Reflections from Twenty-Five Years Later in Western Alaska

There are places on earth that quietly become part of your soul.

Not because they are spectacular—although western Alaska certainly is. Not because they are easy to reach—because they most definitely are not. They become sacred because they are places where God repeatedly meets us, shapes us, and reminds us that His story is often far bigger than the one we imagined for ourselves.

For Krista and me, that place has always been Unalakleet.

Long before seminary, before church planting, before Expedition 44, before The King’s Commission School of Divinity, and certainly before four boys filled our home with laughter and noise, western Alaska was already shaping us. In the late 1990s I began leading mission teams to Covenant Bible Camp through the Evangelical Covenant Church. Somewhere between the gravel runways, the Bering Sea coastline, village life, late-night chapel services, the stellar fishing, and long conversations around campfires, God began writing chapters of our lives that we didn’t yet know we would spend decades rereading.

When Krista and I were married, we spent our honeymoon serving at Covenant Bible Camp. Most couples celebrate their marriage by escaping the world for a week. We celebrated ours by stepping deeper into God’s mission. Looking back twenty-five years later, I cannot imagine a better beginning. So when our twenty-fifth anniversary arrived this summer, returning to Unalakleet wasn’t simply another mission trip. It felt like answering an invitation that had been waiting for us for a quarter of a century. Only this time, we weren’t arriving as two newlyweds carrying back bags across the tarmac, we were arriving as a family of six.

Remembering Like the Hebrews

One of the beautiful nuances of the Hebrew Scriptures is found in the word zākar (זָכַר), usually translated “to remember.” To modern readers, remembering often means recalling information or reminiscing about the past. In the Hebrew imagination, however, remembrance is far richer. Israel remembered in order to participate again in God’s covenant faithfulness. Remembering was never simply looking backward; it was allowing God’s past faithfulness to become present confidence. This is why Israel continually remembered the Exodus. It was why Joshua established memorial stones in the Jordan River. It was why the psalmists rehearsed God’s mighty acts generation after generation. Even Jesus, at the Last Supper, tells His disciples, “Do this in remembrance of me.” Biblical remembrance is never passive nostalgia. It is active participation in God’s ongoing work.

As our plane touched down in Unalakleet, I found myself experiencing something very much like that. For a brief moment, twenty-five years disappeared. I could almost picture two young newlyweds stepping off the airplane once again, eager to serve, uncertain what God might do, completely unaware that the prayers they whispered together in those years would eventually include four sons walking beside them. This wasn’t nostalgia. It was zākar. God was allowing us to see His faithfulness across generations.

The Beautiful Gift of Returning

There is something profoundly encouraging about returning to places where God first began shaping your life. Many of us spend our lives chasing what is next, assuming maturity always requires moving forward. Scripture certainly celebrates pilgrimage, but it also celebrates return. Jacob returned to Bethel. Elijah returned to Horeb. Ruth returned to Bethlehem. Even Jesus repeatedly returned to familiar places where the Father had met Him before. Returning reminds us that while we have changed, God’s faithfulness has not. One of the sweetest moments of the trip was serving alongside Brad and Cammie, who now faithfully steward Covenant Bible Camp through Covenant Youth of Alaska (CYAK). Krista and I have known Brad since before he and Cammie were married. Watching them now lead this ministry with such humility, wisdom, and love was one of the great joys of our time there. There is something deeply satisfying about watching faithful people simply continue being faithful. No headlines. No spotlight. Just decades of quiet obedience. Perhaps that is one of the greatest testimonies any believer can leave.

Passing the Story Forward

The greatest difference between our first summer in Alaska and this one wasn’t the camp. It wasn’t the village. It wasn’t even us. It was our boys. This time, Ty, Will, Reid, and Kade weren’t simply visiting Alaska, they were serving. Each of them stepped into the role of camp counselor, investing in students from villages scattered across western Alaska. Watching them laugh with campers, lead activities, worship alongside students, encourage homesick children, and simply be present was one of the greatest gifts Krista and I have ever received. Parents often spend years wondering whether the things they’ve tried to cultivate are actually taking root. Then, every once in a while, God graciously pulls back the curtain. Standing there, watching our sons serve in the very place that had helped shape us decades earlier, I realized this trip had become something far larger than an anniversary celebration.

We weren’t simply revisiting our story – we were watching it become theirs.

A Ministry That Has Quietly Changed Generations

Covenant Bible Camp has been serving Alaska’s villages for generations through the ministry of Covenant Youth of Alaska. Every summer, young people from communities spread across western and northern Alaska make their way to Unalakleet to spend a week immersed in Scripture, worship, friendship, discipleship, outdoor adventure, and the simple joy of being known. In a world increasingly shaped by isolation, distraction, and digital noise, the ministry offers something beautifully countercultural: presence. Phones lose their importance. Schedules slow down. Conversations deepen. Students laugh. Leaders listen. The Scriptures are opened. Friendships form. Somewhere in the ordinary rhythms of camp life, extraordinary things happen. Rarely through spectacle. Almost always through presence. It reminded me again that one of the greatest ministries we can offer another human being is simply to be fully present with them.

