She and her husband Brian, an MAF pilot, are based in Nabire, in Papua, Indonesia. Heather’s role takes a variety of forms, from caring for their three young children to hosting visiting missionaries and pilots in their home, to creating a character training program for local MAF staff. But using her artistic abilities to build up the local church gives her a special joy.

“I believe anyone can (and should) use their talent for the Lord, whether it’s teaching, IT, flying, writing, art …  We can all use our talents and training for the glory of God,” says Heather. “I think it’s exciting to think of all the different ways we can serve Him. The body of Christ and variety of talents He created is beautiful.”

Recently Heather gave a presentation to Sunday school teachers at a local church in Nabire. She displayed artwork from a book she illustrated and dispelled some of the myths surrounding Jesus’ birth.

“The book takes a closer look into the culture of the time surrounding Jesus’ birth,” says Heather.

She touches on how there are a lot of details missing in Scripture surrounding the nativity story. And while we tend to view the nativity story through western eyes, she says a Hebrew of that time would fill in the blanks quite differently in their mind.

“A Hebrew of that time would think, ‘Well, of course they put Him in a manger. That’s what we all do.’”

A close-up of the sketch reveals the lower part of the home where families kept their animals at night. The raised level is where the family lived. Divots were carved in the stone floor as feeding troughs. When a Hebrew baby was born, the parents would line the trough with sheep’s wool and that would be the baby’s bed.

The upstairs room you see in the illustration is the kataluma. It’s the word used for “inn” in Luke 2:7. A more accurate translation is “guest room.”

“It means ‘upper room,’ which is where people put guests in their home,” explains Heather. “It’s not a public place. A different word is used in the story of the Good Samaritan, which was indeed a public place of lodging.

The author, Jared Burkholder, fills in more blanks by placing Mary at no more than six months pregnant when the couple arrived in Bethlehem (based on travel back and forth to visit cousin Elizabeth, travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem, etc).

“Dr. Burkholder writes his version of the Christmas narrative with Joseph and Mary staying with relatives in Bethlehem. This is a more culturally accurate assumption,” adds Heather. “With all of the family there for the census, now this statement makes sense, ‘There was no place for them in the guest room’ (Luke 2:7).

“Since they had time in Bethlehem before giving birth, it would have been cultural to arrange for a midwife to come. So Mary was likely in the living room, attended to by a midwife, and animals watching on from the lower portion of the home.”

This presents a different picture from the westernized nativity drama that most of us grew up with—and the idea of a mean innkeeper rejecting them. However, Heather is quick to emphasize that the main point remains the same: “The King of kings was born in an ordinary meager home among His people… not in a palace for kings.”

On Christmas Eve this year, Heather will be doing a live art presentation based around the book. She’s had special training with Eternity Arts in Michigan, where she learned how to become a gospel chalk artist.

“My drawings usually have a hidden picture that I have drawn ahead of time (Using blacklight chalk) that is revealed in the end with blacklight. This hidden picture at the end drives the message home for a lasting impact,” says Heather.

Heather has different versions of her chalk art presentations, for Christmas, for Easter, for missions conferences, etc.

“Art ministry is so effective because it breaks cultural and language barriers,” explains Heather. We usually only remember about 20% of what we hear, but 80% of what we see. Boy, put those two together and I’m etching a message on someone’s mind that they will never forget.”

“It has been amazing to see how God used art for His kingdom over my past 14 years of chalk art ministry.”

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Recently, we joined some of our teammates and hiked to a waterfall that is near our home. None of us had been there before so we were all exploring and finding our way for the first time. We didn’t know where the end of the trail and the reward of the waterfall would be. As we ascended a pretty steep hill, I watched as one person would lead for awhile and then take a break to the side. Then the next person would step forward and lead the way so the other could catch their breath.

As I watched this unspoken interaction, I was reminded that we’re all in this together. Not just in hiking, but also in everyday life. Each of us has struggled at different times and needs to take time to catch our breath. We become frustrated with culture or language. We get homesick.  Someone catches a stomach bug and needs some extra help. We meet together every week to share our highs and lows. We celebrate each other’s victories and pray over our struggles.

