Almost Home

It’s hard to even know how to write this last post. It’s 8:30pm and we are driving through our second bad storm of the day as we head through Arkansas and Tennessee. Apparently there has been flooding through out the states. First it was miles of heavy winds - the sky a strange brownish-green color that made us think eerily of tornados. Tim struggled to keep the camper and van on the road in a forward trajectory. I was thankful once again that he was the driver and he was good at it. We had hoped we maybe missed the rain once we got through the wind, but then came sheets of rain blowing across the surface of the road, water flooding the edges, splashing up huge waves over the van if we got too close to the white line. I couldn’t believe the amount of water that was pouring off the roof and onto the windshield. It was a nasty storm.

We just hit our second storm, which thankfully was not nearly as bad as the first. Although I was dreading it as we approached a dark cloud flashing bolts of lighting and even glowing a strange red color. It seriously looked like Mount Doom out of the Lord of the Rings. The camper is the worst I’ve ever seen it. We forgot to put a box down on the floor before we left which contained a few of my special park mugs. They didn’t make it so I am pretty sad about that. The food cabinet flung open and now there’s sugar, ketchup, syrup, oil and all of the things you wouldn’t want to have to clean off your floor in pile. I just want tp be home. 4.5 hours left.

We got the dog though! That went nice and smooth. I was a little worried at first when he just stood there barking at us for the first 10 minutes or so. But I think our sheer quantity took him by surprise, poor guy. There are not many dogs asked to live with 9 people every day. Once he settled in and said goodbye to his people (so sad!!) he hopped right in and it's like he's always been a part of our family. We have named him Tutka after the area where all of our favorite things in Alaska are. Tutka Bay and Little Tutka Bible Fellowship. He’s been a trooper, even through the poor guy was pretty confused that his folks left him with this large group of people who shoved him into a van. He’s also huge. I wasn’t expecting him to be quite so big. I really hope Lucy likes him….

It’s really hard to sum up this trip. There was a part of me that didn’t even want to go. We’ve dreamed about it for years, but when it came down to it, I began to lose my nerve. I always have a lot of doubts and trepidation before we head out on a trip. The things we forgot to bring, the things that will go wrong, the things we’ll miss that we left behind. Lucy. I’ve really missed my dog!

It was hard to drag along an unwilling 18 year old. Unsure if we should have forced her or if we should have left her home liked she begged. I dreaded driving the Alcan with all these kids. Being in the middle of nowhere with no cell phone to call for help. Maybe I seemed like the adventurous type until you read this. Fooled ya!

Even now, I’m surprised that we went through with it. And as things kept going from bad to worse I really began to think we were crazy stupid. I thought things would get better once we finally reached our destination but the rain almost never stopped, mildewing our camper walls and cramping us in so that we couldn’t get away from our own sicknesses. It sounds awful just writing it out. It was pretty awful! It wasn’t the magical, mind-blowing summer we had hoped for.

But at the same time it was. In ways that I’m not even sure I’ve wrapped my head around all the way yet. The freedom of these last few months has been amazing. It'll be hard to get back to real life. The places we've seen, the miles we've driven, hard but incredibly rewarding. And there was something incredibly amazing about showing up on someone’s doorstep 10 years later and fall into a warm and loving embrace. Many someones. My children, who don’t really even know these people any more than from the stories we told, were instantly loved and accepted and they knew it and it was… I don’t know. I saw it on their faces. Every one of them could see exactly why we had loved it so much. Not just the natural beauty but the community. I just didn’t really expect it to still be there, intact, after all this time. And after the miserable, cold, damp, rainy, crummy weather (and MOSQUITOS) you’d expect we would have shaken the dust off our feet and said, “Thank God we don’t live there anymore!” And indeed, I said it several times during the beginning of our time, “And this is why I left…” But as time wore on this place crept right back into my heart. And on the beautiful days, it bounded right back in. I love this place. I love that my kids loved it. I love that everyone there is genuinely hoping we’ll move back. I didn’t know we were so loved. But there has been a hole in the last several years in my soul. I haven’t put my finger on it yet. It started sometime after giving birth to my last baby. It’s like I’ve finally had a chance to stop and think a little bit now that my arms aren’t full of baby and my brains have had some sleep. If I stop from my crazed pace of keeping up with the rat race of life for a moment and catch myself really contemplating, I don’t like it. It brings me a sense of emptiness and fear and depression. That feeling of “Is this really it? Once my kids leave, once our home is empty, it’s all over, this is really all I’ll be left with.” I think its most likely that mid-life crisis people like to talk about. All of a sudden you realize that if you don’t do that thing you wanted to do RIGHT NOW, you’ve missed your last chance. Age sets in. You loose gumption and muscle and mental clarity. Unless you’re Beverly Dubie, lol. Gee, I am really depressing tonight!

So here’s the list:

55 days

7 kids ages 4-18

9 National Parks/Monuments

2 Provincial Parks

2 countries

Over 13,000 miles

250+ hours of driving

5 times zones

19 states

3 provinces

9 new tires

1 new dog

It leaves me with a sense of great accomplishment and it encompasses hundreds of memories and experiences that we will never forget. It leaves me with a twinge of sadness that it’s really over. A sense of relief that it is. And an overwhelming sense that there is a decision here to make and I’m not really sure what that is. But I know I left a large piece of my heart in Alaska. And I’m not sure I want it to stay there. I thank the Lord for the gift of this unbelievable trip. For His protection and provision along the way, despite my lack of faith and strength to carry on. I’m grateful for the man driving beside me who is willing to consider the unlikely alongside me: moving to Alaska in the first place, having more than the typical amount of kids, living in a state with the worst teachers income in the US, living on one income in that state, homeschooling, starting up a farm, taking this trip of a lifetime. I know we both have that longing. That longing that all of us have for something we can’t quite put our fingers on, that thing that we’re always looking for as long we’re alive - maybe the sense is stronger in some than others, I don’t know - but I know that longing is not to be satisfied this side of heaven. As I turn my mind to the eternal I know, deep down, that this is the cry that all of us have for HIM and His Great Place. But I also believe that this longing is what makes us do things we might not normally do if we don’t ignore it. Everyone loves to have a story to tell. You can’t have stories without adventure. And it takes stepping out of your comfort zone to find those adventures and realize that faith might be all you really have in the end after all.