Alone
By
Rolly A. Chabot
© 2010
Dedication
To the many who have come and gone from my life. I thank you for your patience and willingness to teach and spend the time to plant seeds.
To my loving wife Peggy, who has stood by and been a great supporter of the work I have put to paper. Thank you for the many hours you have allowed me to focus on this project.
To Kathryn Lynn Davis for your dedication and willingness to undertake the task of making sense of what I write.
To all who have fallen victim to predators in society, and those who hide behind their faith?
To you, the readers thank you for joining in this series. I thank you and ask His blessing upon you.
Forward
This is the second of a seven book series called “Quiet Reflection.” It will take you intimately into the lives of two Native communities where I was able to befriend some special people.
Follow closely as I travel into the heart of loneliness at those times when I have forgotten the need to reach out and help others. In doing so I have filled the void in my own life.
Listen to my experiences as I find the “Sadness” slowly lifted by serving, just as God calls us to serve.
Welcome, dear reader. May these words bless you and touch your spirit and inspire you to serve in a meaningful way.
Chapter One
“Within Myself”
Alone again, I thought as I looked through the many picture windows of the secluded street I found myself on, the setting was in Whitehorse, Yukon well north of the 60th parallel, a community built on the dreams of many gold seekers of years past.
I had already gone through the motions of telling people that I was not going to be spending the day alone. After all it was a special day—Christmas—the day our Lord and Savior Jesus was born.
Yet each year at this time I felt the same loneliness. For me it was simply a day of inner turmoil, a day of deep searching for the true meaning of life. Life had changed for me; this past year had been filled with change. Change so great it left me unsure of who I was or who I would become.
Here I was again on the outside of the celebrations, the family and friends gathered in many of the homes I passed. I knew some of people, even if simply as casual acquaintances. The north was a place where you could hide and even so a place where people knew each other. People never asked questions, they just accepted each other. If a relationship were meant to be it would flourish.
From the darkness I was able to look in and watch the festivities. I recently heard a phrase that I have been searching for years; it identifies the feeling I was lost in. "The Great Sadness," It fit what I was feeling today.
I pulled my parka hood over my head as the light snow started to come down heavily again. This had been the fourth day of snow, we had over an 18 inches and the forecast said it would be with us for a few more days. The flakes were huge, as big as I had ever seen. You could almost hear them as they hit the ground, one piling on top of the next. At least there was little wind here in the north, the trees we had kept it away unlike the prairies I had come from.
I was grateful, as always, for the gift of the parka I had received several years earlier from Mino Kesikaw—the wife of the chief of the Taggish Native community located some 70 miles from Whitehorse. It was the capital of the Yukon, which I called home.
The parka was exceptional, made of pure wolf. Only the finest portions of the fur had been used to make it. It was two layers of skin with the fur both inside and outside. I treasured it greatly, especially on evenings like this.
My friend Johnnie’s wife had given the parka to me as a token of love and appreciation for my help the summer before, after a fire that devastated the community. Lives were lost, lives shattered, but the strength of these people shone through in a lesson that has lasted me a lifetime. Only a few close friends called her Mino, and I was blessed to be one deemed as a friend.
Mino and Johnnie are true soul mates. It is special to watch the love they have for each other. They share an inner peace, knowing they belong together, that allows them to communicate through unspoken words. Many times I watched them with envy for what they shared.
Even though Johnnie was a quiet man as a general rule, when I asked about Mino he would rattle on for as long as I was willing to listen.
His wife had come from Alaska years before and they met at a Native gathering of chief's in Yellowknife North West Territories, situated as well above the 60th Parallel in Northern Canada. She had been hired on to serve at the gathering, and the moment Johnnie laid eyes on her, he knew love for the first time. There was no turning back from that day. As Johnnie said, “I was smoked.”
In Cree Mino’s name means “beautiful.” It fits her perfectly because she is exceptionally beautiful, with olive skin and long black hair as shiny as the morning sun on water. Her features are very distinctive. She had high cheekbones, full lips and her most unique feature: her eyes. She could capture any man deep within them when she spoke, but great pain and suffering shine there as well.
Johnnie told me that her eyes were what captured his heart. She rarely spoke of the misery she experienced as a child, not even with her husband, but for the first time in her life she had come to know the love of God, her Creator.
There she found the healing she had been looking for. Her sense of peace was empowering to all whom she draws close. I once asked Mino where she found this peace. She touched her heart, pointed toward heaven and began to cry. She shared some of her suffering and looked across at Johnny, that unspoken love in her eyes. Johnnie simply smiled.
