By: Grace H.

One casual, unexpected conversation at a church event was all it took for Mike Rowles’s dream to finally materialize.

Mike, long-time supporter of MAF, had dearly wished to visit the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), to see both his World Vision adopted son and the MAF program in the capital city of Kinshasa. After tentatively making plans in fall of 2017 to visit, only to have them fall through, he left it up to God to decide when his long-awaited trip to the DRC would happen. In January 2019, the Lord started opening doors in a mighty way. After talking to an MAF pilot at Rock Harbor Church in Meridian, Idaho, Mike was connected with Nick Frey, the West DRC program manager at the time. Through the gracious help of various MAF workers, Mike’s much-anticipated journey to the DRC became a reality, at long last.

“Everything was just amazing. The Lord’s hand was in everything, through every day,” Mike said. From the moment he touched down in bustling Kinshasa to the moment he departed back to his home in Meridian, Mike’s trip was packed full of unexpected blessings. The morning after he arrived in the DRC, he had the privilege of joining the Kinshasa program staff on the worldwide day of prayer for MAF, worshipping and praying in French.

In the days that followed, Mike had the delight of meeting Japhet, his adopted World Vision son, a young man he had sponsored for many years, who lives all the way across the country in Lubumbashi. MAF helped with the logistics of finding a commercial flight to this area. The long flight was well worth the joy-filled experience of Mike and Japhet meeting for the first time in person, and “bonding instantly.”

Although the primary purpose of his trip was visiting Japhet, of equal importance was gaining a firsthand view of an MAF program. “I’m a general aviation pilot,” said Mike. “So I have a deep love for airplanes and what they’re doing in DRC with them, especially as there are very few roads there.”

Some particularly exciting moments were when Mike was able to fly right seat in a Caravan and then the PC-12 during separate trips to/from the remote village of Vanga. However, even better than the thrill of the flights was the people Mike met and interacted with during his adventure. “They’re just so kind and warm… It was delightful to meet everybody!” Mike said of all the MAF staff and families he got to spend time with. He appreciated the warm hospitality of Rod and Valerie Hochstetler, as they provided him a home away from home. And each night he enjoyed dinner with a different pilot family. Joining the whole MAF family—if only briefly—and putting real faces to the names he supports was a deep privilege, one that he will treasure for the rest of his life.

Other highlights of Mike’s trip were getting to learn more in depth about aircraft maintenance in the Kinshasa hangar, and sharing a short message on Philippians 4:13 during an MAF chapel.

Reflecting back on his unforgettable journey to the DRC, Mike now has a deeper understanding of what MAF does. “I saw it from the outside—reading FlightWatch, talking to MAF pilots,” said Mike. “But to actually, physically participate in flights and see what life is like there was just wonderful. Each day was special.”

It’s all too easy for missionaries to forget the uniqueness of their lives and the profound way God is using them. Getting caught up in the mundane, normal tasks of daily life overseas—from early mornings in the hangar, to doing laundry, to grocery shopping, to attending school—can sometimes cloud the beautiful reality and impact missions bring about. Visitors like Mike are a blessing because they provide a new perspective.

“Having an outsider come always helps us see things with fresh eyes,” said Nick Frey. “As they point out what they are seeing for the first time and asking questions, we realize we don’t even notice some of those things anymore.”

“It’s an amazing service that MAF does,” added Mike. “It daily changes lives for the people there [in DRC]. The heritage of MAF goes back so many years and shines brighter and brighter every day.”

The post Witness to the Work appeared first on Mission Aviation Fellowship.

As the sun rose in glimmering shades of gold and orange, my dad prepped the Kodiak for take-off. I strapped myself into the front passenger seat, the engine a powerful hum through the cockpit. We taxied down the runway and rose up into the clouds, bound for the hamlet of Mulia, located deep in mountainous Papua.

Flying in small airplanes has always been a part of my life — as the daughter of an MAF pilot, I’ve had many wonderful opportunities to fly into different remote villages and towns in Indonesia.

