Friday

Out for a walk at Stearman Field

Training Day 2. Today would be my initiation to the real stuff of multiengine training: engine failure procedures. It began with the first takeoff. I pushed the power levers forward to the stops and began accelerating the plane down the runway for a normal takeoff. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Herb reach forward and pull something with a quick flick of his wrist. The plane immediately began a swerve to the right. It took a moment to register that one engine was dead and the other was going to pull us off the runway in a few short seconds. Another moment was lost in wondering why Herb just did that, but then the reality clicked and I quickly pulled the throttles to idle and stomped on the left rudder pedal to point the nose back to middle of the runway. My first encounter with a rejected takeoff.

Next was the inflight scenario. Herb gave me a bit more time to get used to this one. He began by slowing pulling the one throttle to idle while we were in cruise flight, allowing me to work out the control pressures needed to keep the plane flying straight. He had me fly along for some time in this manner, letting me experiment with turns and pointing out the anemic 50-foot-per-minute climb rate that we were just managing to maintain at Vyse speed. After I’d had some practice flying around with first the left, and then the right engine idling, it was time to do get some first-hand practice actually shutting down and feathering one engine, as one would have to do if the engine was malfunctioning. It was definitely a strange feeling to look out and see the propeller sitting motionless, a state that you usually only see when the plane is on the ground and parked. But that’s what this training is all about—learning that it’s quite possible and safe to keep flying the plane on one engine as long as you do it right and follow your training.

Herb walked me through the restart procedure and then it was time to go into the engine failure drills where I would learn how to react if an engine failed in a time- and altitude-critical phase of flight like shortly after takeoff. He gave a quick demo of the five-step procedure that he wanted me to do in order, and then gave me control and proceeded to cut an engine. The plane shuddered slightly and began yawing and rolling to the side. “Okay, fly the plane,” I mumbled, pushing in rudder and aileron to try to keep it flying straight. I suddenly realized that what all those training articles had said was right—I really had no idea which engine was out. But that’s what the procedure was for. With Herb’s prompting I labored my way through the steps, calling the number of each step out loud as I performed it.
“One…two…three…” Engine levers set for maximum power. “Four…five”. Flaps and gear up.

“Now identify the failed engine,” Herb commanded. I still didn’t quite know which one it was, but the next step in the procedure would fix that problem. I looked down at my legs. My left foot was pressing hard against the rudder pedal and the right foot was on the floor doing nothing. I slapped my right thigh and then pointed at the engine on that side. “That one is dead.”
“Okay, verify.” I pulled back the throttle on the right engine—if I had identified the wrong engine, there would be a noticeable loss of power and a corresponding yaw. There was no change. “Feather it.” I went through the motion of starting to feather the propeller to place it in a minimum drag position and Herb followed up by resetting the engine controls to give “zero-thrust”, which is a slight amount of power to simulate the feathered condition.

“Good. I’m giving you the engine back. Watch the rudder,” I heard Herb say, signaling the end of the exercise. I eased off the left pedal as the power on the right engine was restored. I relaxed my iron grip on the yoke and took a breath. “Alright, let’s do it again,” he said.

My legs felt like jelly by the end of the flight, following engine-out after engine-out. It was an empowering feeling, though, getting to see the time-tested procedure in action and programming the correct response into my muscle memory. I saw first-hand how easy it is to get things wrong unless you do the procedure methodically without skipping steps, like when I correctly identified the failed engine and then started to reach for the wrong throttle during the “Verify” step before I corrected myself and grabbed the correct lever. The procedure would have caught the mistake, but being careful to avoid rushing will prevent the majority of mistakes from happening in the first place. The last thing you want is to kill the good engine—it’s been done before.

Coming in after an evening "hop"

The following flight lesson took things to the next level, with engine-outs under the hood. Since an instrument-rated pilot who becomes multiengine-rated is probably going to go and fly IFR in a twin, it’s required to get training on how to handle engine failures in instrument conditions. By this point the drill was familiar and though the outside view was blocked, I was able to get the hang of keeping the plane under control and going through the Identify-Verify-Feather procedure. The confusion of which engine had failed was magnified by the lack of visual cues, but by focusing hard on the heading indicator to know which rudder to step on and then following the procedure, I was able to successfully keep things under control while the outside view was blocked.

