Purpose Asia

Sunrise in Madang, Papua New Guinea The hills are wrapped in a soft grey shroud of mist from the coming night. The sun sets, bringing the heat of the day down to a pleasantly sultry warmth. I stare out my window as the sun sets and I think. I think about how incredible it is that I am here.  There have been days that I’ve struggled here, I mean really struggled. Days when discouragement and doubt definitely had the upper hand, and faith and joy were definitely trying to make a comeback. Tonight, my mind was pulled back to one of those times a few months ago. I was going through a particularly rough stretch of discouragement and felt more like David writing the psalms in the caves on the run, rather than triumphantly, in confident victory, from his throne. Around this time, I went to visit my best national friend here. She and I chatted for a while about life, about her kids, and about her concerns and prayer requests. Then, she turned to me and asked, “what ...

Some of my delightful & precious PNG family I sat hunched over the cherry-red rocks in the tiny outdoor kitchen ( haus kuk ) . My "brother" plucked the rocks gingerly from the fire with metal tongs and laid them gently in and around the vegetables and meat nestled in a bowl of tin foil. My "sister" handed me more vegetable and meat to pile on top and then set about dashing ginger, garlic, onion and other seasonings over the sizzling heap. Coconut milk splashed down onto the rocks and food, and an aromatic steam filled the haus kuk. All of us worked quickly to cover up the steaming "crock pot" of sorts called a mumu (in Tok Pisin). I smiled up at my "siblings" and my “nieces” and "nephews" poking their head in at the door. More family sat outside and I plucked one of my "nephews" out of my "Mama's" hands. Banana trees swayed at the edge of my vision and my "nephew" and I walked over...

I sit back and close my eyes, the soft gray cover of my Bible resting in my open hands. It’s words are sweet, and somehow new even though I’ve read them a thousand times. I look over at the Tok Pisin Bible on my coffee table and my mind drifts to the times I’ve had recently with a good friend of mine. When she was young she was chosen as the daughter that would stay at home to care for her parents while the rest of the children went to school. Despite this discouragement, over the years she took any chance she could get to learn. She would sit with friends and look over their shoulders eagerly as they read aloud from books and newspapers. She begged someone to teach her to read and he had given her a few reading lessons. She told me once that any chance she got to try and read she took it and would studiously wrestle with each written page until she could read it. One day I was preparing a meal for the two of us and I saw her sitting on my couch gently caressing the pages of my littl...

Today I was reading a poem titled The Soldier’s Prayer by Amy Charmichael (a famous missionary to India in the 1800’s). A friend of mine had written it, and a prayer, out for me as I had left the USA for the first time to move overseas. At the time she had given it to me I had thought how incredible Amy Charmichael must have been, how much I had to live up to, how mature and advanced her relationship with the Lord must have been as I pondered the intense words of the poem. But as I read it today it struck me, that the bold words of Christian “heroes of the faith” may not actually have been the current spiritual state of said “heroes” but instead the words they penned may have instead been their heart cry, their aim, their hope. Every once in a while, I have this bad habit (or maybe not so bad) of pulling out my old journals and reading them. Sometimes it centers me and refocuses me, and sometimes it just plain discourages me. But I noticed one thing as I flipped through a ...

I pull my gloves off and toss them in the trash can by my leg. I twist the sink handles and let the water run over my fingers as I scrub them, as though I was scrubbing the stress of the day away too. I love being a nurse. Besides Jesus and telling people about Jesus, being a nurse is my greatest joy and passion. But, sometimes, stressful day after stressful day of intense medical work can wear me down. The last couple of months we’ve had an uptick in medevacs, traumas and the severity of medical situations we’re attempting to triage and treat. Everything has seemed to stretch my team, me and our combined medical knowledge and experience to their limits. At the same time, I’ve been reading about the life of David. Now there was a guy that could understand significant stress and beyond. He was raised from being a nobody to becoming a national champion and right-hand man to the reigning king, only to be chased and persecuted at every turn. Then he became the leader of an elite force...

Photo credit: Olaf Meyer/Flickr/Creative Common It was the middle of the night. I’d just spent a couple of hours with the doctor helping to patch up a trauma patient and he was finally stable. We were waiting to transport him to a hospital a few hours away for ongoing monitoring. His face was covered with dried blood and I pulled out a moist cloth to try and clear away the grime. As I worked steadily at the stains on his face I suddenly thought of Jesus. My patient had been injured protecting someone. I was struck with how Jesus had been injured protecting me. It may sound cheesy, but it was an incredibly profound moment. All at once, I wasn’t tending to a patient, I was tending to my Savior. I had the privilege of wiping away the gore of suffering for this man. Jesus wiped away the gore of suffering that I deserved and took it on himself. As I continued to gently wash away the stain of this man’s injuries Jesus reminded me of his words, “… W hatever you did for one of the least ...

The sun glimmered brightly through the open door as I pushed the blanket away from my face. A fire crackled in the middle of the room and Rhona's sister-in-law sat beside it tending a pot of sweet potatoes. Smoke wafted up towards the rafters and the grass roof. Everything smelled alive and wild and new. Elemental like earth and water and fire. I pulled in a deep breath, feeling life tingle in every part of me. Easter. The reminder that my Savior didn't stay in the tomb but rose from the dead. Because He lives I could live and because He came to rescue me I came to Papua New Guinea. It was almost too much. I stared at the ceiling beams and listened to the sounds of the household waking up. Soon I willed myself to get up and wash. Today I would be going back home after the morning church service. The sun was bright and the sky new washed like a blue cloth pulled over the tented sky. I sat on a rock to warm myself as the rest of the family bustled around getting ready for chu...