When one of us is down, someone else steps forward to help guide the way. We need each other as we navigate this life God has called us to. We’re here to encourage each other by listening, relating, and sharing what we have with the other who has a need. I believe this is a beautiful picture of the way God intended the church to look.

All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need.
Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts. —Acts 2:44-46

I am especially thankful for this as we come into our first holiday season away from our loved ones. While our families back in America can never be replaced, I’m thankful we can share this time with our MAF family here. Highs and lows, victories and struggles; we’re all in this together.

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My biggest fans have been, and will always be, my parents. No matter what any of us kids wanted to do in life, they encouraged us and stood on the sidelines cheering for us.
Now it’s my turn to cheer for them.

There are many difficult things about being a missionary overseas. Unfamiliar food, a different culture, driving on the other side of the road, constant heat, and trying to find clothes to fit our kids who seem to grow overnight. But by far the hardest thing I face here is the separation from those I love.

As hard as that is for me, it’s just as hard on my parents!

Our kids were nine and seven years old when we left to serve with Mission Aviation Fellowship in Indonesia. Imagine what it was like for my parents as they said goodbye to their grandkids knowing they would only see them every two years. It was a herculean feat of great love!

I try to keep them up to date with pictures and anecdotes, but I know the distance leaves a hole in their hearts. And not having them near leaves a hole in our lives as well. Grandparents are a treasure and there is so much to learn from them. When we’re together, I love seeing my kids spoiled as only grandparents can do. They just hold a special place in my children’s lives.

My parents helped us in any way they could as we prepared to move, always investing in our lives no matter where we lived. The kids are now 14 and 12 and already taller than their grandma. And my parents have missed the little milestones—all the centimeters along the way. They’ve faced empty seats at holidays and missed out on countless school programs.

They never complain, though. They never ask us to come home or make us feel guilty for being far away. They just remain on the sidelines, waving their pompoms and praying for us.

Do you know a missionary family who’s serving overseas? Pray for the parents and grandparents back home who are missing their adult children and grand kids. Let’s cheer these heroes on and lift them up before the Lord often.

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I’ve heard these words many times. God has asked my family to do many hard things and through each situation someone says that phrase. Joining MAF and preparing for our first term overseas has been no exception to this scenario.

The truth is, years ago I would have been the one saying that. I thought “Never could I ever…”

• Be a foster parent
• Adopt a special needs child
• Bury my child
• Sell all my possessions
• Parent three teenagers

I didn’t think I could make it through any of those things. When I found myself facing those situations, I didn’t walk into any of them full of confidence and pride knowing that everything would work out just as I envisioned. Rather, with each one—whether I was feeling scared, inadequate, or overcome with grief—I claimed the promise found in Hebrews 13:20-21:

“Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep,  equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

God is so gracious. He will never call you or me to something and then just leave us there. He stays right by our side, comforting, teaching, and equipping us one day at a time. I’ve found that it’s important for me to stay in His word and surround myself with people and resources to stay healthy and growing. I need to do my part and He is ALWAYS faithful to do His.

Now my family is getting ready to add two more things to that list:

• Leave all our friends and family
• Move overseas in full-time missions

Is it a little scary? Yes!

Is it exciting? Yes!

Is God preparing us and guiding us to this? Absolutely!

There are many things in life that I’ve been tempted to say “never could I ever” to. I’m so thankful that I haven’t let fear rule, which would have kept me from the tremendous blessings God had (and still has) in store.

I challenge you, and myself, to never say never again. Instead, let’s say, “Your will, Lord, and in Your power.”

I can’t wait to see what He has planned next!

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The head of our household is away again for another week, and I am “holding down the fort.” What an interesting phrase. Doing it is as exhausting as it sounds. Alone—no one to share the daily chores and raising of the kids. And why do the nighttime noises seem louder and the smoke detectors beep in the middle of the night when he is away?

While he’s gone, life goes on as usual: teaching, disciplining, laundry, cleaning, and answering the dreaded “What’s for dinner tonight?” Often it’s hot dogs and mac and cheese when “Dad” is away. I spend my time trying to make the days special while he’s gone and finding creative ways for the kids to keep in touch with their dad until he’s home again. The kids and I do it because we are part of the team with Dad. Our family works together to see that the work is done.

