One hot afternoon in Kotale, I was sitting under a shade tree talking with some church members. In the course of our conversation, I discovered that a portable sawmill belonging jointly to the villages of Uladu, Kewa and Kotale was being stored under the Kewa village treasurer’s house. It had been there for quite some time and was missing a couple of essential parts. I contacted Adventist Aviation Services (AAS). They flew in the parts, and we got it running again. The villagers were very thankful. A group of men hauled the sawmill 45 minutes into the bush and set up a lumber camp. It became a symbol of hope for the villagers. It was exciting to watch as straight boards appeared from rugged tree trunks. Now they could build the new school and medical buildings they had wanted for so long.

Curious about how things were going at the lumber camp, I journeyed out to see the setup. At the camp, I met Duaba, the man who seemed to be in charge. He was more highly educated than the rest; the son of an evangelical missionary. He had been the pastor of an evangelical church in Balimo. I had met him previously when he came to our house for medical attention. For the past 10 years, he has had frequent headaches and complained of fuzzy vision.

Duaba’s teenage daughter, Elsie, and our daughters became friends. (See Karin’s article last month). Elsie had been hospitalized a couple of times recently, once in Balimo and later in Awaba where she attends high school. Her problem was diagnosed as appendicitis. When we heard about her second trip to the hospital for the same problem, we became concerned about her wellbeing. The hospitals have caring and dedicated staff but no doctors—nobody qualified to perform an appendectomy.

The time was getting close for us to go to Port Moresby for supplies and materials to build our new house. (We’ll tell you more about that in a future article). The most economical way for us to fly is with AAS. Going to Moresby, we usually don’t take much luggage, so the five-seat Cessna 206 suits us best. However, two weeks before we were to leave, we learned that both the 206s were out for maintenance and would not be available. The only plane on hand was the new PAC 750, a nine-seater. It cost a bit more money, but it was still the most economical way for our family to fly, so we booked it. Now we would have more room than we needed.

Then we got an idea. We sent an email to Roger Millist at AAS asking if there would be a problem with bringing two more passengers on the plane with us to Moresby. “Should be okay,” he answered. We talked to Duaba and explained our concern about Elsie’s condition. “If you can find a place to stay in Port Moresby,” I said, “we will provide the transportation for you and Elsie to get there. That way you both can get your medical problems taken care of.”

Duaba contacted a relative in the Port Moresby area and made arrangements. Elsie was so excited that she could hardly contain herself. This was her first trip to the big city.

After we all arrived in Port Moresby, we invited Duaba and Elsie to spend Friday night and Sabbath with us at Pacific Adventist University and attend church with us. After the church service, Duaba said, “Hearing the sermon this morning and seeing how kind the people are, I must say that we have been living in darkness out in the village. It is as though a light came on in my head.”

The next week, we invited them again. Both father and daughter were right there with us at Sabbath School and church. Since then, Duaba has told me repeatedly that he believes his coming to Port Moresby with us was not an accident. “I can see God’s hand at work in this,” he said. “When Jeff Bishop (the first AFM missionary to the Gogodala) was here, he came to visit me and invited me to worship with him, but my heart was hard. I said no. Then David White came to visit me, and my heart was still hard. But God didn’t give up. He used my daughter’s sickness to bring us together.”
In PNG, medical things don’t move along as rapidly as they do in the States. People usually have to wait months to have an operation, and procedures are frequently rescheduled. We worried that Elsie might not get into surgery and have time to recover before it was time to go back to the village. After four weeks in Moresby, she finally got seen by the surgeon. Laurie accompanied her into the exam room expecting the surgery to be scheduled some weeks later. The surgeon determined that Elsie’s appendicitis wasn’t acute, and he advised her to come back for an appendectomy after the school year was finished. At this point, Laurie stepped into the conversation and explained that Elsie had come from Western Province and would not be able to afford the trip back to Moresby. The next day, Elsie’s surgery went well!

An optometrist had examined Duaba and told him that glasses would take care of his headaches and vision problems. I took him to get a second opinion from an Australian optometrist I had met, and the conclusion was the same. The problem was that the glasses he would need cost around 700 Kina (roughly $275). Duaba couldn’t afford them. I suggested that he talk to his relatives to see if they could help him. The next day, Duaba’s niece told us of a clinic that had recently opened at the hospital from which glasses could be purchased for 20 Kina. “What kind of glasses can one buy for 20 Kina?” I wondered. Immediately we went to the hospital to investigate this incredible rumor. We went to the window beside a sign that read “EYE CLINIC,” but they were closed that day. The doctors were in surgery. As we turned around to leave, a security guard kindly asked if we needed help. Sheepishly, I said, “We heard we could get glasses for . . .”

“20 Kina?” he interjected. “Go inside that door.” He pointed to the next door down the hall. There were no patients waiting, so Duaba got right in, got his eyes tested and came out with glasses that work quite well for him.

Recently, Duaba told me he would really like to help us develop Bible-study materials for reaching the Gogodala. I assured him we would greatly appreciate his help.

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