ALASKA MISSION BLOG
EARLY DAYS
A. The Best of Times and Worst of Times?
Dickens called it, in his Tale of Two Cities, “the best of times and the worst of times.” Did
his famed words fit today even better? Maybe not. I don’t know. But there was certainly a lot of it
about — the extremes of good and bad. And things unsettling. In that summer of 2021. As Doll
and I prepared for Alaska, and our second senior-couple mission. At least it felt so to me. A tension
and foreboding not present when we left for London four years earlier.
Some of it was COVID. After running a year and a half, and after vaccine rollouts, the Pandemic
had waned. But then came a new “Delta Variant.” And we were back to wearing masks — after
finally shedding them. And people were suffering. Next door, sister Priscilla was a having nasty
month of it that included painful blood clots in her lungs. Our Flores branch in Kodiak all caught it.
Night after night Karin — pregnant with child number four — would call her mom. Wretched of
mind and body, and panicked she couldn’t breathe. Our friend Jeff Noorda died the week we entered
the MTC. Our second week in the MTC, our brother-in-law Lynn died, after languishing more than a
month in the hospital. Two guys we loved. Lost to the pandemic.
(Some years ago, Lynn and family members visited us in Germany. Lynn forgot to pack
garments for the trip. So I shared mine, as we traveled about Germany, Switzerland, and
Italy. A special bond between us ever after.)
Nature was suffering as well. Parts of the world were drowning in floods. A hundred
and eighty died in the very region of Germany where we'd been called to serve, before our
assignment was changed to Alaska. (More on that reassignment in a moment.)
[Flood scenes and report from Germany]
There were torrential rains and floods across much of the globe. Whilst the Western US, Siberia,
and places elsewhere blazed with fires, drought, and record heat. Weeks on end Ogden hovered near
or above 100 degrees. Water was rationed, lawns and crops burned, lakes and rivers dried. While the
air choked with smoke from forest fires. Flashes like these filled the news:
Nor did a day pass without wars and rumors of wars. And earthquakes in diverse places. More
headlines:
All things were in commotion. But as the litany of woes mounted, so did prosperity and cause for
happiness. The Dow Jones and S&P 500 hit record highs, businesses offered more jobs than workers
could fill, scientific marvels sprouted right and left. Our boy Adam, his fiancé Kylee, and young
friends of theirs were millionaires. Literally. In some cases, many times over. With homes, vehicles
and wealth beyond anything we dreamed at their age.
And the work of the Lord rolled forth like never, in all of history. At recent count there were 168
temples operating, and 57 more under construction. With new temples announced for the People’s
Republic of China, the United Arab Emirates, and Phnom Penh Cambodia.
And here, in this maelstrom of the awful and wonderful, we were excited for our mission. And for
Alaska!
B. The MTC
Twas nearly a year earlier, September 2020, that we were called. We were assigned to the Germany
Frankfurt Mission. But then came COVID delays. Eventually, we were told we could not serve
overseas without full vaccination for COVID. I accepted this mandate with the indifference bred by
decades of immunization orders from the military -- for anthrax, flu, and a host of other afflictions
hostile to my combat readiness.
For Doll vaccination was a bigger deal. With considerable misgiving, she got the first round of the
Moderna vaccine. But was then sick for days. After which she refused the second round. For several
days -- weeks perhaps -- Doll and the Church Missionary Department glared at each other. Until
someone finally blinked. And they reassigned us to Alaska.
Of course, you know me. Ever the cheerful good sport. Germany? Alaska? I was delighted either
way.
And thus, bound for the Great North, we reported to the MTC. The third time for both of us. Though
back in 1977, our first go-around, they called it the LTM (Language Training Mission). Which LTM
was very good and necessary. But it was also, for me at least, mostly a painful head-exploding grind.
As they packed our skulls with German language. And hour after hour — morning, noon, and night —
we memorized, memorized, and memorized. Then memorized some more. In those old those old,
multi-colored discussions. Boot Camp for missionaries.
Actually, our LTM President, Max Pinegar, called it “the pressure cooker.” And I couldn’t wait to
leap from that cooker. Little suspecting the cold and hard landing that awaited me.
MTC Round 2 came 40 years later. September 2017. Now joined at the hip with my eternal Doll.
On our way to London. Based on that first LTM, I wasn’t overly excited for this new MTC. True.