Soaring over verdant jungles, twisting rivers, and towering mountains never ceased to thrill me. With my dad at the helm of the airplane, the experience became all the more special. I often felt a deep peace while flying, with bright sunlight flooding the cockpit and the world thousands of feet below us.

Flying with MAF was never simply a fun experience for me, or just a way to view the astounding natural beauty of Indonesia — it was above all a reminder of the profound way God moves and uses even broken humans to make His name known to the ends of the earth.

Before I left my island home of Papua to return to America for college, I got to take one last flight into the highlands with just me and my dad. MAF airplanes in Papua are used to transport all sorts of unique cargo, from live pigs to motorcycles. On this particular flight with my dad, our cargo was especially precious. As dawn approached, the Kodiak was loaded up with cases of Bibles, in the tribal language of the Dani people group.

In the Western world, Bibles are easy to find, with a plethora of bookstores and online shopping available to us. Deep into interior Papua, however, Bibles are a scarce commodity — especially Bibles in one’s own unique language. I’m thankful that I got to witness the Word of God being brought into one of the most remote places on our planet. Maybe this flight wasn’t as seemingly essential or dramatic as, say, a medical evacuation flight, but it was every bit as important. Bringing spiritual nourishment — in this case, taking the form of Bibles in a Papuan tribe’s heart language — is just as vital as meeting physical needs.

As we landed in the village of Mulia, perched high up on a mountain ridge, I was so grateful for this one last opportunity to observe first-hand the impact MAF has had in both the physical and spiritual lives of thousands of isolated people.

The post Delivering the Good News, One Flight at a Time appeared first on Mission Aviation Fellowship.

We sit in a circle on the damp grass, the smell of woodsmoke cutting through chilly mountain air. As we play a wild game of duck-duck-goose, laughter and excited shouts bring more and more kids running to join our group. These Papuan children and I don’t speak the same language, but we’ve connected in a way that’s deeper than spoken words. Here in the village of Pogapa, both the locals and students from my high school realize that despite our differences, our worlds are closer than we think, as we learn from each other, share in each other’s pain and joy, and worship the same God. 

I attended a small international high school in Indonesia, which—though far from perfect—was a unique experience that shaped me into the person I am today. One of the most impactful events my school participates in is called “Outdoor Education” (OE).  Every year, my high school takes a two-week trip into remote villages deep in the heart of mountainous Papua, Indonesia. Its primary purpose is to educate the student body on the vibrant cultures of indigenous people in interior Papua.

Not only do we go on OE to learn from and interact with locals, we also go to serve. Work projects-from installing water tanks, to digging ditches for airstrips, to fixing roads-are always a key component of OE. Running kids’ clubs and HIV/AIDS awareness programs, setting up clinics, and showing the Jesus film are also important aspects. Worship sessions and personal reflection fill the mornings and evenings.

I went on OE four times throughout my high school career, and MAF played a significant role in every one. Without MAF airplanes, we couldn’t have gone to most of the villages we did. MAF was key in transporting my high school and the other volunteers in and out of our OE locations, as well as carrying loads of vital supplies needed for the trips.

Through MAF, I was able to meet people and experience cultures that I normally would never have the chance to connect with. I came face to face with the harsh conditions that thousands of Papuans live in, and yet simultaneously encountered profound beauty as the villagers graciously welcomed us into their lives.

Thanks to the patience and diligence of MAF pilots and hangar staff, we bridged the gap between two distinct worlds, as we strived to live out the radical love of Jesus through OE.

Whether it was eating sweet potatoes in a honai (traditional Papuan dwelling), singing in a local church, or helping give vaccinations to children, OE transformed the way I see and relate to Papuan islanders. I realized that we are all more alike than we assume, united through the body of Christ. At the same time, the depth of our human brokenness weighed heavily on me. We should seek to serve others as best we can, but in the end the grace of God is our only rescue.