With the intro at altitude completed, it was time to fly engine-out instrument approaches. Again, it turned out to be more manageable than I expected. The main difference was in having to remind myself that I was essentially committed to land once on final approach, because the typical light twin doesn't have the capability to fly a missed approach on one engine.

My legs held out for the flight—just barely. I was ready for a good, long rest by the time we made it back to Stearman Field. After we shut down, Herb informed me we had now gone through all the maneuvers that were required for the checkride. Tomorrow we would practice them up to standards, Friday morning we would fly to get warmed up and work out any bugs, and then I’d take my checkride. Whew!

Prairie Air Service - a great home away from home

Normally I'd be getting a decent case of pre-checkride dread by this point, to be complemented by a less-than-restful night before the actual test. Yet this time round, I was strangely relaxed. Perhaps it was due in part to how quickly the whole training experience was going, not much time to stress out about the checkride. It was also largely thanks to the great setup the school had for its students. Herb’s house was located on the airport, and the building served as classroom, student lodging, dining room, and hangar. I had a quiet, comfortable bedroom and access to any training books or videos I wanted to study. Food was provided, and Herb’s wife Kathy cooked dinner for everyone in the evenings and she always made sure students felt welcome and well taken care of. There was no stress of trying to figure out meals while living out of a hotel and driving to the airport; everything was right there and I just literally had to only step out the door to go flying. Even the schedule was relaxed, as Herb made it clear he wasn’t a morning person and that I could expect to fly no earlier than 9:30.

And so by this point in the week the days had already taken on a familiar rhythm: wake up, eat breakfast while I read from my Bible, and then have the first lesson at 9:30 or more often 10:00. The afternoons were free for studying and then after dinner at 5:00 we would go up for a second flight. Then I usually went for a long walk on the airport property, and if the temperature was mild when I got back I would join Herb and his wife Kathy on their patio to sit and chat late into the evening. Though I could expect an intense workout with high expectations from Herb while in the plane, all that stayed in the cockpit and the rest of the day was just stress-free. It was lovely.

I went to bed Thursday evening realizing this was so different from any other checkride I’d had to date. No need to wake up before dawn to get ready. No need to do a long drive or fly myself to the test. And the fact that I still had one more training flight before the test itself somehow made it seem like just another event in the next day’s schedule. I slept soundly, with none of those exhausting I’m-running-behind! dreams to bother me.

Friday was another day of unusually calm air. I’d enjoyed the good fortune of being able to fly in very stable air this whole week—something not normal for Kansas at this time of year. Apparently, high altitude smoke layers from West Coast fires were messing with the weather pattern.

Herb had me run through each maneuver, demanding precision and promptness. I did my best, making a few mistakes here and there, but in general I felt it was a decent performance. It was certainly nice to be already warmed up for the afternoon’s flight—and this was one of Herb's secrets to having a high pass rate. 

But I was rather tired too! During the week I had made it a habit to chair-fly every time I came back from a lesson, reviewing mistakes and mentally rehearsing procedures to get the steps down smoothly, but today I felt that trying to do more mental practice was going to be counterproductive. Just take it easy. There’s no need to cram anything else; you’re ready, I convinced myself. So I went a took a nap. I felt great after that.

As 3:00 p.m. approached, I heard a vehicle approaching. Peeking out my window blinds, I saw the car pulling into the driveway. Yup, that was him. It’s showtime.

The checkride went as smoothly as I could hope for it to go. Herb had done his job well; the actual test itself was easier than flying with Herb. Granted, I made a few mistakes here and there—no checkride is error-free—but as the examiner continued to tick off boxes on his checklist and direct me to do the next maneuver, I grew more and more confident. The end was coming within sight.

