Snow Machine

I often portray our Alaskan life as idyllic. It really is. We love it here. But life happens here too. People, even Alaskans are people. Once in a while we're reminded of just this reality.

Two nights ago we were awakened at 3:30am to the not-so-idyllic sounds of a snow machine (not a "snow mobile," you southerners) being started up (after many failed and futile attempts.) This lasted for 20 minutes or so. We were not amused. I was tempted to go downstairs and outside to "address" my lack of amusement with said perpetrator. I did not have a speech polished, but my internal threat vocabulary was dominated with the words "disembowel" and "fillet."

The following morning I saw the fellas outside attempting to free the evil snow machine from a nearby ditch. I went outside (mind, with no weapons on my person) to make inquiry. I asked the young perpetrator what had happened. He told me he did not remember. The other guys offered me no eye contact. So I adapted my method to offering statements to which my young perp could respond. I wanted to aid his memory.

He got drunk (nightly event, so not difficult to ascertain.) He had a fight with his girlfriend (again, not difficult to ascertain.) His anger resulted in his misguided idea that firing up the snow machine at 3:30am and going for a death ride was his best option. This then resulted in his promptly depositing said snow machine in a nearby ditch (another advertisement for "Don't drink and drive.")

I suggested he had perhaps not considered the impact his choices and actions had on the entire neighborhood. I suggested that being drunk, dumb and narcissistic was/is not necessarily a strong life's plan. I explained how a man is different from a boy old enough to shave. And I encouraged him to do a "manly" thing; go to each of our neighbors and apologize. Because real men accept responsibility and own up to their less than savory actions.

But in this exchange something happened in me. My anger and desire to wreck emotional damage was replaced with compassion; God-inspired compassion. I began to see this kid, this boy as lost. A lost lamb.
And in this I recognized yet another event God is using to reform my heart. My heart needs continual reformation. And maybe my desire to be priest and pastor on our street will require my being a father figure to some.

Later in the day I saw my young neighbor begrudgingly making his way to a couple of front doors. He has not yet made his way to all of our neighbors (I told him I would be following up) but he was making the attempt.

No one got filleted or disemboweled. Deb and I enjoyed our gospel community gathering last night, and then slept well. And I'm not quite so motivated to be the neighborhood strong arm.