Zoe is serving with CMS under the Anglican Diocese in the Northern Territory. In her first year in community, she is focusing on learning language and building relationships. She prays that God will use her in her role as church support worker to encourage Indigenous church leaders in Ngukurr and surrounding areas.

My phone rings.

Zoe, weya yu?

La main kemp. Wanim?

Ai wandi go fishing.

I have this conversation on an almost daily basis. Little did I know when I signed up to become a church support worker in remote Arnhem Land that so much of my time would be spent fishing.

Ive been in Ngukurr for two months and its been a mixed bag of emotions. The delight of being welcomed in and getting to know my Aboriginal family. The frustration of my baby language as I learn Kriol. The natural beauty of this landscape. The constant trickles of sweat as daily temperatures vary between 38 and 40 degrees celsius. The fascinating lessons in bush skills from the church ladies. And all these emotions are rolled into one chaotic Technicolor kaleidoscope when we go fishing.

I finish up what Im doing and pack the car. Hand lines, cold water, bait, billy-can, camping chairs, maybe some bananas if Im feeling peckish and pessimistic about the prospect of fish. I drive to my friends house to pick her up. Turns out her sister and niece are coming too.

Before we go, my friend needs to go to the shop. There we see my Aboriginal sister who asks for a lift home because its too hot to walk. When we drop her off, her mother asks to come fishing too with her grandson. I have to tell her that we dont have room, but Ill try to take her another time. I drive off feeling satisfied with my culturally appropriate no that didnt involve actually saying no, whilst mentally adding her to my ever-growing list of people I need to take fishing.

I listen, praying for wisdom and cultural insight.

An hour after I left my house, were finally ready to drive out to the billabong.

As we drive, the ladies regale me with stories from their childhood. The old mission days were hard in many ways, but there was a simplicity to their childhood and they talk fondly of the whitefellas who were safe people in a world that changed too quickly. They lament over their own kids who seem to be launching straight from children to adults. We discuss family and community life. I listen, praying for wisdom and cultural insight. I long to share life with these ladies and support them, but I know that trust takes time. So I listen and I pray.

Wujay wi gada go? I ask as we get to a fork in the track. Its the first Kriol phrase I learnt and has been one of my most used.

Straight on.

I take the path I think is straight on. Turns out it was the other straight on. I pull up, reverse and take the other road. As the passengers laugh at my mistake, I take a deep breath and remind myself that vulnerable mission is the goal after

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Missionary Diary: The spiritual discipline of fishing | The Paradise News - The Paradise News