It was an adventure like many others, yet so different than others.
My Uncle Clyde and his wife Audra had stopped over for a night with my sister in Portland, Oregon. Their supersized van motorhome – the forerunner to today’s Sprinter vans – was fully stocked and they were about to embark on a multi week trip up the Alaskan Highway and into the heartland of Alaska. Denali, Seward, Anchorage, Fairbanks and more … and then back down the highway through Yukon Territories, British Columbia, Washington, Oregon, and Northern California to their Saint Helena home. The itinerary was packed full. It was an adventure few could dream of, or turn down … but for one small detail, perhaps. Uncle Clyde had just turned 85.
After hearing all that was planned, sister Sandie, with loving concern, couldn’t help but ask? Are you sure this trip isn’t a bit too adventurous for someone your age to take on alone?
Without a pause, Uncle Clyde replied, Sandie, you can die just as easily in Alaska as you can in California, and followed that with his signature laugh.
It was a statement worthy of a Clyde Tucker laugh and one worthy of a lot of reflection. There was a lot of wisdom in that response.
Do you remember the story of Arelius and the healing of the four children injured when the two boats collided on the Sea of Galilee? What about the shepherd who was paralyzed outside Bethsaida while protecting his flock? What about the mother who wanted Jesus to anoint her newborn who was struggling to eat?
Of course you don’t. Because these represent the thousands of stories where some caution was smothered by the winds of “common sense wisdom.” And no trip to Jesus was taken.
But you do know the one of the women healed from years of bleeding. You know about the Centurion's servant. You know of Jarius’ daughter. You know about a paralyzed man who came down through a torn open roof and walked out a front door. You know the ones of those who could care less what age they were when a trip to Alaska was in the works.
The stories we know, the stories we tell throughout the years are not those of us who choose to sit safely on the sidelines, those who drive up the mountain to a lyceum in Angwin and watch someone named Stan Midgley shoot people in Anchorage in the backside with a Union 76 antenna ball instead of going to Alaska themselves.
While we are counseled to “weigh the costs” before diving into an adventure, how often do the “costs” get bigger than life and just paralyze us? Does it really matter if you die in Alaska or California? Not at all. One is just as easy as the other.
We sit in our homes, lonely at times, yet are afraid of the rejection of creating community with those who live by us. There is so much loneliness in our world and so much hesitation to cure ours and others by taking a little risk of rejection and becoming old fashioned neighborly.
We talk of society issues being solved through third person terms. Cultures are different. Religions are different. Politics are different. So we third party them instead of packing our “85-year-old bags” and building friendships that turn third person narratives to first person understanding.
Inaction is action. And no one gets to experience life fully that way.
Uncle Clyde died at age 88 in California, for what it's worth, with one awesome trip to Alaska high up in his memory bank and one great saying left behind to inspire and mobilize us.