At the Princess Wilderness Lodge in Denali, you can (and should) sit on the back deck, facing west, and see the majestic, snow-covered mountains as far as the eye can see. We’ll call that the Denali National Park perspective. On the front porch, facing east, you can see a less glorious, touristy strip mall, offering t-shirts for $5.99. We’ll call that the Pigeon Forge on a bad day perspective.
Sometimes, it’s not where you stand, but which direction you face. Your orientation—your perspective—makes all the difference in the world.
That’s how two people, in the same place, might have two very different attitudes about their situation. They are focusing on different things.
If you are bummed about your current life situation, the solution might involve changing places—a new state, a new job, a new vacation spot, a new friend group. More often, I think the solution is about remaining in place, but changing your orientation. You rotate your perspective to see life’s snow-capped mountains—the blessings—rather than the cheesy strip malls.
After a hearty breakfast and cup of java at the Black Bear coffee house, we boarded the bus for a journey into Denali National Park. Crossing into the park, I checked off National Park #29 of 60. I doubt I’ll ever make it to all 60 (unless I commit to do so), but I sure have enjoyed the first 29.
Our bus tour covered just a fraction of the park’s main drive. Another tour, and adventurous back-country campers, go much deeper. But, boy, we sure saw a lot of wildlife in that stretch. The approximate tally was…
– 5 moose, including a calf
– 7 or 8 caribou wandering along and then crossing a river
– 1 arctic squirrel
– several ptarmigans, the state bird. The p is silent, as with pturkey, ptaco, and PTony Romo
– dozens of snow-shoed hares
And…drum roll…
A grizzly bear!!!
There are tour operators who travel in the park daily, over a period of years, and never see a grizzly. So we were thrilled to have one exit some brush and cross the road right next to our bus. Our mostly grey-haired bus riders scrambled over seats and each other, jockeying for the best viewing position.
Our guide said you can tell grizzly bear gender by the presence of offspring/cubs (if cubs, female), visibility of sex organ (if visible, male), and urination (if standing facing tree, male; if politely seated, female). So, in that regard, they’re much like humans.
Our tour including a couple of earnest, if underwhelming, presentations at stops along the way. We learned living history at the Savage Cabin and local native culture at Primrose Ridge. My lack of appreciation was partly due to being distracted by:
1. The presence of snow-shoed hares darting around. Or, as Kyle’s mother-in-law Tami calls them, Fuzzy Hares.
2. The presence of a very juvenile but quite hilarious fart app on my phone, which I may or may not have activated from the back of the crowd, much to my wife’s dismay.
At Primrose Ridge, our guide invited us to face Denali, the mountain formerly known as McKinley. Unfortunately, cloud cover precluded us from seeing the highest mountain peak in North America. Thus, we were staring at a giant cloud. That perspective, had I adopted it, could have been a bummer.
Instead, I chose to change my orientation and focus on my amazing traveling companions, a rare grizzly bear sighting, and the other wildlife and mountains we had seen. God made all these people, these views, and this wildlife, for us to enjoy…and through them, to see Him.
That made me joyful and grateful—the by-products of choosing a better perspective.
Princess Cruises wasted little time getting us started on our first activity. At 8:15 am, we boarded the sternwheeler Discovery for a narrated cruise along the Chena and Tanana rivers.
I was totally impressed with the design and execution of this narrated riverboat cruise. Rather than just rely on the beauty of the river and surrounding scenery, the narrator and staff immersed us in Alaskan history and culture.
First up, a discussion on Alaskan bush pilots. For nearly a century, these legends of Alaskan aviation have been traversing the mostly roadless Alaskan wilderness in often brutal weather conditions and rough terrain. They allow remote, off the grid families and villages to occasionally tap into towns to resupply, get healthcare, and access other services.
In the middle of this discussion, a real life bush pilot flew in and landed next to our riverboat! How cool is that? Our narrator interviewed him over the loudspeaker, providing even more insight into his training and operating environment. Then he took off from the water and soared into the clouds.
Next up, we arrived at the training site for the late Susan Butcher’s famous Iditarod sled dog team. After an accomplished dog mushing career, including a remarkable 4 Iditarod wins in 5 years, she sadly died from leukemia.
