against the flow

I met a precious young couple at the winter retreat. Steve and Miriam (not their real names) grew up in a village on the Yukon and have recently committed their lives to Christ.

As I sat with them at breakfast yesterday, they shared their story with me. Steve grew up with religious parents--they followed the teachings of the Episcopal church in the village--but he fell into the trap of drinking and drugs in his teen years. He never understood the concept of a personal walk with Jesus until he began to spend time with the missionaries who'd just moved to the village. An older couple, not too far removed from alcoholism themselves, they modeled such an attractive combination of grace and truth to Steve that he felt compelled to know more. His marriage was disintegrating and his wife, Miriam, wanted nothing to do with the church.

But the love of Christ relentlessly drew Steve back to the missionaries house . . .

Miriam grew up in the same village, but her parents were both heavy drinkers. Her father went to prison when she was very young. She and her four younger sisters were eventually taken away from their alcoholic mother and placed in a foster home in a neighboring village. Miriam's first exposure to Christianity came when her grandmother came and took her to church on Sundays.

Miriam never cared much for the sermons, but the songs soothed her heart. She would sit quietly and listen as the hymns were sung, drawing comfort from the ancient lyrics. "I've got a mansion just over the hilltop" quickly became one of her favorites.

Miriam eventually moved back to her village and began drinking. She started seeing Steve, and at 17 she gave birth to his child. They were married a year later and another daughter followed. But their marriage was rocky from the start, and bad choice made by both Steve and Miriam threatened to destroy their family.

One fight in particular nearly ended the marriage--and Miriam's life. In desperation after his wife's suicide attempt, Steve reached out to his missionary friends for help.

In her broken state, Miriam agreed to attend the small church the missionary couple pastored. It wasn't the sermon that grabbed her attention, it was the music. "I've got a mansion just over the hilltop" was the first hymn the small congregation sang that day. The familiar lyrics flooded Miriam's soul with God's comfort and peace. She surrendered.

Together, Steve and Miriam decided to commit their lives to serving Jesus. They quit drinking, drugs and smoking cold turkey. These substances no longer have any appeal to them. They have been working faithfully alongside the missionaries, serving and ministering in any way they can.

While many Native believers feel that it is too difficult to stay and minister in their villages--their is a great pull from old friends and family to succumb to the old ways--Steve and Miriam feel that the Lord has called them to stay where they are--where they have grown up and have connections.

"I want the kids here to know that drinking and doing drug are not normal activities," Steve told me. "I want to give them hope and help them go against the flow."

Please pray for Steve and Miriam! Pray that the Lord would heal the wounds of their past, give them strength and wisdom for the future and the grace to follow Him each day. Pray that they will be a beacon of hope for the youth of that village and that their witness will cause many to turn to the Lord.

a foretaste of heaven

To some, hanging out with a mob of missionaries might not sound very exciting. But honestly, being a part of the InterAct Alaska Winter Retreat has been an incredible experience.

Yesterday, during the worship time, I felt like I was standing on holy ground.

I think that Alaska represents one of the toughest mission fields around. Think about the analogy of evangelizing being like sowing seeds. Just as the ground up here remains frozen most of the year--it's called permafrost--so the human heart has remained resistant to God's furrow. Many seeds have been scattered over the years--all the stories I've heard from these precious saints attest to that--but so few have been able to penetrate the hardened hearts and take root.
And many of the seeds that have sprung up, were choked out by the thorns and thistles that grow all too well in this frigid soil.
I know that more than a few struggle with feelings of futility and frustration. But they keep tossing out the seeds of Life, one handful at a time.

During this afternoon's hymn-singing session, I sat between two men who have spent the vast majority of their lives serving the Native people of Alaska. They have seen their share of heartache and struggle--but they've also pioneered two of the most effective ministries in the State of Alaska (in my opinion). Through their school and camp ministries, they've touched hundreds of Native kids with the love of Christ over the decades. They have been so very faithful and it was my great privilege to worship alongside them.

Tonight, however, I was sandwiched between beautiful Native believers--men and women who were touched and delivered from darkness by the ministries of the men I worshiped with earlier. Now they serve as lights and beacons of hope in their communities, and though they are few, they are growing strong in the Lord. Sometimes as we sang, I would just be quiet and listen to their beautiful voices, lifted up in tribute to Jesus.
It was truly a taste of heaven . . .

life is strange, does that make me a stranger?

Speaking of strange, I woke up to -23 degrees this morning. I'd forgotten what it feels like to have your nose hairs freeze. Not entirely unpleasant, but definitely a sign that warm clothes are warranted. It's about 4 above now, and I just got back from a walk and my brain cells are thawing . . .

