Drafting

On January 25 this year, we started drafting the Kope New Testament. It was a quiet yet momentous occasion. Since then we have got into more of a rhythm of how we draft, which I will try to lay out for you here.

Reading and reflecting (H.Schulz)

Firstly though, is the admission that my Kope language skills are not good enough to do drafting and that calling myself a ‘translator’ is somewhat misleading. At the same time, the Kope people are experts in their language and are good at drafting. My role is to train, support, equip, resource, mentor, check and advise. They are the translators; I am the advisor and supporter.

In my advisor role, I start the drafting process the night before any drafting happens. I sit and read through the original Greek text, relying on all the helpful resources on my computer to understand it clearly. I then turn to other resources including commentaries and notes from other translators, to help me think through the meaning of the text and what some of our translation challenges may be. In, under, with and through all this I am praying.

The next day the translation team gathers on my veranda to work. Once at least three of the team are there, we are ready to start, but in the meantime we chat about life. With the team assembled we pray for our work, open our Bibles and get started.

Writing and discussing (H.Schulz)

First we read through the portion of text we’ll be working on as a whole, to get the big picture. We read it in several different English translations, usually something easier to read like the Good News, something more literal like the New Jerusalem (my favourite) and something more middle of the road such at the NIV. We also read the Hiri Motu (trade language used in our area) and where possible watch the appropriate portion of the Jesus Film in Kope. After this we talk about what is happening in the text. Who are the main characters? What are the main events? What is the main point? Having this discussion helps to move us from a word by word translation that is stiff and loses meaning, to a translation that flows and captures the meaning of the text.

With the big picture in mind, we then start on verse by verse translation. Initially I encouraged the team to tell the story and then write it down, drawing on their skills as a primarily oral/aural culture, but the team has not taken to that method. Instead, they prefer to each write their version of the verse on individual pieces of paper. Once a few people have come up with an option, these are read out, discussed and the best way of saying something is agreed upon. This is then written on the blackboard for further discussion and refining. During this time of drafting I am often asked questions about the text and the meaning, drawing on my reading the previous night, and researching further as needed. Sometimes a verse takes ten minutes, sometimes more than an hour.

Putting our draft on the blackboard so that
everyone can see and contribute. (H.Schulz)

Verse by verse we chip away until the whole section is on the blackboard. We then read that as a whole and start another edit to make sure that the whole flows as well as each verse. This edit can easily take another hour. Sometimes I find myself frustrated by the time things take, and need to remind myself that I have the privilege of sitting with community and church leaders, discussing God’s word for hours on end.

With the edit done, it is time to write the good copy into the notebook. One of the team members will do the official copy, but often everyone else is writing their own copy as well. Once the good copy is written, it is proof read by another team member before being given to me to type into the computer. I hope to teach some members of the translation team computer skills in the coming months, but so far that has been one of my responsibilities.

This first step of drafting is slow and challenging, but it is exciting to see Luke’s gospel slowly unfolding before us.

Cancer

Cancer. It is a word that strikes fear into many of us, as we have seen the suffering of friends going through treatment, or you’ve experienced it yourselves. It is a rare person who does not know the loss that occurs when the disease is stronger than the treatment. In the last year I have had friends all over the world fighting various manifestations of cancer. Some of them are winning, some of them are not. I am thankful for the access they have had to quality treatment and care.

In the village though, it is a very different story.

My friend is a doctor at a nearby hospital. She came to stay with me in the village for the night when she was doing a TB clinic in a nearby village. In the morning we had a crowd of people waiting outside for their chance to see the doctor. When I say the hospital is ‘nearby’, it is actually three hours away and hard to get to for most people and having the doctor in the village was a chance not to be missed.

 View from my verandah, which was briefly a clinic that morning.

As there was a limited amount of time before my friend had to leave, she prioritised the patients who got to see her. One of the first was someone who had been unwell for some time. After a discussion and an examination the diagnosis was cancer. To receive treatment, the lady would have to go to a hospital far away. Reaching the hospital would require three hours of boat travel and 18 hours of travel in the back of a truck along treacherous roads. She would then have to stay for months, away from family and garden, with the outcome of treatment uncertain. When one is a subsistence farmer who is reliant on a network of relationships for social security, this sort of time away from people and place is nearly impossible. She chose to stay in the village, where she will die from the disease.

As part of the same trip, my friend had returned another cancer patient to their village. Cancer treatment is not something her small rural hospital is able to offer, and the most compassionate course of patient care was to return them to the village to die among their family.

Off to the TB meeting with community leaders,
having finished the critical consultations. 

