I walked into the chaplain’s office at the Christian college I was attending and said to the lady sitting at the front desk, “Hi, I am Kumar, and I want to be a student missionary.”
“Well, what do you have in mind?” Nancy asked as she stood up from her desk and reached over to pick up the call book.
“Well, I don’t want to go to the usual places like most student missionaries. I want to have a real missionary experience in a rugged, remote place.”
My optimism as an 18-year old college student had grown after reading the book of Acts in my dorm room. The life and journey of the apostle Paul had consumed my thoughts and I now imagined journeying across the globe to some remote place telling people about Jesus for the first time.
“So you are looking for a real adventure, huh?” she asked.
“Yes, exactly, like a frontier experience,” I announced with total naiveté.
She immediately closed the call book and looked straight into my eyes. “Did you say, ‘frontier?’” she questioned.
“Yes,” I said with hesitation. She had a weird look in her eyes. Why was she closing the call book? Did I offend her? Did she think I was kidding?
“I have the perfect place for you.” She paused. “The May River in Papua New Guinea. The Iwam people were only discovered one generation ago, and they are still living in the stone age.”
I was intrigued.
Nine months later, I was on an airplane to Papua New Guinea. It would take 26 hours by air, nine hours sitting on the back of a pick up truck, and 12 hours by motor boat before I got to the village of Arai, on the May River -- a tributary of Sepik, the second longest river in the world.
Working with a group of people who were one generation removed from Cannibalism took major adapting for a city slicker like me. That experience is where I got my mission bug. More than that, God taught me what “the least of these” really means, and how blessed I am to have resources to help others. Isn’t that what family is for?