Put it down . . .: Intrepid Ministry

This is my missionary father many years back . . .
He had friends on every continent. He was a man of integrity
and I miss him dearly. He is the reason I always wanted to be involved with Ministry to the Military.

My "intrepid" journey began at birth. I am the only son of my adoptive missionary parents. My father was a missionary pilot to the wilds of Alaska. There he and mom who couldn't concieve children met up with an eskimo lady who had conceived out of wedlock, and back in the mid-twentieth century, that was still sort of frowned upon. My birth mother then gave me up for adoption to the missionaries, and that was the beginning of a really adventurous life. In the middle 1960s when I was ten years old we took a summer vacation from the cool environs of Alaska 7500 miles to the warm, humid clime of Central America. We drove all the way from AK to Guatemala to visit some missionary friends who had lived in Guatemala City. On our arrival the regional presbyter for Panama was talking to the presbyter of Guatemala, who informed him of our visit. So he invited us to come to Panama since we were not very far away by then. We got to Panama, and the presbyter decided he wanted to return to the states. My father was then contacted by the church bosses back in the US and asked if he would like to stay in Panama as replacement presbyter or overseer? He conferred with me and mom, and we were all about it. So dad flew back to AK from Panama, bought an old army flat-bed truck and loaded all our belongings on it, built a plywood covering for it and drove it all the way back to Panama. We stayed there for seven years. Quite a vacation by anyone's standards.

This is my missionary mother just a little before her death on Easter Sunday 2008

After my mom's death this year, we flew her back to Seattle for her burial beside my father. I had just been in touch with my birth family only a few months prior to mom's death. And one of my newly found sisters called and asked how we all were. I told her that mom had died, and she asked about the funeral arrangements. She then told me she would meet us in Seattle with a couple other sisters. And they are pictured below. In order from left to right. Paula my sister, Paula my wife, Georgie my sister, and Georgie's husband Randy. They all live in Alaska, with the exception of Paula my wife who now lives with me in Europe.