Writing a letter each week at the moment is a sort of catharsis. Putting into words what has been going on helps process the emotions that accompany the goodbyes, or getting rid of ‘stuff’, whether it’s the car, a piece of furniture or whatever, that has been part of our home for years.
Maybe it’s not helpful, but I’ve fuelled the sense of melancholy with my choice of music that I’ve listened to: “Into the West” sung by Annie Lennox from Lord of the Rings, and Pachelbel’s Canon.
Telefomin, like Goroka earlier, was a special time. The scenery there is so spectacular, so beautiful, that it was particularly special that on my last day of flying there the weather was superb.
First thing in the morning I flew from Telefomin to Tabubil, taking Nicki so that she could catch up with two people in particular, and as we flew over the Hindenberg Wall, the 1,000’ and more nearly sheer escarpment that runs east to west for about 80 miles, the view was breath-taking. All the mountains were clear with the ridgelines receding into the distance in multiple shades of blue and grey. On the horizon was Mount Bosavi, the extinct volcano in the Southern Highlands, over 100 miles away.
Apart from some rather irritating hassle at one airstrip where the local people couldn’t see why I couldn’t take 18 passengers as well as about 1 tonne of freight, the whole day went well.
The two people Nicki particularly wanted to catch up with were Tracy, the base manager, whom Nicki has helped with computer issues over the years. The other was somebody whom we hadn’t seen for years. When we went to Ballarat in 1993 the first Papua New Guineans we ever met were pilot Elijah Elit and his wife, Rhonda. Elijah left MAF later and was tragically killed in an air accident, and since then we hadn’t heard anything of Rhonda.
She is now living in Tabubil where her daughter, a tiny baby when we knew her, is now an engineer at the Ok Tedi mine. Rhonda had heard that we were leaving and came to the base to see me, and came back on Wednesday when I told her Nicki would be there as well. It was very special to see her again.
On my final flight out of Tabubil and back to Telefomin, the weather was still beautiful, and forms the backdrop to some history and the rest of the day.
How God speaks to us is a common theme in churches. Some people I’ve come across seem to have a chat with him every day and know with absolute certainty what he’s saying to them and what he wants them to do. My experience is not that definite, and certainly much less sure as I’m cautious about putting my own preferences in the mouth of the Almighty. The number of times I’ve felt that confident that God has spoken can probably be counted on the fingers of one hand and certainly two hands.
Now to go back to 1994. My first year of flying in PNG was extremely difficult. The flying itself wasn’t the challenge, it was the weather, and I started off in a particularly bad south-east wet season. I probably haven’t told too many this before (and certainly never my mother!), but for the first three months I thought I’d die just about every day. The only thing that kept me going was the conviction that God had brought Nicki and myself to PNG, and the words and thought taken from a song that I felt God gave as a very clear and definite promise: The song is: “God will make a way, where there seems to be no way.” The promise was: “I will make a way through the clouds for you.”
Climbing up out of Tabubil on Wednesday afternoon, those words came into my mind from nowhere, followed by, “I have kept my promise.” He has indeed, above and beyond anything that I could have asked or expected.
As I turned to the north out of the valley system leading eastward out of Tabubil, the direct track to Telefomin was straight into the centre of the arch of a rainbow, not slightly to one side as is common, or even above a circular rainbow which sometimes occurs, but straight into the centre of the arch which faded as we descended into the circuit area.
There’s another follow on to this. I’ve lost a lot of sleep in recent weeks and months as I’ve processed our departure, plus other things going on within the programme that it’s singularly hard to let go of.
On Thursday morning in the very early hours as I lay awake, those words resurfaced, but slightly changed: “I will make a way, where there seems to be no way. The promise still applies.”
It’s time for us to leave PNG, inevitably painful as it is, but it’s with confidence for the future and with one of those rare but beautiful occasions when I feel sure that God has indeed spoken.
Maybe it’s not helpful, but I’ve fuelled the sense of melancholy with my choice of music that I’ve listened to: “Into the West” sung by Annie Lennox from Lord of the Rings, and Pachelbel’s Canon.
***********
Telefomin, like Goroka earlier, was a special time. The scenery there is so spectacular, so beautiful, that it was particularly special that on my last day of flying there the weather was superb.
First thing in the morning I flew from Telefomin to Tabubil, taking Nicki so that she could catch up with two people in particular, and as we flew over the Hindenberg Wall, the 1,000’ and more nearly sheer escarpment that runs east to west for about 80 miles, the view was breath-taking. All the mountains were clear with the ridgelines receding into the distance in multiple shades of blue and grey. On the horizon was Mount Bosavi, the extinct volcano in the Southern Highlands, over 100 miles away.
Apart from some rather irritating hassle at one airstrip where the local people couldn’t see why I couldn’t take 18 passengers as well as about 1 tonne of freight, the whole day went well.
***********
The two people Nicki particularly wanted to catch up with were Tracy, the base manager, whom Nicki has helped with computer issues over the years. The other was somebody whom we hadn’t seen for years. When we went to Ballarat in 1993 the first Papua New Guineans we ever met were pilot Elijah Elit and his wife, Rhonda. Elijah left MAF later and was tragically killed in an air accident, and since then we hadn’t heard anything of Rhonda.
She is now living in Tabubil where her daughter, a tiny baby when we knew her, is now an engineer at the Ok Tedi mine. Rhonda had heard that we were leaving and came to the base to see me, and came back on Wednesday when I told her Nicki would be there as well. It was very special to see her again.
***********
On my final flight out of Tabubil and back to Telefomin, the weather was still beautiful, and forms the backdrop to some history and the rest of the day.
How God speaks to us is a common theme in churches. Some people I’ve come across seem to have a chat with him every day and know with absolute certainty what he’s saying to them and what he wants them to do. My experience is not that definite, and certainly much less sure as I’m cautious about putting my own preferences in the mouth of the Almighty. The number of times I’ve felt that confident that God has spoken can probably be counted on the fingers of one hand and certainly two hands.
Now to go back to 1994. My first year of flying in PNG was extremely difficult. The flying itself wasn’t the challenge, it was the weather, and I started off in a particularly bad south-east wet season. I probably haven’t told too many this before (and certainly never my mother!), but for the first three months I thought I’d die just about every day. The only thing that kept me going was the conviction that God had brought Nicki and myself to PNG, and the words and thought taken from a song that I felt God gave as a very clear and definite promise: The song is: “God will make a way, where there seems to be no way.” The promise was: “I will make a way through the clouds for you.”
Climbing up out of Tabubil on Wednesday afternoon, those words came into my mind from nowhere, followed by, “I have kept my promise.” He has indeed, above and beyond anything that I could have asked or expected.
As I turned to the north out of the valley system leading eastward out of Tabubil, the direct track to Telefomin was straight into the centre of the arch of a rainbow, not slightly to one side as is common, or even above a circular rainbow which sometimes occurs, but straight into the centre of the arch which faded as we descended into the circuit area.
There’s another follow on to this. I’ve lost a lot of sleep in recent weeks and months as I’ve processed our departure, plus other things going on within the programme that it’s singularly hard to let go of.
On Thursday morning in the very early hours as I lay awake, those words resurfaced, but slightly changed: “I will make a way, where there seems to be no way. The promise still applies.”
It’s time for us to leave PNG, inevitably painful as it is, but it’s with confidence for the future and with one of those rare but beautiful occasions when I feel sure that God has indeed spoken.
