TO THE MOON AND BACK

Message from the Moon

I’m a colonist, and I’m glad my ancestors colonized America. In fact, many came to the eastern shores to escape religious persecution. At first, they were being forced to become Catholic, and later, they were being forced to become Protestant. Eventually, they were required to join the state church. At the same time, however, with the invention of the printing press, Bibles became available for ordinary people to read for themselves. As a result, when Martin Luther posted the 95 Theses in 1517, many came to understand that God’s salvation from sin and death was free. So, when the Americas were discovered, brave souls chose to leave behind what they knew and establish a new kind of society.

Today, however, society is again growing dark. Because of this, some wonder if it is time to leave once more—to establish a new kind of society on the Moon and on Mars. Personally, I find myself looking forward to the day when the Moon and Mars are colonized.

Even so, there are those who are convinced we are meant to remain on Earth. They argue that we should focus on solving the problems here. Yet, at the same time, as Jesus said, “For you always have the poor with you…”

Meanwhile, space exploration promises new opportunities—advances in communication, discoveries of water and minerals, greater understanding of climate, new career paths, and technologies we have yet to imagine. Still, this raises an important question: how did our ancestors deal with the fear of stepping into the unknown? And likewise, how should we deal with fear in our own time?

In a recent example, Butch Wilmore, the astronaut who was “stuck in space,” explained that he dealt with fear by trusting that God was with him. Because of that, he recognized that fear was not his friend and refused to let it drive his decisions. Instead, he fell back on his training and focused on the next step of the job. In other words, he did not allow his mind to dwell on fear—he chose not to entertain it.

Ultimately, the question is not whether there will be fear—there always has been. From those who crossed the ocean to those who now look toward the stars, uncertainty has never disappeared. What truly matters, then, is how we respond to it. As Butch Wilmore reminds us, fear is not a guide; it is something to be acknowledged but not obeyed. Like them, we move forward not because the path is safe, but because it is right. We trust in God, rely on what we have learned, and take the next step in front of us. Whether building a new life on distant shores or someday on the Moon and Mars, the call is the same: not to retreat from darkness, but to carry light into it.

With that in mind, the words of Epistle to the Philippians remind us of our direction forward:

Philippians 3:13 Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. 

FROM FROZEN RIVERS TO EASTER JOY

 

Evy-- Fairbanks Alaska 1952

Our sister Evy was especially happy in the spring of 1952. Even though she was only four—and wouldn’t turn five until October—she would be allowed to start school in the fall. That alone filled her with excitement. Add to that her new Easter dress and the welcome arrival of “shirt-sleeve weather,” and life felt full of promise. After a long winter of 30 to 40 below zero, the temperature had climbed all the way up to zero, and to us, that felt almost warm.

As spring slowly began to take hold, Evy was ready with her boots for breakup season. The ice and snow were beginning to melt. All winter long, the Chena River and nearby Tanana River had been locked under thick, unmoving ice. By late April or early May, however, longer daylight and warming temperatures weakened that ice from above and below. What looked solid one day could suddenly become unstable the next. Everyone watched closely, especially because of the annual contest—guessing when the tripod placed on the river ice would finally fall as the ice broke apart. Tickets were sold, and the winner received a cash prize. It was a big event and gave everyone something to anticipate.

In the midst of the lingering cold, we still made time for simple pleasures. Picnics at Harding Lake were a treat, even if they were chilly. We didn’t think much about the cold—we were young, after all. Our dad, chief of the Weather Bureau, had the important job of forecasting the weather for the picnic. One year, it rained before the picnic, stopped just in time for us to enjoy it, and then started again afterward. To us, that felt like perfect timing.

When we weren’t at school, my cousins and I spent our afternoons exploring. We would trudge over to the latest gravel pit, wading in shallow water or balancing on pieces of floating wood. One day, we discovered a small lean-to made of branches hidden in the woods behind their house. It felt like a secret world of our own. We even gathered buds from a budding plant to make tea, certain we were creating something special.

All of these small signs—melting snow, running water, longer days—told us the same thing: spring was truly on its way. And with it came Easter.

We dressed in our best clothes and attended both Palm Sunday and Easter services. The music filled the church and our hearts. We sang:

• Low in the grave he lay—Jesus, my Savior,
  waiting the coming day—Jesus, my Lord.
  Up from the grave he arose,
  with a mighty triumph o’er his foes.
  He arose a victor from the dark domain,
  and he lives forever with his saints to reign.
  He arose! He arose!
  Hallelujah! Christ arose!
• Vainly they watch his bed—Jesus, my Savior;
  vainly they seal the dead—Jesus, my Lord.
  Up from the grave he arose,
  with a mighty triumph o’er his foes.
  He arose a victor from the dark domain,
  and he lives forever with his saints to reign.
  He arose! He arose!
  Hallelujah! Christ arose!
• Death cannot keep his prey—Jesus, my Savior;
  he tore the bars away—Jesus, my Lord.
  Up from the grave he arose,
  with a mighty triumph o’er his foes.
  He arose a victor from the dark domain,
  and he lives forever with his saints to reign.
  He arose! He arose!
  Hallelujah! Christ arose!

Another favorite echoed that same message of hope:

Hear The Bells Ringing, They’re Singing
That You Can Be Born Again!
Hear The Bells Ringing, They’re Singing
Christ Is Risen From The Dead!
The Angels Up On The Tombstone
Said, “He Has Risen, Just As He Said.”
“Quickly Now, Go Tell His Disciples”
“That Jesus Christ Is No Longer Dead!”

Joy To The World!
He Is Risen! Hallelujah!
He’s Risen! Hallelujah!
He’s Risen! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Halle! Hallelujah!

Hear The Bells Ringing, They’re Singing
That You Can Be Born Again!
Hear The Bells Ringing, They’re Singing
Christ Is Risen From The Dead!
The Angels Up On The Tombstone
Said, “He Has Risen, Just As He Said.”
“Quickly Now, Go Tell His Disciples”
“That Jesus Christ Is No Longer Dead!”

Joy To The World!
He Is Risen! Hallelujah!
He’s Risen! Hallelujah!
He’s Risen! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!

He’s Risen, Risen, Risen From The Dead!
He’s Risen, Risen, Risen From The Dead!
Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!

And in the end, that was what Easter and spring meant to us.
After months of darkness, cold, and waiting, everything came back to life—the rivers, the land, and even our spirits. Just as the ice broke and the waters began to flow again, Easter reminded us of new life and fresh beginnings. For a little girl like Evy, starting school, and for all of us emerging from a long Alaskan winter, it was a season of joy, hope, and the promise that something new was always just ahead.