“Morning, Brata Pat,” called Onili, our garden and grounds supervisor at Goroka Baptist Bible College (GBBC), arriving at my door shortly before 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning.
He hesitantly explained that he needed a ride to take medicine to his sick mother-in-law, somewhere near the Lufa region. Just outside the doorway, his wife, Fono, stood with a group of people prepared to go if I said, “Yes.”
Onili said the village was “a little close.” Forty-five minutes later, I was beginning to wonder what that meant as we turned off the highway onto an almost-paved road leading farther into the mountains. We slowed as the deteriorating road and bridges became nearly impossible to navigate. After maneuvering through a rougher stretch, Onili casually remarked, “During the rainy season, sometimes no cars come; they cannot.”
I considered his words as we parked and began hiking to the village. Without vehicles, there would be no way to transport goods or medicine—and no way to carry in the gospel.
The narrow clay path climbed a ridge with steep, slippery switchbacks. Onili smiled as he repeated that the village was “a little close.” Eventually, the trail leveled to reveal luscious vegetable gardens in orderly rows and woven-bamboo huts with grass roofs blackened by smoke. We had arrived!
There was a joyous flurry of handshakes and hugs as our group was welcomed like family. I heard yelling in the distance, and Onili explained that chains of messengers were announcing our arrival over the mountains to Fono’s village, which was farther still.
“It is a long way from here,” he continued, “and beyond it are other mountains and more villages and more people.”
Fono’s younger sister arrived, her normal smile replaced with a grimace and tears. Speaking tenderly in their tribal language, she explained that their mom was near death.
Onili leaned close and quietly told me, “Fono’s sister is young; she can run the medicine to their village. We will wait for her.” She headed towards the mountain pass several miles away and over 1,000 feet above us. The trail appeared again on ridges and switchbacks. In the distance, people looked like ants crossing over the mountain, disappearing into valleys filled with unreached villages.
As we waited, I was staggered by the desperate hugeness of the missionary task. How do we carry the gospel to these remote places? Much later, I was told that Fono’s mother recovered with the medicine we brought, but what about countless others facing eternity without Christ?
These questions stirred my mind and heart our whole trip back to GBBC. As we arrived just before dark, I realized that GBBC provides an answer. We train nationals who already know the languages, cultures, and remote trails of Papua New Guinea. Our graduates serve as pastors, teachers, and missionaries to their own people. I am committed to investing my life in students at GBBC because I still see those mountains. Yet beyond them are other mountains and more villages and more people. Who will go there?