Fortunately, Trail Breaker Kennels, where she lived and trained dogs with her husband, remains in operation today…right along the banks of the Chena River. For us, that meant a live sled dog demonstration (which are always more impressive than ones using deceased dogs). Musher Laura Allaway explained the training process, took a team of dogs for a ride, and answered questions.
Three key takeaways…
1. The puppy sled dogs eventually become confident at overcoming big obstacles in adulthood because they are introduced to increasingly challenging obstacles. The puppies on the banks before us were being encouraged to crawl over a small, manageable log…one of the first steps in their training. (One puppy, who “knew better,” just walked around the log. He was placed on the management career track.)
2. The dogs’ attitude, demeanor, resiliency, and toughness…and even the composition of their body fur, is a product of their training and living environment. It got me thinking, as I sat in a comfortable chair, behind protective glass, in a climate-controlled room…might we be a little mentally tougher, resilient human beings if we allowed ourselves to exist for a while in less than optimum settings? Hmmm.
3. The 3rd and best takeaway relates to why dogs are chained to individual dog houses at the end of day. For more on that, and my other lessons from sled dogs, check out my next book…Faith in the Margins…a 365-day devotional book.
Our next stop on the riverboat cruise was a tour of an authentic Athabaskan village. We learned how salmon are caught with a fish wheel, cleaned, smoked, and preserved. Other presentations covered animal furs, native dress, housing, and other cultural aspects of Alaska’s original inhabitants.
After re-boarding the boat, I made two food decisions: one good and one terrible.
First, the good. I ordered the hearty, delicious reindeer dog and reindeer chili. Once you get beyond the notion of eating Rudolph and jeopardizing Christmas for millions of children, it’s a satisfying meal.
Next, the narrator announced that free samples of salmon dip would be available in the stern of the ship. Without hesitation, I raised the aft portion of my body off my seat, rotated starboard, and headed for the stern. Why? I don’t know. You see, I’ve hated salmon since I was a kid. I knew that. And yet, there’s something powerful in the words “free sample.” An absurd logic train enters my mind…eat enough free samples in life, and you’ll save enough money to put your kids through college. Even though my kids have finished college, I had to get my free sample.
At the sample station, I picked up a cracker…by that, I mean a thin, crispy wafer and not the colloquial term for white people. I scooped up a generous glob of salmon dip with said cracker, because…larger the free sample, quicker my kids get through college.
As I placed the entire sample on the back of my disproportionately large tongue, I immediately knew something was wrong. This was the second most disgusting thing I’d put in my mouth in the past decade…the first being the Gravy Train beef jerky I inadvertently ate during a walk on the Appalachian Trail.
The sweet lady behind the counter (aka, “the cracka servin’ cracka”) asked, “Isn’t it delicious?” With the fishy manure wad still resting on the back of my tongue, I barely opened my mouth and uttered, “Fabulous.” Lying on the Lord’s Day…shameful.
I was in a serious dilemma. I was also in Alaska, with salmon—a cultural icon, stuck in my mouth. I had just immersed myself in Athabaskan, salmon-loving culture, for goodness sake. Still, I wasn’t about to put the “free sample” in my belly, even if that would delay my sons’ education.
In true Mr. Bean mode, I quietly made my way to the side exit door, found a secluded spot by the rail and looked around. No one was in sight…good. I curled my tongue around the fishy ball of drywall repair, and launched it about 30 feet across the water, almost reaching the starboard bank. I must assume the clump will be eaten by alevin (look it up), thus completing what naturalist Sir Elton John called the Circle of Life.
Still suffering from fish mouth, I boarded the bus with my traveling companions and we headed toward the Denali Princess Wilderness Lodge. Highlight of that bus ride, for me, was driving by the place where Christopher McCandless went to live off the grid, as documented in the book and movie Into the Wild.
All in all, a wonderful first full day in Alaska, save for the free sample of salmon mush.
On a first trip to Seattle, there are certain things one must do: ride to the top of the Space Needle, drink coffee with local hipsters, eat homemade mini donuts while walking around Pikes Place, watch cheese being made, watch men toss salmon at the fish market, take a ferry ride in Puget Sound, and visit Chittenden Locks. We did all that last year. Love the place!