“Okay, give me a normal takeoff from here and a normal landing back in Benton and we’ll call it a day. Sound good?” I nodded happily. I had finished all the “hard” stuff and all that remained was to make it back to the home airport without doing anything dumb. I stopped the plane in front of the hold-short lines at Newton airport to take a moment to set up the avionics for the leg back. I started to flip AWOS and CTAF radio frequencies for my destination airport into the number one radio when I realized what I was doing. “Oops,” I said sheepishly, restoring Newton’s traffic advisory into the active frequency. “Getting too far ahead of myself.” It was the last silly thing I did on the flight. The rest went off like clockwork, and as we pulled off the runway back at Stearman Field, I couldn’t keep myself from thinking, Michael, I think you made it...!

One of my favorite kinds of handshakes

My examiner was relaxed and nonchalant, as only people who do this job day in and day out can be. As I shut down the engine, he wrote down the Hobbs reading and then asked, “So you’re planning to do the multiengine instructor rating as well?” I nodded. “It’s the easiest of the three instructor rides. You’ll have no problem.”

A few minutes later my old plastic pilot certificate had a hole punch in it and I was holding a piece of paper with the words Temporary Airman Certificate at the top.
One checkride down. One to go.

Meet My Twin

You never know who you might meet on a plane...

As I walked down the aisle of the Southwest Airlines plane, I surveyed the rows of seats trying to decide which one I would choose for the flight. I spotted a man in a pilot’s uniform sitting by the window—perfect, that would be a good row to pick. I sat down in the aisle seat, sneaking a glance at the epaulettes on his shoulders. Four stripes; he was a captain. He was also occupied with his tablet, so I didn’t bother him but just pulled out my multiengine ground school materials and began studying. By the time we were descending into Wichita, he had noticed what I was reading.

“You getting ready to do some training?” he asked.

“Yes, I'm planning get my multiengine add-on this week," I replied, happy to be having a conversation with an airline pilot.

“Where are you going to be doing that?”

“Actually, I’ll be training just outside of Wichita at a small airport in Benton,” I explained.

“You’re not going to be training with Herb, are you?” My eyes widened. “Actually, that’s exactly who I’m going to be training with,” I answered, a little taken off guard.

The captain chuckled. “Good ol’ Herb. I did my multiengine rating with him, oh, back in 1987 or so. When I saw what you were reading, I thought, ‘Hey, I’ve seen those articles before.’ So Herb’s still at it, then.” 

I laughed, amazed that I was in the middle of one of those stranger-than-fiction moments. 

“Tell Herb hi for me. I guess he did a good job; I’ve been a captain for Southwest for 26 years now,” he said as the plane pulled up the gate and we prepared to disembark.

It was a reassuring way to start off this latest training adventure. My instructor-to-be had certainly been in this business for a long time, which was a big reason I’d taken a friend’s recommendation and was flying halfway across the country to take this training program. Over the years Herb had given something like 3,000 sign-offs for certificates and ratings—to the point where it was now possible to randomly run into one of his former students! I had the growing confidence I’d be in good hands. I certainly wasn’t disappointed over the next couple of weeks.

One of the resident biplanes taxiing for takeoff

Stearman Field, where Prairie Air Service was located, was the essence of a small-town American general aviation airport. All day long the place was humming with activity, with aircraft departing and arriving and people strolling nearby as they watched the planes or headed to the airport restaurant. Many different kinds of planes could be seen coming and going, from modern homebuilts and traditional trainers, to turboprops and small private jets. There were at least a handful of vintage Stearman aircraft based here as well—which is how Stearman Field got its name—all immaculately restored and maintained. Almost every day at least one of these classic birds could be seen doing traffic patterns around the parallel grass runway, bright paint flashing in the sunlight and a distinctive rumbling growl issuing from its large engine.

The twin-engine Apache

Then there was Herb’s twin-engine Piper Apache: almost old enough to be a vintage aircraft, but certainly not as pretty the neighbor’s planes. It reminded me a bit of the pipeline patrol planes I’d seen in Texas: kind of like a work truck that was well-maintained for functionality and safety but not much more. But that’s essentially what it was; it certainly wasn’t needing to win any prizes. However, as the student who was staying in the room next to mine explained, it was reliable and honest.

