50 years ago in a tribe far away...

50 years ago in October, my father Adriaan vanderBijl, Harold Catto and   Frank Ross walked into Mapnduma for the very first time. The circumstances surrounding their trek, how God provided, sustained and directed is a story I will tell my grandchildren. It is a story of faithful men and women, insistent Nduga’s and a Grand Designer of things in-congruent and mysterious. 1 month before that trek, I was born and the story of the Nduga tribe, my parents and I have been intertwined ever since.

My father was supposed to go back there  this October to help in the grand celebration. Many treks back have been made by ageing missionaries to relive memories of a noble and precarious time gone by. These trips have been videotaped, you-tubed, documented via Facebook and probably make into inspirational pamphlets to be given out at mission conferences. I could see on my Dad’s face and hear it in my Dad’s voice the longing to be present at this celebration, this remembrance, this moment. 

He is the only one living of those intrepid 3 and health-wise could not go.

I didn’t really want to talk about it with him; I knew so deeply his disappointment with getting old, having his ‘best’ years behind him.  I knew it was one more thing to let go. 

As I have said, I have been intertwined in this story for all of my 50 years. That is how old the church is in the Nduga valleys. My parents, Elfrieda and Mary worked hard to learn the language, bring medication, teach , develop Bible schools, build airstrips…they sacrificed and enjoyed the life they chose in the middle of this spectacular, rugged, unforgiving country. This thief of a country which also stole my parents, robbed me of my mother’s life, defined my imagination, graced my childhood with adventure and unbearable loss.  

50 years and there is sadness at what the Papuans are becoming from the hyperspace travel from grass hut survival to texting on cellphones.  They are fighting for a freedom no tribal government can mitigate. They are dying of aids no medical personal could have predicted. When we speak of future shock, we see it destroying a culture unable to negotiate the pitfalls of the 21^st century. I think of where we were in these past 50 years and the changes our own culture has undergone,  translate that to a culture that had not changed in a 1000 years. 

All my Parents knew is the love they had for Jesus had to be good for everyone, to give everyone a chance to hear.  Hindsight…yes, we should have, could have, would have …but what these people did was go to places beyond. It wasn’t a cool travel destination or exotic location that it has become…it was scary different and oftentimes deadly.

I wish my Dad had been healthy enough to go and that we all could have traveled with him. I wish that 50 years later the Nduga church will be able to weather the culture tsunami tearing away at its cultural shore. I wish my Dad could be present there. But maybe this is what is true and should not be undervalued in the present now. 

Dear Dad and Elfrieda,

I know this time right now is difficult because you want to be there in all the celebrations. I was thinking about this and realizing that some great day maybe not too far away we will stand before that THRONE and God will look at both of you and say, we celebrated with you every day, with every heart that turned to me, with every tear that fell in the frustrations and hard work. We danced for joy when the Ndugas turned their hearts. That day will be a grand day as we stand side by side with the fruits of your hard work, your many sacrifices and tears of joy and sorrow.
Our bodies become more frail and even though we live in disappointment for what we cannot do, I want you to know that God is not disappointed and He, with us all, celebrate those days before, and the days now...for it all is a sacrifice of thanksgiving in our youth and today. Your faithfulness is not before, it is every day.  Thank you both for listening to the    call of God then and the call of God today. You are loved