On a second trip to Seattle, during a 9-hour layover, the list is reduced to 2 items: drink coffee with local hipsters and eat mini-donuts. Those were my two priorities today.
After storing our bags at the Sea-Tac airport USO, we took a train to downtown Seattle and rendezvoused with the rest of our traveling clan. Kyle led us to Caffe Ladro, his favorite of the 1,692 coffee shops in Seattle. He and Laci shared honey lavender coffee there during their honeymoon a couple years ago. They would do so again today.
On our way into the coffee shop, I noticed a pickup truck loaded with flowers parked in a no parking area in front of the store. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, as if asleep. This would be weird in most contexts, but wasn’t even in the Top 10 of odd/unusual people I’d seen on our 10-minute walk from the train station.
About half way through our coffee experience, we noticed a police officer approaching the back of the truck. After looking inside the truck, he backed up behind it, un-holstered his gun, pointed it at the driver, and called for backup. I assume the guy had something threatening in the seat, like a red MAGA cap.
The cop motioned for us to get out of the way, as sipping coffee behind a large window next to a police bust is not a recommended excursion on TripAdvisor. Continuing to sip our lattes, we shuffled through a side door and huddled in an adjoining lobby, just as 3 more cops arrived. These Alaska tours are awesome!
As the scene unfolded outside, I sang “Bad boys, bad boys, watcha gonna do? Watcha gonna do when they come for you?” Moments later, the police, inspired by my song, stormed the vehicle and dragged the man to the ground. We jumped at the chance to exit the lobby and hurry down the street to safety.
Our next stop was the mini-donut shop at Pikes Place. I stood in line for 20 minutes to buy 3 dozen for our group. As we feasted on these tiny lumps of breaded wonder, one of the members of our group shared a personal story.
It seems the gentleman has Irritable Bowel Syndrome. For the purpose of the story, I’ll call him D-Wibs—Dude with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I’m not familiar with the condition, but my understanding is that when constipated, D-Wibs gets a bit snippy.
As I munched on my third cinnamon mini donut, D-Wibs shared that his condition sometimes causes him embarrassment in public restrooms. Specifically, his bowels make loud sputtering noises, like a Chevy with a damaged catalytic converter. We’ve all been there.
On a recent occasion, he was in the stall blowing trouser clouds at regular intervals, about 20 seconds apart. In an adjoining stall, a boy began anticipating the explosions, and whistling in advance to announce their arrival. Together, these two strangers could have scored the opening scene in Saving Private Ryan.
Consistent with his condition, D-Wibs became irritated. After finishing up, he waited outside the teen’s stall. According to D-Wibs, he wanted the boy to have to look in the eyes of the man he had whistle-taunted and fart-bullied…the man with Irritable Bowels. And that’s what happened…and that’s how the story ended. As a Fob W Pot, I appreciate the burden D-Wibs carries, and the bowel-shaming he endures in public restrooms and swimming pools. I plan to give him a hug each morning.
With donut powder still framing our lips, we returned to the airport by train and caught the 9 pm flight to Fairbanks, Alaska. I was thrilled to step foot off the plane and claim my 48th state!
As we were shuttled over to our Princess Cruises-owned hotel just passed midnight, I wondered about the recommended packing list. Specifically, they tell you to pack a flashlight. Why? After all, it was after midnight and still light outside!
A night with no darkness–that’s weird. A flower-toting, pickup truck driving guy getting jacked up by Seattle police–a little weird. A teen whistling in concert with my friend’s irritable bowels–weird as well.
Yes, it’s been a weirdly exciting day. But we’re in Alaska and super pumped for the opportunity to explore the Final Frontier!
Three to go. Yes, after 52 years on Planet Earth, I’ve visited 47 states, leaving just 3 to go. North Dakota, Michigan, and Alaska. Well, I should say “about 3.” My wife tells me I really haven’t done Hawaii, because she wasn’t with me. Following her logic, I also haven’t done childhood.
