Just Passing Through

As a realtor in Alaska I have noticed a common theme in our state that sets us apart from all the states in the lower 48—Alaska is very transient. The long, dark winters do not help with the imminent loneliness created by the isolation of living so far away from family and friends. Loneliness ultimately leads many newcomer’s to a short-lived Alaskan experience.

Although considered a friendly state, when it comes to establishing deep relationships, Alaska can prove to be a challenge. The old timer’s whom I speak with admit that they are hesitant to get to know a person until they know if the person is or isn’t going to “stick.” The process of “sticking,” I have learned, is a test of longevity. Alaskan’s can be a tough crowd to crack when wanting to grow a potential friendship. Unless you’re not in a big hurry.

In pondering this unique dynamic I have slowly landed on my own conclusion of how I should relate to fellow Alaskan’s and to people in general—even if my window of relationship is weeks or months instead of years and decades. My conclusion rests on scripture.

If ever there was an example in the Word of God of a man who was keenly aware of his earthly transiency, it was Jesus: “Jesus replied, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20).” Jesus did not come to the world to build a mansion or to set up camp in one place. He left a mansion to come to earth. Jesus cared more about the state of one’s heart than the geography of one’s residence. 

Even though Jesus passed from one region through to the next region, and so on— He was never in so great a hurry that He forgot what His real purpose was: relationships. Reaching the lost. People mattered to Him. Whomever was in front of Him mattered. Crowds. Individuals. Children. Short. Fat. Blind. Tattered. Unkempt. He didn’t view anyone as unworthy of His time nor did He withhold His love from anyone.   

Jesus' short time on earth was lived boldly and humbly for each one of us. Our time on earth is short too. The notion that a person must earn his or her way into our lives is ridiculous when considering the life Jesus modeled. 

However, Jesus also taught us balance. 

In order to pour out of Himself to individuals and crowds, Jesus protected His sacred alone time with His Father: “Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed” (Mark 1:35).

Even when the crowds sought Jesus in his solitary places of prayer, His compassion was always tempered with His divine purpose, “The people were looking for him and when they came to where he was, they tried to keep him from leaving them. But he said, “I must preach the good news of the kingdom of God to the other towns also, because that is why I was sent.” And he kept on preaching in the synagogues of Judea” (Luke 4:42-44).

The truth about living in Alaska, or about living anywhere on earth, is that we are all just passing through. This world is not our home. We are sojourners in a foreign land. 

But while we ARE here we can make every opportunity count like our Savior did. We can emerge from our solitary places of prayer equipped to see, care and love the person in front of us. Even if he or she doesn’t “stick.”

Stay the Course…

Sheila

Here Turkey, Turkey

(One of my unforgettable memories from living in Wisconsin for so many years is hunting season. Hunting continues to be taken very serious by most Wisconsinites. Back in the day, in our small farming community, boys AND girls of all ages missed school during hunting season. Tomorrow in Wisconsin, gun deer season opens. Although our dad took us deer hunting as kids on several occasions, my most fond memory remains one which was shared with my neighbor Erv, not during deer hunting season but during turkey hunting season...)

Quite a few years ago when I lived in Wisconsin, my neighbor Erv, an avid hunter, was chatting with me about the upcoming spring turkey hunting season.  I’m not sure how it happened, but before the conversation ended I found myself agreeing that it might be fun to try turkey hunting.  Erv, retired and eager to teach, jumped at the opportunity to take me turkey hunting. Before I knew it, I found myself purchasing a hunting license.  Being a good sport, I didn’t want to ruin the experience for him.  And who knew, maybe turkey hunting would be fun.  

Erv had known me since I was ten years old, and took my small interest in turkey hunting quite serious.  I realized early on there would be no backing out of our incredible turkey adventure. Tiny details such has not owning a gun or hunting garb didn’t deter Erv.  He brought out something that looked like an army truck tarp. “Just put on this jumpsuit,” he insisted, “roll up the legs and sleeves and you’ll be fine.”  Next, he handed me a shotgun or a rifle, (I’m not sure what the difference is), “Here you go, you’re all set!” Erv exclaimed with authority.

Never having shot a gun, it was imperative that we have “shooting” lessons before the big day arrived. Erv’s suggestion, of course. By this point I was too deep in to back out. Anyway, it looked pretty simple:  aim for box, pull trigger, loud noise--holes in box.  I didn’t understand what there was to practice for when it came to firing a shotgun (or a rifle, whatever it was).  Erv went first. Like I said, it looked pretty simple.  

“OK, Sheila,” Erv stated with a big country smile, his seasoned hunting eyes twinkling as if he knew something I didn’t know, “your turn.”

“So I just aim for the box and pull this trigger?”  I asked Erv politely so he wouldn’t feel as if he was standing there for no reason.  He nodded. I pulled the trigger.

Erv pretended to not be surprised when I landed on my butt from my kneeling position.  I laughed first so he wouldn’t feel awkward.  I didn’t want to ruin the moment for him.

I was unaware that turkey hunting was an early morning sport.  I was also unaware that rain didn’t influence whether or not the hunt should be canceled.  Erv handed me a hat that coincidentally matched the tarp I was already wearing. I learned quickly that getting wet and attempting to walk quietly through the dark woods at 5 a.m. was part of the hunting experience.  

Erv’s hearing isn’t what it once was and he kept talking me through our “plan” in what he believed to be a whisper.  I smiled and nodded while delicately tripping over tree roots and branches in my oversized tarp.

Erv pulled a gadget out of his camouflage jumpsuit and started making turkey noises. I silently prayed no turkeys would come within shooting distance.  As if on cue, turkeys came into view. My heart began to race. Erv’s eyes lit up and his whisper grew even louder.

