For some, Christmas sometimes comes in July...

 

 

Several years ago, my friend Ellen and I were smelling the strong odor of fish...salmon, to be exact. It happens in early summer to thousands of us Alaskans. That's something that we have in common to the thousands of bears living here, as different species wiggle their way up our rivers, coming in from the oceans.  It's an exciting time to watch this annual event.  Dip netters line the coasts, fly fishermen the streams, sharing what is left after the boats and trawlers have caught their limits down on Bristol Bay and other inlets.But there's also something else that we call "bumps in the road"...at the time it happens, there is a lot of swearing when the"big one" gets away, some gale roars in and leaves us soaking wet, or Big Griz comes sauntering in to take over "his" teritory.

 

Ellen and I had loaded up my truck with our camping gear and driven 100 miles up to the Copper river, Alaska's primere fishing spot. Entering the river area, a winding road skirts the mountain, with perilous curves inviting a certain plunge hundreds of feet below.  But with a lot of prayer and breathtaking gasps,  we arrived at our lovely camp spot in one piece---barely.

 

It was an absolutely indescribable area: a little waterfall cascaded from above, assuring us of clean water and the best place to clean every fish we could catch.  And on top  of that--it was located in the bend of the river, where the salmon rested a bit before proceeding upstream to spawn.  To have that particular spot was indeed a special blessing, so we set up our tent and rejoiced.

 

What I have just described to you may have manufactured visions of anticipated great pleasure--especially if fishing, camping, and enjoying the wilderness is your thing.  But it can also conjure the opposite to someone who hates dirt, cold wind, fish smell, and...work!!   Plus, (in our case) an occasional visit by some Russians who had overnight already devoured the three peanut butter sandwiches they brought with them and had smelled the bacon frying in our camp skillet.  They were now just as hungry as the grizzlies, giving us a possible clue why Russians adobted the bear as their national symbol.  Imagine their standing there, coveting our breakfast! Lucky for them, our Christian compassion won over and we fed those hungry  Russian bears.

 

I'm writing this to show us something:   Life is full of expectations, our plans, our conjuring up lovely thoughts--(what we are certain will happen) but to have them run over like a roadkill. Painful!

Everything seems to have three sides to it:

What we expect,

What the devil plans,

And what part we submit to the Lord as being the very best for us, even if it's not what we wanted.

Recently, I thought for sure I had picked out the very best gift to give someone for Christmas: a perfectly boxed and mailed gift of seafood from M&M Seafood.  But I made the mistake of telling someone about it.  Then comes an email:  "Don't you know they hate fish?"  Talk about a roadkill! 

 

Then chatting with another friend on the phone, I proceeded to tell one of my stories, which was met with "Mary, you've already told me that several times".  Squash!  Alzheimer's or dementia?

 

Ellen and I left three days later, packing up and heading on that same road we travelled three days earlier.  Fishing had been good, and it was with joy we reminised--- already thinking of repeating it all again next year.  But as we were about halfway, I looked  at the side of that mountain---

something was different.

something had changed.

something had moved. 

So we speeded up out of there and headed home, after passing and viewing a lonely fisherman who had tied a rope around his trailer hitch and rappelled down to fish off a ledge hundreds of feet below us. A  very stupid idea, we remarked. How he planned to come back, especially carrying his fish, was beyond us.

 

 

When we got back home, a phone call came: "Just had to find out if you made it out".  "Out?"  "Yes, the mountain gave way and swallowed up the road...it's  no more! It's on the news! You’re probably the last ones out!"

 

Yes, the only road to that campground was no more, and has been "no more" since that time.  Only way to get there now is to take a boat. God had allowed us one last treat at that favorite campground. But He had also saved us from certain death just as we left it. So plans for our next camping trip would be no more...in that place, for sure.

 

 

I am certain of this one thing:  Everything in life is subject to a roadkill, a disappointment, a dashing of dreams.  Getting use to it sometimes requires more than we can handle at the time....until we learn that we, like our fur-clad grizzlies, must wait patiently for the time that fish leaves the ocean, lands in our paws, and we head for our winter dens with enough calories to make it through the rough times ahead. 

At the time, it's a part of the picture we might not see included on our canvas at the time, but once you and I discover it was hidden there all along...we now have 20/20 to see God's love was in the picture all along;

 

Sometimes warning us,

Sometimes correcting us,

and sometimes rewarding and blessing us,

even when we have failed to thank Him for those lessons learned...

and the many of the unlearned we still gripe over, stay disappointed and mad about.

(Never understanding that they're the ones He's still working on us so He can).

 

HAPPY CHRISTMAS, BELOVED!

 

 

MARY E ADAMS