This is the reality of life and death in the village and people largely accept it as such. At home we fight death for all it is worth. I am glad that my friends have been fighting death this year, as I do not want to farewell them quite yet, but I also see the value in accepting that death will come. I wish my village friends had access to the healthcare my international friends have access to, yet I respect their valuing dying at home and among family rather than fighting for life in a strange and distant place.

Having a foot in both worlds, I am slowly learning to live with this and the many other contrasts and tensions that are ever present.

What’s mine is yours…

The rain returned eventually, with the 

sweet sound of it pouring into my tank. (H.Schulz)

A constant struggle for me when living in the village is the different cultural expectations of ownership and stewardship. What belongs to me and what belongs to the group? What is to be used now and what is to be saved for later?

I have a wonderful neighbour and village brother who built my house, looks after it while I am away and is one of our translators. He recently named his newborn daughter after me. I am sure that I have some sort of responsibilities for my namesake, but have no idea what they might be. He himself is a generous person who often has other people living with him in his small house and who is often doing things for other people. It is this particular relationship, with its web of obligations that is the hardest for me to navigate.

What makes it even harder is that it is often the small things that leave me in a crisis, such as an umbrella or a bottle of water.

My umbrella was left in my storeroom when I went away. It was about the only thing not packed in a box because it was too long. When I returned, it was the only thing that had gone walkabout. It had been borrowed to give shade to my namesake while they went to fish camp. When they returned, I saw the umbrella in use, but it didn’t return to me. A week later, when I was walking somewhere in the middle of the day and needed it for shade, I asked about it. It was brought out of the house, broken and barely held together with string. It gave me the shade I needed, but it is useless as shelter from tropical downpours.

Why was I so upset about an umbrella? It was that my trust of things left in storage had been broken, that something I needed was not there when I needed it. My neighbour though, saw it as an appropriate use of an item doing nothing to meet a need for my namesake. My tension is that I can understand his reasoning, but still wish it had been left alone and was in one piece when I returned.

Another day I found myself annoyed at a request for a few litres of drinking water, and even more annoyed at myself for being annoyed.

At the time it was dry season. As this was first time in the village in January, it was hard to tell if it is a drier than usual dry season, but it seemed to be that way. Each morning and each afternoon there was a parade of people going along the path by my house to get drinking water from a bush well. The round trip seems to take them about 45 minutes. Meanwhile, my house has two 1000L rainwater tanks.

Before I came to the village, my neighbour had called asking for permission to clean out one of my tanks. We did not communicate clearly, and I thought that rain was falling more often to refill the tanks, so I said yes, as long as you leave me at least half a tank (500L). When I got to the village I found out that there has been little rain, so the tank was not refilling, but that everyone had very much enjoyed getting a container of water from my tank when it was cleaned, as well as from half of the second tank. I was left the half a tank as requested. This probably saved the village one day of walking into the bush for drinking water, maybe two.

My umbrella two years ago when it was new. (D.Petterson)

When I returned, my neighbour turned up asking for drinking water in bottles, and I was annoyed. Why?! I did not make the rain fall, I just caught it. I did not earn it, yet I was reluctant to share it. Part of it was knowing that half a tank will not go far if I’m providing water for a house of six or more people next door. Part of it was knowing that if my water runs out, someone else will be the one walking into the bush to get water for me. Part of it was just cultural annoyance that ‘my’ water should be assumed to be ‘their’ water from a different cultural perspective. A lot of it was annoyance at myself for being a scrooge about water, an essential ingredient for life.

My first week in the village, I was cautious with my tank, but still used it for washing etc, thinking rain would continue to fall like it had the day after I arrived. By week two we’d had little rain, my tank was much lower and I switched to washing with well water and only using my tank for drinking. I still had occasional requests for water, which I would help with, but was not getting regular requests. This seemed like a good balance for me.

Still, the question of what is mine, what I am keeping for later, what is communal, and what I am sharing with others, is an ongoing struggle. Coming from somewhere very individualistic when it comes to possessions, I am having many of my assumptions challenged, which is a good but difficult process.

Development

Sitting with my village family in the evenings, the talk often turns to development. Even when they’re speaking in Kope I can tell when this topic comes up, as words like ‘development’, ‘plantation’, and ‘pipeline’ starting slipping in. The conversation also has a hopeful tone. When the conversation is in English and I can participate, I am torn between hope and doubt.

The only wage earners in our village are the school teachers. Everyone else lives a subsistence lifestyle, which is hard work. Everyone also has a relative earning income somewhere, income that helps to support them, raise their living standards and making life a little easier. Development brings with it the promise of more ways to earn income, a better life and an easier life. I can see the appeal.

The neat patterns of a palm oil plantation from the air.