Regardless of the math, it’s time to take on Alaska…the Last Frontier. A state 2.5 times the size of Texas. A state with more coastline than all other states combined. A state with more inland water than any other state. Most importantly, the only state that can be spelled using a single row on a standard keyboard.
We arrived in St Louis to join up with our son, Kyle, and his wife, Laci. We will later join up with 10 more of her family and friends.
As we plopped down in their living room, their dog (our only grandchild) climbed up my torso and pounced on my face. She’s basically a large cotton ball with legs. She’s also a bichon frise, which in French means “please groom me.” My dad, her original owner, named her Pita, an acronym for a 4-word phrase beginning with “Pain.” As a minister, Kyle must claim she’s named after the flat, hollowed, unleavened bread. Who names their dog after bread? As Pita ran her tongue along the inside of my left nostril, I was convinced my dad had more accurately named her.
While we watched carpool karaoke, Kyle pulled out a little pair of scissors, the kind kindergarten teachers trash because they no longer cut. Right on queue, Laci put Pita in a headlock and Kyle began cutting her hair…about 3 cotton fibers per cut. Unable to handle the inefficiency of this money saving process, and the tears in Pita’s eyes, I looked away.
That night, a friend delivered us to the STL airport. We made our way to the USO lounge, a military hangout featuring free snacks, TVs, gaming consoles, and a room full of beds. After partaking of hot dogs, bowls of cereal and a game of Quirkle, we found 4 unoccupied beds on which to get a few hours of sleep. Tomorrow at 6am, we fly to Dallas, Seattle, and then Alaska!
“When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long.” – Psalm 32:3
The murder of Frank Wesley McAlister had remained unsolved for 25 years. That all changed in January of 2018. During a televised interview, Brian Keith Hawkins of Redding, California made a surprise confession: He had killed Frank McAlister in 1993, with the help of two accomplices. The trio planned to meet McAlister under the pretense of a meth transaction. Instead, they robbed him, stabbed him to death, and ditched his car.
After confessing, Hawkins finished a Pepsi and cigar and then turned himself into local authorities. He and his accomplices were arrested and remain in jail.
Brian Keith Hawkins
What causes a man to confess to a crime and turn himself in? In this case, the murderer provided an explanation:
“Horrible, horrible, absolutely horrible every day,” Hawkins said to describe his life since the murder. “Almost every minute of every day has been a nightmare.” According to Hawkins, his victim wasn’t the only one to lose his life that day.
“It’s kinda weird that Frank never even got to have a life and neither did I,” he said in an interview. “We were teenagers and now I’m 44 and still haven’t had a life, and now probably most likely won’t anyways.”
Hawkins said that he has been remorseful ever since the incident, but it was ultimately finding faith in God that led to his confession.
“I’ve been through hell my whole life because of this,” Hawkins explained. He said he knows that God has forgiven him, but that wasn’t enough. The wrong couldn’t be undone, but he could now do the right thing. So, he contacted the family to beg for forgiveness. He then turned himself in so that a judge and jury can decide his punishment.
Today’s passage is taken from a psalm of David. The note from the margin reads: When you have sin in your life and do nothing about it, there is no peace.
Campbell Morgan describes it as “a Psalm of penitence, but it is also the song of a ransomed soul rejoicing in the wonders of the grace of God. Sin is dealt with; sorrow is comforted; ignorance is instructed.” James Montgomery Boice adds, “This was Saint Augustine’s favorite psalm. Augustine had it inscribed on the wall next to his bed before he died in order to meditate on it better.”
I suspect Brian Keith Hawkins will spend the rest of his life behind bars. He has lost his freedom, the consequence of a 25-year-old crime. However, by finding God, turning himself in, confessing his sin, and asking for forgiveness, he will find mercy and peace.
“Show me, O LORD, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life. You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man’s life is but a breath.” – Psalm 39:4-5
“But a Breath”
Oh, those days of youth, that childhood mine,
No watches, no schedules, no checking the time.
A meander, a frolic, afternoons stretch a mile,
Surely hours of play; no, ‘twas just a short while.
Seventh grade, eighth, still young and growing,
A clock on the wall, must I get going?
Still plenty of time, a deep reservoir of breath.
An endless horizon, so many years left.
