women, and children, all excited to see me after beginning to wonder whether we would ever return or not. But, there were a number of faces missing in the crowd. A number of men, including Rex, Gaulei, and many others, had gone out to their bush camps days or weeks before I arrived in order to hunt, fish, and harvest sago and had not yet heard that I had returned.

Shortly after arriving, some ladies arrived with some sago and I politely ate what I could before giving my leftovers to my hosts. I straightened my mattress and mosquito net in the room my hosts had vacated for me. As I stood there sweating, looking at the little air mattress on the floor, I realized that the next couple weeks would be tough. For the next two weeks I’d be eating unfamiliar foods, swatting at flies as they relentlessly dive-bombed my face and ears, and sleeping on a thin air mattress with my tiny USB-fan inches from my face to get some relief from the heat. And this was the “cool” season!

Our Sat phone may look like a blast from the past, but it’s our only reliable means of communication in the area!

The homesickness was almost crushing. I was hungry, tired, hot, dirty, and lonely. We had left cell service behind in Kamusi, so I couldn’t even chat with my wife except in short conversations by satellite phone, which costs over $1 per minute.

I felt alone and I felt trapped. I wanted to go home–back to America, that is. But, I knew that I was supposed to be here and that I didn’t have any good reason not to be there except that I was uncomfortable and homesick. I daydreamed of ways I could bow out and retain my dignity–like getting medevac’d or getting my visa revoked. I thought longingly of my recliner back in the US, the air conditioning, my comfortable pillow-top mattress, my refrigerator full of yummy food, and the plethora of restaurants just minutes from my house.

What had I gotten myself into? How would I survive this? But, what choice did I have? If I quit, what would I say when I stood before God? “I’m sorry God, I know that people will go to hell because I refused your call, but it was hot and I wanted some pizza!” Yikes.

But that realization just left me feeling even more trapped and depressed. (Guilt, as it turns out, does not provide the strength needed for years of missionary labors and sacrifice.) The thought of the years of work that lay ahead of us in this place was crushing. The problem wasn’t the Mubami people–they had been wonderfully hospitable, always going out of their way to make me feel at home. The problem wasn’t even my circumstances or the challenges of life in the bush–nothing was substantively different now from my previous times in their area, during which I’d had a passion for the work and even enjoyed being there. The problem was my attitude and I knew it.

I felt so weak, insufficient, and pathetic. Enduring for years on end felt impossible, beyond my strength. In that moment of weakness, a verse came to mind:

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

Philippians 4:11–13 (ESV)

Even though I felt alone, I wasn’t alone. Christ was there with me. And whatever comforts I had left behind, Christ had left behind comforts far greater than I could imagine. He had left perfection—heaven, perfect fellowship with the Father, sinless bliss—to come down to our dirty, broken, sinful, hateful, miserable, and uncomfortable world. No one had thanked him for all that he left behind. No one could fathom what he had sacrificed or would sacrifice for them. The very people for whom he sacrificed so much were the very ones who rejected him, ridiculed him, leveled false accusations against him, and tortured and murdered him. Christ endured the dirtiness, the discomfort, the loneliness, and the sinfulness of mankind and never complained. And he did all this because he genuinely loved those he came to serve. Christ was the ultimate missionary.

Christ endured the dirtiness, the discomfort, the loneliness, and the sinfulness of mankind and never complained. And he did all this because he genuinely loved those he came to serve. Christ was the ultimate missionary.

I read and reread the book of Philippians that night in tears, drawing the strength that I lacked, desperately clinging to God’s promises. Every verse challenged my perspective and my attitude. Guilt wouldn’t sustain me for the years to come—it’s just too easy to harden my heart and turn my attention elsewhere. Vain ambition wouldn’t do it either—there are much easier ways to achieve recognition and praise from men! Only Christ’s strength could sustain me. And in those moments, I remembered a truth which I had long known but which had somehow lost its potency—the Mubami people still don’t have access to these strength and life-giving words. While I could draw strength in my moments of weakness from verses like Philippians 4:11-13, they could not. My conversations with them in the past couple days had revealed that many lacked an accurate understanding of the most basic truths of the gospel, let alone the many passages such as this that provide strength in times of weakness, comfort during the pain, and purpose in the midst of suffering. While I have access to the treasure-trove of God’s Word in my native language, they do not. In that moment, as the tears streamed down, it wasn’t guilt that filled me but compassion and purpose.

…In those moments, I remembered a truth which I had long known but which had somehow lost its potency—the Mubami people still don’t have access to these strength and life-giving words.

It was still hot and I was still dirty and homesick, but I felt the presence of the Spirit that night in a way I hadn’t in a long time. The joy, purpose, and peace that I had long forgotten came flooding back, along with the confidence that Christ could give me the strength I lacked. It wasn’t all on me. I didn’t have to be strong enough. He was, he is, and he always will be.

There would still be some difficult days ahead. I would almost get my wish for a medevac in just a few days! But, that night was a turning point for me. God gave me an attitude adjustment, a new pair of spiritual glasses for my spiritual myopia, a sense of purpose and passion for the work that lay ahead.

I’m glad he did, too, because I would need it in the days to come.

Notes

^[1] All Scripture from the ESV, The Holy Bible: English Standard Version. Wheaton, IL: Crossway Bibles, 2016.