Development also brings its challenges. Oil palm is known to be back breaking work and an industry that destroys ecosystems. Logging companies cut down timbers that took generations to grow and do not do planned reforestation. Oil and gas companies have the best local reputation, but extracting the fuels that contribute to global warming when we live so close to sea level and are at the mercy of rising seas seems counterproductive. Friends at home boycott palm oil and rainforest timbers, and seek to reduce their reliance on fossil fuels. In the village, these things are the promise of better times.

When I can, I raise some of the issues I am aware of, and each time I have been impressed that leadership appears to already be taking these things into account. I may be afraid of multinational companies ripping off local land owners and leaving destruction in their wake, but I think that the companies will find that they are negotiating with some well informed and wise people.

The primary challenge to development is often local, as disputes over land ownership, compensation and the like bring the whole process to a halt. Who do royalties go to? How should they be divided up? Who is responsible for managing the funds given to the community? Are they to be trusted? These are the bigger challenges.

A mill with logs waiting to be turned into planks.

The rumours around development plans are many, varied and grand. My personal favourite was a road that was to be built to Western Province, through Torres Straight, to Cairns and ‘from there to Australia’. Never mind the fact that Australia started at Torres Straight, which is made of water and islands and is not very good for roads. Also, I think the Australian Government may have some objections to such a plan.

 Development is always happening ‘soon’. I am happy for it to take it’s time and to be done well, rather than to have a short term gain and a long term loss. As I am hoping to remain working in this area for many years, I’m sure I will see the fruit of some of the rumours. It will be interesting to see which ones become realities.

Generosity

I struggle with generosity.

This may seem like a strange statement from someone whose income is based on the generosity of others  who give to support my work. It is stranger still when in the last six months I’ve been given a house in Ukarumpa, been built a house in the village and been given a car. The car is almost a bigger deal than the house in Ukarumpa, as they are in much higher demand. So much has been given to me, and I try to always be giving to others, but still, I struggle.

My struggle is with how much to give to whom and when.

Compared to my people in my village I am rich, so in a position to give lots. From my perspective I have given up much in coming here and want to be a good steward of my resources over a long period of time. Where is the balance between holding on for later and blessing someone now? What is judicious giving that does not create a power imbalance and impossible obligations, but builds relationships and expresses generosity?

In a conversation with a village sister, she was telling me about her father. She said that “He was a good man, he did not hide his money but shared it with everyone”. Later that day she shared her last three damp matches with a neighbour. When this is the standard, how do I respond? I clearly have cargo, how liberally do I share it? When I prefer giving in secret, how do I deal with a expectation of visible giving? How do I deal with this long term?

As I pack to return to the village, I realise that if I was being a scrooge, I would probably have half the cargo I currently have. I have packed far more food than I can eat, based on the fact I plan on sharing most of it. I have assorted gifts which I bought on the basis of knowing they are helpful but hard to get in the village. Fishing line, fishing hooks, soap, tea towels, knives, vegetable seeds, rope, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, carrots, salt, popcorn… small things that build relationships but are not overwhelming. If matches weren’t classified as dangerous cargo, I’d take a pile of them too. There are some larger items, such as a kettle or a lantern, for particular people who have made an extra effort to make me welcome, but most things are small. I don’t have a final answer on how to be a generous but balanced giver, but my cargo pile says I’m working on it.

How to thank the ladies who looked after me in their house for five weeks,
feeding me and boiling hot water for me? A new kettle, a new knife,
a new strainer because I know theirs is broken, fresh
Highlands vegies and maybe some small items.

What I struggle with most is ‘askims’, or expectations that something will be given. I’ve had some clear messages about exactly what someone would like me to bring with from the Highlands for them. Sometimes these requests are reasonable, in that it is from someone who has done a lot for me and reciprocation with a gift is appropriate, but I still struggle with the direct request. So far I’ve been buying some things as requested and being creative with other things. I am trying to both hear the request and reciprocate, while not being forced into purchases. Other people who ask I have a limited relationship with, so I don’t feel so bad saying no.

How to thank the person who did most of the building
 of my house? A long cord on an LED light that will 
attach to my solar power system and extend from 
my house to his, and tools to help him rebuild 
his own house seem appropriate. 

People also ask me to buy things that they will then purchase from me. It is true that I have access to the outside world, to shops and resources in a way that local people do not. To buy things and bring them for them is to bless them with access they did not previously have. Yet, I do not want to run a business of buying and reselling as that will detract from my community based work and undermine local micro businesses. Somewhere there is a balance between being helpful and being a business person. The request for me to find and buy reading glasses to resell seems both reasonable and helpful, and I intend to follow up on it for a future trip.

There are some requests that are easy to turn down, like the day someone asked me to give them their depo family planning shot! They had the capsule, they just needed someone to inject it. The look of surprise and horror on my face when they asked gave all the answer they needed and the conversation ended in laughter. I am not a medic and not going to give shots! I doubt anyone will ask me that again.

