The thing I remember most from our years spent in Sointula was the fog. Few days were untouched by it. Sometimes I knew, even before I opened my eyes, that it had rolled in. The nebulous groans of foghorns twisted and wrapped themselves around each other.
The heavens sagged under their weight of grey; the ocean donned grey and slapped itself against grey driftwood. Day after day automatic buoys bobbed on the surface of the ocean, moaning out locations while fishing vessels sounded their whistles, begging for direction and response. I admit I did my share of groaning and begging the sun to shine.
For the better part of a decade we lived on Malcolm Island and it was there we discovered the true definition of isolation. Located between Vancouver Island and the rugged British Columbia mainland, it defied comparison to anything else called "isolated," at least compared to anything else in my experience. The town, founded by Finnish folk who rowed north from Nanaimo in 1901 with the dream of creating a utopian society, has a fascinating history. Not even the seemingly ever present fog dampened the love I had for the place and for the people I met there.
But of all I experienced and learned during those years, this was the most valuable: the fog hides things, but it cannot move them. Over the past 20 years or so since we left Sointula, that precept has served me well.
"We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!" (1 Corinthians 13:12 -The Message)
When we can't see, He remains faithful!
