2009 Travel Blog

A Winter Drive

Tue, 8 Dec 2009 21:24:03 -0500

Greetings, friends, in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS (Jeremiah 23:6). When I consider the ongoing war of the born-again believer, the battle between the flesh and the Spirit that Paul the Apostle spoke of in Romans 7, I realize that I know this all too well and am brought to the same place: “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death? I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 7:24-25). Only in His righteousness can we stand uncondemned. That, my friends, is not religion. You must have His righteousness, “the righteousness which is of God by faith” (Philippians 3:9).

Current Location: Armour, South Dakota (waiting out a winter storm)

Miles Driven Since Leaving Anchorage = 4,340

Fruits of a Winter’s Drive down the Alaska Highway: 2 dings in the windshield, 2 broken trailer lights, 2 cracked mudguards on the truck, blown hydraulic props on my camper shell, luggage that cannot thaw, and a filthy Toyota Tundra.

It has been a little over three weeks since I updated you all on the eve of a long journey out of Anchorage. By God’s grace, we are off the Alaska Highway, out of Canada, and almost to milder climes. Here in Armour, South Dakota, we are waiting out a winter storm in the home of friends. Lord willing, we will part ways with Ricky in Kansas City tomorrow. Then, we make a beeline for North Carolina. The Lord is so good, and much has happened for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ throughout this lengthy traverse. Thanks for your prayers and kind remembrances before God’s throne. Another missionary journey approaches its end, and I must say this reality is bittersweet.

Before I get into recap, I implore your prayers for the Harris Family down in Argentina. The times for them are tough at the moment as they seek the Lord’s will and attempt to establish themselves in a foreign land with two small children. They are in desperate need of some solid Christian fellowship, a suitable place to live, and a reliable mode of transportation. Please pray that the Lord meets these needs. You can follow their journey at:

http://harrisfamilyargentina.blogspot.com/

FPGM has labored with the Harris’ on many occasions in the States, down in Central & South America, and in South Asia. They are bold believers who, like us, want to get the Gospel of Jesus Christ into the hands of as many people as possible. Lord wiling, I will be going down there to partner with them for about three weeks in early February.

So, we left Anchorage on a frozen morning with cardboard strapped to the front of the truck to protect against the cold air. Earlier, a huge bull moose had strolled out into the yard across from the Lee home. He had to weigh over a thousand pounds. ‘Twas a long day of slow driving, and it was dark by 4:30pm. I’ll never forget images of the Matanuska Glacier, peaks of the Chugach, and the huge Wrangell Mountains dotting a frozen landscape as we made a beeline for refuge in a cozy little Baptist Church just south of Glennallen. From there, our plans had been to cross the Thompson Pass and take the Gospel to the streets of Valdez for a couple of days. Unfortunately, the way was too risky and winds were blowing dangerously fierce on the pass, so we bailed. The Lord closed the door on that venture. That evening, it was -14 F as I stood outside grilling salmon on an old gas grill. It would later drop to -25 F. Still, we could rejoice, for God had earlier given us an incredible opportunity to share Christ with a national park ranger as Bethany worked on earning her “Junior Ranger Badge” at Wrangell-St.Elias National Park (For a home-schooled child, the road can be an amazing classroom). We were where we were supposed to be.

The next night, after a gorgeous drive through arctic landscapes, we were back in Tok (I had pedaled through there back in August) and able to quickly forget about the snubbing from the church in Valdez. There, we fellowshipped with the believers at Faith Chapel and found refuge for the night in the pastor’s cozy log home (Some of you might remember how these opened up the church parsonage to Ricky and I this past summer when we were in need of a bed and a place to wash some clothes). Anyway, the girls got to attend AWANA that evening, a welcome break from riding in the truck, while Ricky and I gave testimony at an adult Bible study. After a good night’s rest, I went for a run in the early morning darkness. It was -11 F, and the frigid air was strangely refreshing. A car had slid off a snowy road into a ditch, and I offered to help the woman pull it out; but she acted like it was no big deal. Apparently, such is a common occurrence in those parts and easy to remedy. Pastor Abel’s wife cooked us hearty breakfast, and we enjoyed some sweet fellowship before again hitting the road. Troy and Rita, if you are reading this, thank-you for your hospitality. It truly strengthened us for the lonely road ahead and edified us in the things of the Lord.

From Tok, we followed the old bicycle route back into the Yukon, through Beaver Creek (site of the lowest officially recorded temperature in North America: -81 F on February 3, 1947), along Kluane Lake, and into Haines Junction well after dark. The international border monument where I had done some filming back in August was buried in snow, and the muskeg was frozen enough for an afternoon saunter. We made it through Canadian Customs without incident, endured some horrible frost heaves on the Alaska Highway, survived some of the more remote sections of the route, and found a reasonable hotel room (reasonable prices and the Yukon Territory usually don’t go together) that night. Temperatures would drop in that place to almost -30 F before morning. I forgot to plug up the magnetic heater and attach it to my oil pan before going to bed. Surprisingly, it started right up at dawn. I love my Toyota!

The next several days were spent down in Haines and Juneau, Alaska. There was no way we could bid farewell to the Great Land without targeting these places, especially the state capital. In both locales, we were blessed with lodging in cozy churches and fellowship with precious believers. The drive over Haines Summit down into Southeast Alaska was incredible. Few ever see this in its winter glory and experience the remote isolation such brings. ‘Twas a clear blue sky with a 360-degree panorama of icy crags; and the Three Guardsmen stood out stark. Down the Alaska side, alpine tundra gave way to thick forests of huge snow-drenched Sitka spruce. Because of warm currents and a late salmon run, bald eagles were everywhere. On a ten-mile stretch of highway, we counted more than a hundred in the trees and on the gravel bars. Wow!

In Haines, Ricky and I took to the streets where the maritime environment made for a “warm” snowy 18 F evening. We had four encounters, including a young man and his girlfriend. After we gave him a tract, Billy came back and asked: “Where are you guys from? This is a small town, and we’ve never seen someone out doing what you are doing.” Needless to stay, the eccentricity of our behavior made for an amazing opportunity to proclaim Jesus Christ. Please pray for Billy’s salvation; he took a Gospel of John. We saturated the downtown storefronts, parked cars, and community bulletin boards with Gospel tracts. May the Word of the Lord not return void!

The next afternoon, we ferried down to Juneau, set up camp in a cozy upstairs loft at Auke Bay Bible Church, and then hit the streets of Alaska’s state capital in a falling snow. Tracts went out, as did a pair of socks for a homeless man, and we witnessed to a Filipino waitress at a little corner cafe in the adjacent town of Douglas--a decent night of evangelism. I do remember Nick, an interesting character. He shook my hand and said he was a Christian when I offered him a tract. I stood around and tried to encourage him in the Lord, but I noticed that he began to grow strangely uncomfortable. Finally, he leaned over to me and said, “Listen, I am a sinner just like everyone else, and I am standing out here trying to pick up a woman so I can get laid. Now, I am going to do this, and you are keeping me from it, so just get on out of here.” Shocked, I replied: “Nick, God is going to crush you like a little worm on Judgment Day unless you repent and flee to Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me you are a Christian when you’re going to stand out here and willfully engage in what the Lord condemns and take pleasure in doing so. Shame on you!” Bethany and I walked away. Later, Ricky ran into the same guy and had a similar encounter. I guess the Lord was trying to get his attention. I hope he listened.

Parked along a steep avenue in downtown Juneau, a far-off town literally crammed into a tidewater nook with towering mountain walls blocking access to the east, I noticed an interesting shop with familiar trinkets I had seen all over Kathmandu and a familiar language on the window. “Nepal in Alaska” the shop was called, and I would have to return later when the place was open.

Late that same night, Ricky and I walked from the church down to the campus of the University of Alaska Southeast in Auke Bay. It was a comfortable 31 F (at least for us). All was quiet and deserted, so we put tracts on parked cars and left them in other places where they were sure to be found. There was a certain otherworldliness about the snow-drenched pathway that led us down onto the campus. It was lined with lampposts and huge Sitka spruce overloaded with winter’s precipitation. I was reminded of Lucy Pevensie stumbling through the wardrobe and finding that old lamppost in the winter-ridden land of Narnia in C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Fond memories of Alaska such will continue to be.