How to thank all the women who have helped me with language learning,
 making the thatch for my house, feeding the team at the working bee
and much more? Food and assorted small gifts will hopefully express my thanks.

At the moment I have more questions than answers when it comes to generosity and the giving of gifts. I want to bless others with all the good things I have been blessed with, but I do not want to set myself up for constant cargo expectations. I am sure I will get this balance wrong many times over, in fact I may never find the balance, as it will change with circumstances. At the moment my preference is to err on the side of giving too much. 

Going my way?

I like a plan. Really, I do.

It suits my personality to have a plan, and a backup plan, in place at all times. I like to know what I am doing, when, where, why and with whom. In PNG though, plans are rarely this clear or reliable. I am sure there are some PNGns who equally like a plan and I know there are some Aussies who thrive on having no plan, but me, I like a plan. Let me illustrate changing local plans for you through the adventures of my two trips from Ubuo to Kikori.

The first time I went to Kikori from Ubuo, we had asked around for several days if someone was going that direction. In the end we got a tip-off that a boat was going from Karati. We sent messages to let the people know we’d join the boat there and were told that all was well. On our way to Karati, for a meeting and to join the boat, we passed them going the other way, already underway for Kikori. Mid river we stopped for a chat and a planning session. No, they had not got the messages the day before. Yes, they could wait for us to join them after the brief meeting we first had to get to at Karati. We went on our way.

At Karati we found another boat leaving for Kikori. It was decided that it would be better for me to travel with them and several phone calls were made to tell the first boat to continue without me. I’ve no idea if they really received the message, or if they just continued without me as they figured I’d find another ride. The second option worked out and we headed off to Kikori in good time. There was a stop of nearly an hour while the driver bought extra fuel at a village along the way, but I made it to Kikori in the end… about 15 minutes ahead of the first option. As they had a 15hp engine and we had a 40hp, we clearly spent a lot of time buying the extra fuel.

Refuelling while underway, although it still was not enough!

The second time I went to Kikori, I was planning to go on ‘fortnight’, or the Friday every second week when people get paid. The previous fortnight several boats had gone from Ubuo to Kikori, so I thought I’d be fine, but no one seemed to be going. Discussions were held and I was told there was a plan. Friday morning it rained heavily and continued all day. One person who was to come pulled out, meaning the whole trip was on hold. By Monday the rain had stopped and enough people committed to the trip that I made it to town.

A beautiful short cut (that actually is shorter!) on the way to Kikori

On the Thursday I started asking around about any boats going back towards Ubuo that I could get a ride in. At the town market I caused much curiosity as I asked around for any Kope people, found a cousin-sister of a village-sister of mine and put in my request. I asked the hospital administrator if he knew anyone. I stopped by where the dinghies and dugouts pull up and asked if they knew anyone going my way. I sent an sms to the village to see if they knew anyone planning a return trip. I cast a wide net and waited to see what would happen. On Friday I repeated my request.

Late on Friday someone came to the door. They’d heard the doctor wanted to go to Ubuo. I am not a doctor, but as I was staying in the doctor’s house, the confusion was understandable. One of the hospital staff recommended the person, he was from a neighbouring village and a plan was made. I gave him money to buy fuel as my contribution towards the trip.

Sunrise in Kikori, looking across the river

The next day the boat turned up, a little later than expected, but that was not really unexpected. I loaded myself and my things and we headed off. As we took bends in the river, it seemed like we were taking a different route to what I expected. I couldn’t do much about it but trust the people who helped with the plan and pray that things were on track. After a few hours we were pulling into a village near Paia. I thought we would just drop someone off and be one my way, but the whole canoe and all its contents was emptied out… except me. Um?

Heading back to Ubuo by dugout

‘We will just get some fuel at Paia and be on our way’, I was told. ‘Do I have extra kina for more fuel?’

We crossed the inlet, rafted our dugout up to a timber company tugboat and sent someone to town to buy fuel. The store was closed and we had to wait a few hours. As we waited, the story came out that although the driver was from a neighbouring village, he lived in his wife’s village in a different area. His brother, who worked at the hospital, had convinced him he had to take me back to Ubuo, even though it was out of his way. In trying to be helpful, people had actually ended up causing frustration for both of us.

Eventually the fuel was purchased, we were under way and we made it back to Ubuo, where they dropped me off and promptly returned to Paia. What would have been a 3 hour journey if direct had taken nearer seven hours because of detours and delays.

After these two adventures in getting to Kikori and back, I have been thinking about buying my own boat and motor. This will of course create all sorts of other frustrations, but my hope is that they are less than the frustrations of not owning one.

I like a plan, and to always be asking ‘are you going my way?’ is not a plan that works for me.