There’d be no language to study, nor memorizing of those old discussions. And I figured there'd be
worthwhile things we needed to learn. But I also expected some rather long hours trying to stay
awake in class.
And I was pleasantly surprised. Nay amazed actually! At how excellent it was.
It’s hard to explain the difference, that old LTM versus the later MTC. Some of it was probably just
me. Too much of an adjustment that first time through. From self-absorbed teenage knucklehead to
full-time servant of the Lord. To feel and appreciate — through the stress to study and learn — the
positive Spirit that was undoubtedly there.
But there was more to this second time than that. Others say they’ve felt it to. How the
MTC had matured over the decades into something far more than a pressure cooker. Something
profoundly Christlike. Much of it having to do, I believe, with Preach My Gospel. And new
ways of teaching -- with emphasis on the Savior, His love, and bringing souls unto Him.
Much of it was also the great teachers — these young returned missionaries, male and
female. They had me exclaiming, “Where do they get these kids? They’re tremendous!”
And much of it has to be the day we’re living in. Sometimes I truly feel it. How the Lord is indeed
pouring out His Spirit like never before.
Whatever it was, I truly loved it. That MTC on our way to London. And now this Round 3, heading
to Alaska in 2021. I was a little disappointed to learn that our direction to “report to the Provo MTC”
meant — due to COVID — that we would report not in person but virtually, via Zoom. Sad, thinking
this MTC might not compare to our last one. And we probably did miss out bit, not being there
physically. But still, overall, once again, it was excellent! Most inspiring!
Below are some of the folks we worked with — and came to love — over the two weeks involved.
(Left to Right. Back Row: Kelly McBride (Military Relations Office), Dennis and Madelyn
Johnson (Military Relations Assignment Coordinators), Stephen and Susan Cutler (bound
for Fort Jackson SC). Middle Row: Otto and Randi Nuila (to Kaiserslautern, Germany),
Brian and Coleen Laverty (to Fort Benning GA), Lewis and Mary Ann Neuffer (to San Diego
CA). Bottom Row: we Allreds, Frank Clawson (Director of Church Military Department)
C. Awkward Takeoff
So. On reassignment to Alaska, we were told to enter the MTC on 12 July 2021. Our training
would last two weeks. Which normally meant we’d leave the next day for the mission field. But
COVID was playing havoc with missionary travel worldwide.
Young elders and sisters assigned overseas were diverted to stateside missions. Where they
waited months — sometimes their entire missions — to reach their original destinations. Many
senior couples completed the MTC, then stayed home. To serve part, or all, of their missions
"remotely."
Doll and I were left to wonder when we might reach Alaska. In July, about the time of our MTC,
the Church announced that the COVID status at the Anchorage Temple had upgraded to “Phase 3.”
Supposedly our green light to go. Still. No one at the Missionary Department seemed willing to tell
us when we must leave. Nor give us a date when we could leave, if we wanted to.
To the very last, it felt to Doll and me that we were taking matters into our own hands. Even
wickedly rebellious. As we decided the day we'd leave, and made arrangements to go and serve where
thee Lord had commanded us.
We looked at the calendar. Our MTC ended Thursday, July 22d. Adam had planned one of his
blockbuster neighborhood parties for two days later — Saturday, the 24th. And James and Jessee
would be in town that week, en route to their new assignment in California. So we decided to leave the
following Monday, July 26th .
We’d originally planned to drive. I did homework online. I talked with a missionary couple who’d
recently driven to Alaska. We gathered documents for the COVID-heightened border security entering
Canada. I built a lovely itinerary. Reserving five hotel nights along our way. Including one at the
spectacular Lake Louise, in Banff. And a night at Beaver Creek in the Yukon -- the western-most
town in all of Canada, where the one and only motel was rated a solid “2” of 5 stars. We’d arranged
for lunch with Bryan and Danielle at a Tim Hortons in Lethbridge. We were set to go. On what many
call “the road trip of a lifetime.” When, a few days before takeoff, this bombshell. Doll’s passport had
vanished from the bedroom drawer where she always kept it.
Granddaughter Iris was our prime suspect. She often removed interesting items from Grandma’s
drawers. But wee Iris had an inborn grasp of the Fifth Amendment. And, under interrogation, her lips
were sealed.