Don the gown, toss the cap, then do so again,
A glance at my gal, is she more than a friend?
Time rushes on, a watch claims my wrist,
Bosses and pressures, “to do” headlines my list.
Tears flood my cheeks, loved ones laid to rest,
They warned life is short, once thought that was jest.
Happier moments too, our nest graced with a son,
Then another one joins him, yes, parents we’ve become.
But you never see the culprit, it all happens so fast,
Leave the pedal unguarded, time steps on the gas.
The thirties rush by, the forties even quicker,
I’d argue too fast, but I’m not one to bicker.
The nest soon empties, must be some kind of trick,
The clock simply smiles, and whispers… tick, tick, tick.
Still much left to do, “bucket” headlines my list,
Ample time remains, I defiantly pound my fist.
Oh, but time rushes on, the years start to show.
More wrinkles, more pounds, no longer a sprite beau.
The memories pile up, next to a regret or two,
The realization comes, our years here so few.
I get it now, friends, how fleeting my life,
Still blessed by a Savior, and a beautiful wife.
Won’t run out the clock, still much left to do,
A poem still to write, this message for you.
Cherish each moment, till your final date with death,
The psalmist was right, each man’s life, but a breath.
An interview with Colonel Brad Johnson, Vietnam Veteran
Steve: “So, Dad, it started off as a routine mission?”
Brad: “As routine as a flying mission in a combat zone can be.”
Steve: “Late 1967?”
Brad: “Yes, not long before the Tet Offensive, which began in early ’68.”
Steve: “How did the day begin?”
Brad: “Pretty routinely. I was stationed in Saigon, piloting C-123 Providers. We hauled troops and cargo all around the country…wherever they needed to go to take the fight to the enemy. I don’t recall what our planned mission was, but we got an emergency call on the radio while in the air.”
Steve: “An audible.”
Brad: “That’s right. Emergency calls came on the Guard channel with the call sign “Hilda”. The Guard channel overrode all other frequencies.”
Steve: “So when you heard “Hilda,” you knew something had gone down or was about to go down?”
Brad: “Exactly. Our new mission was to change course and fly about 20 minutes to a remote, dirt airstrip, pick up 20-25 soldiers and transport them to another dirt airstrip near the front lines.”
T-38 Pilot Training
Steve: “Something you had done many times before.”
Brad: “More than a thousand times that year. But this mission would be different.”
Steve: “How so?”
Brad: “When we landed, we were supposed to stay in the cockpit, keep the engines running, pick up the soldiers, and depart. But as I was taxiing, I noticed two morale vehicles with Donut Dollies nearby.”
Steve: “Donut Dollies?”
Brad: “Six or seven Red Cross ladies serving coffee and cool-aid to the troops. So, I lowered the stairs and exited the plane.”
Steve: “You were the pilot and yet you exited the plane in a combat zone to get a cup of coffee and visit Donut Dollies?”
Brad: “It was good coffee.”
Donut Dollies in Action
Steve: “What happened next?”
Brad: “I spotted the shortest soldier of the bunch standing in line for coffee. He stood out because he had several rounds of ammunition draped over his shoulders. I walked over to him and asked, ‘Sergeant, how did the shortest guy in the company end up carrying all the ammunition?’ He replied, ‘Captain, I wasn’t this short when I started carrying it.’”
Brad: “I then had a quick cup of coffee, said hello to the Donut Dollies, and got back on the plane as the soldiers entered on the ramp in the rear.”
Steve: “And you were supposed to take them to another dirt landing strip closer to the front lines?”
Brad: “That’s right.”
Steve: “And that’s when the trouble started?”
Brad: “You could say that. About 10 minutes into the flight, sharp pain shot through my stomach causing me to double over. Something had shifted in my digestive track and it began to fill with air. The pressure on my bowels was intense and unsustainable. It was the kind of feeling you get when you’re about to experience the worst diarrhea you’ve ever had.”
Steve: “Guess that coffee wasn’t so good after all.”
Brad: “I don’t know if it was the coffee or something I had eaten back in Saigon that morning. But it was doing a number on me. I writhed in pain, which caused my co-pilot to get a little flustered.”
Steve: “So what’d you do?”
