Here I am sitting in a 70 year old house in a small Alaskan village, sipping 35 year old tea, reading white fang while the sun dips just beyond reproach at 11pm. Another day is eloquently coming to a end another day, i just think of all the days that this house has seen. Earthquakes, funerals, weddings, raising up kids while raising up the village's children teaching them to read teaching them to learn, one rooms inscription reads joyce's office/ examination room, wonder what wounds have been stitched, if anybody has died in this house. A house is such a simple thing wood, nails, glass, and various other materials but what makes a house more than just a house, is it simply the age of this house that makes it seems so fascinating to me, or was it the 50 summers, autumns, winters and springs that were lovingly endured in the wild of it all. I ask myself who am I to tear down a 50 year old wall, what right do I have to demolish the past. I try my hardest to soak the house in, but its not really the house that speaks to my searching heart, its the life that was so dedicated to serving a community, so dedicated to Jesus to the nails in his hands and feet, to anointing Jesus's feet with tears and perfume, with a lifetime of service. If you asked me today if i ever wanted to leave this house, i would say “no, never”. I keep on seeing this trip as a perspective changer, maybe ill have afresh way of looking at things, if anything i think it might shift my heart to be completely committed to where I am The people here are different than ive ever experienced before, we arrive at the pier with no plan on loading our gear, our material to bring them to the house, we get a truck and a driver willing to drive for us right aways, guess he didnt have much other road ahead of him as the village only has 3 miles of road. We leave the light on, so if your in the neighbourhood wed love you to come for a visit. Ill have fresh tea on, 30 years old but fresh nonetheless.
just some thoughts