Come Fly With Me

The furthest I have ever traveled from home was not only about geography. It was about how far a person can be stretched before he begins to understand who he is. Papua New Guinea. Nineteen eighty-three. I was seventeen, equal parts bravado and naivety, convinced that God and adventure were waiting for me just beyond the horizon.

The journey began in Florida, at something called the Lord’s Boot Camp. Romantic name. Very unromantic lifestyle. We lived in canvas tents. Rain soaked us without apology. The William Tell Overture blasted at five in the morning whether you liked classical music or not. We ran obstacle courses against other country teams. Winners got smug. Losers got dish duty and the joy of scrubbing latrines.

We learned construction basics. How to swing a hammer with purpose instead of guesswork. How to mix concrete that does not crumble. How to get blisters in places you did not know had skin. We memorized forty Bible verses in two weeks. Not the popular coffee mug ones. The ones that bite. The ones that tell you sacrifice is not optional.

After boot camp, our team of thirty teens and four leaders boarded a bus. Florida to California. Hours of heat, chatter, and questioning what we had signed up for. From LAX we flew five hours to Honolulu. Just long enough to feel the ocean air and imagine paradise. Then eleven hours across the Pacific and over the international date line to Sydney. Time bent. We lost a day without permission. Then another Air New Guinea flight to Port Moresby. Then a truck north, deeper into a part of the world I had never imagined.

Wewak became home for the summer. A tent compound carved out of tropical humidity. We built a road and rebuilt a washed-out bridge. Swing a pickaxe long enough and the blisters become calluses. Calluses become confidence. Sweat becomes a prayer the body understands better than words.

I remember the rich brown soil. I remember the smell of diesel and wet wood. I remember the first time a local child watched us work with eyes that were curious and cautious at the same time. And I remember thinking that the world is both bigger and more intimate than a boy from Alberta ever imagined.

You could say the distance was nearly fifteen thousand kilometers from home. But the real distance was measured in steps away from childhood. A plane ticket will take you across an ocean. A summer like that will take you across yourself.

When I look back now, I see a young man learning something harsh and holy. That faith is not a souvenir. That service costs more than donation money. That flying far can bring you closer to what matters.

The furthest I ever traveled from home took me somewhere I still carry with me. Even now, all these years later, I can close my eyes and hear the jungle breathing.

I write

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