We Do Not Lose Heart

By Kathy B. Taber

When Kathy, her husband Mark, and their six-month old daughter Sheri set sail for the small, remote island of Ngau for the first time they had no idea what experiences lay ahead of them. Stormy seas, leaky boats, hunger, sickness, sorcery, evacuation, war, and death. In utter weakness they cling to God's all sustaining mercy and grace as they attempt to learn the Ngau language and translate God's Word so that the Ngau people might know the redeeming love of Christ. We Do Not Lose Heart is a testimony to God's great faithfulness and all sufficient power to sustain His children in the most desperate situations. It triumphs in the awesome power of God's Word to change lives and transform communities as it brings life and hope and love and truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257391622

Book preview

e9781257391622_cover.jpg

We Do Not Lose Heart

A True Story of how God’s All-Sustaining Grace is Glorified in Weakness

Kathy B. Taber

Therefore, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart.

(2 Cor. 4:1)

© 2009 by Kathy B. Taber

Second edition, 2010

Published by Kathy B. Taber

Dallas, Texas

Cover design by Karen K. Taber

Photos taken by Mark Taber and Kim Sung-Wook

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture is taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. All rights reserved.

9781257391622

To all those who prayed for us . . .

God answered your prayers!

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Prologue

Part 1—The Early Years - 1987-1993

1. Our Initiation

2. Perseverance

3. Life on Ngau

4. Back to the City

5. Service

6. Sickness

7. Loss

8. Deliverance

9. Is this the End?

Part 2—Finishing the Task - 1993-2005

10. Lost Visas

11. Back Home

12. Growth in Faith

13. Growing Pains

14. Bringing the Good Seed

15. The Year of El Niño

16. The Miracle of Water

17. Sustaining Prayer

18. Spiritual Battles

19. God’s Word Changes Lives

20. War

21. God’s Word at the Right Time

22. Importance of Good Checking Procedures

23. Vision Expanded

24. Finishing the Translation

25. Julie

26. Dedication

27. God’s Word Transforms Communities

Prologue

When we headed for the tiny island of Ngau¹ in October 1987 with our six-month-old daughter Sheri, we had no idea of the adventures God had in store for us, nor the lessons to be learned. We did not yet know how fierce the battle would become, nor of God’s power to accomplish His purposes. This is a story of my weakness and God’s strength.

Part 1—The Early Years

1987-1993

e9781257391622_fig001.jpg

Sheri, at six months, opening the hearts of the Ngau people

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

2 Corinthians 4:7

1. Our Initiation

The freighter Frontier floated by the edge of the dock. Brown faces peered out of windows and leaned over the deck. People were milling all around the docks, up and down the ladder, and onto the deck like a line of busy ants at work.

Except ants stay in line and try not to bump into one another. That was not the case here. Everyone was bumping into one another, trying hard to shove ahead.

Watch the stuff, my husband Mark had said while he enlisted help to carry our 16 bags onto the boat.

I held on tightly to my six-month-old daughter, Sheri, as I surveyed the situation.

e9781257391622_fig002.jpg

People stared, many of whom had probably never seen a white baby before. I tried to ward off pinching fingers meant for fat white baby cheeks and the women who tried to grab my baby right out of my hands. Although I knew this was the way this culture expressed affection for children, it only made Sheri cry and irritated me.

The noise of all the activity was deafening and voices became high-pitched when their owners became excited. The lack of any breeze trapped the earthy odors in the humid air and made the unrelenting heat all the more suffocating and unbearable as I stood and wondered what my first trip to the island of Ngau would be like.

Mark and I had trained as linguists, believing God had called us to translate His Word for one of the 3000 people groups of the world yet without any Scriptures in their language. Mark had a burden to do translation in remote and unreached areas where the gospel had never penetrated before. He volunteered to do survey in these areas to determine the number of languages existing and the need for Bible translation.

Survey work in itself can be dangerous. On Mark’s first trip alone, he travelled the last 75 miles of the journey over open ocean on a 24-foot hand-hewn wooden sailboat. The wind and the waves rocked the small boat so violently that the drunken owner had to be tied down for fear he would fall overboard.

Mark agonized with sea-sickness and in the wee morning hours questioned God, I believe you are leading us to the Ngau people, but isn’t there an easier way? How can I ask my family to travel in these dangerous conditions and live like this?

A strange sense of peace had come over Mark as if somehow everything was going to be okay, although he couldn’t imagine how. Now here we were, a few months later, on our first trip to Ngau as a family. It was October, 1987.

e9781257391622_fig003.jpg

The sailboat Mark first traveled on to Ngau in 1987

Finally our belongings were in our cabin on the freighter and we were able to shut out the faces and the loud voices. We could not, however, shut out the heat. Sweat poured down our faces and soaked our clothes as we shoved boxes under beds and into corners.

The room was small, hot, and airless, but at least it was private. It had a bunk bed, another short bed, and a small desk which was under the only porthole window. As this was a freighter for hauling cargo, not a passenger ship, we had to rent a room from one of the crew members. Since he gave up his own bed, he charged us the equivalent of a hotel room. It was an exorbitant price for such a small, simple place, but at least it was private and we could keep an eye on our belongings.

The room came with a key for the bathroom down the hall, near the engine room. With no windows, it was unbearable because of the heat. There was a squat toilet and a rusty barrel full of water with a dipper for washing.

The drainage system was so poor that germ-infested water sloshed back and forth across the floor as the freighter swayed back and forth across the waves. Only a few minutes in that hot, closed-in oven brought a feeling of nausea even to a tough seaworthy stomach like mine.

e9781257391622_fig004.jpg

Bath time for Sheri on the freighter

We ventured several times onto the main deck which was shaded by a tarp and filled with zillions of people. They had stretched out their woven mats, surrounded by their few belongings, to mark their own sleeping territory. Along the sides of the freighter people had set up shop, selling cigarettes, soap, toothbrushes, candy, cookies, some medicines and even Coca Cola.

People were chattering away but stopped to yell out comments we didn’t yet understand. Everything seemed in complete confusion as people milled about aimlessly. The continuing invasion of personal space as hungry fingers ceaselessly reached to pinch Sheri’s cheeks left me increasingly angry. I felt threatened and the only thing I wanted to do was to run and hide in my room.

[It would take several years and several more trips before I would learn to enjoy traveling aboard that freighter. It was not until I realized people were just being friendly and their comments on the sharpness of my nose were only a compliment because they thought I was beautiful; not until privacy had lost some of its value and relationships became more important to me; not until I had fallen in love with the people and my heart would yearn for their salvation with a burning desire I could not ignore or put to rest. But this was just the beginning of our adventure—and sometimes it was almost unbearable.]

After a couple days and half a dozen stops we came to the island of Bubru. We got off for a few hours at Pati, a small town of about 1,000 people. It seemed everywhere we went we found more crowds of people. Kind friends took us home and let us bathe at their house. That cool water felt like a spring in the desert after those long hot days on the freighter. But after we reboarded, the heat and sweat soon erased the effects of our bath.

People were not the only passengers on those boats. Chickens, goats, and horses were also brought on board. The bigger animals were pulled up by rope onto the freighter and placed in the back. The stench constantly rose from those quarters. Occasionally scared goats would urinate, soaking the mats of those unfortunate enough to be sleeping nearby.

e9781257391622_fig005.jpge9781257391622_fig006.jpg

Finally, we arrived at the island of Mata, where we had to disembark. The small island of Ngau, our final destination, was still a full day’s ride by sailboat. The freighter didn’t stop at Ngau because it couldn’t enter the large coral reef which surrounded the island. So we had to get off the freighter and find another way