To Heaven by Earthquake and Glacier
A few nights ago there was an earthquake. The hotel we were staying in (in Whittier, Alaska) swayed, the lampshades danced, the bed rattled and jiggled. Okay what do I do? Stop, drop and roll? (No.That’s fire.) Lie down, curl into fetal position and play dead? (No, that’s bears). Cover your mouth with a bandana or mask, go inside. (No, that’s a volcano). Head to high ground? (No, that’s a tsunami). In the end, I just sat there wondering when it would stop. It lasted at least a minute, then tremored longer. Five minutes later, the Alaska Earthquake center posted: a 6.1 in the Mat-Su valley. We were wide awake.
We got to Whittier by train. Through a 2.5 mile tunnel under a mountain. Whittier is called the “strangest town in Alaska”. I’ll tell you about it next time. Here’s the town. (Most of its 300 residents live in that one building.)
But this is about glaciers. And about venturing out into your own backyard. In this case, our own back ocean. We took a little trip, just 250 miles from home to this tiny town. Then took a 6 hour glacier tour into Prince William Sound. We hadn’t planned on it. It was a last minute thing we felt slightly embarrassed about. It was touristy. It looked too comfortable. Not wild. But it wasn’t expensive. And who doesn’t love glaciers? So we went. I’ll let the photos and videos tell the rest of the story.
(Here, Harvard glacier. A tidewater glacier, 1..5 miles wide at the terminus,, 400 feet high!!
Here, 2000 nesting kittiwakes constantly bathed in the mist from the falls.
Here, sea otters hauled out on icebergs. (So strange for us to see. Our sea otters, 250 miles away, rarely haul out at all.)
I cannot seem to get enough of this world. Even dandelions amaze (did you know their name means “teeth of the lion?”)
Nor will I be able to get enough of the next. If earth teaches me anything it is that anything God touches is inexhaustible, immeasurable, lavish, extraordinary down to the cell of every minute detail. The problem is us. How fast we live. How tired we get. How weary our eyes, how dull of hearing, how inward our gaze. How well I know.
In a few days, I head to Harvester Island, our fish camp island, where I have lived and fished each summer for the last 44 years. It’s not all fun and games there. How can I see this place new, fresh, unveiled, eyes open as wide as the Alaskan sky?
How can we see our own backyards with the gift of astonishment?
We must get ready to listen.
The heavens declare the glory of God!
The sky shows His handiwork!
Day after day they speak,
night after night they reveal knowledge!
There is no speech, no words,
where their voice goes unheard!
Their voice has gone out to all the earth
and their words to the end of the world!
Even to my island? Even to your field, your forest, your farm, your street, your neighborhood, your rooftop? YES.
If all these voices and shouting is going on, telling God’s story, all we have to do is stand still long enough to look up and around, to hear it. (Then write it down! Start a summer journal, a Journal of Listening.)
Will you do that with me this summer?? (I will do that with you.)
with Love and Hope and Ears ready to hear!!
Leslie
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