Ten years ago, my dear friend was dying. I had seen her one last time that December, and on March 3rd, her thirty-sixth birthday, she slipped out of her corpse and into the arms of Jesus. She was the dearest friend I had ever known. And she didn't even say good-bye. She thought that she would heal.
I was tired. I had spent seven years overseas, living on the humid tropical islands of Java and Borneo while raising and homeschooling our three young children. Chris flew small planes into remote villages and onto narrow rivers, serving the sick and hungry. I drew pictures, oodles of doodles for Sunday Schools that lacked adequate materials. These were rich and stretching years. After which, we were drained.
Then, when back in Canada for a time, Danielle suffered and died. The dear friend that I finally lived close to was no more. How then would I live? Well, for starters, I chose to homeschool our kids again. I wanted them close. And we signed up to go back overseas. Again. This time to another tropical island on the far eastern side of Indonesia: Guinea.
After being asked by Chris about two places that we could go to, I answered, "Either" ... and then randomly opened my Bible and there on the page was Isaiah 6. "Here I am. Send me." I had prayed this prayer as a fourteen year old, but now at thirty-four, I knew what this meant.
It took almost two years before we were crossing the Pacific again. We walked out of the small-town Indonesian airport and across the street to our mission's base. The sun was bright, spit wads of red beetle-nut decorated the road, and my senses couldn't take everything in. This is where we would live. And I didn't know for how long.
It'll be nine years this summer since I first entered that bright sunny base. No winter, spring, or fall. Just summer. Every. Day. Combine these nine years with the previous seven and you've got sixteen years in Indonesia. Sixteen years of summer. It is these days that I now wish to recount.
Let this be my song of praise for the hard times and the good, for the heart breaking and the redeeming. He is not safe, but He is good. To You, O LORD, I write this symphony.