“Ok, Sheila, sit real still by this tree and get your gun in position.”

“Oh dear, God,” I secretly groaned as I planted my wet, cold body next to the tree and lifted the gun to my shoulder.  How did I get into this situation in the first place?  I’m cold, tired, drenched and I don’t like turkey meat.  Obediently, I put my eye to the scope and my finger on the trigger.  My teeth began to chatter and my body grew tense as I tried to steady the shotgun.  I didn’t want to ruin the moment for him.

Turkey was clueless that his life was in danger.  He strutted about searching the ground for his next meal, unaware that he was in my scope to be my next meal. 

“Steady now,” Erv coached me.  I had never seen him this excited.  “He’s getting closer.  When I say fire, make sure you aim and pull the trigger.”  

“Uh-huh,” I gulped.

At that exact moment, my prayer was answered.  Turkey, for no apparent reason, turned and ran in the opposite direction, out of sight.  

“Darn!”  Erv shouted.

“Darn!” I tried to sound genuine.  

“Well, it’s getting late. Want to try again tomorrow?” 

“Hmmm” I mumbled while attempting to pry my frozen fingers off the trigger and lift my numb body from the ground.  As much as I didn’t want to ruin the moment for him, it was time to bring an end to my hunting career.

“This has been an experience,” I started as we headed up the hill toward home.  “I’m thankful we shared this morning hunting together— now I can check turkey hunting off my bucket list.  More turkeys for you, Erv!"  

I heaved my gun up on my shoulder and marched my soggy self back to Erv’s truck in true hunter formation.  You know, I didn’t want to ruin the moment for him.

Stay the Course…

Sheila

(Erv & his beautiful wife, Doris!)

Mimi's Gift

Four days ago we inherited a piece of furniture from our daughter and son-in-law—a rocking chair. 

My husband and I had purchased the rocking chair for them 20 months earlier when our granddaughter, Yetzy, was born. For 20 months I had the utmost privilege of rocking Yetzy to sleep in her rocking chair. The dark sanctuary of her bedroom held no sound except the sound of Mimi singing and the constant “creak, creak, creak” of the chair. 

Yetzy seldom resisted nap time. Instead, she snuggled into my lap with her tattered blanket which at one time had been her mama’s blanket. As she grew older, from time to time she would sing along with me, her voice so sweet and perfectly out of tune. Eventually she was unable to resist the rhythmic rocking of the chair. Peaceful and perfect she slept in my arms knowing that when she awoke, Mimi would still be holding her. For the better part of an hour and a half we rocked. The world outside Yetzy’s bedroom came to a halt during which time my own spirit learned to rest; and during which time I also learned how to receive God’s love like never before through the gift of the little girl snuggled in my arms.

Although no stranger to rocking a baby, having given birth to three beautiful girls, I often allowed the pressures of a young mother to shorten the hours dedicated to the gift of rocking. Now, with experience gleaned from a longer road behind me, I am able to see God’s gift more clearly through eyes blessed with insight (and a plentiful supply of "laugh" lines!).  As a grandmother, what a joy it is to place the world on pause and enjoy what’s happening in the moment in the sacred space of my granddaughter’s bedroom.

My prayer to understand God’s love in a deeper way is answered with each creak of the chair. He shows me His love through Yetzy’s innocent lack of boundaries, through her bountiful kisses and hugs, through her pure joy in the simple moments. All these memories I ponder as I watch her sleep in my arms.

Creak, creak, creak.

His love reaches me through Yetzy’s excitement and sheer delight each time she sees “Mimi and BaBa” (Aka: Grandpa). His love tears down my own walls of self-protection as I watch Yetzy’s ability to love and trust completely—total dependence with no fear. “I should love this way too,” I think to myself. He longs for us to trust Him fully, every detail of our lives entrusted to His care. He will never ignore us, push us away, nor wish we would learn how to live more independent of Him. 

God IS Love. 

Peter reminds us not once, but twice, in the book of I Peter, "Love one another DEEPLY." He doesn't say to just "love one another" but rather to "Love one another DEEPLY." Our children and grandchildren teach us how to love deeply. But we are to love others deeply too—just as Jesus loves each one of us deeply. 

Four days ago our daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter moved from Alaska to the lower 48, thousands of miles away from Mimi and BaBa. Which is why Yetzy’s rocking chair is now in our bedroom. 

Yesterday, I decided to sit in the rocking chair for the first time without Yetzy in my arms. I wondered what it might feel like to rock alone. 

Creak, creak, creak.

There are no adequate words to express the depth of emotion which hit me the second the familiar creak filled the room. My empty arms floundered like a fish out of water, feeling like foreign objects attached to my body. The floodgate of emotions broke.  I wept unashamedly from a heart finally able to understand what loving deeply feels like.  

Grabbing my pillow, I held it with all my strength, feeling sadness permeate every part of my being to the same depth with which I had been able to also feel the love. I knew that God, who loves this little girl more than me (as impossible as that is to imagine!) was now embracing me with every creak of the chair. For an hour and a half  I stayed the course, embracing the sadness. Creak, creak, creak. I sang over Yetzy across the miles.  I prayed like never before for God to wrap His arms around her and to keep her safe in His care during our time of physical separation. Even in the Valley of Sadness I knew I could trust Him. 

But mostly I thanked Him for one of the greatest gifts He has ever given to me and my husband—His beautiful display of love and beauty wrapped in a package, both messy and perfect, marked: “GRANDDAUGHTER.”

Stay the Course…

Sheila