Called out of Pelican

      God’s callings in our lives include both the call to “go into” and also the call to “come out of”. This is evident in many places in scripture. Abraham was told “Leave your country, your people and your father's household” before he could enter “into” the land of Canaan. Moses was instructed to bring the children of Israel, “out of Egypt” so that Joshua could lead them “into” the Promised Land (Ge. 12:1, Exod. 3:12).  The Psalmist knowingly writes that the Lord will direct both our “coming and our going” (Ps. 121:8). These callings “out of” and “into” were types of the New Covenant call to “come out” from the world and to enter “into” a life with Christ.    

Since the Lord had so clearly directed our call to “go into” ministry in Southeast Alaksa, it should have been no surprise that when it came time for us to “come out”, He would also make that message abundantly clear.   

As the season began to come to a close at the end of our third summer in the village of Pelican on Chichagof Island, both my wife and I sensed the Lord closing the doors on what had been a fruitful time of ministry.  For several months that summer, we had experienced a move of God among the young adult population that lived in the bunk houses of the local fish processor. As summer drew to an end, that ministry subsided as most of these young adults left the Island to find work elsewhere. Several other locals whom I had been counseling also left the village at that time to continue their lives somewhere where they could serve the Lord without the temptations of the many vices of this Island community.

Nevertheless, regardless of what seemed to be the waning of the ministry we had been giving ourselves to for the past three years, neither Betsy nor I were ready to pack our bags and go. We loved the beauty and quiet lifestyle of our little Southeast paradise.  I enjoyed the world class fishing and hunting, but especially the opportunity to work short stints on commercial fishing boats where I could share Christ with captains and crew. Most importantly though, we still had a clear memory of the calling we received to go “into” Pelican, and were resolved not to leave until the Lord made it equally clear that it was time for us to “come out”.    

The testimony that initiated the process of calling us out of Pelican began one Saturday evening while I was in the chapel praying. It was my custom to spend late Saturday evening praying at the altar in our little chapel. I found this necessary because of the constant persecution we were receiving, but also because it was a time that the Lord could prepare my heart for whatever would happen on Sunday morning. Many of those mornings were indeed challenging as we never knew what fisherman or visitor might show up, and what they might say or do.   

As I prayed that Saturday evening, wrestling with (and likely complaining about) some of the issues of persecution we had been lately encountering, the Lord directed me to several Bible verses.  The first was in the book of Micah chapter four. It read “Why do you now cry aloud, have you no king? Has your counselor perished, that pain seizes you like that of a woman in labor?  Writhe in agony, O Daughter of Zion, like a woman in labor, for now you must leave the city to camp in the open field”. It was not hard to recognize this as first of all a gentle rebuke of my complaining. Once that sobered me up, I also realized these verses were reminding me that He was, as He had always been, upon the throne. He said “Have you no king”.  Throughout my life of faith this has been something the Lord has constantly reminded me. He is on the throne of my life.  

However, it was the second part of that Bible text that really caught my attention. Was He telling me to “leave the city”, or in our case, to leave the village of Pelican? My response to the Lord, “what about Pelican and the ministry here?” His answer to that plea came in another Bible verse. He guided me to the fifth chapter of the book of Jeremiah where it says “Because you have spoken this (my) word, Behold, I am making My words in your mouth fire and this people wood, and it will consume them. "Behold, I am bringing a nation against you from afar, O house of Israel," declares the Lord. "It is an enduring nation, It is an ancient nation, A nation whose language you do not know, Nor can you understand what they say”. I again responded “how does this apply to me leaving Pelican?” To this question He also had an answer. 

That answer would be made clear over the coming weeks when I would see just how accurate this word of prophecy was. The “nation” spoken of in this prophecy, a nation that in that verse is described as being “enduring, ancient, and whose language we did not understand”, was the nation of Japan. Japanese investors bought the Cold Storage business in Pelican and therefore essentially took control of our small village. It became generally recognized that their purpose in doing so was something not uncommon with other American fish processing plants. They would buy up the plants and make them unprofitable so that the American fishing industry would be forced to deal with the large Japanese fish processors stationed just outside of American waters.  

Even with the specifics of these Bible verse (and several others He shared with me that evening), we were still reluctant to just pack up and go. Did not the Bible say that “everything is established by the testimony of two or more witnesses”?  If we were to go, I still needed those other “witnesses”.  

That following Sunday, one of the women who attended our little church, Anita, came to share something with Betsy and I. A friend of hers, a native woman in the village, had share a dream she had with Anita . It this dream, this woman saw the village or Pelican essentially “cut away” from the island hillside in which it existed. She next saw it float away into the inlet.  She also noted that as it floated away, she could see the church still standing on the hillside above where the town had stood.  When combining the verses I had received with this dream, was the Lord telling us that He was dealing with the village of Pelican Himself?  

This was not the end to the testimony the Lord would provide to show us that He was calling us “out of” Pelican. That same week I received two phone calls. One was from a man named John who was a captain of the Laconte, a ferry on the Alaskan Ferry System.  John had been traveling in and out of Pelican for many years and would often look sadly upon the abandoned church on the hillside as he piloted the ferry up Lizianski inlet. When we came to know John in our first year on the Island, he informed us that he had been praying for Pelican and the empty church building for years.  

