At some point, we crossed paths with a walking Folopa. I remember one man specifically because he was carrying a young boy on his hip. The face of the young boy is etched in my memory because he had a bump the size of a baseball on the side of his head. The man approached Neil for his diagnosis and assistance. The Folopa know that Neil is not a doctor, but they also know that he is their only access to medical assistance by medicine, radio, or airplane evacuation. As the Folopa man described the boy's malady Neil touched the bump in a first attempt to gauge its cause or remedy. Other Folopa men and women drifted to the steps at the door of Neil's house to participate in the diagnosis and prescription. Neil agreed to consult with a doctor by radio the next morning.

The sun sets quickly in the mountains. Neil and I withdrew into his house to prepare for the evening.

When I say "house," you need to think "Robinson Crusoe." Neil built the house from mostly local materials with local assistance. The walls, floors, and ceilings are rough hewn hardwood planks. The roof is zinc. The windows are screened and shuttered. The weatherproofing is minimal. Twelve volt electricity is provided by solar panels and a bank of batteries. The electricity is used primarily for interior lighting and powering the shortwave radio. No phones. The refrigerator runs on kerosene. The stove runs on wood, and pans on the top serve as hot-water heaters. Rain barrels catch water. A five-gallon filter converts rainwater to drinking, cooking, and bathing water. The shower is a five-gallon bucket, with holes punctured in the bottom, hung from an overhead pulley. The only plumbing is to drain sinks and the shower to the outside.

Neil opened the window to get some fresh air circulating, handed me a broom, then turned to stoking the stove before the sun set. I used the broom to sweep the carpet of dead insects from the floors. If you've heard that there are approximately 200 million insects for each human on the planet, I can testify that Fukatabe has considerably more than that per capita average. As the sun set, Neil turned on the 12 volt lighting and lit a few candles. Our dinner came from a can but tasted like a feast after a long day.

The village sounds drifted through the open windows as we sat and talked. Since we knew almost nothing about one another, we began covering the basics of background, education, families, work, and ministry. The general flow of the conversation was increasingly personal. Facts and figures gave way to people and feelings. I had just gone through a difficult ministry transition from MAF to Wycliffe Associates. Neil was in year 28 of the Folopa New Testament translation and was near exhaustion for the umpteenth time in those years. The silence of Fukatabe began overflowing into our conversation as the heaviness in our hearts punctuated our words.

Around 2am Neil asked me a question: "Do you think I've wasted my life here in Fukatabe?"

For several long moments I was speechless. I couldn't believe that Neil had asked me, a near stranger, this question. I couldn't believe that he was uncertain of the value of his life's work. I couldn't believe that anything I could say might make a difference. I couldn't believe that God put me in this place at this time to answer Neil's question.

So here's approximately what I said: No, I don't think you've wasted your life. I don't even think you've wasted a part of your life. You've done something that no one else in the world has done. No one else cared enough for the Folopa people to move to Fukatabe with their family and invest 28 years in translating God's Word through blood, sweat, tears, sickness, and injury into Folopa. No one else knows them or touches them like you do. No one else paid the price you've paid. No one else listens to them or loves them personally. You've changed Folopa history and eternity. There are a lot of ways you could have wasted your life, but this isn't one of them. God guarantees the outcome.

"As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: it will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it." Isaiah 55:10-11

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