A Miracle of a changed heart in Alaska

While living in the Island village of Pelican in Southeast Alaska, I was asked to do some work on a vacation house owned by a friend who lived out of state. I had ordered some sheetrock and was waiting for the barge, which came to town about every six weeks, to deliver it. When it did get delivered, they left it in a community building that was on the earthen breakwater at the south end of the village where the barge would dock.  It would be my job to transport that sheetrock out the breakwater, down the boardwalk that ran the length of town, then up a dirt road that wound around to both our church building and to my friend’s house.

         What made this project more difficult than I had anticipated was that at the time, I was experiencing “gout” in my feet. (more on the so called ‘gout’ in another testimony).  Walking anywhere was painful. Since my 125 hp three-wheeler was far too small to transport sheetrock, I realized it would take numerous trips to carry the 12 sheets up the hill on my back. What I did not plan on was the ‘gout’.

        Because of the problem with my feet, I had postponed moving the sheetrock for several days.  Knowing I needed to get them out of the building before there were even more complaints, I walked down the hill towards the breakwater, praying for a way to transport the sheetrock.  As I limped down the boardwalk, a man stepped out of the harbor master’s office. He was the source of the complaints I had already received.  His name was Steve and I had experienced many encounters with him, none of which were pleasant. Steve was about six foot three inches tall and hated Christianity. He had no problem expressing that animosity. As the pastor of the church in town and particularly representing the Christian faith, I was a constant target of Steve’s profane threats. A normal encounter with Steve would consist of me walking past him on the boardwalk and saying, “hi Steve, Lord bless you today, praying for you”. His response was always of the four-letter unrepeatable kind.

         As I had limped down the boardwalk on my way to check on the sheetrock, I passed Steve as he emerged from of the Harbor Master’s office. I extended my usual greeting, and Steve supplied his normal profane response. This time it included a threat that if I did not get that material out of the building, that he would turn the fire hose on it. Steve’s response always had the same effect on me; it reminded me of how much Steve needed Jesus. With these increased threats, I prayed for both him and for a way to get the sheetrock up the hill. Once inside the building and standing over the pile of sheetrock, I asked the Lord how in the world was I going to get it up the hill, and in doing so to avoid Steve’s further threats.

         I left the building on the breakwater that day with no more idea of how I was going to move the sheetrock than I did before I came down the hill.  My feet were worse than ever, so each step along the boardwalk was a painful reminder of the predicament I was in. As I passed the Harbor Master’s office on the way back, I heard a door open and looked back to see Steve stepping out on the boardwalk. Hoping to head off more threats, I said “Steve, I am working on moving my sheetrock and will get it out of the building as soon as I can”.  There was no immediate response, not even a single profanity! It was only a few steps later when I heard Steve below, “Hey preacher, what’s the matter with your feet?” I don’t think I had ever heard words out of his mouth that did not include profanity or threats. 

         Amazed at his almost civil question, I replied to Steve that my feet were sore, but I would still take care of the sheetrock. His response left me flabbergasted and even wondering if he was being sadistically sarcastic.  He said, “you can’t move that material with your feet like that". He then followed that statement with "I will get the village P/U truck (used to collect garbage along the boardwalk), and haul the sheetrock up the hill for you”.  I was still not sure he was being serious. I turned to go back and speak with him and he waved me on saying “go on home, I will load the material and haul it up to the church”. 

            An hour or so later, Steve appeared on the dirt road below the church with the truck full of my sheetrock.  I struggled out onto the porch and down the steps to the truck, asking him if we could unload it at a house just up the road. He reached over and pushed the door open, told me to hop in, then drove the hundred yards up the hill to my friend’s house. Once there, he insisted on unloading himself telling me to stay off my feet.

           I wish I could testify that Steve’s heart was softened to the point that he gave his life to Jesus. I cannot! In fact, the very next day Steve resumed his profanity and threats every time I passed him on the boardwalk, and continued to do so for the next several years that we were in Pelican. All I know is that just as the Lord used the wicked Egyptians to finance Israel’s journey out of Egypt and into the liberty of the desert, so the Lord softened the heart of this Christ hating man, even if for just a day, to bless and help me and my sore feet.