Sometimes it feels less glamorous to be the one left behind. He packs his bags and heads off to help with a maintenance project or to learn a new skill. We wave, he goes, and our lives remain the same—just without him. We miss him, we are proud of him, and it is a sacrifice we are willing to make to see the work continue.

Missionary moms and wives around the globe are doing this every day, in different places and for different reasons. So here’s a shout-out to the ladies who do an amazing job of doing their part without much fanfare. No plaque or engraved pen presented in appreciation. No rah-rah sessions here.

I see you out there, but more importantly…

Our God—El Roi—is the One who sees us. He is our Shepherd, and though we might not have a plaque or a pen with our name on it, we know our name is written on the palms of His hands.

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That Saturday night seemed like any other. It began raining around 5:30 p.m., like it had for many weeks during this extreme rainy season. Even though I had a scary experience with running into some flooding while taking a friend back up to school around 8:30 p.m., I was able to get home and had no idea what other terrors would transpire that night. Our family awoke the next morning to the disturbing news that a severe flash flood and landslide had happened not long after we had gone to bed. Houses had been swept away, and thousands of people were displaced. Those who had lived in the valley behind the school climbed the school hill in search of safety, but many of them had lost family members as well as their homes.

The next week was a blur as our mission community worked hard to care for the needs of the refugees who had fled to the school. Some cooked, some sorted and distributed donated clothing, some cleaned bathrooms. Others from Indonesian churches brought clothing and stayed to help. Several restaurants from the local community brought delicious meals for the refugees. Each time a new group would show up, it made me want to cry. There was something beautiful in their coming to help. It made me feel like we weren’t alone trying to care for the needs of these hundreds of people. God was there. He was sending help. He was sending comfort. He was answering prayer.

As the week went on, I lapsed into doubting God’s goodness. There was so much suffering, so much loss. More stories surfaced each day. How could God allow such suffering? I finally just told Him how I was feeling. I had tried so hard to be strong and to keep a good perspective. But immediately I felt a release. I just needed to be honest about my doubts. And then I could feel Him close to me again, like He actually enjoyed working through my doubts with me. He reminded me that through the hard things and the hard times, we get to see God’s heart. I thought back to all the people who had come to help and bring comfort to the destitute, and I realized I had seen His heart—even through the flood.

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Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.”
—Lamentations 3:22-23

I didn’t realize how deep the rut had grown until we started to spread our wings again.

Doing the same thing every day can sometimes be a comfort in a foreign country. At least you can count on your routine to be the one thing that is constant.

Our routine is breakfast, homeschool, clean house, wash dishes, wash clothes, make supper, then fall into bed to do it all over again the next day.

We’ve lived in our isolated little town for over three years now. Though small, it is like any other city in the world, with noise, garbage, and unfriendly or looking-for-trouble kinds of people. It doesn’t always feel safe in town, so the kids haven’t been going shopping with me. It takes extra effort for our whole family to go out, so most often we’ve been choosing to stay on our base.

But lately I’ve begun to realize that what has felt safe and routine has also caused us to miss out. We’ve been in a rut!

We have been back from furlough for six months already, and last week we finally ventured to eat supper in town again. After a successful night out with only one “habis”—something not available on the menu—it felt good to get out and break the cycle of our routine.

This morning we jumped on our motorbikes and headed on a short trip to remember this beautiful country. We left the crowded city behind and encountered the river, the mountains, and friendlier people outside the city limits.

God is faithful to provide us with new beginnings. Every day, in fact. Sometimes we just need to climb out of our rut before we can recognize them. I am grateful He gives us opportunities to fall more in love with Him daily and helps us find joy in the obedience.

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One perk of serving with MAF in Papua, Indonesia, is the beautiful beaches. We don’t go often, since getting to our favorite beach requires bouncing over potholes for an hour, scaling narrow heights as the road winds down to the ocean, unloading all our gear from the car and pitching it into a local boat for a twenty-minute trip to “Middle Beach.” By the time you do all of that in reverse, plus cleaning all of your gear, it’s a full day’s event. But, when we do go, enjoying the white sand, aqua water and colorful ornamental fish always proves a refreshing break from noisy city life in our town of Sentani.