The Lord’s Day, we worshipped with the brethren at Auke Bay Bible Church, sauntered around out at Mendenhall Glacier, and enjoyed a big pot of moose chili in the home of the youth pastor and his family. The fellowship, as is always the case with the Remnant Body of Jesus Christ, was edifying. Monday of that week, we again took to the campus of UAS and the downtown streets of Juneau. At the former, it was dumping snow. There were seven positive encounters and three rejections. Street evangelism is not about drawing a crowd; its not only about the big cities and college campuses; and it’s not to be governed by a success/failure scale based upon numbers. Someone has to go to the small towns. Someone has to be willing to walk up and down the tiny campuses. That day, we took what the Lord gave us at UAS and left rejoicing. Besides, the beautiful snow made it more than worthwhile.

Back in downtown Juneau, the Lord gave me opportunity to preach in front of a soup kitchen. Several stood around and listened, and we gave out some socks to the homeless in the name of the Lord Jesus. A crazy woman got mad at us outside of a bar when I said, “We must be saved.” She claimed to be a Christian and started making excuse after excuse about her drunkenness, even though we never brought it up. Conviction is an amazing thing. She remarked, “I drink, but that doesn’t take away from my goodness. I am a good person and a raise my kids to go to whatever church they want because it’s all about love.” This, my friends, is the fruit of apostate American Churchianity. I could only shudder and proclaim repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. At the Alaska State Capitol, we were able to share Christ with three government staffers, including a security guard who had climbed Mt. McKinley three times. The amazing thing about his story is that he was originally from Florida, and Denali was the first mountain he had ever climbed. I feared this man would reject the message, but I appealed to the Maker of the Mountains nonetheless. He took a Gospel tract and promised to read it. Later, we prayed with Ralph, an old drunk on the streets of Juneau, Alaska that God loves just as much as Billy Graham. He was so humble, and I trust the Lord used it. Back at the parking garage, a man got really angry at me for leaving a tract on his truck. Putting Proverbs 15:1 and Titus 3:2 into practice, I responded softly and with apology. This guy settled down and actually kept the tract saying, “I could actually use some good news.” We rejoiced. Why can’t I put these Scriptures into practice more often?

The highlight of our second jaunt into downtown Juneau, of course, was our interaction with Shreeja Maskay, a Nepali woman running the “Nepal in Alaska” shop that I previously mentioned. She was shocked to hear me greet her and then carry on a conversation in Nepali. For me, I needed the practice, and she asked a lot of questions about Jesus. Having left my Nepali Project Jagerna Scripture portions in the trailer back in Haines, I mailed a John/Romans to her a couple of days later plus some extra copies for her to give to the two other Nepali families living in town. This, my friends, was a divine appointment, and we were overjoyed to see Project Jagerna put to use even in Alaska. Please pray for Shreeja and her family.

An incredible day of evangelism is Alaska’s capital was fittingly capped as we fellowshipped over dinner in the home of some new friends we had made at the Bible Church in Auke Bay. The menu included bear bratwurst, succulent halibut, and locally-caught silver salmon. The Lord is good. Juneau was definitely in His plan for us. I pause to give thanks even now.

A ferry up the Inside Passage took us back to Haines where we again overnighted at Port Chilkoot Bible Church. The next day, the elements were treacherous as we crossed back into Canada and climbed over Haines Summit. Whiteout, 2-3 inches of fresh snow on the road, and bitter cold made for slow going. All the moisture on the truck and trailer that had accumulated in Haines quickly turned into huge chunks of heavy ice in the extreme temps of the interior. ‘Twas a nightmare, but a blast nonetheless. Our very last experience with Alaska along this journey involved pulling off on the side of the road in a blizzard to gaze at a lonely tree stripped of its needles. Nine bald eagles were perched in its branches. Thus, we fully and finally bade farewell to the Great Land.

‘Twas a long haul from Haines Junction to the end of the Alaska Highway in Dawson Creek, British Columbia. Enroute, we overnighted in Whitehorse in a one-room Native church. Mrs. Annie, an elderly Native believer was so kind toward us, and the old-school barrel wood stove kept us toasty. Thanksgiving Day, a couple of interesting things happened. Back in August, after being run over by that ATV, I took the bicycle to a shop in Whitehorse where the extremely busy shop owner worked late that night to repair it despite a sign on the door that said “Don’t Ask. Service Department booked until next week.” When Ricky went to pick it up, the man refused to let us pay him anything. “I am ashamed that one of my countrymen did that to you,” he said. I never got to personally thank Pat or speak the Gospel to him, so I decided to seek him out as we came back through town. By God’s grace, he was at the shop. I introduced myself, expressed my gratitude, and told how I eventually made it to Prudhoe Bay and then down to Homer. The Lord then allowed me to proclaim Jesus Christ, and he took a Gospel tract. We left Whitehorse rejoicing. Later, we stopped in Teslin at a little supermarket. Back in August, we had an unpleasant encounter with the manager of that place that resulted in him kicking us out of his store with threatenings and a few choice words. Basically, it had to do with him refusing to honor some coupons that we possessed and my leaving a cart full of groceries at the counter, refusing to buy anything from him because of the attitude. He was a real jerk, but I responded in a way that I should not have as a Christian. Ever since, I regretted this, knowing that those standing by might blaspheme God as a result. Anyway, as we came through Teslin, I stopped at that place and went inside to find the owner. Eventually Stacy came around the corner from his house, and I introduced myself. Putting Romans 12:20 into practice (as hard as it was), I reminded him of our unfriendly encounter and asked that he forgive me for responding like such a jerk. I said, “Stacy, I am a Christian, and the Word of God tells me that my speech should be always with grace and seasoned with salt. That day, I did not speak with grace, and I am afraid my words were seasoned with something much more spicy than salt.” He chuckled and just sat there astounded. What resulted was a long conversation in which he asked a lot of questions about the bicycle journey, and I was able to share Christ. In the end, he took a Gospel tract and told me that he would read it. Oh, I praise the Lord for this. It put to rest something that had been nagging me for months. Thanks also to Ricky for holding me accountable to go in there. Truly, there is joy in humility, repaying evil with good, and the witness thereof.

Thanksgiving night, we planned to stop in Watson Lake, grab some dinner (far too cold to cook), and look for a room. Several folks had warned me about the spiritual darkness of this remote crossing, and their words proved true. I cannot fully explain it, but that place was weird and ominous. The cheapest motel room was $105, and it was a real dump. There seemed to be no incentive to get one’s business, and dinner was way overpriced. Our Thanksgiving meal consisted of soggy, overcooked spaghetti at $13.95/plate and a can of almost frozen cranberry sauce that we passed around the table and shoveled out with a spoon. Still, we gave thanks for the many blessings of Almighty God upon our lives, and we were able to share Christ with the waitress. Before putting that place behind us, we walked around the infamous “Sign Forest,” a patch of woods where street signs, license tags, and graffiti from a multitude of places have for decades been posted by travelers passing through Watson Lake. I was encouraged to see a sign that read: “Sin Not. Obey Jesus. Repent.” We scattered tracts around and then headed east. It was more than 300 miles to the next services, and we couldn’t make it.

After a 400-mile-day, we were weary of dodging wood buffalo on the dark, lonely highway and therefore stopped for the night at Liard Hot Springs. The nearby lodge was closed for the winter, so we were forced to camp in the truck with temperatures around -10 F outside. Thankfully, we have good sleeping bags, and we all stayed comfortable for the most part, even Bethany and Charlotte. Only a half-mile into the woods was a super great hot springs. Around 2:00 in the morning, Ricky, Bethany, and I had the place to ourselves. Heavy frost draped the trees surrounding the Alpha Pool, a bright moon hung low on the horizon, and faint bands of the Aurora Borealis danced to the north. Someone had told me that Liard Hot Springs was a must-stop in the winter. This proved to be good advice.