Without a doubt any man could see the love they had for each other. Johnny was a truly blessed man and he knew it.
******
I shivered and it brought me back to the falling snow on Christmas Day. One house at the end of the street caught my eye as I watched a young lady, maybe 20, playing the piano. Her motions were pure and simple, each keystroke deliberate. The song she played was familiar: “Joy to The World.”
When she is finished she hung her head as though in prayer. I watched, intrigued, as she sat quietly for several minutes, and then came waves of tears. Her sobs were uncontrollable, and I felt guilty because I had invaded a very private moment. Before I turned away, she arose and walked quietly across the room to shut off the lights.
I knew what she was feeling; she was yet another victim of the Great Sadness.
I arrived at the end of the street and the edge of town. Just beyond was a mile or so of solid timber, some small outcroppings of rocks here and there, and then the Yukon River.
I decided I would walk on, as there was nothing to return home for: just an empty house, except for Tannis my faith Cocker Spaniel, who I had left sound asleep at the fireside. It was a rare occasion when I could leave without her knowing. After all it was just another day in my life. Again the sadness fell upon me as I realized I was alone, because some of the choices I had made in my life had been costly financially and emotionally. Over the years I tended to make bad decisions, driven generally by an inbred negative thought process. Alcohol and drugs added to my confusion and misinterpretation of situations at hand. Thus I acted foolishly. An early marriage at a very young age cost me a great deal of money, time, and years in the courts sorting through holdings, in addition to the emotional pain of dealing with it all. I had to live with what I had done, just as we all have to live with the consequences of our poor choices. Still I knew there had to be something more; this could not be It. Whatever was causing the Great Sadness could not be normal.
But in that moment on Christmas, I simply cast it aside and disappeared into the darkness of the night. It swallowed me leaving only the tracks I left behind which within an hour of this snow would be no more.
I laughed silently to myself as I realized what I must have looked like--a man covered from head to thigh in wolf fur, stepping into the darkness. There have been many stories over the years about the mysterious Sasquatch. I could have been mistaken for such a creature, ambling off into the wilderness covered in snow. I wondered was anyone watching? After all I had been watching others. The feeling of being watched has a tendency to grip a person. We will never truly be alone, as I have come to learn over the years. God is ever present and walks with us at all times.
Chapter Two
“Heavy Laden”
I was accustomed to entering the complete darkness of the forest with only slight moonlight. Above was a canopy of evergreens that never seemed to end. All the trees were heavy with snow and threatening to break at anytime.
Being a kid again for a moment I kicked the closest 60-foot trunk and the cascade of snow that came down left me in complete obscurity. I was covered from head to toe. Looking up I could see the contrast of the dark, bear branches in comparison to the others still straining with their burden of snow.
I shook the snow off and the fur I was wearing was again rich and light in color. I was thankful for this awesome gift, which had been given to me with such humility. That is the Native way, to simply give without need of fanfare or acknowledgment, something that is hard to understand in white society.
The Taggish Cree had taught me much about their way of thinking. Nature had been their neighbor for generations; they had been entrusted with all that was around them. The Creator had truly blessed them with abundance of game; provisions; lodging; and, above all His great love, which He gave so freely. The Taggish Cree had a special gift of knowing that everything had originated with their Creator. Their willingness to share came with the trust that had been established between us.
Here a few hundred yards into the woods an entirely different world existed, just as it had for generations before me —His creation—I can feel the presence of someone far greater than me. That presence has traveled with me my entire life, even during those times when I refused to acknowledge it.
After I spent so much time with the Cree it was easier for me to understand than before. Theirs was a simple belief system, uncluttered by the man-made rules and regulations I had found in many churches over the years.
The Do's and Don'ts had bogged down the faith I once had. I came to recognize that men had created the Church, especially after I read the Bible and spent time in God’s creation—the rugged wilderness of the Yukon. Creation in my eyes is what we find around us, not manmade but created by God Himself in His greater plan. To me, the wilderness is creation at its finest, the balance of nature is both pure and very complex.
In the Acts Community, found in the Book of Acts in the Bible, the church started as a simple one with simple values: “Love your God with all your heart and love your neighbors as you love yourself.”
It had nothing to do with programs, building funds, etc. Those things were all Man’s doing. When I saw the hardship in the world—the lost, the hungry, and the abused—I saw the need for God’s grace. When I looked at the outrageous display of wealth and power the various churches had acquired, I realized it had all been accumulated from the sweat of the people.