The first morning after arriving I rode along in the backseat to watch Steve, my fellow trainee, run through all the maneuvers for his practical test which he was supposed to take that afternoon. It was immensely helpful to get a first-hand look at everything without the pressure of being in the pilot’s seat. It was also another morale boost to see a relieved Steve coming back to his room that evening after successfully passing his multiengine checkride. The next day would be my turn at the controls.

The first order of business in the training course was to go through a detailed cockpit orientation. After doing this for decades Herb had his method down to a well-scripted science and knew just exactly which things needed to be pointed out to a transitioning pilot who had never flown an Apache. He began with the view: “The first thing you’ll notice when looking out the front window is that there is no nose.” I stared out—he was right. Of course there was a nose, but it just wasn’t visible due to the design. The familiar sight of an engine cowling out front was all but missing. “Up until now, all your flying has been done by consciously or subconsciously sighting over the cowling. That won’t work in this plane, so to fly it precisely you will need to really fly it by instruments. You’ll find that’s how large planes are flown anyway,” he explained.

He moved on to some of the idiosyncrasies of the 1958 plane. “Now take a look at the trim,” he said, pointing up at the two rotary crank-handles mounted in the cockpit ceiling. “The trim in this aircraft is not user-friendly; it’s barely user-possible," he quipped. "So make sure you take a moment before you move it and think which direction you need to turn the crank.” He continued to deadpan his way through the explanation of the various switches, dials, and levers. I loved his dry wit.

Finishing off the briefing, Herb handed me the checklist and proceeded to walk me through the steps to start the engines. There was nothing particularly special about starting up the 160 HP carbureted Lycomings except that now there were two of every engine control. Something that would take me a while to get used to, though, was the way the power levers wouldn’t behave identically if I advanced them equally. It always took me several extra glances at the manifold pressure gauge to get the power settings matched. Just another fact of life flying old, small planes.

We took off and climbed away from the town to a good maneuvering altitude. I immediately felt lost over the endless, flat expanse of identical-looking Kansas farmland. Good thing this plane had GPS because I wasn’t convinced I’d have the geography figured out by the time I was supposed to take my practical test!

This first flight was a familiarization with how the airplane handled. Herb walked me through the different airwork maneuvers: steep turns, stalls, slow flight, speed and configuration changes. Steve was right; it was an honest plane, giving plenty of warning before stalls and handling smoothly. After having flown the DA40s the Apache had a much more steady and stable ride. It certainly wasn’t a fast plane, but that wasn’t necessary for training.

After the airwork, we returned to Stearman field for a full-stop landing and an afternoon break. “I usually don’t fly in the afternoon because it just gets too bumpy for meaningful training,” Herb said as we climbed out the plane. “We’ll fly again after dinner and work on traffic patterns.”

At dinner I learned my checkride had been scheduled for Friday afternoon. Today was Tuesday. It was a bit hard to imagine that, if all went well, in three more days I would be multiengine rated—and I had scarcely had one flight under my belt. But that’s the way an accelerated multiengine training program works and that’s why I was here! And I also knew it was going to be a lot of work and a very intense three days. So I did my best to put all thoughts of post-checkride celebrations aside for the time, and followed Herb out to the Apache to learn how to do landings in it.

Next Chapter

Farewell, Papua

And just like that, two years are up. It's like they went by in the blink of an eye. A year really isn't as long as it used to be!

I said goodbye to my coworkers at Adventist Aviation a sunny August morning and then headed to airport to make the journey out to Jakarta one more time. The last few days I'd been very conscious that I was experiencing all my "lasts" - last time having Friday night worship with my housemates, last bite of dragonfruit, last walk out on the runway at night. Now it was the last time to sit by the window seat and see Doyo Baru slid
ing past the wing. Well, maybe one day I'll go back to visit. As I told my friends and colleagues during staff worship the day I left, I felt like I was leaving family behind now.

