“Oh Mom! Does Daddy have to go away again?” chorused the girls.

It was November 21, 2012, and John was finishing packing the last few items into his daypack for a two-week trip to Ama. As I walked into the room that morning, he looked up at me and said, “Honey, somehow I don’t feel right about this trip. Something just doesn’t feel right about me going to Ama this time.” John had made many trips to Ama, and his comment struck me as strange.

The girls and I walked him down to the boat to see him off. He gave the girls their hugs and goodbyes, and then it was my turn. As I hugged John, I didn’t want to let him go. We watched him climb into the boat along with the hired chainsaw operator, his assistant, the clinic nurse and his assistant. We waved until the boat was out of sight. Then the girls and I slowly walked back up the hill to our home with an empty feeling that wouldn’t go away.

A few days later, John’s boatman came back for more chainsaw oil. “Hey girls,” I said, “let’s make cards and write letters to Daddy to show how much we love and miss him.”

“Yahoo!” they cried. Cutting, coloring and pasting began in earnest while I began writing a long letter to John. We sent the cards, letters and goodies with the boatman when he returned to Ama.

November 26 was a foggy night, and a heavy rain had begun to fall. While preparing to retire for the night, I began to hear faint sounds of wailing far down the river. This was not unusual, but somehow it seemed different that night. I looked out the window toward the village. The sounds of wailing increased as the mourners came closer. “Mom, are you coming? We are really tired,” my girls called.

I was putting them to bed when we suddenly heard a loud banging on our door. Who would be visiting us so late at night? I wondered. I whispered to the girls to turn off their flashlights. The banging continued. “Pam! It’s Colin!” Recognizing the distressed voice of our friend from church, I opened the door and peered out into the darkness. Then came the words I will never forget: “Pam, John is dead!”

“No!” I cried out. “John is not dead!”

“Yes,” repeated Colin, “Your John is dead.”

By this time, the girls had joined me, and we raced down the stairs into the pouring rain, not knowing where to go, what to do, or whom to turn to for support. Faintly through the fog, I saw some village men and yelled out to them, “Tokengo! Where is Tokengo?” The clinic nurse, Tokengo, was a good friend to John and a big brother to the girls.

Stumbling down the steep hill toward the river, we hurried through the darkness hoping the news about John was a mistake. Just before we arrived at the river, a group of women met us and redirected us back up to the clinic. By the time we reached the clinic, it seemed as if the entire village had surrounded us.

There was John—my best friend and my girls’ Daddy—lying lifeless on a stretcher. Tokengo was listening for signs of breathing and a heartbeat. He tried over and over again and finally ushered the girls and me outside. With tears streaming down his face, he said, “Pam, there’s nothing I can do. I am so sorry.”

I couldn’t hold in my fear and grief any longer, and I began to cry. Returning to the clinic with Tokengo and the girls, I just stared at John’s lifeless form and pleaded with God to perform a miracle like He did with Lazarus.

As the girls and I returned to our house, helplessness washed through me. I knew the next step was to contact the AFM home office and report John’s death. In the downpour, I hooked up our satellite phone and prayed that it would connect. A voice answered, “Hello, this is Lawrence Burn. How can I help you?”

“Laurence, this is Pam in Papua New Guinea. There has been an accident, and John is dead.” “What did you say?” asked Laurence in disbelief.

I repeated my short message, and then I dissolved in tears. “Laurence, what do I do now? Please help me!” I sobbed.

After the phone call, I returned to the clinic, still hoping I would wake up from this nightmare and find John assisting Tokengo with another patient. But it was not to be. John was still lying on the stretcher, pale and still.

As the girls and I returned to the house, we found a few men waiting to speak with us. Elder Mica, John’s boatman and a good friend began explaining what had happened in the woods that afternoon at about 3 p.m. While John and several others were standing around waiting for the next tree to be cut down, a branch connected to a jungle vine 130 feet above them broke. Everyone heard the sound and began to dash out of the way. The branch struck John on the head, knocking him to the ground. He was killed instantly. He did not suffer—for that I am grateful. The closest medical services were eight hours away by motor canoe. Later, we learned that his skull had been cracked, his neck broken, and his right arm also broken in two places.

The rainclouds dispersed and the sun came up the next morning, but I had a hard time noticing it. My heart ached. Making my way outside, I tried again to connect with AFM by satellite phone. For the next three hours, I sat on the hill overlooking the valley and river, trying to sort out all that had happened in the last 10 hours. Overwhelmed again, I began to cry uncontrollably. I looked up in the sky full of beautiful, fluffy clouds and cried to the Lord. “Oh Lord! Please help me through this difficult time. I cannot do it on my own. Give me the strength and peace that I need!” Instantly, I felt such peace flowing through me that I knew God was with me and cared about our future.

