Unless a Grain of Wheat

"Why are we clapping?" she asked, confused, as we all sat together clapping and clapping, while our lips twisted to hold back the grief.

This verse ran through my head and into my bones at that moment as it had for the previous month, as I sowed seeds and pinned my hopes on dirt, as my oldest brother and his family made the last of their preparations before moving to Alaska, and as we helped in what small ways we could.  They sold and gave away a lifetime of belongings-- vehicles, farm machinery, appliances, cats, dog, horses, years of accumulation-- they emptied the house they've spent 20 years laboring to transform from a ramshackle shell to a beautiful, unique home, and they wept along with us when the time they'd spent so much work preparing for finally arrived.  Deep roots, strong roots, are hardest to pull up.  Being Light and Salt is not always easy.

Their new home is an isolated town in the Alaskan bush and is accessible only by small plane-- a town populated by about 80 people, mostly native Alaskans, to whom they will be the only human manifestation of Good News.  It will be cold and dark, at times it will be lonely, but God has gone before them.
This is our heart's ease and theirs.





We waved them off on Saturday, not knowing when we'll next see one another, and each time I look out the kitchen window and see their empty house poking up just past the row of maples, a fresh wave of missing hits, sharp and pointed. I pray that God blesses their sacrifice-- all those small and large deaths they've freely offered-- and uses it to bring forth great harvest.
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I wrote the post above because I'm finding it hard to think about anything else at the moment, but below you can find hundreds of silly pictures that I've slipped in the cracks over the last few weeks.  They're in a bit of a jumble, and it'll probably take the average reader a lifetime or two to slog through them all. Enjoy!