The post Not Your Typical Classroom appeared first on Mission Aviation Fellowship.

“All right, I’d like everyone to share their name, their major, and where they’re from,” my professor said with a smile. It was a new semester at college, and I was sitting in one of my Bible classes when the inevitable “where are you from” question popped up, instantly filling me with dread.

I never know how to respond. No matter how many times it’s asked of me, it doesn’t get easier to react. Do I say I’m from Indonesia, where I’ve spent most of my life? Or Georgia, where my parents are originally from and where we stayed on furloughs? Or Idaho, where my family moved to a year ago? Or Chicago, where I currently live and go to school? I usually pick a response based on how enthusiastic I feel in the moment about sharing my story. For this particular class, I settled with the straightforward, “my family lives in Idaho.”

The dilemma I face, though it seems trivial, is a common quandary missionary kids grapple with. There’s usually at least two countries we could call home, and often we feel that we don’t completely belong in one or the other.  We drift between worlds — the world of our parents’ homeland, and the world where we grew up, which commonly involves multiple countries/cities/houses.

I feel like a nomad on this planet, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be entirely at home in one place, whatever home is. Still, I would never trade my upbringing in Indonesia, with all the extraordinary people and experiences that made my life more full and bright, for a childhood that was more “stable.”  Feeling not at home in any one place has pushed me closer to God, as I’ve realized that ultimately, I must find my true home in Him. This Earth is not our final destination; we are not meant to get too comfortable in it. As unpredictable as life is now, one thing is certain: we will someday reunite with God and have a home with Him for all eternity.

Living in Indonesia — a country grappling with pervasive poverty, natural disasters, and injustice —  has shown me that the world is not as it should be. That’s why organizations like MAF exist, as we strive to live out the love of God and set things right, even as we acknowledge the deep brokenness that only our Lord can mend. We must remember that we were made for a world beyond this one, and our truest home and security exists in God Himself.

From the soaring skyscrapers and steely winter skies of Chicago, to the humid jungles of mountainous Indonesia, I’m learning to seek home, my anchor in God.  As C.S. Lewis said, “I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death…. I must make it the main object of life to press on to that country and to help others do the same.”

The post Where Are You From? appeared first on Mission Aviation Fellowship.

It was a rice cooker. A simple, industrial, extra-large rice cooker, steam pouring from the lid. My eyes welled with tears as I stared at this particular cooking vessel.

I was waiting for lunch at my college cafeteria, and I struggled to hold myself together as I went through the line, got my food, and hurried back to my table.

Why?

Why had a rice cooker, of all things, made me so emotional?

I was a freshman at college, in the middle of a difficult second semester. It was also my first year living full-time in the States, repatriating as a MAF missionary kid (MK) from Indonesia. My transition to American and college life had initially been smooth, but the homesickness was always there—hovering darkly and threatening to spring upon me at any moment.

My family ate a lot of rice in Indonesia—it was cheap, easily accessible, and a staple for almost all Indonesians. Childhood memories flooded my mind as I looked at the rice cooker in my college cafeteria.

My struggles with homesickness, the longing for the familiar—my family, old friends, pets, my tropical island home, even the food—were erratic and never predictable. I would be completely fine one day, as I went to classes and hung out with my new college friends, and the next day, something as mundane as a rice cooker would have me weeping over my salad in the cafeteria.

Homesickness, especially the type MKs encounter, is never fun to deal with and is simply a part of living in our broken world. However, I would never trade my unique upbringing as a MAF MK for anything. My parents bravely lived out their calling to serve Jesus in a remote corner of the planet, and as a result we got to personally see the profound impact MAF has had on so many people.

The deep blessing of experiencing this in Indonesia is worth the homesickness, worth the pain of my heart striving to live in two worlds at once.

I’ve learned, and I’m still learning, to rest in the peace of knowing that God has a beautiful plan for my life and is consistent when my emotions are not. He sees and understands the hurt that comes with leaving a place and people you love and attempting to rebuild a home in a new and often daunting environment.

