Climate change
Step by step we push our tired bodies farther up the mountain.
The sweat running down our backs from the hike through the valley now makes us shiver in the mountain breeze. We are no longer among the trees and vines and humidity that makes the air seem thick. Now we are ascending a mountain ridge, and the air seems thinner and thinner.
Then it starts raining.
If not for the burning sensation coming from my muscles, I think I would slowly freeze to death.
Why on earth would people make a trail along this windswept ridge? Then my downcast eyes focus on the steep slopes and wild rivers whipsawing through the valleys below. There is nowhere else to walk.
I stumble, and for a second wonder what I am doing here. That second is all it takes for Kaiko to take a giant step and reach out a strong arm to steady me. Then he steps back; he's telling me he knows I can do it, and that helps.
His presence also reminds me why I'm here. Kaiko and the other elders of the church in Papua New Guinea's Ata tribe have invited me to visit the young churches they've planted in the neighboring tribe. I said yes. Was that a mistake?
Not until we get to the first village a few hours later am I glad I said yes. Everyone gathers as our arrival is announced by the beat of the garamut, a hollowed-out tree trunk. Cooking pots, bush knives and baskets-in-process are left behind. The meeting building fills and worship begins.
After several songs, I'm asked if I want to share from the Word of God. Asking a missionary that is like waving a red cape in front of a bull.
As I speak, I'm keenly aware that I am talking with my co-workers -- Atas who have gone beyond their own language group and planted churches in another tribe, and believers who will soon do the same, expanding the reach of the Gospel village by village, tribe by tribe.
I am humbled by their example, their obedience and, most of all, by the gift God has given me by allowing me to be a part of what He is doing.
The sweat running down our backs from the hike through the valley now makes us shiver in the mountain breeze. We are no longer among the trees and vines and humidity that makes the air seem thick. Now we are ascending a mountain ridge, and the air seems thinner and thinner.
Then it starts raining.
If not for the burning sensation coming from my muscles, I think I would slowly freeze to death.
Why on earth would people make a trail along this windswept ridge? Then my downcast eyes focus on the steep slopes and wild rivers whipsawing through the valleys below. There is nowhere else to walk.
I stumble, and for a second wonder what I am doing here. That second is all it takes for Kaiko to take a giant step and reach out a strong arm to steady me. Then he steps back; he's telling me he knows I can do it, and that helps.
His presence also reminds me why I'm here. Kaiko and the other elders of the church in Papua New Guinea's Ata tribe have invited me to visit the young churches they've planted in the neighboring tribe. I said yes. Was that a mistake?
Not until we get to the first village a few hours later am I glad I said yes. Everyone gathers as our arrival is announced by the beat of the garamut, a hollowed-out tree trunk. Cooking pots, bush knives and baskets-in-process are left behind. The meeting building fills and worship begins.
After several songs, I'm asked if I want to share from the Word of God. Asking a missionary that is like waving a red cape in front of a bull.
As I speak, I'm keenly aware that I am talking with my co-workers -- Atas who have gone beyond their own language group and planted churches in another tribe, and believers who will soon do the same, expanding the reach of the Gospel village by village, tribe by tribe.
I am humbled by their example, their obedience and, most of all, by the gift God has given me by allowing me to be a part of what He is doing.