From Liard, we drove over the northern edge of the Rockies and could only make it about 200 miles to Fort Nelson before darkness fell. The road conditions were terrible, but we did see wood buffalo, caribou, moose, and a big furry lynx. Bethany loved walking out on the completely frozen Summit Lake; and we got to share Christ with a woman in Toad River. Fort Nelson was another “end-of-the-world dump” where we had no choice but to pay $100 for a depressing room. At least it was warm. Ricky and I battled our discouragement by taking the Gospel to the relatively quiet streets. There were several good encounters, and we put out some tracts. As we walked back to the Shannon Motel, we saw a group of rough characters hanging outside a bar. We approached and humbly offered Gospel tracts. One young man got angry and claimed to be a servant of Satan. He threw the tract on the ground, started bragging about his homosexuality, and then started making out with his boyfriend right in front of us. Ricky warned him about the coming judgment of God. He blasphemed Christ. I replied, “Sir you don’t even know what you are saying. We’ll be on our way.” As we left, he screamed, “I hate people like you shoving your religion down my throat.” One of the guys in the group then jumped all over this character saying: “Man, they didn’t force anything on you. These guys simply offered you some good news, and you are acting like a real $%#@.” This man then called after us and apologized for his friend. One man in the group took a tract. We walked away encouraged and excited to be sharing the Word in such a spiritually dark place. It got very cold that night.

Another long day brought us from Fort Nelson across wide open spaces and vast taiga to Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway in Dawson Creek. There, I could truly say that my trusty Toyota had survived the Alaska Highway in winter. Glory to God. In Dawson Creek, we walked the streets and scattered seeds of the Gospel. One lady claimed to be an atheist and said something very foolish: “I don’t need God in my life.” At least she took a tract. ‘Twas another town and another main street saturated with the Words of Life. A 500+ mile day finally ended in Prince George, British Columbia at 2:00 am on the Lord’s Day, a week after worshipping with the brethren in Juneau. Of course, the last leg involved a gnarly crossing of Pine Pass in a snowstorm. Moose were everywhere, including a huge bull that was lying dead the side of the highway. He was still warm and showed no outward evidence of injury. There was no blood. Perhaps an 18-wheeler with a “moose bumper” had knocked him lifeless. ‘Twas weird to see such a mighty creature up close like that. Bethany petted him and brags about it to this day. In Prince George, we stayed with the Neuman Family who housed Ricky and I back in July. They were so kind, and as last time, their place was a real refuge from the road. In fact, we enjoyed a Thanksgiving meal of sorts with them that more than made up for what we had missed in the dank of Watson Lake back on Thanksgiving Day. Once again, the fellowship with believers was special and treasured. Thanks, Dave and Laura.

From Prince George, we rejoined the old bicycle route for some miles and then left it to head up into Jasper and down through the Canadian Rockies. I had wanted to follow my route for the entire return journey, but this wasn’t advisable in winter, especially the Cassiar Highway. It saddened me not to be able to revisit some of our contacts along this path, but it was also nice to see new territory. Anyway, we overnighted in Jasper, a tourist town that was pretty dead this time of year. Again, we hit the streets and gave out some tracts in the name of the Lord Jesus. One man refused to take one, claiming: “I love my liquor too much.” Nothing surprises me anymore, and this was just another foolish comment from another misguided soul that the Lord had put into our path. Sad. Still, we preach. Later, we had positive encounters with a Chinese woman working in a little cafe and a Mexican woman working in the hotel where we spent the night.

From Jasper, it was a glorious drive on very snowy roads through the Canadian Rockies. The sky was clear, the air was bitter cold, and craggy peaks cast a foreboding stare. We practically had Jasper and Banff National Parks to ourselves, but we eventually ran into a road closure. Avalanche clean-up left us waiting (the only other alternative would have been to drive far out of the way) and praying that the way would open. Soon, a snow-plow operator saw our vehicle and stopped. He was a French believer from Quebec who had seen our Gospel messages and therefore stopped to inquire as to our purpose. We enjoyed some nice fellowship right there in the frigid air, and we were relieved to hear Martin say: “Give me about 15 to 20 minutes, and I will have this road open for you.” Finally, we got out of the mountains, buzzed through Calgary, and crossed back into the Lower 48. At Shelby, Montana, I crossed paths with this summer’s bicycle route one final time. Funny, the Sweet Grass Hills had snow on them when I came through in June. Now, the snow caps were back. That night, we bedded down in the Beierle Home in Great Falls, Montana. Ricky and I had stayed with these precious believers back in June, and once more, we found a warm hearth of hospitality and a good place for a rest day so as to get a few things fixed on the truck. Of course, my kids absolutely loved “Grandma Lola and Grandpa Chuck.”

Between Great Falls and the Lane Home here in Armour, South Dakota, we stopped in a few towns to sow yet more seeds of the Gospel, and we saw Devil’s Tower in some amazing afternoon light. In Lewistown, Montana, one lady was putting up Christmas decorations and said she had her own religion that was her own business. I replied, “Christmas is about God becoming flesh so as to pay the price for our sins on a cruel, rugged cross. Such is not religion to be kept secret but a Gospel message worth proclaiming.” She sneered and kept working. In Sheridan, Wyoming, we had a couple of encounters and left tracts on all the storefronts. The next morning, my phone rang at 5:00am, and a lady named Heather left me a nasty voicemail. She had gotten the number from the tract we had left on the front of her store and didn’t hesitate to snarl: “I have my own way . . . Take your garbage somewhere else . . . If I find another one of your pamphlets, I will turn you into the authorities . . . blah, blah, blah.” I hope she felt better after she hung up. Buffalo, Wyoming yielded a couple of encounters, as did Moorcroft. Regarding the latter, a Christian clock repairman invited us home for lunch. We enjoyed some sweet fellowship in that place with a brother of like faith and like mind. Quickly, I was able to forget about that nasty phone call, rejoice once again for the Remnant Body of Jesus Christ, and be reminded that the Lord was directing our steps (Proverbs 16:9). Thanks, Gary, for your hospitality.

The day before Moorcroft, we had endeavored to drive all night to get to Armour. On I-90 outside of Gillette, Wyoming, I passed milemarker 109 and was reminded of a terrible accident I had been involved with back in 1994 at that very place because my friend and I had tried to drive all night. He had fallen asleep at the wheel, and my mom’s car was completely trashed. It was a miracle that neither of us were seriously hurt. Anyway, such memories made me think twice about driving through the night this time, so we got a room in Gillette. The next morning, this allowed me to go look up the man who had helped my friend and me after that accident more than fifteen years ago. I found him; he remembered me well; and I was able to proclaim Jesus Christ.

Here in Armour, our labor continued. I gave testimony at the Lighthouse Church this past Sunday, and later, Ricky and I were able to preach at a juvenile detention center in Plankington and the County Jail in Lake Andes. I was shocked by the freedom we were given to speak boldly and pleasantly surprised that we were able to hand out tracts and Bibles. The real credit, however, goes to the believers from The Lighthouse who preach at these venues on a regular basis. We were just honored to come alongside and proclaim the Gospel. CLICK HERE to see some video footage of my preaching at the County Jail. It is in three parts.

Well, I better sign off. This update has been long, but a winter’s drive has been fruitful. What began back on May 8th is about to come to a close. Without your prayers and support, none of this would have been possible. Thank you. We serve a good and a mighty God. Pray for us as we try to get back to North Carolina these next few days. A winter storm might actually have us stuck here again tomorrow. The wind is really howling outside as I pen these concluding thoughts. Hey, we survived the Alaska Highway in winter! Surely a Midwest snowstorm won’t prove too big of a deal. The will of the Lord be done.

Please pray for Ricky as he soon makes the difficult transition back into everyday life in Oklahoma. He now faces the enormous responsibility of stepping up to the plate to be a bold witness in his hometown and to lead others from his home church unto the same. I look forward to seeing how the Lord uses this faithful young man. We will miss him greatly, understanding what a valuable asset he has been to Full Proof Gospel Ministries these past seven months.

Stay tuned for more adventures for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ. Until then, watch and be ready: “for in an hour that ye think not, the Son of Man cometh” (Luke 12:40). He came once as a helpless babe in a manger. He’ll come again as a Mighty King dispensing divine judgment. Thank God for the Cross!

Most Respectfully Yours,
The Boyd Family & Ricky Springer

P.S. Alaska is a LONG drive from home.