The journey home was a mixture of the familiar and the foreign. Domestic planes were full to the gills while the international planes were half empty. Jakarta's airport restaurants were open so I was able to get a plate of nasi goreng for supper, but the check-in agent for JAL warned me that everything in Narita airport was closed, so to make sure to pack some food. He was right. The place was dead and eerily quiet.

Almost home. Flying the red, white, and blue

A bleary bunch of hours later I was finally on my last flight to Sacramento. Strange feeling it was, realizing I hadn't been

in the U.S. since 2018. But as I stepped off the plane back into California, it was a good feeling. Coming down the escalator I surveyed the familiar baggage hall where so many other journeys had reached their completion. I was back. A few minutes I saw my sister coming through the doors. I was home.

The Way You Expected

2015: I saw myself flying mission planes overseas by 2020

“So, in retrospect, in 2015, not a single person got the answer right to ‘Where do you see yourself five years from now?’” I think we’ve all seen this meme dozens of times by now, but I still chuckle every time I come across it because it’s just so ironically true! And it’s not just the 5-year plan. No one even got their 1-year plan right, because none of us could have seen what we’d be in for in 2020.

One thing I've mused about numerous times over the years is this idea that things often don’t turn out the way you expected them to. I’ve seen this in training pursuits (“I'm going to knock out my training and become a CFI before the summer!”—a year and a half later...), in education ("I'm going to be a doctor when I grow up." "I'm so glad I didn't become a doctor."), the world of romance (“I thought she was the one—and she knew I was not the one"), and in career choices (“They offered me the job! But I didn’t realize there’s nothing out there except cactuses…”).

My one and only year as a Pre-Med student

If I go back through my journals, I know there is no lack of confident prognostications that never came to pass, some of them more amusing and embarrassing than others! It’s just the reality of life that we change, others change, circumstances change. And nowhere are unforeseeable changes more prevalent than in mission field lands.

I tried to keep my expectations as blank as possible when I was getting ready to come to Papua, mainly because it was going to be such a new experience that I really had no idea what to expect anyway. It turned out to be even more unexpected—if I can say this—than I expected!

Didn't think our beautiful campus would end up like this

Who would have ever thought that after nearly a year of waiting for a replacement wing for one of our grounded planes it would arrive damaged? Who would have guessed a flash flood would decimate the campus and set the program back years? Or who in their wildest dreams would have imagined that a family I became friends with here would end up transferring to the country I spent some of my favorite years in as a child, to take the position my dad held when we lived there? (And they’re in the midst of their own huge set of unexpecteds now).

The biggest unexpected for me was that I would end up filling a nonflying role here. My last training flight occurred over a year ago now; it was explained that our one and only operational plane would need to continue servicing the mountain regions and since the second plane was still months away from flying again, there would be no flying opportunities for the time being for a beginner who needed to gain experience in the lowlands. Certainly wasn’t the original plan; but then again, neither were the previously mentioned unexpected events which conspired to complicate the situation.

Final day of training

I could have made the choice to stay in for the long haul—and that’s what was I was originally considering when I first made the decision to come to Papua. After all, this is what I’d been talking about doing for years. But when it came time, a few months after arriving here, to make the decision to sign on for a 5-year term, I was torn. For some reason, it just didn’t feel as if this was the right place for me for long-term, though I couldn’t quite explain why. I had also just gone through a traumatic emotional experience and I wasn’t in the frame of mind to be making that kind of commitment right then. I declined, saying I could only promise 2 years.

I’ll be honest: It’s something I’ve second-guessed multiple times since, sometimes wondering how that played into ending up in a desk job rather than completing my initial training and getting checked out to line. I’ve asked myself what my motives were for coming here—was it just for flying?—and what have my motives been for deciding to return home after my 2 years are finished—is it just because I’m not flying? Hard questions to answer when this occupation is something I spent 10 years training and preparing for.

At least I've found something else to "Excel" at, hehe

And I have to say Yes—and No. Yes, because there are so few people who are in a position to fill the highly specific role of a missionary pilot and even fewer who are actually willing to step forward and take the call, so that’s why I made the decision to come. No, because it’s not about flying a plane, but rather it’s about serving God and helping advance His kingdom.