What if…?

Settling into one area has involved a whole new round of paperwork: contingency planning. This has meant sitting down and deliberately catastrophising about various situations, planning my response, writing it down, filing it with various people and promising to do my best to keep to it in a real emergency.

I am familiar with this approach, as in my previous work on sailing ships we did regular emergency drills. We had flow diagrams of responses and responsibilities. Fire drills on hot summer days were an excuse for a water fight, but we were ready should there be a real fire. Man overboard drills taught us things that meant we saved a life when the real thing occurred (a story for another day). Preparedness makes a big difference in an emergency.

So it is that I’ve been thinking through what I would do, what I need to always carry just-in-case (bandages for snake bite, locator beacon), what I would take with me if making an emergency exit and which direction I would go. I’ve purchased a 20L container for an emergency fuel supply. If I have fuel standing by it is easier to find a driver and a boat. Contact details for various organisations and individuals have been listed. Maps have been drawn and marked.

All of this in the hope that I never need to use it.

Still, stuff happens. We live in a broken world where the acts of individuals and of nature cause fear, injury and destruction. I do not expect to avoid my share in the harsh realities of life, but I do hope to be prepared when they strike. I hope this paperwork is next read when I review it in a few years time, not when it is called on in an emergency, but it is good to have thought things through and made a plan together with others.

I do work remotely, with many challenges, but I am not unprepared or unconnected. Please take comfort in this.

 

Contingency planning… cause life is not always smooth sailing.

Solar Power

What do the Amish, doomsday preppers, Bible translators,  4WD enthusiasts, round-the-world sailors and eco-warriors have in common?

An interest in living off the grid.

As I get organised to live in a remote village location, I have been gathering information and learning skills to make that life easier. I could just live like the locals, but then I would have no time to do the work I came to do. Subsistence living is a time consuming occupation. Instead, I look into ways to preserve food, produce familiar food from scratch, and power the equipment I need for my work. Along the way I have found myself on the websites of all the above categories, getting tips for off-grid living.

My most recent adventure in off-grid discovery has been in making decisions about what sort of solar set-up* I need. I’ve had a crash course in all sorts of specifics and technical details: panel sizes and types, battery sizes and types, solar controllers, wattage, amp hours, volts…

There are so many questions that helpful people ask but that sometimes leave me more confused. How much equipment do I have? How much power do they draw? What else am I likely to get? Will I want a 12v fridge? (probably not) Will I want a 12v fan? (sounds appealing) What is my budget? (limited). Argh!

I am thankful for the people who have helped me, explaining and re-explaining concepts to me, answering my questions and responding to my blank looks. They have sure helped me to make practical choices, and then they  took on responsibility for compiling the system.

When I fly to Gulf next, I will have with approximately 65kg of solar and radio equipment. I know the weight because I had to do an estimate for my aviation booking. This will give me 190w of power for a 100ah battery. It’s primary purpose is to run an HF radio with some LED lights for night as a positive side effect. Later I will also use it to power my computer, but for the moment my notebook is literally that, a notebook and a pen.

The Amish have not been much help in my solar quest, but when it comes to preserving foods, suggesting manual methods of doing commonly powered tasks and having catalogues of fun hand tools, they are the people to look up. I suspect it is not the Amish running these websites, but people marketing at the Amish and that they also provide paper catalogues for that market. I have been dealing with the more Amish side of village preparations, but solar had been the biggest challenge this time around.

*Others call it a ‘solar system’ but as I am harvesting the energy of the sun, not revolving around it in miniature, ‘solar set-up’ seems more appropriate. That said, I’m tempted to call my solar set-up ‘Pluto’, for although it is small and remote, it still deserves to be counted.

Day #1

Talking at church in Kapuna before heading to Ubuo
(D.Petterson)

‘They’ (whoever ‘they’ are!) say that each day is the first day of the rest of your life. In many ways I subscribe to this and can be a Grinch about New Year’s celebrations because the timing is so arbitrary. On the other hand, I recently experienced the sort of day which really did seem like the start of the rest of my life.

Sunday February 22 was the day. It was the day I went to Ubuo village to start the relationship building and language learning that will (hopefully!) be the foundation of my work and life for years to come.

Until now, my village trips have all been for no more than a few weeks, with the next trip being to a different place. Relationships have all been short term and language learning has not progressed beyond polite greetings. This arrival was the start of the long term. I was thankful that Robbie and Debbie, who already have strong local relationships, were with me to smooth the way.

Our cargo pile on arrival at Ubuo (R.Petterson)

The day started with a low tide, meaning we could not leave until late morning. This gave us time to go to church at Kapuna Hospital before we left. The Kapuna crew were all very excited about this new start to a ministry in their area and sent me out with much prayer and encouragement as their missionary. Being sent locally, as well as internationally, is so encouraging to me as it shows that there is local ownership of my work and that it is not just my clever idea.