The Eve of a Long Journey

Sun, 15 Nov 2009 02:16:45 -0500

Greetings anew from Anchorage, Alaska. The snow that presently covers the ground here will remain until Spring. The temperatures have not climbed above freezing for several days and probably will not do so for a few months. Portions of the Alaska Highway in the Yukon, the only viable route out of here, were closed yesterday due to heavy drifting snow and zero visibility. ‘Tis the eve of a long journey. We depart this place to head back home tomorrow (Monday), Lord willing, and temperatures in the Interior will be well below zero when we pass through. So, help us God. Please pray for our safety, traveling mercies, and the Lord’s provision for gas and places to sleep and stay warm. As always, pray for abundant opportunity, even in the direst of circumstances, to proclaim repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ.

As you may have anticipated, much has transpired since I last wrote from Anchorage a little over three weeks ago. The Lord has been very good; prayers have been answered; and the Word of God has gone forth. Finally, I was able to get the catalytic converters replaced on my truck. Though expensive, I saved a lot of money by getting the parts myself from the Lower 48, and I found someone to put them on for me for a fair price. Of course, the Lord did provide for our needs in that situation. Why did I even doubt? Regrettably, the saga with my truck has since continued beyond the cats, but it seems what remains is only minor.

After my last update, our team enjoyed another week of ministry in Anchorage, basing out of the missionary house at First Baptist near downtown. The Lord allowed me to shake up a youth Sunday School class in that church, and we returned to the University of Alaska-Anchorage campus for tract distribution and conversations with students concerning the Gospel. At a local Native Hospital, Ricky and I gave out Gospel tracts, and I was able to preach quietly in a sitting area while utilizing a rope trick. We also prayed with Tom, an old man whose wife was very sick. A UAA hockey game at the local coliseum allowed us to fellowship with the family that we would later be staying with on Kodiak Island, and innumerable tracts went out as we engaged the departing crowd. I never have been much of a hockey fan, but an Alaskan told the truth when they said that watching it live is far more entertaining than watching it on the television.

One particular day, the Lord allowed us to take the Gospel to the Jew first (Romans 1:16). Ricky watched the children while Jamie and I went on a search for some ethnic cuisine. We stumbled upon a little falafel stand, and what resulted was an incredible witnessing opportunity with Avi Avraham, a Jewish man from Israel who had been living in Anchorage for almost twenty years. I noticed a sign on the wall inside the small one-room eatery that proclaimed something about friendship between the United States and Israel. Sensing the prodding of the Holy Spirit, I pointed the sign out to this Jewish man and said: “I believe one of the reasons God has blessed America is because we have been a faithful friend to Israel. After all, the Lord told Abraham: ‘I will bless them that bless thee, and curse him that curseth thee’ (Genesis 12:3). Alas, however, I fear America’s attitude toward the Jew is changing.” I then went on to grasp his hand and tell him how much of an honor it was to meet him. “Because of your people, I can have knowledge of the One True God and of Yeshua the Messiah. Thank-You.” It looked as if tears came to this man’s eyes, and he accepted a Hebrew New Testament from Jamie and me. A few days later, Ricky and I went back and gave him a Hebrew Tanach (i.e. the Old Testament). While devouring our falafels, the Lord gave us an inroad to discuss Isaiah 53, Zechariah 12:10, and the need for a blood sacrifice to appease a holy and righteous God. The place was small, so it was automatic that others dining inside heard our every word. There were, it seemed, some smug looks. Anyway, Avi mentioned that he feared God but was not much of a “religious person.” I went back to the prophet Isaiah (Chapter 1) and explained how God hates man-centered religion and is weary of those who draw near to Him with their lips when their heart is far away (Isaiah 29:13). Not knowing what this man’s reaction would be, I repeatedly mentioned Yeshua HaMessiach (i.e. Jesus the Messiah) and spoke the difference between religion and being born again, pointing out Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus in John 3. With a weird irony, Avi responded by refusing to let us pay for our meal. He said, “It’s on me.” I marked Isaiah 53 in the Tanach that I had given him and urged him to prayerfully consider the undeniable truth found in those words about the Messiah. He promised to do so. Ricky and I left rejoicing. Please pray for Avi Avraham and his family. May the Lord draw them to Jesus Christ, the Messiah of Israel. This, my friends, was a divine appointment. Thanks to Jon and Linda Craft, missionaries to Jewish people in the Las Vegas area. Our interaction with these faithful servants over the years helped equip me to handle such situations. Also, through one of their connections, I am able to have a steady supply of Hebrew Bibles on hand for encounters like with Avi.

In the cold wind, we took to Anchorage’s downtown on several more occasions. At the bus station, we were able to preach without interference from security while distributing Gospel tracts and socks for the homeless in the name of Jesus Christ. Once, while I was proclaiming only one way to God to a small crowd waiting for a bus, a Korean man shouted “Hallelujah” when I said “You must be born again.” The security guard who harassed Ricky and me weeks ago then came onto the scene. I expected trouble, but he was surprisingly cordial. I guess there was nothing they could legally do to stop us. All praise to God! Another time, while Bethany was with us, some punks were loudly blaspheming God. I approached and said, “Guys, I want to share a profound truth with you. God’s last name is not ‘Damn,’ it’s ‘Almighty,’ and we’re all going to meet Him one day. I hope you are ready.” One boy started cursing Jesus and another shoved me right in front of my five-year-old daughter. The Lord gave me the grace not to react. Sad, but true. Later, I ran into one man who’s icy stare several nights earlier had caused me to hesitate with fear before preaching. Ironically, he recalled that night and making eye contact with me. He mentioned how much he appreciated my message and me having the guts to stand there and say such things. He took a tract. Often, my friends, things are not quite what they seem. In a nearby public plaza, we tried to talk to some Natives but were told that we were trespassing on Native land that was stolen by the United States, blah, blah, blah. ‘Twas a sad scene, especially to see folks who genuinely needed socks refuse a free pair because of their racism. Nevertheless, the Gospel was spoken, and Nelson did hang around to talk. Please pray for his salvation.

Another afternoon, we went back downtown with Buck, the former marine and current UAA student who I wrote about in the last update. We carried a large sign down there that asked a pertinent question: “Jesus Christ: Lord, Lunatic, or Liar?” It was hard holding that thing up in the wind, but many saw the message. Buck and Ricky were very bold; and many Gospel tracts again went out. I think of Craig and Dana, two young believers who needed some exhortation. Then, there was Darren and another homeless man who were so grateful for socks. We prayed with them right there on the street. Tanya and Jesse, two disturbed young people, at least listened as I shared Christ. Please pray for these. Pray also for Buck as he goes on to be a bold witness here in Anchorage. I supplied him with some Gospel tracts and was much blessed by our brief times of fellowship. Again, the Providence of God is an amazing thing. I met Buck through a young man who was pulled off by the side of the road miles from here on the Kenai Peninsula. He saw me on the bicycle many weeks ago and then told his friend Buck in Anchorage about it. Wow!

One morning, we all loaded up and drove out Turnagain Arm and through a very long single-lane toll tunnel to the small town of Whittier. Until this tunnel was built through Maynard Mountain in 1943, this place was completely isolated from the rest of Alaska. I guess some would question the wisdom or “effectiveness” (a common modern-day churchianity word) of making a long drive for evangelism purposes out to an isolated town where the likelihood of running into people this time of the year is slim at best. Nevertheless, ends of the road have been our custom here in Alaska, and I have never been one that needs a big crowd. True, big cities and college campuses are places where one can easily draw a crowd and enjoy abundant evangelism opportunity. And, there are many faithful servants of God taking the Gospel to busy streets and busy campuses. I, myself, know of not a few who have been a special encouragement to us in our ministry. Notwithstanding, someone has to go to the small towns, to the isolated corners, to go searching for people who may otherwise never hear. And, you cannot put a price tag on such a quest.

