[prepare for ridiculous length]
Memorial Day Weekend was wonderful. I don’t know what happened in the previous post (about such a crummy week). Maybe it was the weather, or caffiene withdrawals, or something. I don’t want to disregard it, as though it wasn’t real and valid. But it’s hard not to do that when the weekend and week after a bad one is so beyond good.
The weekend was really busy. On Friday night, we had to pull together a few final plans for backpacking with MuKappa. On Saturday morning, Caitlin and I were in a bit of a hurry. We hadn’t packed the night before, we realized we needed to go to the grocery store, and were just running late in general. I hate to admit, it was one of those moments I realized I’m a girl. But it turned out okay! We made it to the rest of the MuKappa group and we headed out to the Olympic Peninsula to backpack and camp on Duckabush trail. These are a few pictures from our trip. It was gorgeous. We camped on a beach right next to the river; I fell asleep to the sound of Caitlin squirming in her sleeping bag and the water crashing past the stones that sheltered our camp.
I love being in nature. It’s strange to say, because I realized recently I don’t like the activity of backpacking. But I love the result. There’s something about being next to a river and watching your friends climb over fallen trees that have been dead longer than you’ve been alive. There’s something about the river–bluer than the Fox, smaller than the Colorado, more shallow than the Pacific, and [clearly] more powerful than the Skookumchuk. It just reminds me of God. Beautiful, alluring and dangers. It makes me want to run until I can’t breathe, sit until I’m a part of the ground, sing until I’m hoarse and listen until I can hear the whisper in the wind. (1 Kings 19.12) It reminds me of home. And the home for which I’m still waiting.
The next morning at 5.15 AM (for which Daniel will never forgive me), three of us hiked out ahead of the rest of the group. It was beautiful. The mountains were hazy from the lookouts, you could see clouds and fog in the valleys. The sun made the trees glow, but wasn’t hot enough to be a bother. We jogged the switchbacks (going down) and made it out in just under 2 hours. I felt so proud to keep up with two very patient young men. It was a miracle, and that’s not an exaggeration. After a 3 hour drive down to Vancouver/Portland, we ate lunch, showered off the stench of sweat and campfire and then went off to our next set of events: welcoming MAF’s new Kodiak plane.
New Heights Church helped to raise a lot of the funds that were used to purchase this new plane that will replace the 206. So MAF had a dedication at Pearson Air Field with a few thousand attendees from the church. I don’t know if I’ve ever been with so many MAF people in my life. It was glorious. Sunday night we spent at Uncle Perry and Aunt Linnea’s; there must have been 40 people going in and out–all of whom had lived in Indonesia. We stayed up late, reminisced, hugged and laughed, played volleyball, all while sipping Aunt Linnea’s famous iced tea.
I love the Indo people, I know I’ve said this before. I love them because… they show me what the family of God should be. Sure, we annoy each other sometimes, we have disagreements, and on the indoor soccer court things can be heated. But when I tease Kevin about his “perfect break up song” for his last girl friend, he knows I’m joking. Jared can sing to his goofy dog, because he also sings to me after a futbol game; not to mention the incredible hospitality shown by he and his wife. Anthony comes alive when we are with these people. We tell storeis about eating bat, night diving and losing flashlights. While we also talk about theology, relationships, shame, callings and dreams. This group takes care of each other. They call me family. Me.
This is what the mission community should look like. And more than that, this is what the body should look like.
So Sunday night was like a taste of heaven. Volleyball, reminiscing, teasing, laughing and I could have cried when we said goodbye. It was heaven. I think that Jesus gives us moments like this, to glimpse the kingdom that is here and is coming. It was there, in that crowded room, and the presence of God was heavy.
Monday a lot happened, but the most exciting was watching Uncle Paul take off in that Kodiak. We had finally said our goodbyes, the crew had checked everything, we’d taken our pictures, and everyone had climbed inside. I stood with Twaan and we watched it taxi down and wait for an eternity. And then suddenly, it was going. Moving forward an inch at a time and then gaining speed. I wanted to run alongside on our adjacent runway. I could have run behind that gorgeous red and blue plane for miles. I wanted to wave my arms and whoop like the Dani. Because this plane is going to do so much good in Papua. It can bring the news to people, it will bring food, medicine, relief, aid. It will bring people and Jesus (reintroducing him to lost kinfolk). I wanted to jump and shout God’s glory because it is so exciting what he is going to do with this plane, what he already has done and continues to do. It reminds me of the cause for hope, the reason for living, the point to love.
and then, that night, we drove back home. but I think a part of me has been reliving that weekend and the glory of God with each smell of dew soaked ground and each cheer that reminds me of the Dani whoop.
