Sunday, July 1st: The Island Church at Last

Sunday morning started out like our typical Sunday mornings: Chaos. We had gotten up early to make sure we had our van and camper at the ferry terminal and then ourselves at the harbor for church pickup. We got everything where it needed to be situated for the ride over and then worked on stuffing the kids in the van. And then realized one of Moriah’s rubber boots was missing. It might not have been too big of a deal normally, except that she already was down to just her hiking boots. The sneakers had gotten lost along the way somewhere. And if you’re living in a place that rains most days, and it takes forever for things to dry out, AND your kids like to tidepool (which is too cold for barefeet up here), having ANY extra set of shoes is vital.

We could pay a hefty sum for a pair in Seldovia… if they happened to have her size, which was unlikely. So everyone was on deck, hunting for that boot, which unfortunately she had taken off in the hay mow. We had already “lost” one of zippy’s boots in there a few days ago and it took a while to locate it. Now we were already running late. The kids and I hunted and hunted while Tim struggled to turn the camper around. We were in the hay, on the hay, digging in the hay. If you’ve ever searched for something in a pile of hay, you’ve never really searched. It’s literally a needle in a haystack no matter what it might be you’re hunting for. I’ve lost things in hay that sometimes show back up the next spring once all the hay has been eaten up. Or not. We were about to give up because we HAD to go when my hand grabbed something solid as I was digging around the top of the bales and the back of the barn. Victory at last!! Tim was now trying to back out of Ashton’s long driveway bc there just wasn’t room to turn around and the kids jumped in, now covered in hay. At least the Island Church is a place where you show up in work clothes with all the fishermen…

“Mom! Zippy pooped her pants!” No, no, no! We were already running late! Poor kid still wasn’t feeling well and that was the issue… I jumped into the moving camper, grabbed a few clothes and carried her to the Callahan’s laundry room - thankfully in the basement away from their sleeping family. I rinsed her out as best I could with no towel… thankfully Amanda had a roll of paper towels on the shelf… and realized I hadn’t grabbed, or dropped, Zip’s underwear. Tim was still backing up and didn’t want us to hop into the vehicle. Poor Zip stood off to the side with her naked bottom half while I tried to direct Tim out of the sandy edges of the driveway which would really get us into trouble.

At last. The van was in the road, I grabbed the underwear, and we hopped into the van to get Zip dressed as Tim started into town. A fun start to any day to be sure.

Now it was dump time for the camper and time to grab breakfast at the store since we didn’t have time to eat before we left. I also got poor Zippy some pull ups for the day which was a good call. And probiotics, which were a small fortune up here. Five billion dollars later and finally down at the spit, ready to go, Tim dropped us off at the harbor to wait for the church boat while he continues on to the end of the spit (in case you’re wondering, a spit is a long stretch of land that reaches into the ocean. This one is about 5 miles long and big enough to hold a harbor on one side, gift shops and restaurants on the other, a fishing hole, parking lots, a Maritime memorial for those lost here at sea, a hotel and ferry terminal at the very end. It’s huge! During the 1964 Easter earthquake it sunk 6 feet and changed quite a bit but it’s still the hub of tourism and fishing here in Homer.)

As the kids and I ate our breakfast and watched for sea otters, Tim called to let me know that the Trusty Tusty (M/V Tustamena) was running right on schedule Alaska time: 2 hours late. So no one was there that he could see. I fully expected our van not to make it over today. It would be exactly on course with the rest of our trip thus far. I decided expecting the worst and being pleasantly surprised with a favorable outcome might be the best way to cope with it from here on out. It was also raining. Again. But we were all feeling excited about at least getting on that church boat no matter what happened to the camper. We’d figure the rest out later.

There were two boats heading over that morning. Arne, a forever Island Church attendee and confirmed bachelor, enjoyed having a lot of boats and often shared them with the church. So one boat was his, the Power Wagon, which we were on, and the other was Dinah, the official church boat. Probably about 15 people on each boat.

Simeon Daigle, pastor’s son, was driving our boat and, boy, it was crazy to see him all grown up at 33 now and a dad of three sweet little boys. He was like a brother when we lived here. Our family spent the 30 min ride over on the deck despite the cold and salty spray. Simeon told us a few times to come into the warm cabin but we all grinned and said we were enjoying it. “It took a lot to get here, Simeon! I’m going to enjoy every minute of it!” I shouted over the motor. He just grinned.

