Nineteen years ago this month, my better half and I had the wonderful opportunity to go on a two-week Alaskan land and sea tour—and it cost us next to nothing! I should also mention that Chris and I were co-hosts on this cruise-tour with another couple. Our presence was expected.
The trip was scheduled a year before it actually happened, and for the first eight months leading up to it, the excitement built. But in April before our July departure, things began to unravel.
First, we were both working on staff in the same church, and the pastor informed me that our jobs would end June 30—five days before we were supposed to leave for Alaska. He encouraged me to spend the next couple of months looking for another ministry. Those who labor in pastoral ministry know it can take up to a year to find a suitable ministry match. I had two months??
Second, the first week of May we were informed that the house we were renting was slated for demolition. We needed to vacate by June 30. But…where would we move to, and for how long would we be there. And how could I rent a place with no job??
Third, our kids. Our daughter was graduating from high school, heading to college the end of August, and dad promised to pay the tuition. Our son, heading into his senior year of high school. The timing for a forced relocation was impeccable.
How do we do this?
One day in frustrated desperation, I called the other host to tell him we were backing out of the cruise. He was out of the country and unavailable for two weeks. “OK,” I decided, “better carry on somehow.”
The next weeks were a frenzied blur, trying to find opportunities for employment, trying to figure out where we would live come July 1, trying to keep a good attitude while working where we weren’t wanted, and trying to justify going to Alaska for two weeks in this mayhem.
Oh, and Cody, our family’s border collie pet of 9 years, got sick. I had the grievous duty of deciding to have him put down and taking him to the animal hospital where he would bid this world adieu.
Lost job. Lost home. Lost pet. And we’re going on an Alaskan cruise? Whatever excitement had built up in the previous nine months leaked out of our hearts like air hissing out of a punctured tire.
In early June, a couple in the church took pity on us offered their condo for the months of July and August, since they were going to be gone. Well, that bought us some time.
No job prospects appeared on the horizon.
And we had a ton of packing to do.
Talk about complicated. We had to figure out what was going in storage…what was going with us to the temporary housing…what was going to Alaska…what was going with our daughter to college. What a nightmare.
Somehow, everything got sorted, stashed in storage, packed in suitcases, moved to the condo.
The kids farmed out to friends for a couple weeks, we headed to Chicago’s O’hare International Airport. Alaska is beautiful…being broke and homeless is ugly. The uncertainty of what awaited us when we returned from this trip sometimes blared in our thoughts; sometimes it subtly distracted like incessant background noise. But always there.
Always.
Our turn came to check in at the Air Canada desk (this was ten months after 9/11, but prior to Canada requiring passports for entry). We presented our drivers licenses and birth certificates to prove we weren’t radical Islamic terrorists. I was fine, but the attendant said there was a problem. Chris’s driver’s license said her last name was “Bice”; her birth certificate said her last name was “Bocian.” Well…would one expect otherwise?
“Do you have your marriage license?” The Air Canada inspector queried.
“Well, of course not. Why would that be necessary? The ID requirement list said nothing of it,” replied the unemployed homeless man.
“The last names are different. How do we know that Christiane Bocian is Christiane Bice? We need the marriage license to verify that you’re actually the same person. Do you have a copy at home?”
I was stunned. Mind racing. After all, I don’t have a home! And how many women are named “Christiane” anyway?!
“Well, yes…sort of…..”
“Can someone get it and bring it to the airport?”
Mind racing.
“That’s impossible,” I explained. “It’s in a lockbox in a dresser drawer buried in the back of a storage unit 30 minutes away! There’s no way anyone could get to the storage unit…dig through everything…find the lockbox…get the license…and get here before the plane lands in Vancouver!”
“Just a moment,” she countered, turning away to talk with a supervisor.
After an interminable 45 seconds, she returned.
“OK, we’ll let you board the plane,” she said, “but you may very well have problems getting back into the United States without the proper documentation.”
With that, she tagged our bags, handed us our boarding passes, directed us to the security line, and succeeded in tying our stomachs in knots. You see, we knew that when the plane landed in Vancouver, a shuttle would take us to the cruise line dock. But getting on the boat requires passing through US immigration…where one once again must present proper documentation…which, according to Air Canada lady, we didn’t have.
In other words, for the entire flight, we had no certainty of reaching our intended destination—the Star Princess cruise ship and Alaska. It was the most miserable flight we’ve ever endured.
Six or so hours later found us standing in line at the immigration check point. Would we be denied entry? Would the armed guards handcuff my wife and take her into custody? I mean, she does look like a terrorist, right!?! Would we actually get on that boat???
Finally, our turn came. Handed the lady my stuff. She looked at the driver’s license, then at me.
“Thank you,” she said, “Have a good trip.”
I moved ahead, held my breath, and waited. Chris presented her stuff. A glance at the license, a glance at her.
“Thank you,” she said, “Have a good trip.”
I was shaking all the way through the “Welcome aboard!” line and all the way to our stateroom. We left the room immediately to make our way to the top deck, and normal breathing finally returned.
Standing at the rail, gazing across the bay at the mountains, I turned to Chris.
“I can’t believe we’re actually here…we’re really doing this!”
For the next two weeks, Alaska regaled us with all its beauty. We were incredibly grateful to be there, to take it all in…even with all the background noise. There it was. Always. It hummed and buzzed and all too often distracted, robbing us of deep rest and untarnished delight. But we were there.
All of this strangely reminds me of one the last teaching moments Jesus had with his disciples, a mere 16 hours before He was nailed to the cross, recorded in John 14:1-6.
Clearly, the disciples were filled with anxiety, because Jesus begins this discourse, “Let not your hearts be troubled.”
But given all that had just transpired, they had ample reason to be troubled.
- He himself was evidently troubled (John 13:21).
- He told them one of them was going to betray him.
- Judas took off…how come?
- Jesus announced that he was leaving, and they couldn’t follow.
- Peter was warned that he would deny Jesus—three times!
- Jesus informed them that they would all flee.
The background noise hummed in the background! He could see it on their faces! So, to calm their troubled hearts, he continued with a call to faith: “Believe in God; believe also in me.” A call I desperately needed to hear and heed above the din of “You’re job’s ending…your home’s being demolished….”
Then there’s this incredible promise of a destination that belongs on the top of anyone’s bucket list! Not only a promised destination, but the certainty of a custom-made suite and a personal escort by none other than Jesus Himself!
In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.”
Background noise can be terribly difficult to squelch. It brings up exceptions…posits what-ifs…throws out hypotheticals…creates doubt…questions God Himself!
Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”
I’m so grateful that God is patient and longsuffering with us…with me. Jesus’s reply to doubting Thomas stands as the clearly defined, exclusive way for a human being to have eternal life:
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
Yet the broader principle here is that faith in God, faith in Jesus, is the answer to the anxious, troubled heart of His disciple who just got the pink slip and the eviction notice. He has a destination in mind through all the turmoil. Believe Him…trust Him…He’ll take you to the place He’s prepared just for you!
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