So, about the second half of my trip--

As I stood in line to board my very tardy plane to Anchorage, I struck up a conversation with a young lady from Minnesota. She told me she was married and going to Fairbanks to meet up with her husband. She also said this was her very first time to travel by plane.

Reporter that I am, I began to ask her questions. It turned out that that not only had Nicole never been on a plane before, she'd actually never met the guy she was meeting in Fairbanks who actually is not her husband. She'd met him over the Internet through the friend of a friend, and the two of them thought it might be fun to "play house" in the middle of winter in Fairbanks.

"What do your parents think about this?" I asked. Nicole looked all of 18.

"They said I can always come back home if it doesn't work out," she assured me.

Something prompted me to hand her my business card.

"Nicole, I'd love it if you email me and let me know how things are going."

She was thrilled. "Wow, thanks! I will email you every detail!"

We were sitting on different ends of the plane, so I never saw her again. But I've been praying for her and wondering how her first night with her "husband" went.

The next 5 1/2 hours didn't exactly fly by, but I managed to entertain myself. I:

• jiggled a very cute baby to sleep while her exhausted mom took a break


• got ice packs for the very obnoxious lady from New Jersey who sat next to me


• talked to the very nice gay flight attendant


• read a book on how to host a really cheap wedding


• did the crossword puzzle


• slept


• prayed

But I made it, and am smack dab in the middle of the InterAct Winter retreat. But that's another topic . . . which I will blog about shortly.

traveling by myself . . .

I'm enjoying a lengthy layover at the Denver airport right now, enroute to Anchorage, Alaska.
Flying from Portland, Oregon to Denver in order to get to Alaska makes about as much sense as the flock of sparrows I'm watching right now.
A flock of sparrows, mind you, not just one or two, swooping madly about Concourse B, looking for crumbs to devour. After I made sure no one was watching me, I tossed a handful of trail mix on the carpet in front of me. The head sparrow--I know this to be true because it's bigger than the others and had a black head--hops boldly toward my offering and examines a pumpkin seed with its wee, beady eyes.
He hops back to his gang, obviously disappointed in my all-natural fare. The half-eaten Burger King bun allures them all to the gate next to mine.
I try to pretend I didn't make the mess in front of me . . .

I don't really like traveling alone, but I try to stay alert to any grand adventures the Lord might have for me. Before I left this morning, I read a really cool Beth Moore story about a divine encounter she once had at an airport--and it made me even more hopeful that I'd have some great tale to tell before the day was done.
I was all ready to "be Jesus" to the guy who sat next to me on the plane--until I read his T-shirt. It rendered me temporarily speechless. It advised:
"Shut up and drink your beer. There are sober children in India."
I momentarily thought about telling him about my daughter, Candyce, who leaves in just a few weeks to go care for desitute and dying children of India. I might have, if he'd seemed just the tiniest bit interested in chatting with me, which he wasn't. After several pathetic attempts at small talk, I just gave up an prayed for him.
I'm trusting that the unspoken word is sometimes more powerful than the spoken.
So, other than Mr. Tacky T-Shirt and the renegade band of sparrows, the day has been pretty uneventful.

(Except I just found out my flight is and hour and a half delayed. Ugh!)
But the trip's not over yet . . .

Chief

God is so very interesting.

I've been praying for the Lord to put together a team for our outreach in the Alaskan bush this summer. Several of the folks who went with us last year have re-enlisted, and the Lord has added a few new faces.

The latest being Chief.

I met Chief at a facility where I was serving dinner to homeless folks. Chief, who is a Nez Perce Indian, is not homeless at the moment, but he's spent more than three years living on the streets of Portland. He's been in and out of rehab programs, hospitals, rescue missions--Chief has experienced his share of hard times.

But, as Chief will tell you, the love of God has rescued him. And he shares that blessed truth at every opportunity.

The very first time I met Chief, I had this crazy impulse to invite him to minister in Alaska with us.

He didn't even hesitate. "Sure," Chief said.

Chief caught a ride to our church today and then came to our house for lunch. Chief is very soft-spoken and reserved--the poor guy had a hard time eating his lunch with all the questions I was asking him! at one point I asked Chief what he was afraid of and without missing a beat, he answered: "People."

But he stayed for the team meeting this afternoon, and was introduced to even more people. Chief didn't say much, but listened as we brainstormed and even joined us in our closing prayers. He said he wants to join the team.

It doesn't faze him that he has to raise $1,200 and that he doesn't have a job--and has never raised support before.

He didn't seem bothered in the least that he's the only person of Native heritage on the team.

Chief just seems very focused on the truth that God has called him out of darkness into His glorious light--and he wants to share that whenever and wherever he can.

He has many obstacles to overcome, this precious man, but I believe his calling and destiny are greater than we can fathom.