We tore the house apart quite “litrally.” Opening boxes. Taking the back off a chest of drawers
where said passport might have fallen. Etc. All to no avail. The passport was gone. With no time to
obtain a new one. We had no choice. The drive of a lifetime was off for now -- and might never occur
in our lifetime. We called the Church Travel Office and booked a flight.
So. James and family arrived. During that second week of our MTC, we gathered one afternoon
next door at Adam's. Where James — in prior approval from his bishop — gave our newest
granddaughter, Maggie, her name and blessing.
Adam’s block party was the delight we all hoped for, with more than a hundred adults and kids
enjoying the bouncy houses, the face painting, the catered luau, and other festivities well into the
night. But no fireworks, due to wildfire danger in our drought.
In the midst of these goings on, our daughter Kristen married Dustin Conk. The story of that
wedding, to which Kristen’s parents and siblings were not invited — just as she and Dustin were not
invited to some of our family events then happening — is a long one for another day. Or perhaps best
forgotten altogether. It sufficeth to say that, to the degree there was any falling out among family
members, those differences have been reconciled. And Kristen and the rest of us love each other as we
always have.
Our final Sunday at home, 25 July, was one of those aching farewells. So much a part of our
vagabond lives in this family. We stood in Adam’s driveway. With James, Jessee and the three girls.
Doll offered a sweet prayer. And off they drove in their car and van. Through the smoky air from
surrounding forest fires. To their new life in California. ("Going to California with an aching in my
heart.") Just as we would begin new lives, upon the morrow, in Alaska.
Then, in the wee Monday hours, Adam drove Doll and me to the SLC airport. No stopping us now.
We were finally on our way.
Or were we?
D. Awkward Landing. (But You Aint Draggin Us Back.)
Except for extra luggage we couldn’t pare down after learning we weren’t driving, our
departure was smooth. And our flight to Anchorage lovely. Splendid views Mount Rainier
as we approached Seattle. And a thrill, and catching of the breath at the fjords and snow-
capped mountains of our new home below.
First views of Alaska
Then this odd surprise. And mild downer. We’re landing in Anchorage, coming into that
range where our phones again have Internet. The emails are rolling into my inbox. And
here’s this one:
Great. Ten months after receiving our call, we’ve finally reached the mission field. And now this
from the Missionary Department. Telling us stay put, in Utah, and serve remotely. Well. I got an
answer for you, Missionary Department. I don’t think so. If possession is nine-tenths of the law?
Well maybe location is nine-tenths as well. Because we’re here. Not there. And you aint draggin us
back. Not without direct orders from someone with serious Priesthood Keys. And not without us
kicking and screaming all the way.
We deboard the plane. And waiting to greet us are our Mission President and his wife —
Gregory and Lynnell King. President King too has received that email telling us stay in Utah. “No,
Elder and Sister Allred,” he smiles. “We’ll straighten this out. Unless it’s what you want — you’re not
going home.” Music to our ears.
And I wasn’t thinking. With our plane landing around dinner time, I’d envisioned us
reaching our new apartment sometime after dark. Forgetting it was summertime in Alaska.
And though days had shortened by a month, here at the end of July, we still had a long sunlit
evening ahead.
President King invited us to dinner. “If you’re not too exhausted from your journey.” Which
we were not. And off we go to the Peanut Farm. A restaurant with great southern barbecue -- pulled
pork and brisket -- and a name more suited to Alabama than Alaska. But a setting and climate very
different from the hot muggy South. As we dine along the wooded banks of Campbell Creek, the
sunset is warm and clear. But the breeze sparkles chill as Autumn in the Tetons. Winter is coming.
We can feel it already. We’ll see how we love the weather then. But for right now — after the
scorch and burn of our desert West — the cool is perfect. Even glorious.
Joining us for dinner are the Tracys and the Robinsons. Two of the office couples. Wonderful
souls. And if this mission is like the last, they will soon be our dear friends.
(At the Peanut Farm. From left to right, Linda and James Tracy, Doll, President and Sister
King, Janice and Gary Robinson.)
Then off we go to our new abode. When COVID hit, those 18 months past, most senior couples
were sent home from this mission. And their apartments given up. Then later, when Elder Robinson
(above) arrived, he was tasked with re-acquiring and re-furnishing all the housing we had lost. Bless
him! He worked tirelessly to set us up with a sweet apartment close to the base where we serve.
Here's our place. We have a big living room, outdoor deck, kitchenette, two bedrooms, two baths.