Then why leave when there’s still so much opportunity for service here? Well, because I am still a pilot and I believe God gave me this skill and passion for a specific purpose. Also, I’ve come to see that for my particular personality, working in this type of setting is actually like trying to put a round peg in a square hole—it can fit, but the peg won’t be very happy, and the hole won’t be completely filled. I’ve realized I need a certain amount of structure in a workplace to be able to give my best contribution and thrive while doing so, and being able to compare my time here with previous work experiences has been really helpful for me to gain that understanding. Though I’ve finally found a niche in the particular work I’ve been helping out with, I know there’s still a uniquely fulfilling calling to be discovered.

So…where to from here? That is a very good question—shall I make a guess?! Haha, perhaps better not, or at least not publicly, since I’m bound to be wrong! Now, more than ever, I am seeing what it means when the Bible says, “Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there, buy and sell, and make a profit’; whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away. Instead you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we shall live and do this or that.’” James 4:13-15 NKJV.

On location with the sis during a trip of a lifetime

But the neat thing is that while many things in life haven’t gone the way I hoped, there are just as many or more special surprises that I could never have dreamed up on my own. Ask me a couple years ago where I would enjoy having a holiday and Thailand would not have been part of my answer—and yet personal reasons brought me there and I had such a lovely time that I brought my family the next year! I would never have imagined my sister would be celebrating a wedding on two different continents and our family could be together for it all. And when I look back at the job I managed to land while I was waiting indefinitely to come to Papua, I continue to be amazed at how I somehow stumbled into what was probably the best instructing job in the country for me.

Burning holes through the blue California sky

But was it really by chance? No—you see there’s a verse that says, “The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16:9 NASB. God is very much involved in the details of our lives. It’s often necessary for Him to lead us through difficult places on the journey, but He also takes us through amazing landscapes we could never have discovered by ourselves. This is why the writer of the 23rd Psalm could exclaim, “My cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life”.

Yes, life is filled with uncertainty, there’s no doubt about it. There will be more tough times ahead, and more joys as well. For a guy like me who likes to be able to plan things out and know what to expect so I can be prepared for whatever situation, it can be daunting to face the reality that I just can’t know how everything will go. But now that familiar verse takes on a new meaning: “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” Jeremiah 29:11 KJV.

What is that expected end? It’s what the message of the Bible is all about. That after holding onto the Lord’s hand through this journey of life, “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Psalm 23:6. Sound nice? You have no idea!

“Eye has not seen, nor ear heard,
Nor have entered into the heart of man
The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.”

~ 1 Corinthians 2:9 NKJV

Things often don't turn out the way you
expected. But with God...they turn out better

The Day Before Yesterday

My mouth is watering as I upload this...

I've been delinquent in writing, I know. I got rather busy after the last time I posted and with so many things going on, I did the pilot thing of prioritizing and leaving off tasks I didn't consider essential. But on my Sunday afternoon as I've been sitting in the house and scrolling through my Microsoft To Do app and deciding what I should try to accomplish during the rest of day, I saw something that has been sitting unchecked for...months now. Okay, time to blog again. But boy, where do I start? Perhaps the day before the world changed.

Well, sadly for the folks in China, things had already changed for the worse, but at the beginning of February, COVID-19 wasn't even in our vocabulary yet and life in most other parts of the world was still "normal". My mom and sister and I were weighing whether it was a good idea to go ahead on a vacation we'd planned together to Thailand. After giving it careful thought, it still looked safe enough and so we boarded planes from our respective corners of the globe to travel to the place I had enjoyed visiting so much last year: Chiang Mai!

Never expected to see tulips in Chiang Mai!

It was so good to see my family again and what a lovely time we had together. The thing about my trip last year was that while it was a fun adventure, there was just always this empty feeling each day as I would sit in some little eclectic vegan restaurant enjoying good food all by myself with just my phone and no one that I knew. To me, I think the best part of traveling is getting to share the experience with your favorite people. And that's exactly what I got to do this last February!