This particular day, my eighteen year old son C.J. and I were out snorkeling. I hovered weightlessly over an earth-toned anemone that housed a resident family of clownfish, almost squealing in delight as I noticed a tiny baby clownfish, hardly big enough to be seen.  C.J. swam up next to me and touched my arm. I popped up, still entranced by the clownfish.

“Don’t panic, Mom, but I just saw a shark.” C.J.’s voice had a steely intonation.

Thankfully, our family had some experience, years before, snorkeling in a different place in Papua that had reef sharks. Most of the time they didn’t seem to pay attention to us. That is the only reason I didn’t panic and bolt to shore. But, still, I didn’t like the thought of seeing one at this beach since we’d never seen one here before.

As we snorkeled our way back to shore, pausing here and there to look at the rainbow fish darting beneath us, C.J. was always behind me. Finally, it dawned on me that he was going to make sure that no shark would get me from behind. A calming comfort washed over me. I didn’t have to fear that somehow that shark would decide to come after me. I had a protector. I had a rear guard.

I was immediately reminded of the verse in Isaiah 52. And suddenly I understood what it must feel like to have God as our rear guard. Always vigilant, protecting, and making sure that nothing was going to surprise us from behind. What comfort we can take that God not only goes before us, but He also has our back.

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I heard a little commotion behind me and had barely turned around before the blowing of six horns interrupted the quiet of the river scene.

I chuckled, then rolled my eyes at my teammate. “Thanks a lot, Kathy.”

She shrugged, smiling big back at me.

Our friends had brought the hot dogs, corn on the cob … and apparently, enough loud paper horns for each of our six total kids. I brought watermelon, burgers, and my very quiet homemade pickles.

My teammate, Tim, got a bonfire going for our New Year’s barbecue at our MAF hangar next to the river in Palangkaraya, Indonesia. We joked and laughed and talked and ate. We sent the kids off to blow their horns—on the far end of the MAF property.

Pretty soon, people all over our town began shooting off fireworks. Many years, the rain of rainy season dampens the chance to use fireworks. That night, though, was clear and beautiful. The river broke up the reflection of the fireworks into even tinier little colored spots, then moved them along in its steady, relentless movement.

Indonesia has three New Year’s Days: one for the Muslim calendar, one for the Chinese calendar, and one for the first of January. Some of the other local traditions for the various New Year’s include praying special prayers, cleaning out last year’s spirits from a store, and giving away money to neighborhood kids.

Three chances for a New Year. Three chances for a fresh start. I like this country.

This year, I really wanted all the hope that turning a page promises. I spent time praying and reflecting. I came up with a “word of the year.” And I considered a couple of resolutions. But what has stuck with me into late January has been the relentlessness of many things in my life—things that seem to have no beginning or ending. Parenting. Homeschooling. The year-round humid heat here. Complicated needs with no easy solutions. Situations that could use a new beginning.

As the fireworks are replaced with almost nightly January rainstorms, I’ve shifted away from simple answers into day-in/day-out intentional choices of living well, loving well, and being grateful that His mercies (and help) are new every single morning.

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My husband and I had done missions before
But now, yet again, we would walk through that door
Of moving and fundraising, sharing with people
These introverts stretched, but God again faithful

When funds were all raised, we were given the go
We packed up our crates, suitcases in tow
Welcomed with heat and a language unknown
Again all was different, we had to be shown

Year one was spent trying to learn the new ways
While being the object of everyone’s gaze
New driving, new food, and a new way to live
Homesick and tired, we gave all we could give

We learned all we could, then the time came to move
Packing, good-byes, we were now in the groove
Arriving and greetings, for the kids a new school
My husband was glad to be using his tools

Riding the currents of overseas living
We’re grateful to those who are faithful in giving
So we can be Jesus’ hands, and His feet,
Trusting in Him with each challenge we meet

This Christmas again is a great time to think
That God gave us Jesus to be our True link
Now we have a way to our heavenly Father
We belong to His family, and it’s like no other

Be it serving in big ways, or sometimes in small,
Be it seen or in secret, we can give Him our all
So whether you live in your hometown or here,
The goal is His glory all times of the year!

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