So where is God in all this? Right here beside us all, pleading to hear from us in a simple, direct way. He meets us right where we are, hurting and in pain. He wants to cry with us, laugh with us and, mostly He wants to have relationship with us.
The Church has hurt many people as I was, and the result is they have drifted farther from God.
That is certainly not what God wants. Is it any wonder that many have turned from a relationship with God, especially when He is so misrepresented? I shudder as I think of the pain those children suffered at the hands of the clergy, here in the north and throughout the world.
At the end of the day God is still in control and He will avenge those men for what they did. For now all He wants to do is love each of His children.
I wondered what a church should be like. I thought it should be about the people—meeting their needs, praying for each other. That’s where true healing takes place. Maybe the church should be right here in the dark woods where I was standing.
There is meaning in having an intimate relationship with God. It is a safe place away from the judgment of people. Away from the rules and regulations created by Man. Right here where a man could communicate with God one-on-one, where I could hear God through the quiet and peace of the forests and mountains.
As I thought about it more and more, I could not help but feel the Taggish Cree had found the answers I was seeking. They had nature, something real to believe in and be a part of. They had a relationship with the Creator directly through His creation.
I took a moment to listen to a rustle in the distance, a different sound that set itself apart from the normal night noises. Maybe a swishing of a branch that cracked at its weight of snow.
I stood still. The only noise I heard was the sound of my breathing and the increasing pulse of my heartbeat. It was an internal warning system telling me danger might be near.
I stood for what seemed hours, looking intently into the darkness. There it was again.
Then just briefly I caught sight of movement, a dark form. At once I knew it was a moose totally unaware of my presence. He stepped into a clearing just ahead and paused in the perfect stillness of the night.
I could hear and see his breath as well. He was a massive animal and one to be respected, but I was drawn to the peace I guessed he was feeling as he slowly turned and started to dig in a large circle. He was very aggressive as grass and dirt flew into the air. The moose behaved as though he had a purpose, a reason known only to him.
I had often seen moose beds before and was always amazed at the way the ground was cleared in all directions. Now I understood, as I watched this bull clear a bed for himself. It was obvious this fellow was planning on spending the night.
It was nearly midnight and in all likelihood I would not be able to move without disturbing the lone creature. He lay down in the freshly created bed, looking around as though to inspect his work.
I reached deep within and shouted loudly, catching the animal by surprise. He bolted off in the direction his nose was pointing at the time. I laughed at the sight. That male moose was all legs in his attempts to get away from the unknown. Sleep would never be the same for him again.
Chapter Three
“Steeped in History”
I had a favorite place just ahead. I called it Solitude Point—a cliff high above the riverbank where I could view the expanse that lay ahead of me.
The snow had finally stopped falling; the clouds had moved on and the moon shone brightly on the familiar game trail where animals used to travel from one location to another, a wilderness highway they created all on their own. You can find them throughout the North. Follow one and you can go for miles and miles and make many discoveries along the way. Scenes often never viewed by man that offer the best vantage points. I remember standing often, high on a hillside with a view in all directions, including the escape routes for all the animals.
I had made this trip many times before. It was close to town and yet far enough away that only the odd human noise could be heard.
This place offered a touch of the raw creation I needed frequently to replenish my soul during the busy workweek. I found peace there and often went late in the evening to watch the last few minutes of the setting sun.
There I had sorted out many problems and issues I faced. I had spoken aloud to God and shared some of my deepest, most intimate secrets with Him. I spoke of my addictions and, after sharing the battles that raged within me, I found some peace because I was able to verbalize my personal battles. Those kinds of struggles can overpower you if you allow them to. The best medicine is to share them aloud with someone. Years later I wrote those thoughts in a journal—a safe place to keep them.
Today that journal is a treasure, a roadmap of where life has led me.
Like many others, I confided in and trusted people. Some listened, some made suggestions, but there were also those who judged. God, on the other hand, listened to me on those nights when I cried out to Him.
Over the years many attempted to share the Gospel with me, wanting me to accept Christ into my heart. I always refused, I suppose because of His connection with the Church.
Only in the last few years had I come to know God as I did at that moment. It had since become very personal and meaningful for me to share with an unseen, yet ever-present God.
At that cliff I always felt anticipation of the sensation of standing a few hundred feet above the Yukon River, the mightiest of all rivers in the Yukon and the lifeline for many. Eight miles to the southeast was Whitehorse Landing, a major hub for the massive paddle wheelers that conveyed men, equipment and supplies to Dawson City, where the Gold Fields offered their riches to those who dared venture into the heart of the gold laden streams.