Enroute that day, we hiked out to Byron Glacier so Bethany and Charlotte could play on the snow. I’ll never forget the image of my five-year-old sitting with her legs dangling over a gaping crevasse. Children, at times, seem to have no fear. In Whittier, we found a ghost town and blustery cold. We prayed for divine appointments despite the circumstances, and the Lord heard. By day’s end, Jamie had shared Christ with Viviana, a young woman from Mexico who had come to Anchorage on business. Utilizing a free day, she had gotten lost and ended up in Whittier. She only thought she was lost, but the providential hand of a mighty Creator was directing her steps. She was open and took a Gospel tract. Then, there was Huck, a crazy old fisherman who had lived in Whittier for many years. We gave him a ride and proclaimed Christ. Finally, I encountered Matthew, a teenager from Kansas who had recently moved up to Whittier to live with his dad and complete a community service sentence that resulted from being busted with drugs back in Kansas. He was cleaning rugs when I approached and talked about how horrible and dark the winter was in that isolated corner of Alaska. I looked up and saw steep cliffs, massive glaciers, and cold choppy waters that agreed. Surprisingly, Matthew listened with intent as the Lord gave me great boldness. ‘Twas another divine appointment, I believe. A few other tracts went out in that seemingly God-forsaken place, and we eventually went on our way rejoicing. That journey to another end of an Alaskan road had not been in vain.

I could go on and on about how the Lord worked during our time in the Anchorage area. There was some good fellowship with Mr. Lee who housed us during our previous stint in the area. Please pray for his family. We also returned to the Hong Kong Cafe on several occasions to visit with and encourage Mrs. Ai Hua, the persecuted Chinese sister that I mentioned in an update a while back. We supplied her with some Chinese gospel tracts because she wants to target the Chinese people living in and around her neighborhood. Please pray for this lady, the lone genuine believer in her home. She is pregnant, having some difficulties with that; and her husband is a real jerk. Please pray that the Lord will save Mr. Fang.

It was somewhat sad to finally leave our abode at the missions house in downtown Anchorage. During those two weeks, there were many special moments. Aside from abundant proclamation of the Gospel, I recall invigorating runs along the Coastal Trail, numerous moose sightings, observing Denali and the Alaskan Range on fire at sunset across the Cook Inlet, the days growing shorter, grilling fresh salmon in the cold, and a huge moon rising over newly fallen snow in the Chugach Range.

On November 1st, after one final day of preparation that allowed us to witness to a couple more people, we loaded up and made the long, icy drive down to Homer. Peaks that were mostly brown when I pedaled through back in September were now avalanche-prone. At 2:30pm, the light looked like early-morning; and people were already ice-skating on a small lake. Again, we observed glorious sunset views of Redoubt and Iliama Volcanoes on the Aleutian Peninsula and let the girls run around on the beach where Ricky and I camped before finishing the bicycle ride. Sheets of ice were everywhere, and it was weird to see the sun set way south of where it had when I took some nice sunset photos back in September. Outside Homer, moose were in the highway, and I was reminded of how dangerous winter driving can be up here. You have to be on your toes at every moment. Thankfully, lots of driving in South Asia has prepared me for constant alert. After a quiet dinner, we drove out East End Road and posted a Gospel tract on the door of a lonely cabin where one of my best friends once spent a lot of time. I trust such an effort will not prove vain. Later, we boarded the Tustumena Ferry for an all-night tossing that eventually brought us to Kodiak Island.

The crossing itself was memorable, to say the least. One of the ferry workers saw our children and graciously gave us a free upgrade to a 4-berth cabin that allowed Jamie and the girls to get some sleep. ‘Twas a real blessing from the Lord. The night was clear, so Ricky and I slept out on the open deck with a full moon and the company of Ursa Major, the Pleadies, and eventually Orion. I was reminded of Amos 5:8: “Seek him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into the morning, and maketh the day dark with night: that calleth for the waters of the sea, and poureth them out upon the face of the earth: The LORD is his name.” The big boat got to rocking out in the Gulf of Alaska, and I turned green wrapped up in my down sleeping bag. Later, the wind started howling in a direction that inflated my sleeping bag like a balloon. I was too cold and sick to get up, so I endured until dawn. ‘Twas an adventure that finally brought us to the calm harbor in Kodiak under clear blue skies. We were greeted by the Robert’s Family who proved to be wonderful hosts and precious friends during our ten-day stint in that place. Mr. Joe used to pastor a little Baptist church in Langdon, North Dakota, the first place on this missionary journey where believers opened up bowels of hospitality to Ricky and me, complete strangers. Thanks again to Pastor Jeff Musgrave for this contact information and for making the initial contact with the Robert’s of his own accord. Again, the Lord demonstrated that His kind Providence was directing our every step. Back here in Anchorage, preparing to make the long journey back to North Carolina, I can truly say: “Thank God King Salmon didn’t work out. We would have missed a real blessing in Kodiak.”

So, we arrived in Kodiak with gorgeous weather, but this was followed by three straight days of horrendous rain. At times, it seemed like a hurricane outside. Undaunted, we took to the wet streets with Mr. Roberts and found the awning outside the local liquor store to be a good place to meet people. There were several good conversations; tracts went out; and Ricky treated a homeless guy to lunch. One lady refused a tract and told me that I needed to read some book “so you can learn about the real Jesus before Constantine screwed-up your Bible.” It amazes me how people latch on to such nonsense while tossing aside the time-tested Monarch of the Books that has proven itself of divine origin over and over again by way of fulfilled prophecy--minute and detailed prophecy, that is, not the ridiculous generalizations of the Quran or the Book of Mormon. As Jesus said, “If the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch” (Matthew 15:14). Elsewhere, “let God be true, but every man a liar” (Romans 3:4). Later, while Bethany played with starfish and sea cucumbers in a freezing cold touch-tank, we were able to share with a Filipino lady at the University of Alaska Marine Science Lab.

Kodiak, the second largest island in the United States (behind the big island of Hawaii), was settled by the Russians in the 1700’s, and the town of Kodiak would serve as the capital of Russian Alaska before the capital was moved to Sitka after the purchase of the territory by the United States in 1867. The same religious bondage of the Russian Orthodox Church that I have seen in Karelia and Eastern Europe was present in that place. We visited a local Orthodox Church three times and left three different tracts on the front door, trusting the effort not to have been in vain. I tried to talk to what looked like an Orthodox priest walking down a sidewalk one night, but he would have nothing to do with me. There were a lot of different churches, it seemed, in the town of Kodiak on an island with more than 65,000 black-tailed deer, 3,500 giant brown bears and only 13,000 people (3,000 of which are a result of the adjacent U.S. Coast Guard Base, the largest in the world). Sadly, lots of churchianity does not necessarily mean a lot of believers. As in many other places, we discerned the Remnant Body to be small and were confronted with the truth of Joe Roberts assessment: “There is little, if any, real evangelism on this island.” Thus, we endeavored to bring it. So many we spoke with appealed to their religion, their innate goodness, or their church attendance in terms of their salvation; and very few seemed to understand or care about what it means to be born again. I did have an opportunity to give testimony before some youth and exhort them unto boldness at a Wednesday night youth rally. I was pleasantly surprised to see this followed by young people singing about the cross and a youth pastor teaching through John 3 exegetically and proclaiming “Ye must be born again” without apology. Sadly, the typical American church youth group rally is more about worldly music, little ditties about hoping and coping, wrestling with the guys, and flirting with the gals. In such a case, atypical is a good thing. God Save the United States!

A couple of nights, Ricky and I hit the streets in the wet and windy cold, leaving Gospel tracts on as many parked cars as possible. We engaged a few people going in and out of the liquor store, several carousing outside the bars, a handful of Filipino taxi drivers, and the occasional passerby. One dude refused a Gospel tract three separate times, saying “I don’t do the church thing.” Another said, “I’ve got my own religion.” I’ve heard that many times. Sad. Tom, who managed a local toy store, seemed open and took a tract. Tim down at the bicycle shop said “I went to Lutheran school as a kid, so I’ve done my time.” At least he took a Gospel tract, and the Word of God never returns void (Isaiah 55:11).