I have no idea how the Lord will work out all the details to get Chief to Alaska with us--but I think we will all have some incredible tales to tell before our trip has even started!

fog

We hit nary a bump in our flight from Homer to Anchorage, but I thought we were going to die, nonetheless.
It had been foggy the entire time we'd been in the cosmic hamlet by the sea, and it didn't let up for our last day. When we got to the airport, the Era employees told us that our 7:00 flight was delayed.
Ten minutes later, they announced it was cancelled. The 9:00 flight was booked--our only option with Era was to catch the 11:20 flight the next morning.
Greg wasn't down with that.
So, he talked to the lone Grant Air employee who was hanging around the ticket counter.
"Yep," the man drawled. "Only got two passengers booked on this flight, so if our pilot can land the plane, he can fly you out."

Hmmm. I couldn't help but notice that none of the other passengers from our cancelled Era flight were even considering the Grant Air option. They all chose to spend the night in Homer.

What did they know that we didn't?

I called Danielle and Krispin and begged them to pray that we wouldn't crash and die.
She promised they would, but I don't think she had a clue as to what we'd gotten ourselves into this time.
And neither did we.
Not only was the plane more than half-empty, the co-pilot was non-existent. Our pilot, a rather tense young man, breezed through the safety instructions and then turned his back on us, not making any mention of the fact that all but one of us were sitting on the same side of the airplane. I've flown in small aircraft enough to know that when they ask your weight at the ticket counter, they aren't just trying to humiliate you. They want to make sure the weight is evenly distributed aboard the aircraft.
Apparently the pilot really didn't care, but I quickly buckled into a seat across the aisle.
Off we went, into the foggy night.

I breathed a sigh of relief once we broke through the cloud cover and visibility was great. I spent the next 45 minutes praying, writing blogs in my head, and trying not to notice the really bad smell on the plane ( an unpleasant mixture of barf, tabacco, and dirty clothes).
After we'd been in the air for more than an hour, I began to get a bit nervous. The flight to Anchorage is normally about 45 minutes. I peered out the window into the darkness and realized that we were flying in circles. At one point, the pilot seemed to change him mind about landing in Anchorage and I wondered if we were headed back to Homer. But then the circling started again.

The pilot was flipping furiously through maps or something up front and I wondered if he was afraid to descend through the fog.

Were going to run out of fuel?

Could we be lost?

I started praying fervently for the pilot . . .

After what seemed like a million years, the plane began to descend. To our pilot's credit,

the landing was without incident. He seemed as glad to be on the ground as we were, and I noticed that the next incoming Grant Air flight had been cancelled . . . .

Moose on the loose

We spotted fifteen moose on our trip to Soldotna today. That's the most moose I've ever seen in one day. It's hard for them to hide their winter-fattened bodies behind the bare willow branches this time of year.

Moose look so calm and docile from a distance, but annually, they kill more people than bears.

So don't pet the moose.

It was a great trip to Soldotna. I spoke to about 30 students--mostly Alaska Natives--at Alaska Christian College. Darren, a young man from McGrath, came up to talk to me afterward.

I asked him if he ever thought about taking the gospel message back to his village.

"McGrath is Egypt to me," Darren answered slowly, carefully formulating the words in his head before he spoke. "The Lord has called me out of Egypt. If I ever go back, it will be like the wind blowing through, but I will never pitch my tent there."

I couldn't argue with that, but I'm on a mission to get Native believers to take their testimonies back into the villages.

So I tried another tack.

"Well, maybe you can come to our camp on the Yukon and tell the Native kids there what God has done for you," I suggested.

"Alleluia!" he said without hesitation.

Wow, what a day! I saw 5 eagles, 15 moose and met a precious young Native evangelist. And the day is only half done . . .

The eagles have landed!

1. We saw lots of eagles, up close and personal today. Homer is sort of a winter feeding ground for the big birds of prey, and they must eat well because the eagles we saw today sort of looked like big, black chickens. They were perched all over the spit--on rooftops and light posts, signs, and just hunkered down on the ground.
   Snow fell softly today and there were definitely more eagles than tourists out and about.
   I think I could get used to Homer in the winter.

Home, Sweet Homer

Ah yes, we are back in God's country again.

But, my, what a wild ride we had getting here!

As we boarded our plane at 6 a.m. today in Portland we were told:

It's really foggy in Seattle and there's a good chance we won't be able to land and we'll have to return to Portland.

Not the best start to the day! But I text-messaged a few of my praying friends and by the time we got to Seattle--it was still foggy.

But we landed anyway.

We had to hoof it to make our flight to Anchorage, and then our plane sat on the runway for an hour--because of the fog. Even though I could barely see the runway lights, we eventually took flight.