As we wound along the rivers to Ubuo, we stopped to visit people in Baimuru and Era Kiti. My GPS tracker says we did 64km. The journey felt longer, partly because of the stops, mostly because of my awareness that this trip signified the start of something new, something I’d been looking forward to for a long time.

Spending time with my village family (D.Petterson)

Our arrival in Ubuo was friendly and low key… the way I like things to be! We had meetings in the house where we were staying and in the church to talk about what me joining the community meant. We talked about how it will take me a while to learn Kope, but that while they are helping me learn, I can be helping them with translation. The helping will need to be mutual to be successful. We also talked about this translation being for all of the Kope people, and not just for Ubuo, and that at times I will spend time visiting the other villages. Smiles, handshakes and more names than I can remember, but a good start in what is now my other home.

Soon I was adopted into the Aumarie family, meaning I have more brothers and sisters than I can keep track of, but a place to belong. In the week we were there I enjoyed getting to know some of my new family and had loving hugs from them when I left.

Day one in Ubuo village, Kope language… the first day of the rest of my life.

Ubuo from the river (H.Schulz)

In saying ‘yes’ to one place and one project I am by necessity saying ‘no’ to many other people and places. In saying ‘yes’ to working alone, I am effectively saying ‘no’ to the work partnerships that had been discussed. We are parting ways as friends and colleagues and the door is open to future team work options, but at this point it is ‘no’ to continuing to wait for others and ‘yes’ to going now and going alone.

Learning to say ‘no’ is as important as learning to say ‘yes’, and it takes discipline. In the world, and in the organisation  I work with, there are far more needs than there are hours in the day or workers in the field. Even when prioritised, there are often still more significant needs than available people…and ‘significant’ is a slippery term that each person measures differently.

Learning to hear someone else’s ‘no’ is as important as learning to say my own ‘no’. If I want people to respect my ‘no’ to their urgent priority, then I need to hear the ‘no’ of others to my urgent request. I hope that people respect that when I say ‘no’ it is because I have listened, reflected and decided. I do not say ‘no’ to cause pain, but because it seems the best path from the place in which I am making the decision. I hope that I return the respect when someone else’s ‘no’ is returned to me on a different matter at another time.

Learning to say ‘yes’ to things I don’t like but can see the value of and can make the time for is as important as being able to say ‘no’ to similar things. To balance the needs of others with my own, to sometimes do the unpleasant job that needs to be done, to take on the dull job that everyone is avoiding, to recognise that some things simply need doing if we want the whole to progress… I need to sometimes say ‘yes’, yet other times say ‘no’.

The spiritual discipline of ‘no’ and the spiritual discipline of ‘yes’. They are things that I am working on and things that I have had to practise a lot this year. I expect I will be a lifelong learner in this field, as saying ‘no’ or saying ‘yes’ is not always as easy as I would like. 

Yes!

Over the last year I’ve written blog posts on the various aspects of making a decision about where to work long term in PNG. The country is vast, complex and there are many communities requesting help with translation and literacy, and I am but one person.

The discernment journey has meant thinking about what I mean by ‘call’. It has meant reflecting on what it means to be a single  person in this work, discussing partnership and exploring the option of a bigger team. There has been plenty of research, discussion, prayer and exploration. In the last few months I have visited both GulfProvince and New Ireland to spend time with potential projects. Finally, I have reached a decision.

That decision is to work in Gulf Province long term. This will be work that is alone but not alone. After all the discussions of partnerships and teams, the reality of life events and timing is such that  I am the only one going in a Gulf direction. At the same time, it is not alone, as I have friends working in that region. I may end up the only expat in a village, but I’ll have expat friends in the region, will soon have local friends in the village and know there is always Immanuel. So I’ll be working alone, but not alone.

I have been blessed with a real sense of peace about both the place and about stepping out on my own. For a long time I had little peace about working solo, so this change of heart is not of my own doing. There will be challenges in the aloneness and I’ll have to be deliberate about self care. There will also be blessings as I will have to build closer local relationships and will have more intense times of language learning.

Currently, the Pettersons are the only language workers for a cluster of about twelve languages in that area. They do an amazing amount of work in literacy and in translating the Jesus Film. I’ll be joining their project, initially by working with the Kope people in Ubuo village. There was an expat translator and a local translation team  there in the 1980s, but various factors meant that the work stopped, although bug-eaten drafts of portions of Acts and Mark remain. Last week these people finished recording the Jesus Film, so there is also new momentum and interest in translation.