Brad: “I clenched my fists and sphincter and decided I was going to land that plane if it was the last thing I ever did.”
Steve: “The essence of bravery.”
Brad: “There weren’t a lot of options.”
Steve: “Were you able to land the plane?”
Brad: “With sweat pouring off my face and my colon bursting at the seams, I landed the plane on that short, dirt airstrip. The soldiers in the back began gathering their gear. I looked over at my co-pilot and told him I was about to literally explode. He replied, ‘Captain, go take care of it.’ Being this close to the front lines, we were supposed to drop off the troops and get out of there as quickly as possible. But I couldn’t afford to crap all over myself and the cockpit.”
Steve: “So you once again left the airplane.”
Brad: “Yep, we lowered the ramp for the soldiers to exit and lowered the stairs for me to exit.”
Steve: “But you’re essentially in the middle of a large dirt field?”
Brad: “Yes, but about 50 yards away, I spotted a small bush. It was one of the prickly ones common in Nam that you try to avoid. At this point, I figured I had about a 1 in 5 chance of being able to sprint to the bush to take care of business before the floodgates opened and my bowels emptied.”
Steve: “Bad odds.”
Brad: “Bad odds indeed…and a bad outcome. About 10 strides into my desperate sprint, I heard the terrifying sound of mortar.”
Steve: “Enemy fire?”
Brad: “No, my digestive dam had broken. I collapsed to my hands and knees as a thousand brown waterfalls exited my butt.”
Steve: “Oh my.”
Brad: “I struggled to my feet, but the aftershocks caused me to run in a zig-zag fashion toward the bush. With diarrhea cascading down the inside of my pant legs, I scrambled toward the bush, flush with embarrassment.”
Steve: “It’s a wonder you made colonel.”
Brad: “That’s the truth. Anyway, I finally made it to the little bush and positioned myself behind it. I looked up and spotted the soldiers beginning to exit the rear of my airplane. Huffing and puffing, I surveyed the damage, noting that my underwear and fatigue pants were completely soiled and would never be worn again…in Nam or any other war zone. The boots had sustained heavy collateral damage, but only on the exterior.”
Steve: “You were in Purple Heart territory.”
Brad: “Technically, no. The wounds were self-inflicted.”
C-123 Provider
Steve: “So what’d you do?”
Brad: “I stripped completely naked and tossed my soiled pants, socks, and underwear into the bush.”
Steve: “Where they remain today.”
Brad: “Probably. I then took off my fatigue shirt and t-shirt and used the t-shirt to wipe off my behind, legs, and boots. And then I tossed the t-shirt into the bush.”
Steve: “Leaving you with one shirt and a pair of boots.”
Brad: “And 50 yards back to the plane.”
Steve: “A plane with soldiers exiting out the back.”
Brad: “Exactly. I put my shirt and unlaced boots back on and began my second 50-yard sprint of the day, back toward the plane.”
Steve: “Naked from the waist down.”
Brad: “That’s right. I learned later from our loadmaster that one of the soldiers exiting the plane spotted me running across the dirt field and asked his buddy, ‘Who’s that?’…to which his buddy replied, ‘That’s our pilot.”
Steve: “But at least you made it back to the plane.”
Brad: “I did, although my co-pilot told me I stunk to high heavens. Once again, going against standard procedure, we lowered the windows for our departure and 20-minute flight back to Saigon.”
Steve: “So you piloted the plane naked from the waist down.”
Brad: “Well, I had boots on.”
Steve: “That makes me feel better.”
Brad: “We landed in Saigon and my co-pilot hollered out the window for one of the maintenance guys to loan me a poncho. I wrapped the poncho around my lower half, exited the plane, and headed toward Base Ops. The guys at Base Ops asked why I was wearing a poncho skirt. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them.”
Steve: “It’s not an easy thing to share. So, what happened next?”
Brad: “Wearing nothing but a shirt, poncho skirt, and unlaced boots, I got on my motorcycle and drove off-base to where I lived…the House of Joy, as we called it.”
Steve: “Joy?”
Brad: “Stood for Just One Year.”
Steve: “Did you ever replace the maintenance guy’s poncho?”
