25 thousand steps, almost 17 kilometers of distance, 5 hours of sleep – a day in the life of a missionary in one screenshot. The claws of a rooster and rubbery stew made from pig intestines – the breakfast of a missionary that won’t be served in a restaurant. A pitch-dark night, everyone on duty, and you, the children, and two Papuan guards armed with bows and arrows at home: the electricity goes out and everyone together tries (in vain!) to start the old generator, keeping an eye out for armed bandits – but the missionary’s night is summed up in one sentence.
You try to prepare a lesson plan, but thousands of flying ants crawl over you, the walls, the ceiling, sleeping Miroslava, the Bible, and the lesson plan itself: there’s no salvation from them, you just have to endure it – the weekdays of a missionary. Morning/lunch/evening/night – at any time – please, do something, my mom is bleeding. My uncle is very ill. My neighbor fell from a tree. My grandfather is paralyzed. My daughter is convulsing. My child is “sick,” please, help.
And you drop everything, forget everything, and rush headlong into a race with death. Because maybe you’ll be able to save at least one more. Maybe another life will be gained for eternity. Maybe your sermon today will act like a penicillin shot. The life of a missionary is hidden in death. Dying – daily for oneself, we have the privilege of living His life!
Thank you for being with us!
Ministry in PNG – The Konstantiniki