Old drafts, new momentum… this is the place where things are happening and it is coming together as the place for me to move. The idea is that I move to their area, learn their language and support the community in reaching their translation goal through training, encouragement and advisor work. Their goal may be the Gospel of Luke plus Acts, building on the Jesus Film script and the drafts from decades ago, but these things are still to be established.

In years to come, as their initial goal is met, we will see what the next step is. Kope is closely related to Anagibi, Urama and Gibaio. Some call them dialects of each other, the locals consider them to be distinct languages. Maybe in the future I can work with these groups as well. Maybe neighbouring languages will also be inspired and things will move to more of a training focus. Maybe…maybe…maybe I should wait a few years and see what is happening before making plans, but the needs and opportunities in the area mean that there will be plenty of work for many years yet. 

Call, Discernment and Action

Defining ‘call’ is endlessly difficult. It can be a problem when people play the ‘God told me to’ card or the ‘I’m still waiting to hear from God’ card, but to not stop and carefully spend time discerning God’s direction in our lives is also a problem.

Biblically, some people had a very clear and audible call. I believe such clear calls can still happen, but that they are not to be expected. For me, discerning call is about an intersection of head and heart. With my head I can research a possibility and be practical about if my skills, interests and abilities are sufficient for the task. I can decide if the negatives are worth it. With my heart though, I am also looking to see if it is something I am passionate about, if there is something that draws me in.

Walking on the path or falling into the deep river
can be a fine line at times!

Discerning a call is not an expectation of perfection. We live in a broken world and have to deal with that. It is not needing to know everything, as I know that there will always be challenges and blessings down the road which are not evident now. It is giving due diligence to finding out what I can at this point in time.

In small questions, discerning God’s will is a small matter as the Word gives us direction in life. Are we called to love our neighbours? Yes! So do it, in whatever ways big or small today.

In big questions though, discerning God’s will and God’s call is a bigger challenge. That is when I call on mentors, prayer supporters and those who know me well and that I trust.

A language allocation is a big question, as the decision results in many years working in an often isolated situation as well as a relationship and commitment to a group of people that I would not want to break.

In making this decision it is important to me to hand the decision over to God. Is this the place the skills, interests and limitations God has given me best intersect with the many immediate needs around us? In making this decision prayerfully and in community I am given strength. In the long run, when the hard times come, I will be able to look back and say ‘God, you lead me here and you will lead me through.’  If I simply follow the directions of people, it is easy to say ‘The person-I-listened-to didn’t know what they were doing!’ It is hard to say ‘God didn’t know what he was doing!’

The story of my call to work as  Bible translator in PNG is a story of discernment along the way. The idea of translation was presented to me at a youth camp and would not go away, so I followed up on it. Eventually I did two months ‘work experience’ here in PNG, mostly in a remote village. At the end of two months I felt called to the work. Something in me knew it was the path I was to walk,  although I still had to work through my desire to live a ‘normal’ life. I did not feel called to a place and knew the timing was not right, but I felt called to the work.

Which way? There are many 'short cuts' through the palms
and many dead ends too.

It took me nearly ten years to get to the translation field full time. These were ten years in which God shaped me and prepared me. On a practical front I completed an honours degree in anthropology, worked full time at sea (which has given me all sorts of skills handy for life here), went travelling (so that now I do not feel the need to wander off), and completed theology and linguistics degrees. Personally, the time was spent building connections at home, repairing some broken relationships, (mostly!) letting go of the dream of marriage and maturing a lot. When I left PNG after my two months of taste-and-see I was overwhelmed by the sense of call and the implications that had. When I returned, I was trained, ready, willing and excited. I was, and am, committed to this work for the long haul.

Choosing to work in PNG was a process of elimination, not of big signs from God. I wanted to work in the Pacific Area. Vanuatu and the Solomon Islands were my first choices, but they both said they could not support extra singles at the time. PNG on the other hand, was more than willing to have more singles (we’re something like 20% of the Branch) and had lots of useful things I could help with while I sorted out the partnership question.

After two years of being a generally helpful linguist and testing other skills by filling a need in the Project Office, I am now in the stage of seriously considering which place to work in long term. There has been little guidance on how to make such a decision, so with other unallocated linguists we formed a group, to work out this big question together. We called ourselves ‘Translators Exploring Allocations’ (TEA), although some days ‘Unallocated Linguists Anonymous’ may have been more accurate!

For three months we have been meeting several times a week. We have invited Regional Directors to tell us the priorities in their region. We have followed up on areas of interest by interviewing other translators who work nearby, by reading reports, even by going to Lae to meet with Church leadership to talk about an area which was presented as a potential need at a conference in January.  We have done team building exercises to help with the partnership challenge singles must face. We have all also been working on our secondary assignments (discourse analysis paper, grammar paper, writing for the Communications department… and more).

