Gritty Faith and Stubborn Grace in Alaska

This has been a heavy but fruitful year. A year of extreme highs and lows. In this year, more than any other, I have learned that the concept of gratitude doesn’t always look like fat little pilgrims, eating a cornucopia of delectable delights on a Thanksgiving postcard.

In this year, I have learned that every rose does have a thorn or two, and that the bottle of rose oil, which my wife carries in her purse, is the result of tremendous pressure. The sweet aroma Lindsey loves to place on her wrists and behind her ears required a crushing before it could ever be released.

Right after Christmas, after much prayer and thoughtful consideration, Lindsey and I packed our suitcases (we’d already sold everything we owned) and our two small children and loaded a plane for Alaska. We left behind everything we knew in Alabama: family, faith, and football and headed 4,000 miles away for the job of a lifetime.

We lived like tourists for the first two weeks, soaking up our first Alaskan Winter. We were in Heaven with our perfect little cottage: bay in the front, snow-capped mountains in the back. Three days after starting my job, our world began to crumble.

This isn’t smelling quite like a Thanksgiving feast, is it?

I wish I could tell you that after living in Alaska for four months, piecing work together as it came, then moving back to Alabama, God has shown us His glorious reasons for letting us fall flat on our faces. But I can’t. 

I’m honored to share the rest of this story at The Samaritan’s Song today. Click here to read the rest of this story plus lessons by other sojourners.