Finally, the rain cleared out, and some sunny days followed. As the views opened up, the brown mountains visible upon our arrival were no longer there. The vast wilderness of the interior was blanketed in snow. The Lord allowed me to practice some of my mountaineering skills and bag two peaks--Kashevaroff (2,405 ft.) and Barometer (2,500 ft.). I placed the Gospel atop each. Someone will find it. Both climbs involved bushwhacking through thick alder, some deep snow, incredible views of the bay and the frosted interior, steep slopes, icy rock, and intoxicating solitude. I found fresh bear tracks on several occasions but never saw one of those Kodiak monsters. Barometer Mountain certainly deserves its name. A very steep climb in summer, snow made it all the more adventuresome. At one point, my knees were knocking on 50-degree slopes. I thanked the Lord for my ice axe and should have stopped to put on crampons. On the summit, the elements were ferocious. The wind had to be blowing near 100 mph. I could barely stand up, and the wind chill was well below zero. The views were incredible, though I couldn’t stay long to enjoy them. I placed the Gospel at the base of a small cross that had been erected to memorialize someone who died up there. As darkness approached, I was alone in that arctic wasteland, and the fear of being stranded up there was enough to spur me down. Steep snow climbs usually mean a fun and fast glissade down on one’s buttocks. Barometer was no exception. For an obsessed peak-bagger, these ascents made eighteen total closed contours for me up here in Alaska. The Lord is good. CLICK HERE for summit commentary on Kashevaroff. CLICK HERE for the same atop Barometer.

One day on the island was spent driving forty-plus miles out to Chiniak at the end of the road. The coastal scenery was amazing, bald eagles were everywhere (One time, we saw ten sitting on the side of the road beside a creek.), and the girls loved frolicking on the cliffs. Again, we sensed the need to go out looking for divine appointments in a place where very few go. We left tracts at a small library, a run-down school, a post office, and attached to a few cars. One man spoke of “doing the Jesus thing for many years.” I replied, “It’s not about doing; it’s about trusting.” He got so angry and told us to scram. Another encounter made the entire effort and the many miles worthwhile. A big burly Alaskan was working outside his shed. Ricky approached and offered him a Gospel tract. They conversed briefly, and the man said: “I am not much of a believer, but I promise that I will read this.” We rejoiced, knowing that such was ordained of the Lord. On our way back, we drove out Pasagshak Road to a missile site and Fossil Beach at the end of yet another Alaskan thoroughfare. No one was around, but we did see a huge red fox and left tracts in a couple of state park restrooms.

Back in Kodiak, we enjoyed sweet fellowship with the Roberts; spent quality time with a couple of Christian teenagers on four-wheelers out at Cliff Point (Bethany rode with her daddy, and she loved all the river crossings and the mud); and targeted kids coming out of the local elementary, middle, and high schools at the end of the school day. Many Gospel tracts were received.

For one final adventure, Ricky, Mr. Joe, and I took ATV’s over a mountain pass and out to Saltery Cove--far from civilization. ‘Twas an all-day thing that involved lots of wet river crossings, mud, and steep rocky terrain. Interestingly, we did find a geo-cache and left the Gospel inside. We also ran into some Christian hunters from Homer and encouraged them in the Lord. Years ago, I used to dream about going to Alaska, and two images would always come to mind--one of me hiking above tree-line on a rocky ridge with clear views of Mt. McKinley in the distance. That image came to pass several weeks ago when I summited Mt. Margaret in Denali National Park. The other was of me standing on a secluded beach that was surrounded by mountains and only reachable by difficult means. That became reality out at Saltery Cove. Words cannot describe the wildness of that place, the solitude, the sense of finiteness that overwhelmed me. I jaunted off down the beach and navigated around a point to spend a few minutes alone with the Lord. Strangely, I ran up on a herd of wood buffalo. Clams were clinging to the rocks by the thousands. Fresh bear tracts littered the beach--big bear tracks. I will never forget those moments as I contemplated how a career is merely a twentieth-century invention that ultimately does more harm than good to the spirit of man, especially the Bible-believing Christian who has been called to “Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15). It was a long and bumpy ride back to the highway. Ricky got stuck once in a mud hole; darkness brought bitter cold; and it was a miracle of the Lord that we did not run out of gas. More important than all of this was the edifying fellowship with Mr. Joe. CLICK HERE for some video footage from this adventure.

We were all sad when it came time to board the ferry and bid farewell to the Roberts family, precious believers who showed us incredible kindness, hospitality, and plenty of good cooking. In fact, before going down to the ferry terminal, we feasted around their table on halibut and king crab nabbed by Joe himself in nearby waters. Bethany and Charlotte both cried when we left. Joe and Sue, if you are reading this, THANK-YOU. Words cannot express our gratitude. Truly, our journey to your neck of the woods was worthwhile for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ. We left encouraged and rejuvenated for the long journey home.

Back on the Tustumena, the Lord provided a free 4-bed berth. Again, a worker saw the children and felt sorry for us, slipping us a room key. I was so thankful for that bed as the seas were extremely rough that night. Doped up on Dramamine, I surprisingly found slumber in the midst of that roller-coaster ride. So did the rest of the family, and we were all awakened by the intercom welcoming us to Homer. The drive back to Anchorage was icy and slow-going. These past couple of days, we have been preparing for the long drive back through Canada to the Lower 48, and the Lord has allowed some follow-up witnessing encounters with a few folks that we interacted with before. We have been staying with Mr. Lee who again graciously opened his home to us. The fellowship with him and a few other believers, though brief, has been special. Presently, it’s 5 degrees outside and -17 in Fairbanks.

Please commit the following to prayer:

1. Pray that God would open up a door of utterance to speak Christ all along our return journey (Colossians 4:3).

1. Pray that the Word of the Lord will have free course along the route (II Thessalonians 3:1).

1. Pray that we will speak boldly as we ought to speak so as to make known the mystery of the Gospel (Ephesians 6:19-20).

1. Pray that we will be ready (I Peter 3:15) and know how (Colossians 4:6) to answer every man that the Lord puts into our path between here and Vale, North Carolina.

1. Jamie is six months pregnant and battling a bruised rib. Pray for her healing and comfort. Pray that the children will have peaceful and patient spirits.

1. The cost of fuel alone will be very expensive. Pray that the Lord makes financial provision. The bitter cold will also force us to spend money on lodging as camping will not be an option.

1. Pray that the Lord provides places of refuge with fellow believers along the way, just as He did on our way up. If you are reading this and met Ricky and I this summer, you might see us again.

1. Pray for traveling mercies and safety. There will be a lot of potential winter danger. I am a little nervous about pulling that trailer. Pray that the truck will perform without problem. We’ll do our duty. The rest is in God’s hands.

1. Pray that the weather and road conditions will allow us to target the streets of Valdez, Haines, and Juneau before finally leaving Alaska. To get to Juneau, we will have to drive over a sketchy mountain pass to get to Haines and then take a four-hour ferry to the state capital. God’s will be done.

Well, I better get some sleep. ‘Tis the eve of a long journey. Stay tuned for future reports from the road. Lord willing, we will be home by Christmas. We love you all.

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

The Boyd Family and Ricky Springer

P.S. I had one final thought . . . I have run into several people lately who claim to be Christian but want nothing to do with church or other believers. This begs a question: How can you love Jesus and yet hate His Bride, His Body?

P.M.S. Please pray for Dylan and Cheri Harris (They have partnered with FPGM on many occasions). They will be leaving for Argentina on Tuesday morning and will be spending six months at the foot of the Andes spreading the Gospel amongst the Jewish population, the locals, and hippie travelers. Lord willing, Bethany and I will be joining them for a couple of weeks in February. Cheri just had her second baby and back surgery a few short weeks ago. Pray for their two young children and that the Lord will meet all their needs. You can follow their journey at:

http://harrisfamilyargentina.blogspot.com/

This family is a picture of faith and boldness after the manner of the first-century Christians. In many ways, they have become my teachers.

Back to Healy and Anchorage

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 15:45:10 -0400

Greetings from Anchorage, Alaska in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. “Neither is there salvation in any other” (Acts 4:12). Yes, our team is still in the Far North as the days grow short and the weather gets cold.