We had a blast - from trying every restaurant and favorite dish I had discovered last year, to stumbling across a flower festival in the park, to getting up close and personal with giraffes at the night safari, to negotiating a much-too-narrow mountain road in the rental car. And of course, seeing many, many (did I say many?) temples and pagodas. This year I wanted to make sure we could also see Doi Inthanon National Park, which I hadn't been able to visit last time. Unfortunately, the annual smoke season had already begun, so the spectacular views that the park is famous for were largely hidden, but what we did see was still quite worth it. We made sure to take our fair share of photos in front of the iconic pagodas that star in every advertisement of Chiang Mai.

One of the twin pagodas near the summit

Our favorite part of the adventure? I'm pretty sure we're unanimous on that one: the food! That was the highlight of each day, and with so many options to try, it was always a tossup as to whether to go back and eat something we'd really enjoyed the other day or try something new. But by the end we had begun to figure out some favorites that were worth returning for - the vegan brownie and sandwich wraps at Vegan Heaven, the gluten-free strawberry cake at Pink House, the enormous tasty portions at Goodsouls Kitchen, and of course the unbeatable vegan chocolate croissants at Blue Diamond Breakfast Club.

The ten days went by very quickly and soon we were making a list of the last things we wanted to see and eat before it was time to head on. But the great part about finishing up in Chiang Mai was that our family vacation wasn't over! We had planned a Part 2 in Taipei where my sister lives and so the three of us boarded our Air Asia flight and flew to the island of Taiwan where Rachel took over as tour guide and helped us experience and try all her favorite things.

Feeling out of my league with Airbus and ATR pilots!

While there, I also had the fun opportunity to meet up with people from my previous life as a CFI. I got to catch up with my former boss Ryan and meet his wife and cute little kids. Also, some of my former students managed to get time off out of their busy EVA Air schedules and I got to meet up with them for lunch and hear about what their lives are like as airline pilots. It's so strange to think how just a couple short years ago we were droning around the traffic pattern in little Diamond 40s and now they're flying all over Asia and taking off and landing huge hunks of metal that are many times bigger than anything I've ever flown! It's neat to see what they've accomplished and I'm proud of them and really happy I could play a small part in helping them reach their dream jobs.

Vacations usually are the times of year that go by the quickest and this one was no exception. All too soon it was time to say goodbye and step on another flight that would take me away from my loved ones. We said our farewells in an almost empty airport, and set out on our individual journeys that would take us into a very different world than the one we were used to.

February seems like a lifetime ago now. Looking back, the timing couldn't have been better. Any later and we would have run the risk of getting marooned somewhere or stuck in quarantine, or worse. Yes, perhaps it was more of a risk than we realized at the time. But seeing how it turned out, it was really worth it and I can't help but think that our Heavenly Father was blessing us with a special gift. We had such a marvelous time together and came away with wonderful memories and for that I'm very grateful. I'm really glad we got to go.

Welcome to the new "normal"

Good Fences Makes Good Neighbors

The first time I heard that phrase, I didn’t quite know what to make of it. Isn’t it nicer to have no fence? If the neighbors are good, why have a barrier in between you and them? I just looked up the phrase and found out it was made famous by that well-known poet Robert Frost in his piece “Mending Wall”. He seems to ask similar questions in his poem, but he leaves the reader hanging with the imaginary character simply repeating the statement once more at the ending.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to associate a very practical meaning with the phrase. Whether Robert Frost thought it was actually a valid idea or not, I personally think it encapsulates an important principle: boundaries.

At its most basic, a fence is just a simple structure that make it clear that this is where your space stops and mine starts, and vice versa. And why the importance of a good fence, as opposed to a line on the ground, or a fence that has a few human-size openings in it? Simply because people invariably find reasons to cross lines. There may be no ill intention. But it happens, and it can be habit-forming. Continually doing so can begin to erode an otherwise-good neighborly relationship.

Granted, this is a Western interpretation of a principle, but I guess I still function mostly as a Westerner. And the reason I’m writing this has nothing to do with my friends next door (they’re awesome!), but just to share some musings I’ve had on how this phrase applies to more subtle areas of life that aren’t defined by physical stones or wooden fenceposts. Specifically the area of personal boundaries, as it relates to the expectations that others (and perhaps even you) have of you.