The post The Thing About Rice Cookers appeared first on Mission Aviation Fellowship.

My stomach churned as I scrolled through Facebook, watching a video of dark water flowing through streets and destroying buildings and bridges. My friends in Papua, Indonesia posted social media updates on deadly floods that hit after nights of heavy rain. I was deeply saddened and shocked to see photos of a familiar place rendered unfamiliar. So many people—including people I know—lost their homes and loved ones.

This year has been particularly difficult and uneasy for the Indonesian province of Papua. Massive flash floods, earthquakes, landslides, political unrest, rioting, and all the usual issues—sickness, poverty, lack of education—plague the island in a seemingly never-ending wave of hardship.

Meanwhile, I sit in my peaceful dorm room in downtown Chicago, feeling so very distant from Papua, the place where I grew up and called home. I get messages from my friends who still live in Indonesia, I read the latest news reporting on the various dilemmas Papuans faces, and I’m conflicted. I don’t know what to do.

I feel guilty for being in America, in a relatively safe and comfortable setting, gaining a wonderful education while my Papuan community struggles to survive halfway across the world. Helplessness looms over me as I wonder, “What can I even do to help? I’m not physically there; I can’t help with flood relief efforts; I can’t relate to the people who are terrified through all the rioting. I can’t actively serve in the way my friends who work with MAF in Papua can.”

It’s true – I can’t physically be there, but God is teaching me to be present in prayer. Though I’m sometimes tempted to believe prayer isn’t as powerful as it is, God hears. He hears our cries for justice and peace to reign, for physical calamities to cease, for families to be reunited in the chaos.

And so I pray. I pray for my jungle home, for the broken and beautiful place that is Papua. I pray our Lord Jesus will somehow work good through the horridness.

No matter where we are in the world, we must remember to lift up our brothers and sisters around the globe through bold prayer. We may not have the capacity to physically be in the same place as those who are hurting and oppressed, but we can still pray, send financial help, and encourage those seeking to make things right again.

As I go to classes and stroll down the streets of chilly Chicago, my mind drifts back to my friends in Papua and the many tragedies afflicting that rugged, remote island. I could let hopelessness overtake me, but instead I am thankful the same God who hears my prayers in America is the One who moves and comforts in Indonesia. He is the same God who calmed the storms on the Sea of Galilee, the same God who empowers us to serve courageously, the same God who will make all things new and “wipe every tear from their eyes.”

The post In the Wake of Distant Disaster appeared first on Mission Aviation Fellowship.

Crowded around me, the women of the village of Pogapa sang and hollered with all their might, their colorful woven net bags swinging from their heads. We ran up and down the airstrip, in search of greens and leaves for the bakar batu, a traditional feast where meat and vegetables are cooked with hot rocks in a pit dug into the ground. My friend and fellow classmate, Helen, and I had been standing by the pits, watching the preparations for the feast, when this big group of ladies came running down the hill towards us.  We spontaneously decided to join the group, which was on the hunt for various grass and leaves to line the bakar batu pits with. The women were delighted to have us along, and we must have run all over the place for at least an hour, singing traditional songs the entire time. It was a lot of fun, and I was excited to experience the culture of Pogapa in such a direct way. My last Outdoor Education was turning out to be an amazing one…

Outdoor Education (OE) is an incredible experience my whole high school, Hillcrest International School, gets to participate in every year. Students and leaders travel to a remote village in the heart of Papua for 10 days, serving the local people through different work projects, Kids’ Clubs, awareness presentations about HIV/AIDS, and just spending time with them, learning about their way of life. We go to serve, but every time we ourselves end up being so incredibly blessed by the very people we come to serve. MAF plays a huge role in enabling us to serve and be served by the indigenous people of Papua, as the villages we go to can often only be accessed by small plane. This year, I wouldn’t have been able to take part in my final OE, making amazing memories with the women during the bakar batu in the village of Pogapa, without MAF.

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