pilgrims

We are in Homer now. Greg is out fisihing today, I stayed behind because I'm sick. We had such a great time out on our friend's charter boat yesterday that I don't really mind, It feels good to just rest and be still.
And reflect. . .

Had an interesting conversation with our missionary friend in the village the day we left. I can't recall what exactly we were chatting about, but he made the comment that he and his family didn't feel at home anywhere on this planet. They'd lived in the village for 13 years and still weren't accepted there. The home church that had sent them out and steadily supported them for a decade no longer exists. Their children have moved out and are scattered around the lower 48 . . .

They are ever aware of the fact that we won't truly be home until we reach heaven.

While I totally identify with that sentiment--and I know Greg and the girls do too--I have to say I feel more at home in Alaska (especially on the Yukon) than any other place. There's something about Alaska, and its people, that deeply moves my spirit. There's a beauty here, and a glory, that can't be described or contained. My senses are quickened, I feel more alive and I love more deeply. I sense God's presence and His passion for the Alaskan Native people to rise up and fulfill their divine destiny.

And I pray to be a part of that process.

But as much as I feet at home here, my heart is never satisfied. There's an ache, a longing for the glory of heaven that my beloved Alaska can only dimly reflect. There's a longing to see the precious indigenous people of this Great Land worshiping before His throne.

That's when I'll know I'm finally home . . .