We passed the ferry as it came into Homer, so that was a good sign. As long as the people at the ferry read the sticky note Tim left on our van with instructions, we would see our home for the week later that day. I decided not to think about it too hard and enjoy the view. It was another cold, rainy, Alaskan summer day but it was beautiful nonetheless. I had always loved this ride.

We arrived with a dozen or more people that I didn't recognize and squeezed into the little octagonal church - warm after the cold trip. And there I began to see faces that I hadn’t seen in 10 years. As I got the kids coats off and we settled where we always had sat, in the back along the window seat, I’d see another face approach me with a smile of recognition. Hugs all around. I went to find Glenn, the worship leader, the guy we’d be staying with that week, one of my favorite people on the planet. I hugged him and I began to tear up and I hugged him again. I wasn’t sure why I was crying, but I felt overwhelmed by something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I left him to his music prep and continued to move about the room. I found Beverly, now in her 80’s and I was struck that Gerry was no longer there by her side. That sweet, amazing man had gone home to Jesus just a few months ago and the hurt washed over me all over again that he was gone. Reality suddenly hits you when the hole is suddenly in front of you. We had missed him by three short months and I was so crushed when we heard the news. I cried again while I squeezed her so hard. These people had been surrogate grandparents to my kids. This whole church had been our life-line in this remote place. The connection with them enveloped me so completely as I made the rounds from one familiar smile to another - they all had been waiting for us to “come home”. Following our journey, expecting us that Sunday, praying through our struggles. It was like nothing had changed and yet everything had changed all at the same moment. I can’t begin to explain the emotions that came over me as I noted this still here, and that still there - the mugs with all the regular’s names still hanging in the corner - Mine and Tim’s long broken and gone but once were there with everyone else’s; the long live-edge single slab counter ready with the homemade bread and the offerings each family made for that day’s after-service lunch; the basket of books and toys and rocking chair in our corner; the stained glass salmon stream hung in the window over the piano; even the little papers they passed out with the worship songs: half a sheet, two columns, double-sided. The ones we used to print out every week because we had a printer. Ann and Jane still began by bringing all the children to the front of the church for Kid’s Worship. They sang the same songs and held up the same posters written out in markers so we could all sing along. Instruments for the children while Jane still sat on the floor and led with her guitar. Glenn led worship with Simeon as always, even the songs we sang hadn’t changed. It was like we had never left but I had blinked and everyone looked just a little bit older and the “younger” ones had children of their own. The sensation of all of that was… confusing. It had been So. Hard. to get here. I don’t know why it was. I can’t understand it. But it was like trudging through sand for 6000 miles. And now to finally arrive and find it so unchanged caused swirling emotions I couldn’t understand. I swallowed it hard to keep my kids from worrying that I was having a nervous breakdown.

And then the message. Pat Daigle and his messages never failed to sear right to my soul.

• Suffering is what allows us to see God at work. And without faith we won’t see it at all.

• If you don’t stand in your faith, you will not stand at all.

• We don’t have the promise of all that is good yet - just the hope of that promise.

And the real doozy was when he brought us into the sermon. He started with his story about how he and Ann (his wife) had traveled the Al-Can years ago and everything that could go wrong, went wrong. But God had shown up each time and had gotten them there. So he decided then and there that he would never again pray that “everything would go great and we’d have a wonderful time but that God would show up when everything went wrong.” So you know what this man had been praying for our entire trip?? Not for a wonderful time. Not for safe travels. Not that we would all have fun and everything would go smoothly. He prayed that my children would see God at work when everything went wrong. He prayed that things would go wrong so that God would have the chance to show up. I could feel people looking at me for a reaction. My kids made sidelong glances. Well, that certainly explained it. I had been strong at the beginning but as the days wore on and the onslaught continued I began to crack. Canada really did me in. By the time I reached Homer and had my own illness to deal with I was kind of done. As it all had piled on: the delays, the bad weather, the disappointments, the mislaid plans, the illness, the bad roads, the repairs, the power issues in the camper… I could probably go on… I had gotten lost in the stress and survival of the moments and missed how God had shown up each time. How each time He was probably directing us to something different that He wanted us to experience than what we had planned. Even if it took a few busted a tires, a camper coming off a hitch, a stomach bug through Canada and a missed ferry ride…to list the highlights, haha. I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. I also maybe could have strangled Pat for not just praying for a fun time like everybody else.

Not for the first time in my life, Pat Daigle had hit the nail squarely on the head and made me see the error of my thoughts and ways. And within only a few hours of landing at our long sought after destination. My respect for this man of God and his walk with the Lord is great. This church was the reason for our many years in the Alaskan wilderness.

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