Out of Range and Off the Grid

The 20 foot ocean going container showed up in front of our house today. We're wondering how we can fit everything in; or what we may still need to give up. The idolatry of possessions continues to be our battlefront. We will win this battle. We have to win this battle. The capacity of the container and our two vehicles will determine what and who wins.

This Friday, January 27 we depart Everett for our new life in Juneau. Our stuff goes in said container by barge. We go from Bellingham WA by Alaska ferry to Juneau. All on Friday. And for some days we will be cut off from communication from and to the outside world.

Our emotions range from excitement to sheer terror. We're praying that we rest in the peace God promises, and that we maintain a sense of humor. We're praying our house sale closes this week. We're praying for some people and churches to partner with us in this new work. We're praying our desire to be trusting and obedient outweighs our desires for comfort, security and what we've known. We're praying that somehow God uses this time of being out of range and off the grid to draw us even closer to Him.

Over and Out

We've had our final gatherings. We've said our formal good byes. Deb and I are now both gainfully unemployed.

Our final time with the Neighborhood Block watch was Wednesday. They gave us a card with photos of each household in front of their respective houses. Some of the photos included subliminal humor. Our final time with our Tribe was Thursday. It could have been a weepy time, but the kids decided to entertain us to the point of distraction, which I for one appreciated.

Deb's final day of work was Friday. She already misses her co-workers. She does not miss getting up early to get to work.

Sunday was our final time gathering with Soteria Church. I took the opportunity of my last sermon to make us laugh, so we (I) wouldn't cry, and it worked. We praised God for His sovereignty and for new leaders who will get along just fine without me. The church threw a party for us on Sunday evening. We laughed, we talked of babies due in the spring and summer (a church growth strategy for sure), we reflected on our shared histories, and gave each other hugs. They gave us a gift; a very generous gift. And one family gave us a handmade Greenland kayak paddle. Always wanted one. They knew that.

Now we have ten days to devote to packing up. I wish our flat screen TV wasn't quite so big. Our house used to be a home; now it's a staging area. But it's all good. We may not be entertaining in our home again, until that home is in the 907. Over and Out. For now.

LED

I am a native Southern Californian. I am proud to be a native Santa Barbarian. I am good at sitting on a beach. I am a decent waterman. I am not adverse to being tan. Of the many things positive we look forward to in Alaska, the advent of quickly looking like a giant bag of mayonnaise is not one of them.

Apparently vitamin D can reduce the symptoms of SAD ("Seasonal Affective Disorder," or in my case "Sucky Attitude Daily.") So Deb and I have proactively responded to the challenge of reversing the affects the lack of sunshine might have on her, and certainly will have on me. We've purchased a portable, plugin artificial sunlight contraption.

Now we're adjusting to reading the morning paper and sipping morning coffee with a very bright blue light an arm's length away. Something about this all seems so very silly. I may in time have a better attitude, but being blinded for a half hour or so after each session will take some getting used to.

Maybe God will hear my plea and let the sun shine in Juneau every once in a while. Or maybe He'll tell me to stop complaining and just deal with it. Or maybe He'll just tell me to embrace my soon to be glowing mayonnaise complexion. Or maybe this is all God's way of providing for my safety by making it easier for me to  blend in with the snow when bears are about.

It's Just Stuff

We spent our weekend giving things away. In the door came a steady stream of friends. Out the door went books, plants, furniture, camping gear, yard tools, the outdoor firepit and the lawn mower. All of those items will now get a new life (or take up space) in someone else's house. We won't miss any of it. I had forgotten I even owned some of it. It's just stuff.

We sold our tent trailer a couple of months ago, and we already miss it. But camping is weird. We spend our lives acquiring stuff for our homes, and then we go camping to get out of our homes and away from our stuff. Vacations are weird. We pay for a hotel room so we can park the little bit of stuff we brought to go out and do vacation things without that same stuff.

Being a pragmatist I am happy to see a lot of our stuff go home with other people. It means I won't have to carry it again. Deb and I are excited about living lighter. We're fairly certain our next home won't be as spacious as our Everett home has been. We won't have room for more stuff. We're learning we can and will get by on a lot less. And we have to make room for Alaska stuff.

Indigenous

We're moving to Alaska at the end of this month. We are tasked with becoming indigenous to a new community. We've been through this before.

Moving to Seattle for college I never became indigenous. Didn't want to. Moved to Portland for seminary, and became indigenous fairly quickly. Moved to California's Gold Country where it took me five of my six years there to become indigenous. Deb had to show me how. Moved to San Diego. I was indigenous in five minutes.

Moved back to the Northwest where I struggled to be indigenous, but one day into my fourth year the light came on (not necessarily the sun, mind you.) And now we're soon off to Southeast Alaska.

Locals in Juneau wear XtraTuf boots. Year Round. Even in the summer. Even with shorts. I'm told it's how one can tell the difference between a resident and a tourist.

Becoming indigenous is an attitude, and an intention. I intend to become indigenous as quickly as God will allow. Maybe it's one aspect of living in and loving a city and its people.

I have a beard, plaid shirts, a serious rain jacket, snow shoes and a gun or two. And, Oh yeah; Deb and I now have our Xtratuf's. Insulated, because we're not quite yet indigenous.

Books Lost

"The wall of books around him, dense with the past, formed a kind of insulation against the present world and its disasters." Ross MacDonald

I like books. I like to buy books. I like to read books. I like the way books look sitting side by side on my bookshelves. I like how books on a shelf can make me look smart to people who do not know better. Amazon should erect a statue of me in front of their building, and the people at Logos should give me platinum membership status. I have Kindle on my phone, and on my Kindle. Pastors like to tell each other how many books they own. Yet I realize I have owned many books that warranted but one reading, and some not even that. And now I am giving most of my books away.

I have done this in the past. Fifteen years ago I gave most of my books away to an unknown church planter who is now a household name in some circles. I subsequently re-purchased many of those volumes. But seasons and priorities change and I once again find myself giving books away. In this past week several young pastors in town have cleaned me out. They're happy. I'm happy.

Because those books have already served me I'm tired of having them. I do not want to box them up. I do not want to lift those boxes as we relocate. I do not want to read those books again. I want to travel lighter.

And I will need space on my bookshelves for the books I will buy and read in the future.

Just Along for the Ride

We celebrated Christmas on Sunday, Tuesday and Wednesday this past week. When they each returned to their own homes by Thursday morning everything changed around here. One, it got a lot quieter; not necessarily a good thing. Two, Deb and I started in with our month-long relocation project.

Just deciding what to keep, what to sell, what to mail off to the kids against their will, and what to dump took a full day. Now we have piles of things temporarily in places they do not belong. Every room in the house is a staging area. We've gone from living to preparing to live. Weird!

And while we plan our plans and do our due diligence, we got word that we will now have TWO weddings in the family this summer. Steve is marrying Sarah on July 21 in Bellingham, WA, and the recently engaged Kaycie will marry Ben in June in Grass Valley, CA. We'll move to Juneau...and then come back "stateside"...several times. I suppose my goal this year is to surpass any annual spending records I may have set in the past.

And it's all good. Really good. My "give the father's blessing" conversation with Ben was great. He didn't know the capitol of Madagascar, but he addressed my other questions quite well. I am excited for our children respectively, and I am excited for us too. Deb and I are enlarging our family, and then moving farther away from them all. Weird!