I picked up the Reader's Digest and opened to the very disturbing story of a plane that had crashed in Peru. More than half the passengers died.

But we didn't crash and made it to Anchorage in good time. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, and it was with high spirits that we climbed aboard the twin engine Otter that would take us to Homer.

I've been in small planes before, but this one was so miniscule that our flight attendant made sure we were all buckled up with our gear safely stowed--and then got off the plane!

Greg and I were sitting directly behind the pilots. I literally could have reached out and smacked the co-pilot up the side of his head. What I really wanted to do, though, was ask him for his driver's liscense, because he sure didn't look old enough to be flying a plane.

The real pilot looked like he'd graduated from high school, at least. He turned around and smiled at us from the cockpit, then launched into the safety speech the flight attendant usually gives.

"Are you willing and able to operate the emergency exit should the need arise?" he asked an elderly Russian woman who was sitting behind me.

She stared at him blankly until her husband evidently translated the request to her.

"Yes, yes," she said, flashing a toothless grin.

As if that didn't make us feel safety-conscious enough, the pilot then gave us a daring option.

"I'm Tony, your pilot for today, and this is my first flight. Since it's such a beautiful day, I was wondering if you all would rather take the scenic route and fly over the Harding Ice Fields rather than the usual way."

"Ice Fields!" someone clamored from the back of the plane, and our fate was sealed.

Our lives were in the hands of a madman and his junior high apprentice . . .

It was actually an amazing flight--I've flown to Homer from Anchorage numerous times and have never flown over the spectacular Harding Ice fields. Sometimes our little plane appeared to be so close to the blue glacial ice and ragged peaks that I didn't feel quite safe. I wondered if this pilot, with this being his first flight and all, knew about updrafts and wind sheers and their catasrophic effect on small planes.

But I was so busy taking pictures that it didn't worry me too much . . .

Every so often, we'd hit a patch of turbulence, and the Russian grandma behind me would utter a fervent prayer. At least I hope she was praying :)

It was an amazing, breath-taking flight, but I think everyone was a little bit relieved when we landed. I thanked the pilot for such a great trip--but I had to ask:

"So, did I really hear you say this was your first flight?"

"First flight of the day," Tony the pilot answered. "Why?"

"Just wondering, " I replied.

Yep, we cheated death again! And this is only day one , , ,

. . . and your sons shall come from afar . . .

I think I knew that Krispin was "the one" the first time I met him. (I've been introducing him as my "future son-in-law" for months now--and he never argued with me).

"Dapper" was the word Greg used to describe him--he was wearing a cheeky little cap, a trench coat and he carried an umbrella.

"Quirky" was how Yellie described him to me when I pressed her for details. I could tell she was more than a little bit interested by the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about Krispin.

Which was often . . .

When he finally got up the nerve to declare his feelings for her--and she reciprocated in kind--he started hanging around our house more. Except for a few snarly encounters with Scout, Krispin seemed the perfect fit our family.

Candyce was immediately smitten by him, and Lindsay's thumb's-up quickly followed. Greg adored him--they share the same laid-back temperament and odd sense of humor.

And how do I describe my heart toward Krispin?

He is a son to me.

Many years ago, the Lord gave me a very special verse:

"Look up your eyes all around and see . . . they shall come to you. Your sons shall come from afar." Isaiah 60:4

At this particular time in my life, Greg and I were praying about letting a young man come and live with us. He'd been part of our youth group when we lived in Anchorage, but since we'd last seen him, he'd gotten mixed up with drugs and alcohol and other unsavory things. And he called and asked if he could come to California and stay with us for a while.

We had two teen-age and one junior-high age daughter at that time. Even though we loved Jamey, we wondered if we were crazy to even consider taking him in.

But as I sought the Lord for guidance, He led me to Isaiah 60:4--a verse I'd never even noticed before. Greg and I both felt this was God's Word to us and we took Jamey in--and he was indeed a son who came from afar.

And he became the first of many sons who have passed through our lives.

And so is Krispin. But he's not just passing through. He's here to stay.

In case you don't know, Krispin really comes from afar--his parents are missionaries in China and he lived there until his senior year in high school. I feel kind of bad for them--they've never even met Danielle--or any of the rest of the crazy Strannigan family. But it's a match made in heaven and I know they will love Danielle as much as we love their son.

When I told Candyce that Krispin had asked Greg's permission to ask Danielle to marry him, she laughed with delight and said, "Mom, we are the most blessed family on the planet! Now Krispin will be my brother!"

I echo her sentiment.

We are truly blessed.

We aren't losing a daughter--we are gaining a very precious son.

Every Picture Tells a Story . . .

CONGRATULATIONS YELLIE AND KRISPIN!!!!

(Details to follow . . .)