And parking in a heated garage beneath the building. A very big deal in Alaska winters. [We pay
$1400 a month rent (the max for senior couples). The Church covers utilities, and the few hundred
dollars the actual rent exceeds what we pay.]
The evening of our arrival we received the car we’ve been assigned. Quite nice. A brand
new, 2021, Chevy Equinox AWD. [We pay a fee of $150 a month — plus gas. The Church
covers others expenses, including insurance and new studded tires each October. Vital,
they tell us, in the snows to come.]
By the time we unpacked and got to bed our first night here, it was around midnight. And still there
were bands of sunset through the clouds on the western sky.
E. Finally Here. Now What?
When Doll and I reached London four years earlier, throngs awaited us. Litrally. The
couple we replaced — the Wades — had been gone six weeks. And Thursday Night Dinners,
Institute classes, Family Home Evenings and much else was on hold pending our arrival. The
Bishop and YSAs had a litany of expectations. “Where have you been? We need you!” And we
rejoiced to be wanted.
Alaska was different.
Aside from the mission office, no one expected us or knew we were coming. And even our Mission
President was unsure of our purpose. “I know you’re here, Elder and Sister Allred, to work with the
military. But what exactly,” he asked. “Are you supposed to do?”
“Good question,” we answered. “When we know, we'll tell you.”
The Lord loveth all of His children. He loveth the service members and their families who
wander His earth. He wants them found and not lost. Cared for and not forgotten. We knew that
much. And we knew we’d been called to this labor. Shepherds to this flock. But not much else
really.
During our own years roaming the world, we’d seen Military Relations couples. What we
remembered of their efforts, along our time at the MTC, gave ideas how we might serve. But the main
message was this. “Your mission is what you make of it. Your duty is to bless. You learn what is
needed. Go forth and do good.”
And now, we felt like Nephi. Going forth. Not knowing beforehand what to do. Hoping to
be led by the Spirit.
F. Whom, Where and How?
And staring at us are these two questions. Whom to serve? And where are they? (The how to serve
them will come later -- once we've found people and grasped their needs.)
You’d think this whom and where wouldn’t be difficult. And some places it’s not. Take Misawa
Japan, for example. There you have one American base. LDS military and their families belong
to the servicemen’s branch. Senior couples like us work with members and nonmembers assigned to
the base. And that’s about it for whom and where.
Other places get complicated. Anchorage Alaska, for example. North of town is Joint Base
Elmendorf-Richardson (“JBER” for short). It’s a sprawling installation created, a few years back,
when they merged Elmendorf Air Force Base with Army Fort Richardson. Many Church members
live on JBER -- in its barracks and family housing. But (as we will only learn with time and effort)
these members fall within boundaries of four separate wards, in two different stakes. Five wards in
three different stakes, if you count the single troops attending the YSA ward across town.
That's not to mention the family on base who goes to the Spanish Branch. Nor the good brother
serving as President of the Hmong Branch. Nor the two Tongan wards, nor the Samoan ward, nor the
Filipino Branch -- all in Anchorage -- which may or may not have military members attending. (As
of this writing we don't yet know.)
Nor does this mention all the military members stationed at JBER, but living off base. Scattered
across five stakes. From Anchorage on the south to Wasilla on the north. It gets kinda crazy.
And who's there to explain these boundaries, and who falls where, as we come walking off the
plane? No one. Because no earthly mortal really knows. Truly. Nor is there some master handbook
that lays it all out.
The Hoffmans — the couple we replaced — had it mostly figured out. But they left 18 months ago
due to COVID. And since then, boundaries have changed. Bishoprics have changed. Most the
military have changed, over two cycles of summer reassignment. And it's all made murkier by the
pandemic shutdowns and isolation.
Doll and I meet the two stake presidents and the two bishops closest to the base. All fine men —
caring and glad we’re here — but new to their callings. They know generally that some of their
members live somewhere on JBER. But not much else.
We pray for guidance.
We visit chaplains and government offices on base. Meeting lots of nice people. But making little
headway with the whom and where. (The military is prohibited from sharing religious affiliation and
other privacy information regarding their troops.)
We keep praying.
The task is not impossible. But a bit daunting. Finding where the sheep all dwell, and to which
flocks they belong. And we pray. We pray for guides. Beacons of light. Someone to help us
through these early days fumbling in the dark.
