Sometimes I wonder if I missed my calling in life. What was I really supposed to be when I grew up? A writer? A dog trainer? Working my way through the ranks of a therapeutic horseback riding stable? A teacher (eek!)? If I opened the door of unchosen professions wider, we’d start seeing wisps of Hannah on exotic archaeological digs, or Hannah as a stodgy old museum curator wandering dusty halls, or Hannah the college professor publishing historical papers as a hobby (I particularly like her stylish yet professional glasses).

I talked myself out of every single one of those occupations, mostly because I didn’t think I could cut it. I couldn’t cut it, and about a million other more qualified, passionate, brilliant people were doing the same thing. So why should I even try? It’s a horrible way to go through life and I almost missed out on one of the most fulfilling jobs I could have encountered by being that way. The first time I went to PNG I met (and secretly longed to be) the PNG survey team. They were all gifted, intelligent, and doing something that certainly qualified as the perfect job, in my estimation. They were writers completing reports after each survey that detailed the people group they visited. This involved analyzing lots of language data, but it also involved simply sharing about the people and their history. They were museum curators, occasionally collecting data on dying languages and archiving the data for future generations. They were a strange new breed of researcher that embodied my admittedly faulty view of a high-level archeologist, traveling from remote location to remote location discovering hidden bits of the world. They were teachers, using their skills during furlough to raise up new surveyors. They were not dog trainers or stable managers, but I could forgive that because I imagined these superpeople took up such activities as hobbies. They were language surveyors and what they did was an inviting mystery to me. But there was no way I could do it.

I’ll never forget the day I was bouncing along the Highlands Highway after a weekend trip to a coastal town. We were heading back to Ukarumpa after a delightful time away, stuffed into a small van. I was sitting in the very back between two single people just beginning to learn of their attraction to one another. It was fun to people-watch their interactions as they danced around touchy topics, but I also rather wished they had just sat next to one another instead of talking over my lap. Directly in front of me was the head of the survey team. He asked how teaching was going and various other distracting questions about my history. He then asked about my long-term plans and whether PNG was included in them. I thought rapidly about talking to him of my interest in survey, but I was scared he would make it clear that my kind wasn’t welcome in survey (I can have some pretty crazy thinking occasionally… just occasionally). Of course he didn’t say I was too dull a crayon for survey, or even remotely indicate the idea was meritless. Instead, he asked for some details of my plan and then nonchalantly stated that it was sound.  

Here we were using a visual tool to ask people what langauges they use in various church activities.

The unlooked for encouragement was all I needed to push me over the edge. His casual response to what I’d been thinking about for weeks is what finally started the snowball that landed me back in PNG doing my dream job. I’ve found something else now that’s even more delightful and fulfilling, but I plan to always be part of the survey process in PNG with Brian. Ray is certainly a consuming boss, but when we get back we’ll work out a balance between my new life as Mom and my old life as surveyor. And when those wondering thoughts enter my head, I’ll just look at the little girl and remember the path that, by God’s grace, brought Brian and her into my life. Nope, self, you didn’t miss your calling.