Colliding With the Call Book Excerpt + Alaska Photos

While living in bush Alaska, we would go for weeks on end looking at only each other, our co-teachers, and the same dozen student faces. Those beautiful faces, round like a blueberry, tinted with the warm hue of earth. Faces framed in raven hair, set with dark eyes that changed like the sky, often cloudy and veiled, then the next moment streaked with angry lightning. Occasionally we beheld a clear, sunny day, when heaven shone through and all were invited to laugh with the joy of light. But those eyes and those faces, those often hard-to-find smiles, made up our world. 

So, when the outside world touched down in the form of a six-seater Piper twin-prop, it was like Christmas day, heaven come to earth. Perhaps that’s a bit of an overstatement, but the anticipation of receiving a long-awaited care package from home, or better yet, a visiting friend, easily rivaled my childhood excitement for opening those gifts under the tree. 

My mom became an expert bush-package-sender. She knew that without stores, fresh produce was almost impossible to come by once our initial supply from Anchorage ran out, so each year as she harvested her garden, she would meticulously cling-wrap, bubble-wrap, and newspaper-wrap her treasures: zucchini, carrots, cabbage, miniature watermelon, and even tomatoes. She would then seal them up in a Priority Mail Flat Rate box and send them north on a wing and a prayer. 

About a week later I would start hovering near the VHF radio to listen for the airplane’s call. I’d watch the weather, praying for the fog to roll out, cringing as the wind picked up intensity. I’d wait for my package to arrive. Sometimes, it would come within five days, and I’d call my mom as I opened the box, giving her a full report on how the produce survived. “One zucchini is broken, but edible … looks like the container of tomatoes made it. Amazing!” Other times, nine, ten, twelve days would pass, and we would start to wonder if any of her garden greens would make it in any kind of usable condition. It was all a gamble. A game of waiting.

The worst was when we were the ones waiting for that plane, when our next three connecting flights depended on us getting out of the village that day. For the eight winter months of the year, we had to wear our cold-weather gear in order to fly. Safety regulations. So just in case you have a crash landing in the tundra or mountains you might not freeze to death before help arrives. Real comforting.

The day we were scheduled to leave we would have all our bags packed and by the door by 9:00 am. The planes didn’t usually come that early; but if they were trying to beat a storm they might, so we had to be ready. We would hear word of the tentative schedule from the local agent, and that would usually give us a roughly trustworthy two-hour time frame in which to expect the airplane. But there had been times we’d been caught off-guard, so we’d learned to put on all our layers except our coat and hat and sit still while we waited so as not to overheat too much. 

Most times, by the grace of God, we made it in or out when we had planned. But on rare occasions, we would sit at the gravel runway, expecting the plane to land within ten minutes, when we would hear the radio crackle. Conditions were worse than they expected. They would continue to the next village and pick us up on the return if the weather had improved. Our hearts would sink, and we would return to our house to wait some more.

In all the waiting, in all the unpredictability, I had no control. Worrying got me nowhere. I was utterly helpless, but not hopeless.

“God thunders with His voice wondrously,
Doing great things which we cannot comprehend.
For to the snow He says, ‘Fall on the earth,’
And to the downpour and the rain, ‘Be strong.’
He seals the hand of every man,
That all men may know His work.
Then the beast goes into its lair
And remains in its den.
Out of the south comes the storm,
And out of the north the cold.
From the breath of God ice is made,
And the expanse of the waters is frozen.
Also with moisture He loads the thick cloud;
He disperses the cloud of His lightning.
It changes direction, turning around by His guidance,
That it may do whatever He commands it
On the face of the inhabited earth.
Whether for correction, or for His world,
Or for lovingkindness, He causes it to happen.”
JOB 37:5-13 NASB

Elihu counseled Job on the power of God in Job chapter 37. And God counseled me in His sovereignty in the myriad times of waiting for that plane. He alone held the whole picture in His hands, determining whether for correction, or for His world, or for lovingkindness, He would cause the wind to calm or the storm to rage. 

Through the sleet and the sunshine, the disappointment and the rejoicing, the Creator forged in me a trust in His sovereignty that is the granite beneath my feet in every storm of life. A season of sickness or a season of health, He is at work, whether for correction or lovingkindness. A painful loss or an unexpected gift, He is behind it, whether for correction or lovingkindness. A traffic jam or three green lights in a row, He is setting the pace, whether for correction or for lovingkindness. 

I say this not with a “whatever will be will be” passive attitude, but rather with a “whatever God wills surely happens” active hope. Because He is sovereign, not one word of His will return void, not one jot or tittle of His promises will remain unfulfilled, not one sparrow will fall to the ground apart from Him. And therefore, I can trust Him.

In the waiting of the wilderness, trust is born.

Reflection Questions

What waiting experiences have taught you to trust God more deeply?

What is your response to the picture of an intentional, sovereign Creator in Job 37:5-13? The text quoted is in NASB. You might enjoy reading it in various translations.

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