G. Beacons of Light
So there's the challenge, starting out. Who are the sheep? Where the heck are they? And who can
help us find them? We landed in Anchorage on a Monday. All week contact folks, scratch our heads,
pray, and make little headway. We travel the space of several days in darkness, praying the Lord will
have mercy upon us, according to the multitude of his tender mercies.
Then, our first Sunday here, we go to the ward in whose boundary we live. And witness a miracle.
At least I believe it's a miracle. A small one. A tender mercy of the Lord.
Our ward's meeting block starts at noon. We’ve told no one we’re coming. No reason anyone
should expect us. But standing in the foyer — as if waiting to answer our prayers — is a smallish bald
fellow behind a COVID mask. He greets us and introduces himself. Mike Chadwick.
And this Mike Chadwick waiting in the doorway is quite certainly — for what we need right here and
now — the best person alive. Mike belongs to the ward that met before ours. Why he waits here an
hour after his own meetings ended, I don’t know. Perhaps the Lord commanded him.
For unbeknownst to us, Mike’s ward -- Chugach Foothills, the one that just met -- owns a big
swath of the LDS population on JBER. While the ward we’d planned to attend -- Chester Valley --
owns none. And not only is smallish bald Mike Chadwick highly committed to his present calling —
as Ward Mission Leader. But he was released last year as the President of the Eagle River Stake. The
stake owning the majority of LDS members on base. And former Stake President Chadwick has maps!
Maps he created himself — the only such maps in existence. Showing, almost perfectly, which blocks
of JBER belong to which wards.
President Mike Chadwick, we learn, is an exceptional guy. Knowledgeable, energetic, and eager to
guide us. But he has no military background. No ID card, nor access to JBER. And he has himself
been very much wanting to better serve folks on base. He seems almost as happy to see us, as we are
to see him. “Mike,” I quote Bogey in Casablanca. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful
friendship.”
Mike’s insight and his maps guide me to the proper clerks, to register as an “out of unit” member in
the proper wards and stakes. Granting me access to rosters in LDS Tools. Where the JBER names and
addresses are, maybe, only half accurate. But nonetheless a big step in the right direction.
Doll and I are beginning to see which members on base fall into the various wards, stakes and
branches I described above. We set a goal. We’ll knock on doors. We'll visit every JBER single and
family listed in LDS Tools — about seventy in all — by the end of September. The two-month point
in our mission. We'll know who’s departed. Who’s still here. And start learning how to help.
In our quest to find and serve, we discover more allies. Among them a couple sets of great young
missionaries.
The assigned areas of Sister Alvord (Layton UT) and Sister Rolfs (Minnesota), and Elders
Wilson (Lehi UT) and Elder Birch (Rexburg ID), include major sections of JBER. And those two
companionships are actually ahead of us. They have gotten passes onto base, and have been meeting
members and teaching investigators (called “friends” these days). They share with us their contact
lists. And take us about, introducing us to folks who might need us.
And we start meeting members. Like the Nevilles. Dan Neville is an LDS Army Chaplain assigned
to JBER. He and wife Darci have four sons. They're a great family. Who share our desire to find
and serve the on-base flock.
And Sarah Triplett. She was the Young Women President in the Chugach Foothills Ward. (The girls
loved her.) But she was recently released, when she gave birth to a baby girl. And now her husband
has deployed for six months. We are told she might like a visit — and need some care. Which is
partly true. She welcomes us when we knock on her door. But as for needing care — not so much.
Raised in North Carolina and a graduate of Auburn, Sarah is a go-get-em southern gal who wants
nothing less than treatment as an invalid. She’s a natural big sister to those — guys and gals both —
who need big sistering. She was a great catalyst behind activities serving JBER, before COVID blew
things apart. And she’s fired to get them going again.
I won’t describe all that these good folks have been doing to minister and serve. But you know the sort
I’m talking about. And don't we love them? And rejoice in having them when we need them? What
Neal A. Maxwell called the “low maintenance, high-yield” servants in the Lord’s kingdom. People
who immediately stand out as asking very little and giving a whole lot. Those who, as Father Gordon
would say, you want "holding the rope."
Doll and I feel our confidence increasing. Nephi went forth with nothing but the Spirit to guide
him. We feel we've had a portion of that Spirit ourselves. But we've also been blessed with something
Nephi didn't have. Beacons. Brothers and sisters filled with light and goodness. Helping us find our
way.
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