As of right now, 9:25 p.m., we are finishing out Day 5 of 7 in Soldotna, Alaska. This is not only my first trip to Alaska, but my first mission trip in general. Our time here has been filled with hard work, precious people, and enough sugar to keep me in a coma for the next ten years.
Describing Soldotna, Alaska, isn’t much of a challenge. Describing the work going on at Alaska Christian College—the ministry, school, and place we are here to serve—is.
Soldotna, in many ways, is like many rugged rural towns throughout America. There is a fierce DIY, self-sufficient spirit about the place. You can tell by the number of yards filled with small-engine machines, like snowmobiles, as well as the number of nearly finished sheds and shops scattered across small parcels of land. In many ways, Soldotna reminds me of East Tennessee in its unique blend of breathtaking beauty, outdoor wilderness, and sportsmanship.
However, describing Alaska Christian College (ACC) is a challenge. It’s one of those places that proves difficult to explain because it simply has to be experienced for yourself.
But you can bet I’m going to give it a shot.
The best way I’ve managed to describe it to my wife, Jessie, is this:
“I haven’t felt the Spirit of God so present since I lived at the Nashville Rescue Mission.”
For those unfamiliar, the Nashville Rescue Mission is a historic homeless shelter in Nashville that not only houses the homeless but also operates a Life Recovery Program—a place where thousands of souls have come to spend a year living in close quarters with one another, serving the homeless by doing everything from sweeping hallways to preparing meals, and learning about Jesus through classes, counseling, church, Bible study, and more.
I was sent to the Nashville Rescue Mission from the Alabama court system as a last-chance stop after a rowdy teenage adventure, and it was there that I found Christianity in the truest form I’ve ever known.
In many ways, I’ve been chasing that same experience ever since.
At least… until now.
ACC is one of those places that, if you went off the name alone, you might imagine a large institution, an over-sanitized and impersonal mission, and a whole lot of students wandering expansive campuses looking for their next class after giving up half their lives in school debt.
In stark contrast, however, this place is anything but.
Let me walk you through a typical day through the eyes of a volunteer.
5:00 AM — Wake up naturally because, back home, it would be 8:00 a.m. Central Time. The dorm-style rooms we’re staying in are Jack-and-Jill style with twin oak beds, so you’re likely sharing a room with a friend or church member (hopefully), and your bathroom sits between your room and the next. Make your way downstairs to grab a fresh cup of coffee in the cafeteria while everyone sleeps, then either settle into a couch in the common area or head back upstairs to your student-style desk for Bible study and prayer before the day begins.
7:00 AM — Head down for breakfast. While the cafeteria boasts beautiful timber-framed structures and massive stone fireplaces, they’re hardly needed during the summer. But if you’re anything like me, with my Alabama blood, you’re probably still cold.
The kitchen ladies are the same faces every morning—all three of them standing at the helm, ready to serve. They are bright, locked in on eye contact, and fill the room with the warmth of a thousand suns.
You make your way through what looks like a typical cafeteria line, only to realize this is nowhere near typical cafeteria food.
This is Grandma’s recipe book.
This morning consisted of fresh-made biscuits and gravy, sausage and bacon, scrambled eggs, blueberry egg bake, fresh fruit, hash browns (I’m pretty sure those had bacon in them too), and plenty of alternatives if you’d rather have cereal, yogurt, or other hotel-style fare.
Let me be clear, though—this food is amazing.
Every bite is special, seriously, and you will want seconds.
Which is a good thing, because after you’ve just about embarrassed yourself by eating three pounds of breakfast food, one of those precious women will come around the corner with a triangle bell and softly announce,
“Seconds, for whoever wants it!”
Immediately followed by a chorus of groans from the men around the tables:
“I’m definitely taking advantage of that!”
8:00 AM — Time for work.
In the twenty-five years since this college was founded, it has grown screw by screw, board by board, and stone by stone through the faithful hands of volunteers who spend one week each year serving here.
No matter where you’re from, no matter what you’re good at—or not good at—ACC has a place for your unique design.
For me and most of my church members, we’ve been working on the brand-new recreation center, complete with the most beautiful basketball gym I’ve ever seen, a weight room that would embarrass an SEC school, and, coming soon, a new chapel for praise, fellowship, and worship.
Our team lead has been a student named Mateao, a 21-year-old from Wisconsin who first heard about ACC from the founder, Keith himself, while Keith was traveling the country speaking in churches. Mateao was looking for his next chapter.
Today, Mateao and his beautiful wife, Hannah, live on campus and work here during the summers.
We’ve done our best to give Mateao a good (hard) time while putting up metal siding on the new lobby.