“For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.” – 2 Timothy 1:7
Several years ago, I had the opportunity to teach a Leadership class at Foundation Christian Academy in Valrico, Florida. In addition to discussing leadership principles and completing service projects and classroom exercises, we invited various guest speakers to visit and offer words of advice to our students.
One such visitor was Rex Dutton, long-time preacher for the Bell Shoals Church of Christ in Brandon, Florida. Rex spoke to us about life, leadership and careers. He challenged us not to settle for mediocrity, but to strive to make a difference in the world. The students listened intently, and I furiously scribbled notes from the back of the room. I later transferred those notes to the back page of my Bible.
While recently working on a writing project, I came across those notes. They are as relevant today as they were several years ago. As we prepare to embark on a New Year and the fresh start that it brings, perhaps we can find a word or two of wisdom to encourage and challenge us to make 2018 our best year yet.
Do something you’d do for free—believe in it.
Keep up with your successes—there will be offsets.
What you end up doing may be different than what you planned to do.
Don’t be dull and boring at what you do.
Have a compelling story—how God called you and is using you.
As a leader, don’t be timid. Be a lion, not afraid and confused. (2 Timothy 1:7)
Prepare yourself—know the subject. “No one in this room knows more about the subject than me.”
Expect criticism and handle it.
Speak boldly, raise your voice. Even when you don’t always feel brave, at least sound brave. (2 Timothy 2:1, 4:1-2)
If you are creative and work hard, you can make good money.
Focus…really focus. What is the most important thing I do? What is the cause within me? What am I really doing this for?
Live humbly, but pursue excellence. If your name is on the project or presentation, people should expect it to be good.
Find someone, early on, to rip you apart—seek honest criticism.
Don’t just be in the herd. Anybody can read a book, but can you write one?
Be original—you’re only a leader if someone else wants your name on their shirt. (2 Timothy 3:10)
Don’t be superficial—it won’t work in front of a real lion.
Do an inventory of your attitudes. (Matthew 5) How do I measure up?
Do an inventory of your virtues. (2 Peter 1:5-9) How can I improve?
Do an inventory of your fruit. (Galatians 5:22-25) How can I become more like Christ?
Refresh, encourage, and inspire people. (2 Timothy 1:16)
If you write annual Christmas letters long enough, you eventually arrive at the “XXX” edition! No worries though. There will be no seductive pictures of Steve’s colonoscopy scans or the two of us in our matching Elf leggings, passionately smooching under the mistletoe. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that!) Instead, you’ll have to settle for our 30th consecutive holiday missive…a recap of two adventurers living in a 300-square-foot house on wheels.
Grandpa in his ’55 Olds
The first big event of 2017 was the 80th birthday celebration for Steve’s dad, aka Grandpa. Grandpa’s year was highlighted by finding love again and marrying Gail, who we happily welcomed into the family. He also is courageously battling cancer which, to date, has been kept under control. He appreciates prayers but tells us not to worry about him because, “I’ve had a great life…made it to 80, which is longer than anyone in my family has. I’m not going to start complaining now.” There is peace in knowing your future is secure.
Finding love in San Diego
We returned to Tucson, AZ and our RV in mid-January, where Steve, aka Fob, with Janet’s superb editorial assistance, published his first novel, which chronicles his 2016 thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. Many reading this letter have supported and encouraged Steve’s fledgling writing career, and for that he is grateful. When we weren’t stalking extraneous commas and dangling participles in the Arizona desert, we volunteered with the Tucson Food Bank…where we learned about food bag assembly lines, harvesting broccoli and chard, and building and maintaining earthworm farms. Steve found cultivating earthworms to be remarkably similar to his Pentagon tour.
Yosemite!
In March, we pointed the RV west and then north on an ambitious Wild, Wild West Tour. Over the next 6 months and 8,000 miles, we…
Volunteered, as Sojourners, at…
Yosemite Bible Camp, CA – tended to the mother of all burn piles at a camp heavily damaged by floods & fallen trees
Delano Bay Christian Camp, WA – prettiest spot on the Sojourning circuit; during play time, Steve learned to harvest giant clam-like gooey duck nostrils with a shovel
Yellowstone Bible Camp, MT – returned to the beautiful mountain camp we had visited 25 years ago, where Robert Redford once filmed A River Runs Through It
Rupert Church of Christ, ID – painting & VBS & more painting & more VBS
Mountain States Children’s Home, CO – home to some of the coolest kids and staff on the planet. Steve was invited to make his first Lessons Learned on the AT presentation, and has since shared versions of it at churches, schools, and civic organizations around the country.