I coveted prayers for some financial needs in my last update, and these still press us. The repairs on our truck, I sadly discovered, are going to cost near $2,000 thanks to a California emissions system, the nonexistence of aftermarket parts for such a setup, and a Toyota monopoly. And, that price tag is with me obtaining the parts myself from the Lower 48 and trying to find someone who will put them on for me. To get the parts from Toyota up here would cost almost $1,000 more! I finally put some snow tires on the truck, and for that, the journey pulling a trailer will be much safer through the wintry interior next month. Thanks for your prayers in that matter; the Lord provided. Pray that I can sell my old set of Michelins (which are only half-worn) so that I can at least make up for some of the cost. I hate to throw these tires away as they still have use for someone living here in town; we certainly have no room to carry them home. Ricky still has some needs, as mentioned in the last update, although we do rejoice that some winter gear was provided for him by faithful missionaries who live and work up here. That was a big provision. Anyway, just keep praying for us, that the Lord will meet the financial needs for the journey home. I shudder just thinking about the cost of gas alone and the fact that camping will no longer be an option as subzero temperatures will be common. Pray that the Lord will provide believing churches and/or homes where we can lodge. He never guides where He does not provide.

Things have been busy here in Alaska since we left Fairbanks almost two weeks ago. Here in Anchorage, we have been taking the Gospel to the streets and to the campus of the University of Alaska-Anchorage. Many Gospel tracts have gone out and the Lord has provided numerous opportunity to open-air preach and exhort fellow believers unto boldness.

Back when President George Bush, a fiscal socialist, jammed through the Patriot Act and created the Department of Homeland Security in the wake of 9/11, I, being independent in thought and not a kool-aid drinking Republican, predicted that these entities would eventually be used against American citizens and Christians, in particular. Several days ago, right here in Anchorage, Alaska, I saw proof of this and of what is coming. Ricky and I were quietly and peacefully distributing Gospel tracts to passersby on a public sidewalk outside a busy bus station. Approached by security, we were ordered to leave or be arrested. When I appealed to the First Amendment of the United States Constitution and corresponding Constitutional Law that specifically protects the rights of believers to disseminate religious literature, this man scoffed at us and cited provisions from the Patriot Act and the Department of Homeland Security. Scary! We refused to leave, amidst threatenings, and the city police soon came to the scene. Strangely, these never approached us and we continued the work without incident. The security guard, however, did follow us for awhile and take pictures of us. We also saw him put tracts on the ground and then photograph them as if to make the case that we were littering. Thankfully, the Lord protected us and the Word still went out. Later, we went back and found things very busy after dark. The environment was perfect for open-air proclamation, and the Lord allowed me to preach four or five times. We again gave out a lot of tracts and were able to bless Natives and homeless with fresh new socks in the name of the Lord Jesus. That night, security didn’t bother us. But, believe me: The aforementioned incident is a foreshadowing of what is to come for Christians from the Communist Revolution that is sweeping through our country. Christians that share their faith will be arrested as terrorists under the Patriot Act and the authority of the Department of Homeland Security. As in times past, however, persecution of the Church will serve to weed out the false converts and cause the Gospel to spread in mighty ways that it otherwise would not in our fat and self-indulgent society. As for me and my house: My government can arrest us, they can torture us, they can kill us; but we will never cease to teach and preach Jesus Christ, the ONLY WAY to heaven (John 14:6; Acts 4:12)!

Now, with that off my chest, let me get back to the recap. Worn out from the work in Fairbanks, and having to wait until we could move into this missionary house that the Lord provided until the end of October at First Baptist in Anchorage, we returned to Healy for a week and enjoyed fellowship with believers that we had met on our previous buzzing through. Thanks to Morningstar Baptist Church for allowing us to use their facilities and to the DeMers family, missionaries with Wycliffe, who opened up their sweet and secluded cabin to us for several days. ‘Twas a true Alaskan experience, complete with home-cooked moose, an outhouse, a workout splitting logs, provision of smoked salmon, and a sled-dog ride (We had to use an ATV with the dogs instead of a sled because a strange warm spell for this time of year had melted all the snow that was on the ground when we came through the first time). The fellowship with these missionaries was sweet, edifying, and reinvigorating for the work that we knew was ahead of us in Anchorage. Please pray for the DeMers and their ministry. Every people deserves the effort to put the Bible into their native tongue, and faithful translation, as I well know through Project Jagerna in Nepal, is a difficult undertaking. The Native group these folks have been targeting for years will soon have printed copies of the New Testament available in the language passed down from their fathers. Pray that these will go out in abundance and reap fruit unto everlasting life. Then, for our new friends, there will come another difficult assignment, and the work will begin again. Such is the life of a missionary and a faithful follower of Jesus Christ--a life of unconditional living, self-sacrifice, and an ever-changing horizon.

Sadly, on another note, the Laodicean Church in America has grown fat and content in the comfort zone. I am reminded of something I penned years ago when I was in seminary, and strangely, this was directly related to Healy, Alaska. This small hamlet is just off the George Parks Highway in the foothills of the Alaska Range. The price of gas in town as well as groceries in the local market force many to drive a hundred miles to Fairbanks for shopping needs. Relatively unknown, Healy strangely got unwelcome publicity when Jon Krakauer, a noted adventure writer, published Into the Wild, a documentary about Chris McCandless, an educated young man from an affluent East Coast family who, disillusioned with the greed and processed sanity of American society, suddenly dropped out of sight immediately following his graduation with honors from Emory University. He changed his name, gave away his entire savings account to charity, abandoned his car and most of his possessions, and burned all the cash in his wallet. He then wandered around North America for a couple of years, searching for raw transcendence, his family knowing nothing of his whereabouts. In April 1992, Chris hitchhiked to Alaska and walked alone out the Stampede Trail near Healy into the taiga wilds north of Denali. Four months later, his decomposed body was discovered by some moose hunters in a old Fairbanks City bus that had been left out there years before as an emergency shelter for hunters and trappers. Sadly, McCandless’ family had no idea about his whereabouts or what had become of him until his remains turned up in the Alaskan Interior. And to this day, there are elements of his death (the “why” part) that remain a shrouded mystery.

Years ago, I read Krakauer’s documentary and was fascinated by this story. I could relate to McCandless in many ways. I understood the draw of the wild, and I still share his disgust with the materialism and comfort-zone sophistry of not only American society, but American “churchianity.” I can see why this young man did what he did, and without Christ, I probably would have done the same thing long, long ago. The sad part is this: The truth and meaning that McCandless was searching for cannot be found under the canopy of trees, atop a mountain summit, or far from the fringes of human civilization in some spot in the wilderness. No, it’s between the covers of the Monarch of the Books, the Word of God, and it seems Chris never discovered this before his demise. He died searching. I, by God’s grace, have stopped searching.

Strangely, McCandless’ story as told by Krakauer in Into the Wild has made the young man a “hero” of sorts for many self-proclaimed searchers. And, in recent years, several others have had to be rescued out of those same wilds after they attempted to make a pilgrimage to the “magic bus” and got stuck out there. Of course, the Healy locals don’t appreciate such publicity and are sick of the “pilgrims.” These would describe the whole saga as an example of naive foolishness, the epithet of an idiot. I can certainly understand such an assessment, but I still find myself falling short of sharing it. Some of McCandless’ own words riveted me once as a believer and played a role in shaking me out of my comfort zone not long before I undertook my first real missionary journey--a bicycle ride across America for the purpose of preaching the Gospel. In fact, I wrote a little something about this in one of my final seminary papers, a treatise on Christian leadership, just weeks before I began pedaling the bicycle route the would take me from Surf City, North Carolina all the way to Neah Bay, Washington.

One of my insistences in that paper about the genuine Christian leader was that he must seek out an grow in life experience. I wrote:

“College degrees and academic training will not suffice. After all, of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh (Ecclesiastes 12:12).’ Valuable life experience can only be gained when one is willing to sacrifice the security of routine and GO. Chris McCandless, a twenty-four year old unsaved idealist who died in the wilderness of Alaska, after disconnecting himself from a greedy society he despised, once wrote something that should ring true for the Christian, who has the very answer to meaning for which McCandless was searching, but never found:

So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life . . . you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life, you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty . . . Don’t settle down and sit in one place. Move around, be nomadic, make each day a new horizon . . . You are wrong if you think joy emanates only or principally from human relationships. God has placed it all around us. It is in everything and anything we might experience. We just have to have the courage to turn against our habitual lifestyle and engage in unconditional living.

