One Year

Today marks the one year anniversary of our arrival to Papua New Guinea.

I remember the day we arrived quite well and I doubt I’ll forget the details any time soon.

We were jet-lagged from 24+ hours of travel, hungry, cranky and in need of a shower. And in the midst of this our senses were in overdrive taking in the newness of this country.

A language other than our own blasted overhead announcing arrivals and departures. We were sweltering in the tropical heat and hardly a seat could be found in the crammed, worn down, non-air conditioned terminal. My very tall, very white husband hovered over the crowds...we were now very much the minority.

I should have realized what was coming 15 minutes after landing when the tears came. My tears were some of relief as we were finally arriving to a place we had dreamed for two years. This wasn’t just a short term trip, we were in it for the long haul. My eldest daughter had tears of another kind and couldn’t believe we’d brought her here to this very hot, different looking, different smelling place....and she let us hear about it. The unraveling was just beginning there at the airport and the brokenness was soon to follow.

The early days of orientation quickly taught me that I couldn’t rely on my own strength to do anything required of me. I couldn’t learn the language or communicate on my own. I couldn’t hike (and sometimes fall!) miles and miles over lush green jungle mountains by my own uncoordinated strength. I couldn’t help fix my children’s hurting hearts that longed for the familiarity of home. I couldn’t maneuver culturally without intentionally thinking of every move I was about to make...sitting just right on the ground in my skirt, not walking over things, but around. I forced myself to make sure I didn’t make too much eye contact or try to fill long lulls of silence in conversation that typically bother me. My Western ways were at battle with a new culture and way of life.

There were the five weeks that ultimately brought me to my breaking point. If He had this specific time planned out, then what was He doing? Why were we here? What was His plan for me? There were many nights filled with tears and whispered prayers as we were tucked tight underneath our mosquito net listening to the pigs fight and snort just a few feet below us. The only reoccurring answer from Him..."It’s not just about you or what you think you’re going to gain from this experience. They need to see Me through you.”

But did they? Could they? I felt so small, so useless and inadequate for this new found task to live abroad. How could anyone possibly see Him through someone as broken and unraveled as me? I questioned His call to bring us here. Why here? Why now? Why me?

This last year I began to realize what I hadn’t seen before. Three years ago when we said yes to serve full time in missions I was also unknowingly saying yes to being broken in just about every area of my life. Now starting our second year here I’m broken, some days still breaking, but not hopeless. Every experience, every trial faced, every tear shed are pieces He’s putting together for something bigger that He has planned for me...right here in the Land of the Unexpected.