Lil Jan, Big Paint Job…Rupert, ID
Hiked and were inspired at 15 national parks…
Joshua Tree – named for its trees (plants), but it’s more about rock climbing
Yosemite – stunning! Our favorite overall national park!
Sequoia, Kings Canyon, & Redwood – you have to see the trees to believe them
Crater Lake – 2nd only to Yosemite in its beauty, especially with 12’ snowfall banks framing the rim
Olympic – incredible variety, including a rainforest
Yellowstone – 2nd favorite park and the best for wildlife and geothermal activity
Grand Teton – visited on an overcast day, but did see a mother Grizzly + 2 cubs
Zion – features the Narrows…best national park hike we’ve done and one of the best canyon hikes in the world; also featured a visit from relatives Dana & Cody
Arches – turns out the park is not named after parts of the foot formed by the tarsal and metatarsal bones
Capitol Reef – go for the history and 100-mile-long Waterpocket Fold; stay for the warm, homemade pie at the Gifford Homestead
Bryce Canyon – went to the hoodoo-filled amphitheater & sang Bryce, Bryce Baby
Canyonlands – teared up at the spot where Thelma & Louise plunged to their deaths
Rocky Mountain – John Denver got it right
Crater Lake Lovers
Explored several cities…
San Diego – easily our favorite CA city. Nearby La Jolla, with its magnificent shoreline and hundreds of seals, belongs on everyone’s bucket list.
Los Angeles – not fans. Horrendous traffic, smog, over-crowding, the Lakers, etc. We did enjoy attending the filming of America’s Got Talent…and the behind-the-scenes look at movie-making on the Warner Brothers Studio Tour.
San Francisco – featured Steve’s favorite West Coast city attraction…Alcatraz Island!
Portland – every city should have a Powell’s used book store
Astoria, OR – Da Goonies met Da Johnsons
Seattle – did we watch them toss salmon at Pike Place Market; ascend The Needle; and visit the first Starbucks? Of course, we did!
Hill AFB, UT – a great military RV campground to finish Fob’s Vol 2, so we did
USAF Academy, CO – another great military campground, where we watched the eclipse
In September, we traveled to hurricane-ravaged Beaumont, TX, for a week of relief work with the Church of Christ Disaster Response team. If you ever think you’ve got it bad, spend some time with people whose every last physical possession was under water. With God’s help, they and others affected by the ’17 storms will get back on their feet.
What 8′ of water does to a bedroom
In October, we finally sold our Virginia house and happily relinquished the landlord title we’d held for 9 years. We also returned to Marshall, TX for our annual Sojourner workshop, where we caught up with “old” friends and made an appearance (along with our RV) in a few Sojourner promotional videos…viewable at sojourning.org or on Facebook at “Sojourners Evangelism.” We then traveled around the Southeast visiting friends and family we hadn’t seen in a while.
Johnsons on the AT near Delaware Water Gap
In November, we gathered with our sons and their wives for a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend in Pennsylvania’s Pocono mountains. Despite arranging them private rooms, there are still no grandbabies to announce. We are excited that Jason & Rachel will be moving to Winston-Salem NC in January where he’ll begin his second year of residency in Prosthetics & Orthotics. Meanwhile, Kyle continues his ministry work with the Lafayette church near STL as he and Laci both work to finish their graduate degrees and raise Pita (a precocious Bichon Frise with her own Instagram account).
Thankful for our daughters!And our sons!
This holiday season, we’re thankful for family and friends around the country. We’re thankful for our little home on wheels. It forced us to downsize and simplify, and that has opened up opportunities around the country to travel, serve, meet incredible people, and write a few books. Mostly, we’re grateful to God for sending Jesus, a gift that keeps on giving. Merry Christmas!