On his first trip into Pelican after we had arrived, he noticed activity at the church as he passed by (we were remodeling to make it livable). After docking the Leconte along the breakwater at the far end of town, he marched up the hill to meet us. Over the following three years we became great friends as Captain John stopped in whenever his schedule allowed.   During that same week that we began to recognize our call “out of” Pelican, John called me and said “I was praying and sensed that it was time for you to leave Pelican”.  Here was another testimony to what the Lord was calling us to do. The Bible says “in a multitude of counselors there is wisdom”. 

 The second phone call that week was from Mike Curtis. Mike was a native brother and one of my mentors. Several years earlier I had served with Mike on staff at a church on the Kenei Peninsula where we had become close friends and prayer partners in our time of ministry together. Mike was someone in whom I had tremendous respect for his spiritual insight. When Mike called, he did not do as John had, asking if I was leaving Pelican.  Mike called and said “the Lord said to pack up and get out”.  This directness was consistent with Mike’s faith and nature. From these testimonies I was learning it was time to leave.  

Even with the abundance of testimony the Lord had provided establishing that it was time to leave, there still remained some obstacles.  For us to leave the Island, it would require a ferry. Ferries came into Pelican about once a month in the winter, and sometimes twice a month in the summer.  Because we would be moving out, we would also need a barge to transport out our possessions. It was after the phone call from Mike that I became serious about leaving Pelican.  On Tuesday of that week, I walked down to the boardwalk to an office that dealt with both the barge and ferry schedules to talk to the manager of that office, a tall austere man named Tom. 

When I asked Tom about the schedule for the next barge, he raised his eyes as if surprised, saying that a barge was scheduled to arrive on Thursday.  I got the impression from Tom that this was not a normally scheduled barge.   Barges only came into Pelican about every six weeks in the summer, bringing in and transporting out supplies. I arranged to have some of our belongings transported out on the barge, acquiring a pallet from the Cold Storage. That pallet was six feet by four feet. We could place all of our belongings onto this pallet up to four feet high.  That pallet and what luggage we could carry ourselves onto the ferry would comprise all our belongings. When I asked when the next ferry would come to Pelican, the schedule revealed that it would arrive mid-day Friday.

That Thursday, after watching a fork lift descend the dirt road from the church carrying the pallet with most of our possessions, we spent our last night in Pelican. Neither of us knew what the coming days and weeks would bring for our family. That Friday, with everyone’s arms filled with suitcases and duffel bags, we walked down to board the ferry for the eight hour voyage that would take us to Juneau where we would spend that night sleeping on the ferry terminal floor.

The next day, we began the four day voyage from Juneau to Seattle. Although both Betsy and I were saddened at leaving the Southeast, the beauty of traveling the inside passage continually distracted us from our sorrows.  We would spend most of each day out upon the top deck, watching the deep green forests and cascading waterfalls on the passing Islands. Orca and humpback whales, along with an occasional bear, were often visible along the inlets as eagles majestically soared above.  However, the evenings sitting in the forward lounge of the ship where we would role our children up in sleeping bags for the night proved to be the most difficult part of our journey.                                                      Our second night on the ferry was a Sunday night. Both Betsy and I were missing our Sunday time of worship and fellowship, feeling the loneliness of leaving our Pelican ministry and friends. With the ships forward lounge dark and quiet, I decided we could chance a quiet time of worship.  Going to our belongings which were piled in a corner, I pulled out my guitar. Trying to be as quiet and subtle as we could, Betsy and I sat together on the chairs protecting our sleeping children and began to softly sing songs of worship. At first it appeared that out subtle worship was not disturbing anyone. That is until a man rose from the front of the lounge and began walking ominously towards us in the dark. All I could tell for sure was that he was big. His slow lumbering gate added to his unnerving approach. As he drew closer and a reflection of light came across his face, I could see from his long hair and beard, along with the multi-patched vest, boots, and the chains hanging from his belt, that he was a biker.  When only a few feet from our little coordained off circle, he halted his advance and stood facing us. The reflection of light that had allowed me to see his appearance was no longer illuminating him. All I could see was the silhouette of a very large man standing imposingly before me.    

What happened next was the last thing Betsy or I anticipated. Expecting to be threatened or just told to stop our singing, we instead watched as this large and imposing profile lay his head back, lifted his arms, and joined us in our worship.  After another fifteen minutes or so we ended our time of worship, not wanting to be too noisy if others were sleeping. When we finished, he sat down in the chairs across from Betsy and I. After a few minutes of introducing ourselves and sharing our faith, our intimidating visitor, who turned out to be a sincere child of God, returned to his seat in the front of the lounge.  I do not remember his name, but his presence and willingness to join us in worship that night was another blessing the Lord provided to make our trip “out of” Pelican so memorable.          After four days of southbound travel, a voyage that was full of many other events and encounters where we knew the Lord was encouraging us, the ferry deposited my family and I in Seattle. There in Seattle, we would buy a used car and continue our journey to a Mormon community in Eastern Idaho. Idaho proved to be the “open field" which the verse the Lord had given me in Micah spoke of.  There, another new adventure would begin. 

Another four years later, the Lord would once again call us “out of” Idaho and bring us "into" another ministry on an Apache Reservation in New Mexico. We have learned the wisdom of the words of the Psalmist who said, “the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore” (Ps 121:8).