Well do I remember my trek into the Paiela Valley. It was hidden between two folds of the mighty mountains in the highlands of New Guinea. Two deep gorges, gouged out by the rushing waters from the heights above, featured a narrow ridge between them — which is where most of the people lived at an altitude of 6,000 feet. In response to a plea for help, one of my volunteer missionaries had ventured there and raised up a gathering of believers. In the early days, these stalwart believers clambered over the rugged track to attend quarterly Communion at Porgera, the adjacent valley.
I made it a practice to visit all the outposts where my faithful workers were stationed. To reach this valley, I toiled for two and a half strenuous days. At one place, the track dropped from the lofty heights beside a waterfall of several hundred feet. I used to call it a “tooth and toenail” track, as each step you took, you had to tenaciously cling to a tree root or jutting rock while making sure your feet were securely planted on a small ledge or something similar below you. It was an arduous trek I did not want to repeat. But these dear folk did it several times a year to attend Communion. Usually an infant would tenaciously cling on top of a string bag that hung from the parent’s neck, filled with personal belongings and food for the trip.
Of course, my active mind saw the obvious answer to this travel problem. It was to build an airstrip and fly there to obviate their need to cross the mountains. I did not have a plane at this time, but it was coming. Then the question arose, where could we find land level enough and long enough for an airstrip? Eventually the government selected a strip of land cutting diagonally across the ridge, but it would require a lot of leveling. For several painful years they struggled with the task, using sticks, spades, and an odd wheelbarrow — primitive tools for such a mammoth task, shifting thousands of tons of earth. Finally the work was finished and I now had my plane. I had promised to fly there as soon as the airstrip was opened.
This particular day, I had planned to be at home and work in the office. I had just completed several days of flying for other missionaries who needed to transfer their workers and supplies to their isolated posts. This was one of those days that beckoned to a pilot to mount the sky like an eagle and challenge the clear-cut mountain peaks starkly standing out against the cloudless blue sky. It was good to be alive. Suddenly I remembered Paiela airstrip which had just been opened. I knew they would be thrilled to see me. It was only eighteen minutes’ flying away, so I could fly there, spend some time with them, and be back in time to work in the office.
I sang out to my national assistant and he was glad to accompany me. We loaded aboard some supplies of nails and soap, always welcome, as well as a few tins of fish and a bag of rice. There was no store over there. Finally, we found a picture roll that the laymen valued for teaching nearby villagers the stories of the Bible.
Soon we were charging down the airstrip, and at this altitude it is a long run. Then we were zooming up into the beautiful blue sky and challenging the silent mountains, 12,000 feet high. Once we were clear of them, we headed for the valley which appeared above the nose and I could see the lonely mission station on the ridge. About half a mile away was the new strip. I flew around the church, which was surrounded by the grass huts of the local people. As I dipped a wing, they waved to me, and I waved back to them. Then I concentrated on the landing.
There is always a certain degree of tension when landing for the first time on a new strip. Does it have an updraft or downdraft on the approach? What is the wind doing? Is the surface of the strip solid or soft, and which way is it sloping? Being very short also, the approach had to be just right. In fact, we used to call this strip our “aircraft carrier” strip, as it was short and cut off abruptly at each end. We would tell ourselves that if we landed too short we would stop too quickly, but if we did not land soon enough, we would not stop at all. This landing would have to be spot-on. I adjusted the power for the right rate of descent, dropped the flaps on short final, then when across the threshold, cut the power and rounded out, then landed. It worked out well, but I made sure I braked quickly to avoid the 2,000-foot drop at the end.
After parking the plane and chocking the wheels, I set off for the mission. Soon I was met by the panting missionary who was excited to see me. In Pidgin English he said, “Me ples tumas along lookim face belong you.” (I am very pleased to see you.)
When we reached the church, I was surprised to notice the excited folk were all dressed in their Sabbath clothes, which was often all the attire they owned. They quickly crowded into the church and as I walked down the aisle, there was hushed expectancy as, after all their hard work in helping to build the airstrip, they would not need to walk over the back-breaking mountain for Communion. After telling them how excited I was to be able to fly into their valley, I asked them what they would like to sing and they said, “E got place where e good fellow more,” which is Pidgin for the well-known hymn, “There’s a Land that is Fairer than Day,” or “The Sweet By and By.”
This they sang with gusto as they keenly look forward to the better land. I then asked them for another favorite and they wanted to sing it again; then the third time, also. These humble folk cherish the thought of the Glory Land and love singing about it.
Of course they were eager to see the plane that had effortlessly flown me into their valley, so all walked back to the waiting plane. On the way, the missionary astonished me by saying, “I knew you were coming to visit us today. I had a dream last night that I was working in the garden just as I was this morning when I heard the sound of a plane. I looked up and saw the red nose of the mission plane pointing toward us just like it did this morning. Then it circled the mission and you waved to us and we waved to you, just like this morning. So at worship in the church this morning I told them that Pastor Barnard is coming today, so get ready. The parents believed but the children did not, and went down to the bottom of the gorge to get some firewood. They will be deeply disappointed they missed you.”
This amazed me and my heart thrilled with the thought that our awesome God, Who created all things and controls the universe, should deign to let these humble folk know I was coming to visit them. Then He impressed me to fly into the valley that very day. Surely our blessed Lord rewards the simple but profound faith of these trusting children of the jungle who love Him so sincerely. What a lesson for us, who are more sophisticated, to learn.
This dream was one of many given to these humble folk in those pioneering days, when I would make an unscheduled visit, and they were waiting for me on the strip because God had given them a message in a dream to say I was visiting them that particular day. Sometimes they lived several miles away from the strip and there was no radio to tell them I was coming. And such events made me more aware of the host of folk back home who are indeed praying for the missionary pilots as well as all other missionaries. So be assured: God hears your prayers and answers them as He sees fit.
It also fills me with reverential wonder that we can be a part of this wonderful work in praying for our missionaries, though thousands of miles away. Then we need to match our prayers with our giving, which is a holy couplet. So let us not become weary in well-doing.
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Watch the video, narrated by Len Barnard, that shows the people and places he writes about for The Quiet Hour’s aviation mission project. |
