All Things New

One year ago today, we arrived in Alaska - naive, eager, Texan tourists - with plans to stay and explore for just three short months. But you know what they say about best laid plans.

I once believed that, in time, the allure of Alaska might wane. But one year later, each day here remains as new and exciting as the day before - and I remain as awe-struck now as when we first arrived. The mountains we see from our living room window each morning look drastically different in golden light than when enveloped in a moody fog. And while one day I may see ten soaring eagles on my drive to work, still another I'll stop to watch a black bear eat his dandelion breakfast. The teal reflective lake we admired in summer, is frozen white in winter. For every wooded trail we hike, there are at least a hundred more waiting to be explored. Autumn hillsides of robust red and yellow change to blankets of vibrant green in the springtime, and the roads are dotted with wildflowers in every color. And even while doing the chores of regular life, I often stop and think to myself, "I wonder what new thing I'll see today."

By far, the best part of being here for so long are all the new favorite family memories we will come away with. Like Shep stripping down to his skivvies to swim in an ice-cold creek, or tripping over each other to watch a bull moose casually stroll down our driveway. I could never forget the frozen lake where Shep kissed each of my rosy cheeks to warm them up, or when Cameron ate a face full of snow in our failed attempt at a TikTok challenge. Once, we watched in awe as both humpbacks and orcas were breaching at the same time, in the same frame of vision. Recently, we couldn't look away from a bear eating his fresh moose kill (and yes, sometimes it does feel like we live in a NatGeo documentary). And in all of this, Shep proclaims almost every single day to be "the best day ever."

In the words of John Muir, "Never go to Alaska as a young man, because you'll never be satisfied with any other place as long as you live."

I am beginning to understand what he meant.

Let the Earth Rejoice

Over Thanksgiving, we were blessed to spend several days, just the three of us, staying in and tending to the remote cabins at Historic Chulitna River Lodge. It was here that I wandered around in deep snow for days, looking for photo opportunities per the usual. It was also here that I slipped down the icy cabin steps and hollered something regretful (and I know there's a ring video of this out there in internet existence somewhere). But while resting alone on a snow bank, camera in hand - rugged mountains behind me, tall trees before me - I sat in the stillness and listened for a while. It was here that I finally understood, "Be still and know that I am God...I will be exalted in the earth."

Every corner of Alaska - from valley floor to mountaintop - tells the story of God's great splendor. Everywhere I look, I see evidence of goodness, joy, majesty, and grace. Standing under the dancing green lights of the aurora, I am reminded that the heavens declare His glory. And when He paints the sunset orange and pink above towering peaks, I know that the skies proclaim his handiwork. In summer, foragers cover the hillsides, raking in wild blueberries, while anglers line the salmon-filled streams, and I remember that He is a provider. He has given to Alaska richly, all things to enjoy. Even the birds sing praises to the One who holds tomorrow and provides their next meal, gratis. Have you ever stood beneath falling snowflakes and prayed to the God who washed you white as snow? His grace is abundant and my heart is grateful. When I'm feeling low, I can actually lift my eyes to the hills - my help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

The architecture of mountain ridges, the web of rushing rivers, the snow-covered evergreen branches, the grazing grizzly - each beautiful creation lends itself to a beautiful Creator.

Not Enough Words

Even after a full year, I still trouble to find the right way to describe this place. There simply aren't enough words. But in a place that has almost everything - mountains and puffins and rivers and more - what is it missing? What does Alaska not have (well, I mean besides Chipotle and Chic-Fil-A)? The answer is surprisingly simple.

Our people.

Of course, we are grateful to the many new and amazing friends who have welcomed us to the North with open arms. But, for every moment that I'm overwhelmed with gratitude to live here, I'm equally overcome with the desire to show it to the ones we love back home. Afterall, what good is it to be surrounded by such beauty, if we have no one to share it with? We perpetually find ourselves in a tug-of-war of sorts between the lone star and forty-ninth states - one being filled with beloved friends and family, the other overflowing with adventure and excitement.

You'll know you are loved when your people refuse to let 4500 miles stand between you. My 80 year old grandmother flew all the way here to experience a whirlwind week of waterfalls and vistas and quality time. My Dad is planning his second trip to see me and the mountains (we are pumped to see you too, Grandma). And we count ourselves lucky to have experienced Alaska's grandeur at the sides of some of our very best friends.

But just as three months turned to one year, one year turns to, well, a little longer.

So, how do I describe a place so vast, so grand, so wild? The truth is, I can't.

You'll just have to come visit - and see it for yourself.