When dreams creep in


Yours, O Lord, is the greatness and the power
and the glory and the majesty and the splendor,
for everything in heaven and earth is yours.
Yours, O LORD, is the kingdom;
you are exalted as head over all.
~ I Chronicles 29:11 ~

Alaska was the long-awaited dream, a travel nursing assignment in Seattle but a brief career bridge to the vast unknown. Aaron grew his hair out for a year before going. Put on the mountain man exterior, brown curls, overgrown beard, purchase after purchase of wool clothing. I remember snowboarding with him the very first time we did something together outside of work: he wore thick green wool army pants, hunting boots, red suspenders, a blue plaid wool shirt, and a dark wool watch cap with rolled brim. He looked for all the world as though he had descended on Hennepin County from the backwoods somewhere...well, very much north of Minneapolis!

I presented what was supposed to be a short detour in the plans to move - probably forever - to the wilds of our furthest state. We laid grand plans to move together shortly after our wedding. Eight weeks later, we were faced with an unexpected blip: baby on the way, and the consequent decision that we should stay closer to home until we got a handle on this parenthood thing.

I finally realized sometime this spring that he was probably waiting until we could afford for both of us to go there. He had turned down a few offers of a short trip from his dad, who frequently works there, Aaron's hallowed ground. Once I told him he should go without me this first time, plans were in motion quickly. Four days, a lodge on the Kenai peninsula, and some halibut fishing on the open sea rounded out the docket.

How do I speak love into the life of a man made for wilderness, who lives in a busy home filled with busy, noisy, and inquisitive offspring? How do I maximize this time we have together, instead of succumbing to the longing and dreaming for a different time or season that may or may not ever come? I struggle with this frequently, more so tonight as I look over the photos of this man I love beaming as he bounces along on the sunny ocean hundreds of miles from the nearest metropolis. I need to figure out how to reach him here, in this time and place. I long to see that same smile light up semi-rural Wisconsin. I don't want to wait for the day when we can finally get to the wilderness together again. I trust God is watering his soul here, too. And pray for ingenuity in serving the lumberjack man God gave me while deep in the trenches of living a busier existence.

The fruit of righteousness will be peace; the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever. ~ Isaiah 32:17

I think I'll go up to Alaska, I think I'll be on that train tonight
Heard that there's work there, heard that there's six months of daylight
Heard that the train stops in Seattle, where you can get your feet back on the ground
I think I'll go up to Alaska where the heat of the summer's comin' down

Woke up this mornin' with some heavy troubles on my brain
Gotta hold your head up when every one in town knows your name
But I've got some money in my back pocket from some steady job that I been holdin' down
I think I'll go up to Alaska where the heat of the summer's comin' down

I've got a suitcase made of alligator skin
Hope that it makes it through whatever situation I get in
Boots made of leather, my coat's for the weather, and you won't find me hangin' 'round
I think I'll go up to Alaska where the heat of the summer's comin' down
I think I'll go up to Alaska where the heat of the summer's comin' down
~ Alaska, Kate McLeod