Despite the peace in my heart, I still wondered, “Why, Lord?” Sitting on that hill in front of our mission home, I had time to reflect on the last nine months of our lives. We fully believed God had called us to Papua New Guinea to serve in His mission field. When we first arrived at May River Mission, it did not take long for the news to spread through the jungle that the prayed-for missionary family had finally arrived. People walked for days through the jungle to visit us and ask for help. John had great compassion for the people and helped them any way he could. He visited villages up and down the river, meeting church members and encouraging them. People asked for Bibles, songbooks and literacy books for their children, and we helped supply them. John began working on a student missionary program so we could reach more villages for Jesus. He heard about a school in the remote village of Imombi that had closed for lack of teachers. Compelled by his belief in education, he fixed up the classrooms and recruited teachers. The school opened this January.

As word spread, more villages began requesting John’s help. John traveled from village to village giving them hope, encouragement and most of all heartfelt love. By meeting the needs of the people, he showed them Jesus’ love.

The sound of an approaching helicopter brought my thoughts back to the present. It would soon transport the girls and me, along with John’s body, to Port Moresby. Walking away from our PNG home was very hard. I had begun to love these people and settle into our new lifestyle. Mourners wailed loudly as the whole village led us up to the helicopter. I can’t leave these people without giving them some type of encouragement and hope for the future, I thought. Just before climbing into the helicopter, I addressed the crowd. “Please do not give up! Keep looking to Jesus. Encourage each other, and I will do my best to find another missionary to carry on the work John began. We worship a good God who loves and cares for us. I love all of you. If I do not see you again on this earth, we will meet on that glorious resurrection morning with John when Jesus will take us all
to heaven.”

As the helicopter lifted us higher and higher, I looked down on the sea of devastated, hopeless faces of the people of May River. The Missionary they had prayed for so long had been snatched away. My heart went out to them. We had answered God’s call for their sakes. Our family had worked so hard to live out Matthew 25:35 among them. We invited people to eat at our table, provided them with clean water, gave strangers a place to stay, clothed those in need and visited the sick and dying. Satan wasn’t happy with the work we were doing, and he did his best to stop it. Oh God, I cried, why did this have to happen? Again, I felt the weight of emptiness and loneliness crushing me. How I yearned for the assurance of God’s presence in my life.

“Look, Mommy!” cried Abby, “Look at the beautiful rainbow in the clouds!” Tokengo later told me that the rainbow seemed to encircle our helicopter all the way to town. Again God showed me that He was with us, that He loved us and cared about our future and the future of the people in the Sepik region. He has wonderful things planned for the future because John laid down his life for the people of Papua New Guinea.

John was a wonderful, spiritual man and was ready to fall asleep in Jesus. Before we left the States, John said he wanted to be working in God’s mission field until He returns. With tears streaming down my face once again, I realized that John did get his wish. The next thing he will see is Jesus’ face.

On the plane back to the States, I had many more hours to cry, pray and think about the future of our people and the surrounding villages. My heart continues to ache for the people of Papua New Guinea, and I will continue to pray for someone to take John’s place. Who will continue to nurture them and bring them closer to Jesus? I don’t know. Who will bring teachers in for the children and start schools? I don’t know. Who will continue to open up airstrips so health services can come in? I don’t know.

O Lord, my heart is so heavy right now with many questions and no answers. I continue to ask You for strength each and every day, and also strength for the people we left behind. _They are still mourning the loss of their prayed-for missionary, and they are wondering what will happen next. I wanted so badly to stay and continue John’s work, but I knew I couldn’t on my own. _Lord, You are such a loving, understanding and caring God. I know You love those people with all Your heart. Keep me patient until you reveal the missionary who will take up our work.

God has called His people to spread the Gospel to the whole world, to give our all for His service. We live in such comfort and ease that we don’t really notice the needs of others around us. Are we willing to give up our expensive cars, homes, entertainment and fancy clothes for the Lords’ work? Are we willing to step out of our comfort zones to reach the unreached for Jesus Christ? He is coming soon, and we don’t have long to work.

I challenge each and every one of you to pray and step out in faith for your Lord. Ask Him what His will is for you and where He would have you to go. Be willing to follow Him no matter what it costs. There is no better place to be than where God wants you to be.

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