The people of Haiti

     

Adventures in Ministry - Gelato Style

Some of the most amazing opportunities to share the Gospel message come spontaneously - Naples, Italy, gelato and gospel music.

Going Native - by Shawn Strannigan

On August 29, 1991, my family and I became honorary members of T--k, a small Athabaskan village in rural Alaska.  Frail and pasty, we embraced our brown-skinned friends and rejoiced in the gift of belonging.

Two years earlier, while Greg was serving at a church in Anchorage, we’d received a plea for help from T---k’s chief.  Emil was dying of cancer, but he was more concerned about the fact that his village was slowly dying as well—from suicide, alcoholism, domestic violence and sexual abuse.  

So he invited us into his village, a place that even other Alaskan Natives avoided because of its dark reputation.  Lyle, a seasoned pilot at our church who’d grown up in a village, agreed to fly a small team in every weekend that weather allowed.  Emil granted us the use of the Tribal Center—we could sleep on the floor, use the kitchen to cook the food we brought with us, and invite the village kids into the meeting room for fun and games and Bible stories.

So we prayed and planned and prepared for our first trip into T---k.  I’d never been around other cultures—or on a mission trip—and was excited/terrified for the weekend to arrive.

We’d heard rumors of plane tires being slashed by not-so-friendly residents. Lyle—and others—warned us not to take our girls into the village—it wasn’t a safe place for children!  But Greg and I felt that God wanted to use us as a family—to model healthy relationships—in a place where the family model was breaking down.  So, one sunny weekend in June of 1989, we loaded up our three young daughters and our gear into Lyle’s small plane and embarked on a new adventure.

I held my breath as our plane touched down on the gravel runway.  I could feel the oppression even before we landed—darkness shrouded the village even as the sun shone brightly.  We received mostly glares from the adults we passed as we lugged our stuff to the tribal center.  But before we got situated in our new digs, the village kids began to show up.

Like most rural villages, T---k didn’t have a lot to offer children on the weekends.  Except for a run-down playground at the elementary school, there wasn’t anything to do.  No malls, theaters, arcades—or even a fast-food joint.  So when a small plane-load of white folks showed up one bright Saturday, they all headed to the Tribal Center to check us out.

We asked the kids to give us a tour of their village, and they did so with pride.  It didn’t take long to take in the sights—they pointed out their homes, their school, the cemetery, the Russian Orthodox church on the hill, the road to fish camp and more.   The adults stayed out of our way, in fact, the only words spoken to us that first day were colorful curses!

Our girls were the big hit.  The kids liked the Bible stories and games, too, but hanging out with our daughters—and eating the junk food we brought just for them—were the top draws, for sure.  And the girls loved our village trips, too.

Something unexpected happened to me during our first visit to T---k.  I “went Native.”  All my fears vanished as I stepped out of the plane on to village soil.  I felt like I’d come home!  T---k felt like my village in a way I could never explain.  I loved the people as if they were my kin.  I embraced their culture with all my heart and thanked God for the supernatural joy I experienced in the village.

The first summer, we mostly worked with the children, making the short trip across

Cook Inlet whenever we could.  The weather turned bad early that winter, so we didn’t make it over for months at a time.  Emil’s condition continued to deteriorate, so he moved to Anchorage to be closer to the hospital.  We visited Emil shortly before he died, and prayed for his healing.  But on Dec. 20^th, Emil lost his battle with cancer and met Jesus face to face. 

Even though we weren’t invited, our family attended the Russian Orthodox funeral back in T---k and weaseled our way into the pot latch afterward.  We feasted on salmon fixed a hundred different ways and had our first taste of muktuk (pickled whale blubber).  The villagers were friendlier than they’d been over the summer, and it was great to reconnect with the kids.  A few folks even asked if we’d be coming back!

And we did go back, as soon as the weather cleared up that spring.  Miraculously, we were greeted by open arms by both adults and children this time!  People stopped by the Tribal center and asked us to pray for them to overcome their addictions or for their families.  Ladies invited me and the girls into their homes for coffee and salmon jerky.  But the biggest surprise of all was discovering that Emil’s son and nephew had given their lives to Jesus after his death.  Both men were leaders in the village and their newfound faith had a deep impact on the entire community.

As the summer wore on, the guys who’d once cussed Greg out were taking him fishing.  Friendship developed as we heard their stories and they got to know us.

One day, while Greg was out fishing for silvers with Virgil (Emil’s nephew), a boat with some anglers from Anchorage drifted by.

“Ah, more white guys taking our fish!” Virgil muttered as they passed.

Amused, Greg asked, “So, what am I?”

Virgil grinned and replied, “You guys are the Christians--you are my friend.”

By the end of summer, we’d responded to God’s call to full-time missions.  We’d been accepted by a YWAM base in northern California, had sold most of our earthly belongings and were getting ready to make the long trek down the AlCan.  Greg preached one last sermon at our church the day before we left Alaska, and we were tickled to see several of our friends from T---k there.

When the sermon ended, Virgil and pals walked shyly up on stage and asked for our family to come forward.  Then they presented us each with a T---k Chiefs t-shirt and announced that we were officially members of that tribe.  They prayed over us, sending us out with God’s blessing.  We prayed over them, asking God’s favor on the village and for the bond between us to remain strong—and it has!

I wore my t-shirt until it finally fell apart, but the blessing and honor of that gift will always be tucked away in my heart . . . and no matter where the Lord leads me, Alaska will always be my home.