The Journey Is Part of the Story

People have asked us repeatedly, “How do you even get to Unalakleet?” The answer is that getting there becomes part of the adventure. We flew Alaska Airlines into Anchorage before boarding Aleutian Airways for the final leg into Unalakleet. Bering Air and MARC also serve many communities throughout western Alaska, but for a family of six Aleutian Airways proved to be an excellent fit. One practical recommendation for anyone considering a similar trip: if you fly Alaska Airlines with any regularity, their credit card is genuinely worth considering. Between companion fares, mileage accrual, and baggage benefits, it can make family travel significantly more affordable.

But somewhere over the mountains and glaciers, as the road system disappears beneath the wings and Alaska becomes increasingly wild, something begins to shift inside you. You realize that not every worthwhile destination should be convenient. Some places ask something of you before they give something to you. Perhaps discipleship works much the same way. The road narrows. Comfort gives way to dependence. Convenience gives way to calling. And somewhere along that journey, God quietly reminds us that the places which require the greatest investment often become the places we treasure most. By the time we boarded the plane home, I found myself realizing that this trip had never really been about celebrating twenty-five years of marriage. It was about standing in a place where God’s faithfulness had become visible. It was about watching prayers whispered by two young newlyweds become four young men faithfully serving the next generation. It was about discovering that some of the most sacred places on earth are not sacred because of their geography. They are sacred because, year after year, generation after generation, God continues to meet His people there.

Final Thoughts

There is something about mission that strips life back to what it was always meant to be. Every mission trip I’ve ever been part of has left me asking the same question on the flight home: Why does following Jesus seem so uncomplicated here? I don’t think it’s because life is easier. In many ways, it’s harder. The days are long, the work is constant, sleep is often short, and comforts are few. Yet there is a remarkable clarity that settles over everyone. People wake up with one shared purpose—to love Christ well and to faithfully serve the people He has placed in front of them. It is difficult to explain until you’ve experienced it, but there is a kind of freedom that comes when life becomes singularly focused on the Kingdom.

Our days quickly settled into a rhythm that felt strangely familiar, perhaps because it resembled the life Jesus Himself lived. Each morning I found a quiet place near the fire and slowly worked my way through Luke’s Gospel before camp came alive. The rest of the day unfolded almost liturgically—preparing meals, helping where needed, laughing with campers, listening to stories, praying with students, repairing whatever had broken, worshiping together in the evenings, and ending the day tired in all the right ways. None of those moments seemed extraordinary by themselves. Yet taken together, they became deeply formative. Somewhere in those ordinary rhythms, Christ quietly reshaped our hearts once again.

The more I reflected on it, the more my mind returned to Genesis 2:15. Before work ever became toil, God placed Adam in the garden “to work it and keep it.” Those Hebrew verbs—ʿābad and šāmar—carry the beautiful sense of cultivating, serving, tending, guarding, and faithfully stewarding what belongs to another. Long before labor became burden, it was worship. Human beings were created not first to accomplish great things for God, but to faithfully cultivate what He lovingly entrusted to their care. That is exactly what camp has always felt like to me. We were never trying to build something impressive. We were simply tending what already belonged to God. Children. Conversations. Friendships. Cabins. Meals. Worship. Trails. Campfires. Moments that most of the world would overlook but that somehow become sacred because Christ is present in them. The work never felt like striving. It felt like keeping and cultivating.

Perhaps that is why discipleship so often happens in places like these. We tend to think spiritual growth arrives through dramatic moments, yet more often it is quietly formed through thousands of small acts of faithful presence. It grows around breakfast tables, beside campfires, during long walks, while washing dishes, repairing cabins, comforting homesick campers, opening the Scriptures together, and faithfully choosing to love the person standing directly in front of us. Looking back, those ordinary moments become the very places where God was doing His deepest work. Watching the little campers (4-5 graders) cry as they were leaving camp (as if it were Eden itself) spoke volumes. Covenant Bible Camp is doing great things for the Kingdom.

That, I think, is the greatest gift mission has ever given me. It reminds me that this way of life was never intended to remain in Alaska. The challenge is not learning how to live for Jesus on the mission field; the challenge is refusing to forget that way of life when we return home. Following Christ was never meant to become another appointment squeezed into an already crowded calendar. It is the very life we were created for. Mission simply has a way of clearing away enough distractions that we remember it again.

Covenant Youth of Alaska – https://www.cyak.org/

Covenant Bible Camp – https://www.covenantbiblecamp.org/