I’d never installed metal siding before this week, but after spending five straight days running a grinder and cutting steel, I think I can officially add another skill to the résumé.
8:15 AM — I couldn’t imagine this being the case for every team, but I feel like we received a special gift.
Each morning, shortly before the hammers and saws begin singing like the New York Symphony, a man named Bruce gathers us together.
Bruce is a gifted, old-fashioned storyteller.
I say “old-fashioned” because storytelling is a lost art. For most of human history, stories taught the next generation their heritage, culture, and way of life. It’s something we desperately need again.
Bruce is six-foot-something (which, compared to me, seems to be everyone in Alaska), wears a waxed-cotton Australian hat, and speaks sincerely, thoughtfully, and without insecurity.
He tells stories about difficult moments from his years as a camp director and somehow ties each one to a passage of Scripture in a way you’ll never forget.
Even if you forget the story, you’ll remember the verse.
It floats in and out of conversation throughout the day. It comes back to you in quiet moments and somehow settles deep into your heart in a way only the Spirit of God can accomplish.
Tomorrow I’m going to try to capture one of Bruce’s stories naturally—hopefully without him noticing.
Some things are best left in the wild.
10:00 AM — Before long, one of the students or volunteers heads off in a side-by-side and returns carrying two canisters of fresh coffee and a batch of warm cowboy cookies and ginger cookies.
The cookies literally melt in your mouth, and the coffee is perfect.
It’s a time to pause… selah… and simply get to know the volunteers and students around you.
12:00 PM — Sweet relief.
Leave your tools and gloves behind and make your way back to the kitchen ladies, whom I’m pretty sure haven’t gone home in days—though I know they somehow find time to rest.
Lunch is special because this is when one of the students shares his or her testimony.
Try as I might, I didn’t make it through a single testimony without shedding a few tears.
These young men and women open their hearts to more than fifty strangers every day, and you can tell it costs them something to do it.
Yet in that vulnerability, you see tremendous strength.
Once someone truly knows their story—and tells it—that testimony cannot be silenced.
1:00–5:00 PM — Finish the day’s work, then head back for another incredible dinner.
Just like that.
I’m telling you… you’re going to gain weight at this place.
It’s worth every ounce.
After dinner, there have been all kinds of things to choose from. Throughout the week we’ve enjoyed salmon fishing on the river, an evening at the beach with guitars, banjos, bonfires, and cornhole, and, last but certainly not least, a trip to Homer, Alaska—a place you simply have to see to believe.
Alaska Christian College is a very special place, and I must admit I’ve only encountered a handful of places like it in my nearly forty years on this earth.
I sincerely hope we can return someday, and that I’ll be able to bring my family so they can experience it for themselves.
It’s more than the staff, the food, the cleanliness, or even the scenery that stays with you.
It’s the students.
It’s something in the air itself.
It’s witnessing the seemingly impossible amount of good accomplished by so many people gathered together for one purpose.
Spend just a few minutes reading the history of ACC, and you’ll come away convinced that God must be up to something.
For the Lord Himself to establish a place like this, so that these young men and women—many from the far western villages of Alaska—could have a safe place to study, heal, and learn the Word of God is a beautiful picture of His heart for “the least of these.”
Alaskan winters are not for the faint of heart.
Nearly twenty hours of darkness. Bitter cold. Alaska has no oil refineries, making not only fuel but nearly every other supply more expensive than most of us are accustomed to.
Add to that the fact that many villages have no road access at all, requiring travel by airplane just to reach them, and you begin to understand what it takes for many of these students to make the journey to Soldotna.
It is no small thing.
There are places you visit because they’re beautiful.
There are places you visit because they’re exciting.
And then there are places you leave knowing you’ll never quite be the same.
Alaska Christian College has become one of those places for me.
I came expecting to swing a hammer, meet some good people, and see a part of the world I’d never seen before. I leave reminded that the Kingdom of God is still advancing in quiet places, through ordinary people who have simply said “yes” to whatever work the Lord has placed in front of them.
It’s easy to believe that faithfulness has to be loud, impressive, or seen by thousands. ACC is a beautiful reminder that some of God’s greatest work happens far from the spotlight—in a small town at the end of the road, through faithful staff, generous volunteers, and young men and women whose lives are being transformed by Christ.
If the Lord ever gives you the opportunity to come here, don’t hesitate.
Come ready to work. Come ready to listen. Come ready to eat far more than you intended. But above all, come expecting to encounter the Lord in ways you may not have anticipated.
I know I did.
Thank you to every staff member, student, volunteer, and supporter who makes this place possible. You may never know the full impact of your faithfulness this side of heaven, but I have no doubt eternity will tell the story.
Until next time, Alaska.
