Volume Three Number One

- 2.8 pages, 1,719 words -

In this Edition: The Best Days of My Life, The Second Best Job I’ve Ever Had, Battling Bats with Bullets in my Bedroom, Triathlons, A Broken Heart (or Be Careful What You Ask For), The Voyage That Wasn’t, and My New Career in Real Estate

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

This year’s adventures have been so much less dramatic than in years past, and this is exactly what the doctor would’ve ordered. As you may recall from my last update nearly a year ago, I was stressed to my limits following the trip to Israel on the M/V Spirit of Grace. I moved into my parents’ abandoned log cabin in the hills above beautiful Lake Chelan following the voyage, and so began a many months long period of relaxation and restoration.

I have attached a photo of the house in the snow. It looked much like this when I moved into the house in February. The limited plumbing that had been installed in the house by my father over fifteen years ago had long since frozen and burst. Life without electricity or running water adds a small element of adventure, I suppose, but I did have a generator and could fill gallon jugs with water from the well. I spent a few weeks during the spring breathing dust and huffing glue under the house in order to install an entirely new plumbing system. I now have a shower with hot water! This beats heating large stainless steel bowls on the stove for sponge baths by a margin to wide to measure.

The sun spent more time above the horizon each day, melted the snow and coaxed eruptions of lovely, divergent wildflowers out of the thawing soil. I exulted with each new flower I discovered, and spent hours pouring through my wildflower guide. I have more pictures of wildflowers on my computer than any respectable retired ship’s captain/apprentice mountain man ought to have. Spring time at the cabin was perfectly devoid of stress and it became what I consider to be truly the best days of my life.

Spring was rapidly turning into summer, and I began to think about getting a job. I started working on the Lady Express on Memorial Day. Lake Chelan is 55 miles long, about a mile wide on average, and is the third deepest lake in North America. The surface is 1100’ above sea level, the deepest point is 386’ below sea level, and the mountain peaks that crowd around the lake reach over 8000’ at their highest. The town of Stehekin, with 80 full time residents, is at the far end of the lake, and access comes only by boat, plane, hiking boots or horse shoes. The Lady Express is the faster of two boats that runs up and down the lake. I worked as the “second,” made no decisions and had almost no responsibility – it was glorious! Bill was the captain/pilot, and Gary was the deckhand; we got on splendidly!

The only trouble with the job was the requirement to rise early, not something I do with ease anyway, and exacerbated by the arrival of the blasted noisy bats flying around in my bedroom. They may have been there all along, hibernating in the insulation, but they didn’t start flapping around noisily until I started getting up at 0500. Then, at 0300, night after night, like clock-work, the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of their wings awakened me from deep sleep in a really bad mood. My first reaction, naturally, was to grab my pistol and begin firing into the rafters. I have pretty good aim and I plugged a few bats without even a single bullet going through the roof. I like bats, though, and appreciate the service of bug digestion they provide, so I gave up shooting at them and started putting ear plugs in my ears at the sound of the bat alarm. Just think of it as a rather primitive snooze button to get two more hours of sleep. Eventually, I did tear out all the old insulation, seal the holes in the wall with metal flashing, and install new insulation. Ahhh, blessed sleep!

My daily commute to work involves descending 2000’ in nine miles, four of which are on dirt roads. Now this is a great trip to make on a bike, though it’s a bit more of a challenge in reverse. Nevertheless, I calculated that I could save $4 per trip if I pedaled my bicycle instead of driving my Trooper, and the challenge fit well into my summer triathlon training. I rode my bike to work at least once a week. I competed in four races this summer, two sprints and two Olympic distance, improving each time, and in my final race I came in 21st out of 178 racers and teams. This is hugely satisfying, and I hope to keep triathlon as part of my lifestyle.

In mid-April, as I was reveling in the quiet and restoration of backwoods cabin living, I pondered what good I was doing for the kingdom of God on earth. I was thinking that maybe I was being a bit selfish, and wondered how I might become more involved at church or some other ministry. Mind you, this was not a train of thought on which I spent a great deal of time dwelling. The thought entered, I said, “hmmm,” and the thought passed. Less than two weeks later I was lying on the floor of my living room wracked by sobs and choking and sniveling.

I had just read an article in World Magazine, a weekly news magazine presented with a biblical worldview. The article was about the Supreme Court’s decision to uphold the partial birth abortion ban. I had previously been told the grisly details, but this time, when I read a portion of Justice Kennedy’s opinion that included a nurse’s first hand account of the procedure, I came undone. I wondered how God could allow such a thing. “You have to stop it!” I cried.

Previously, my stance toward abortion had been one of judgment. I didn’t understand how a mother could make such a decision, and I condemned everyone who acted differently than I felt. Through struggles of my own, in which I have been unable to act as I know I should, God has shown me that except for His grace, I could be doing the same or worse. As I regained my composure and sympathized with a woman in such dire straits that she feels ending her developing baby’s life is the best option, I acknowledged that God chooses to act on earth through His servants.

I now had a burden of knowledge and could choose to remain in my chair feeling bad, or I could get up and do something about the issue. I blew my nose, wiped my eyes so that I could see, and grabbed the phone book. I called the First Choice Pregnancy Care Center in Wenatchee, the town with a center nearest me, and asked if they could use my help. The lady who answered the phone was baffled that a guy would volunteer to help, but after talking with the director, I started coming in on Mondays to help as I was able.

In late September I attended the Care Net conference in Louisville, KY and began to get an idea of specific ways that I could help at the Center. How many unplanned pregnancies do you know of that did not involve a man? Just one, right? Guys need godly role models, someone who can listen to them weep about the son or daughter they lost, or encourage them to keep their pants on, or give them tips on fatherhood since they decided to keep the baby. I’m not a father, but I have a great one, and his example can be the one I give. Since the conference, the actual working out of these desires to help has not materialized, but I am chomping at the bit and hoping the door will open soon.

Immediately after the Care Net conference, I flew to Louisiana to help on another Friend Ships mission. This one was to be to Nevis and Roatan, as some of you were alerted, but it didn’t happen like we thought. I sailed as the chief mate on the M/V Hope, a 180’ former Coast Guard Buoy Tender. I’m reluctant to disclose the whole nature of the episode, but suffice it to say, we turned around in the Yucatan Channel and limped back to Louisiana at about one mile an hour. The three weeks of this Voyage That Wasn’t are the most dramatic adventures I had all year, and wouldn’t you know, they happened with Friendships.

The trip itself wasn’t all that horrible, especially since I wasn’t the captain, but I’d just as soon stay in the cabin in paradise for the rest of my life and not do any more sailing. I have this feeling, however, that God intends otherwise, so don’t be surprised if in the coming years you read about more of my adventures at sea.

While at sea on the Hope, I studied for my Washington State Real Estate Salesperson’s License. I took the test on December 1st, and I honestly don’t know how I passed. I have been working at the Chelan Realty office since December 17th, processing remarkable amounts of new information. This time of year is slow, so I have had the chance to spend quite a bit of time learning from my broker. Everyone at the office is very supportive, and I have just ordered a few books to read about practical advice for getting started in this complicated industry. I have high hopes for the future, and will pursue and stick with this new direction as long as God permits. Hopefully, this job choice will allow free time to be involved at the Pregnancy Care Center and at church. If you or anyone you know is looking to buy or sell real estate in Washington State, give me a ring, and I will help you myself or try to help you find someone close to you. This is the link to my profile page on the Chelan Realty website: http://www.chelanrealty.com/index.php?page_id=17&staff_id=29

May God bless you significantly in 2008,

Jake Beaty