Let's look at the work environment. I think most of us would agree that good fences make good employees. A company that is always expecting its workers to be available even while on holiday or at home, regularly put in overtime, and give 110% of their energies to achieve its corporate goals would be seen as a toxic work environment. In the employer-employee relationship, work hours and responsibilities that are clearly defined in a job description or contract form a boundary between what your company is entitled to receive from you and what it isn’t. Having such fences in those areas, amongst others, does a lot to keep the relationship healthy.

For people in missionary-type or ministry-related fields, however, knowing how to draw the line and build a wall between the responsibilities of your calling and the real needs of yourself and your family is a very real challenge. Could it be going too far to also say that good fences make…good missionaries? After all, you are in your position not to serve yourself, but serve others, right? So how far do you go in sacrificing yourself or your family to meet the urgencies that will never cease to demand more and more of your time?

It’s a tough question and it’s going to depend on the individual, his or her relationships, and the situation. But it is my belief that good fences there must be in certain areas, otherwise expectations and obligations will invariably encroach into space that belongs to you, perhaps eventually crowding you out. That’s another name for burnout.

When it comes to trying to find the balance between ministry-related work and personal life, I would argue that long-term sustainability should be the goal, of course with a healthy dose of prayer to know how to be adaptable for special situations. What is going to keep you from taking care of your health, spending enough quality time with God and your family, being able to recharge personally? Build a fence and keep it out. In some areas, put up a big huge wall that everyone can see and no one can penetrate.

Selfish? Nah. It’ll just mean your fences and walls will help you stay in the neighborhood longer so you can make a long-term impact.

I want to be careful in what I communicate, because I don’t want to encourage a stinginess while dealing in the currency of helpfulness. I know I have a natural tendency to pendulum-swing too far in that direction after going through a bout of overextending myself. I’m still trying to find that perfect balance and how to be flexible while still retaining the ownership of the boundaries. Some jobs require more of that flexibility than others. Some people have a higher capacity for flexibility than others.

I suppose that’s why a good understanding of your personality and individual makeup are essential. Acquiring that understanding doesn’t come overnight, and will probably come as a result of a great deal of trial and error. But at some point, you start to figure out what your personal needs are and what allows you as an individual to be the best long-term blessing you can be. Then you begin to understand the places where it’s okay to have a gate that’s sometimes left open, and the areas that must have a strong fence or solid wall.

Just as a practical tool, it may be helpful to see tasks and responsibilities that are thrown at you through the lens of the Eisenhower matrix, which has been used in Stephen Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People (confession: I haven’t read the book yet, sorry…). It’s a really simple graph that makes it instantly clear that tasks can be categorized into just 4 simple groups—urgent and important, non-urgent and important, urgent and non-important, and finally non-urgent and non-important. The first two should take priority, the last one is the obvious time-waster, but the third is the tricky one because urgency imparts a false sense of importance. And this is where we can end up spending most of our time, putting out proverbial fires but not getting ahead in projects that require long-term attention, or keeping up with maintenance that is important but seemingly non-urgent.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:MerrillCoveyMatrix.png

Again, it’s important to always ask God for help so you have the right goals and priorities and also the inside scoop about something that might not immediately appear important. Some things He may indeed want you to do, while other things that you feel you really should do He might not actually be asking you to get involved with.

I wanted to write this post to share what I feel may be helpful for others, especially people who work in or are preparing to enter service-related fields. Again, it’s pretty general and I'm not addressing specific situations, but I’m sure someone will be able resonate with what I’m trying to convey. Just remember that there will always be more expected of you than you can give. Also that God supplies what we don’t have. And that there’s a balance between those two principles.

And while you’re thinking about those ideas, here’s one more thought to add. God really does care about the personal welfare of those who serve Him.

“The Lord be exalted, who delights in the well-being of His servant.” 

Psalm 35:27 NIV (emphasis added).