Along the way we have found that we have formed a group that is now looking at the possibility of working together as a larger team among a group of languages. We have been surprised at the consensus between us. As we have listened to people and listened to God through prayer, the same potential projects have generally gone on and off the list of possibilities at the same time. When five people, each from a different cultural background, reach consensus like this, I think God is at work.

We now have two places that we have agreed to take the next step in checking out through a pre-allocation trip. The plan is to do workshops in each place that allow us to be there for a time and to be helpful to the community, but without having to commit for the long term. The thought of saying ‘no’ to one place and ‘yes’ to the other makes me nervous. The knowledge that we’ve had consensus along the way so far gives me comfort, as I do believe God is with us in this difficult decision making process.

‘Call’ a slippery thing that can be used as an excuse for inaction or for rash action, but it is also an essential for me in a decision as big as a allocating to a language community long term. It is head and heart working together. It is listening to the advice of the community around me, seeking to move in the direction the branch is going and among the cacophony of needs in PNG, choosing one. It is difficult and time consuming. My prayer is that these months of discerning are an investment in the future, a foundation on which a partnership, a team and project can be firmly built. It is listening to God and then stepping out in faith.

Humbled

The best compliments and encouragement come in the form or casual comments and leave me humbled at the same time. Here are some examples from recent months, that continue to encourage me as I wade through the morass of decision making.

“I pray for you every day…”

While home on furlough so many people told me that they pray for me everyday and that they find me an inspiration. This was not just from close friends. Sometimes it was from from people I barely know, other times from people I look up to myself. Even when I am bad at keeping in touch with them, they are praying for me. Even though I am just working at living each day well, using the skills I’ve been given in the place I feel called, apparently I am inspiring people. My life feels fairly ordinary as I live it each day. I am inspired to keep going by those who have encouraged me. When I am overwhelmed by decisions to be made, I am reminded that there are friends who carry me.

“Thank you for your friendship…”

Over the last year I’ve exchanged a number of emails with married friends who’ve been going through an incredibly difficult time. I live in a different country, am slow to reply to emails and only caught up with them once while in the same city. I am aware of how much more I could have done, but did not. Yet by email and in person they tell me that I’ve been a friend and a support. Rather than telling myself I know better, I am working to hear their words and be encouraged.

“I’ll build you a house…”

When discussing possible destinations to work with a language long term, one colleague quickly told me that as soon as we were ready, he was ready to build us a village house. Several of the others in the conversation added their support that they too would love to be part of a building party. In the middle of all the details and decisions, knowing that my friends are waiting to be practical and supportive, even before I’ve asked them, is an enormous encouragement.

In writing this, my intent is not to brag, but to say ‘Thank you!’

To all of you who pray for me, thank you.

To all of you who care in practical ways, thank you.

To all of you who encourage me in ways you do not even realise, thank you.

 At the moment, as I am in the middle of what feels like endless decisions, you are carrying me in more ways than you can know, so thank you!

TEA

Since returning to PNG a month ago I have been looking at which language group to work with long term. In a country with hundreds of languages waiting for translation work, it is a challenging process and a difficult choice. To help ease the process, we’ve been sharing this journey as a group of translators exploring allocations, or TEA for short.

Over the last few years, our organisation has accumulated a number of unallocated linguists. Some people were previously allocated to work with a language group and for various reasons vacated their programme. Some are new to the country. Some have been waiting for a work partner (me!). Some are committed to one project for a set period but are contemplating long term options. Together, we have been meeting for a cuppa, a chat and prayer. There is comfort and strength in sharing our struggles and working out the road forward between us.

We have also taken to inviting a guest to our gathering, usually a regional director (RD). When one first arrives as a linguist, RDs can be a bit scary as they seem to see a target painted on you and aim to recruit you for their region before another RD gets you for theirs. Having got to know a number of the RDs in person over the last few years, I now know that they are actually more gracious than that, but first impressions were intimidating. Having RDs come and share with us as a whole group takes away the pressure of feeling targeted.

Group discussions during a workshop in a village

Region by region we are listening to possibilities and priorities. We listen, we question, we pray, we ponder. We look at maps and are amused by place names. If one language group strikes a chord for one or more of us, we start discussing what the next step might be. This next step usually involves a visit to a language area, but the challenge is to do it in a way which allows us to have a look-see without promising anything long term. We find ourselves discussing options of language surveys and workshops, exploring legitimate reasons to engage with a community without raising expectations. We discuss ways to find out more information, while contributing to the community at the same time.

So far we’ve had four gatherings and heard from two of the eight regions. That leaves six more to hear from, when I’m already feeling overwhelmed with information. Yet sharing the journey between us makes it easier. Where we will all allocate waits to be seen, but at least we have found a practical way to take manageable steps towards that goal.