God has not called those that would serve him to security and bland conformity. Such are to be nomadic, willing to pick up and go wherever they may be needed. Paul’s example is unquestionable. He never planted himself in one place for very long. There is too much that needs to be done; large fields are white unto harvest. The Book of Acts records a number of different reasons Paul and his team left cities in which they ministered. Obviously, sometimes they left for their own safety (e.g. Pisidian Antioch, 13:50; Iconium, 14:6; Lystra, 14:19; Thessalonica, 17:10; and perhaps Ephesus, 20:1). But more importantly, they also departed because of their desire to lead and to confront as many people as possible with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. After nomadically residing briefly in certain cities, they returned to previously visited areas to strengthen the believers and appoint elders (Acts 9:32; 14:21-22; 15:36, 41). When revisits were delayed or prevented altogether, he wrote letters of instruction and encouragement to the new communities of faith. Through such insecure and non-routine situations, Paul gained valuable life experience to undergird his leadership. Thus, he could say, ‘For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day (2 Timothy 4:6-8).”

Six years later, I continue to believe that McCandless’ words should ring true for the believer, especially in view of the fact that such possess the treasure that eluded this young man. Christ’s Great Commission demands unconditional living for the sake of the Gospel; it demands an ever-changing horizon; it demands the forsaking of the comfort zone (Luke 14:26-35). Moreover, it scorns time wasted waiting for some type of call. The Call has been given (Matthew 28:19-20; Mark 16:15). While reflecting upon this, Keith Green, an incredible musician and bold missionary for the Gospel who died with two of his children in a 1982 plane crash, once spoke something worthy of duplication:

There’s a little command found in the Bible that says, ‘Go ye into all the nations and preach the gospel unto every creature, and make disciples of men.’ And, we like to think that was for the disciples. That’s for old ladies that can’t find husbands and need to bury their troubles on the mission field. That’s for humanitarians. Or that’s for real Christians who are so spiritual they can’t stay in society, so they gotta go overseas and bury themselves in some tribe somewhere down in the Amazon! I’ll tell you what folks, the world isn’t being won today because we’re not doing it! It’s our fault! This generation of Christians is responsible for this generation of souls on the earth. Nowhere in the world is the gospel so plentiful as in the United States. Nowhere! And I don’t want to see us stand before God on that day and say, ‘But God, I didn’t hear you call me!’ Here’s something for all of you to chew on—you don’t need to hear a call. You’re already called! It’s either God’s will that the world’s going to hell, or it’s the Church’s fault because they’re not being obedient to what the Bible says about going into all nations and preaching the gospel. If you stay at home from going into all nations, you’d better be able to say to God, ‘You called me to stay home. I know that as a fact!’. . . There’s a rule in the armed forces. Always obey the last order you got, until you get new orders from command headquarters. The last order I got in my Bible was ‘GO!’

Wow, this brings back lots of memories from those days when I wrestled with what the life of ministry I was called to is supposed to look like. Many moons later, I’m sitting here in Alaska after riding a bicycle to the top of the continent, having proclaimed the Gospel of Jesus Christ all along the way. Passing through Healy enroute to Anchorage, I yearned to hike out the Stampede Trail to that old bus where misguided pilgrims still occasionally come searching, paying respects to what they deem a “hero.” Though I weep for Chris McCandless and can relate to his yearnings, he was far from a hero. Rather, he was an example of the loud truth of Psalm 39:5: “Verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity.” Without Jesus Christ, without the Lord, all is vain. Meaning, purpose, and peace cannot be found in this life apart from the Gospel.

I’ve climbed mountains, thinking that satisfaction could be found in attaining a particular summit and the transcendent experience that comes with such an accomplishment. It was never good enough, and the transient experience could not be grasped with any real permanence. There always had to be another climb, another summit, and the inevitable disillusionment that follows upon return to normalcy. In a relationship with the Maker of the Mountains by grace through faith in Jesus Christ, however, the transient becomes real, and lasting joy is found, not in my experiences, but in my eternal position in Him. This, McCandless apparently never discovered. ‘Tis sad. Still, I wanted to hike out to that old bus and stock it with a couple of Bibles and some Gospel materials, knowing that more foolhardy pilgrims would come. Unfortunately, numerous chest-deep beaver ponds and a dangerous river crossing prevented this. Ricky and I turned around late one evening far out the Stampede Trail with the mammoth silhouette of Mt. McKinley visible to the south. ‘Twas erie walking where McCandless walked in the alder thickets on the edge of the alpine tundra. All was quiet and cold, and that peaceful wilderness was intoxicating, an escape from a down-spiraling American society that is out of control. But, unlike McCandless, we COULD turn around and head back to the car. We have Christ, the Creator, not the mere affectations of a groaning Creation that can swallow up the finiteness of man in a heartbeat if he lets his guard down. As I pulled out of Stampede Road onto the Parks Highway outside of Healy one last time, I put my fascinations with the Chris McCandless story to rest. We headed for Anchorage with a message to proclaim.

Also while in Healy, the weather was strangely warm for mid-October, and we enjoyed some good times in Denali National Park, a real blessing from the Lord. One evening, our whole crew watched a 1,000+ lb. grizzly dig around on a gravel bar along the Savage River. I climbed Mt. Healy and soaked up the amazing view of the big peaks to the east. The summit block involved loose, exposed, and somewhat dangerous Class 3 rock, and I waited for Ricky on the top for well over an hour. Finally, he made it, and I was real proud. From that place, one could see all the way up the Stampede Valley to the place where McCandless met his demise. I was struck by the fact that the bus really wasn’t that far from help. How did that dude let himself die out there? Sad. CLICK HERE for some YouTube footage of our moments on the summit of Mt. Healy.

Ricky and I also climbed Mt. Margaret on an incredibly gorgeous day. Denali, the highest mountain in North America, was clearly visible, right in our faces the entire time. I dreamed of hiking in that park with views like that from my childhood, and the Lord brought it to pass. I utilized the opportunity to preach the Gospel and reflect upon the words of Hudson Stuck (the faithful missionary to the Yukon who was the first to summit Denali in 1913) for a YouTube audience. CLICK HERE to see in two parts. Immediately thereafter, I ran up nearby Primrose Ridge and later met Ricky back at the truck. Bushwhacking through thick alder and brush, prime grizzly habitat, was scary, for I had no bear protection (I let Ricky take the bear spray with him). In an effort to make a lot of noise so as not to startle one of those monsters, I sang old hymns aloud, and the Lord preserved me.

Yes, the time in Healy was rejuvenating and restfully rewarding. Back in Anchorage, we went to work. The Word has since gone out along the downtown streets, on the college campus, outside a NHL minor-league hockey game, and in quiet corners where individuals have stumbled into our paths.

Yesterday, we spent much of the day on the campus of the University of Alaska-Anchorage. Buck, a former marine who has served our country in Afghanistan and a current student at UAA, joined us. As our time together wrapped up, he said something with a glint in his eye that gave me great joy: “Man, I’ve witnessed to more strangers today than I have in my whole life. This is great.” He will go on, I am confident, to be a bold witness. I remember saying virtually the same thing after a night on the streets of Fairfax, California, just north of San Francisco, back in 2002. Since, I have never been the same. Folks, there are two types of lost people--the ones we know and the ones we don’t know. The Great Commission of our Lord Jesus Christ demands that we take the Gospel to the ones we know AND the ones we don’t know. You may be unashamed of the Gospel when the topic comes up among friends or family. Perhaps you have built relationships and have sown seeds of truth into lives that you know over periods of time. But, what about the masses of humanity that you come in contact with every day? We are called to these as well. This generation of Christians is responsible for this generation of souls on the earth. Are you making the Gospel the topic of conversation with strangers? Are you reaching out to the masses by speaking Christ? Are you using Gospel tracts, an age-old method that the Lord has blessed going back to the early centuries of the Church? Are you sowing seed? What about the cashier at the grocery store, the gas station attendant, the passerby on the street, the waitress at your table, the masses gathered at your town’s annual festival, the homeless man on the street corner, the troubled youth loitering downtown on a Friday night? We must tell them. We must go out. Our lifestyle, our personal testimony is not our evangelism. But, bold evangelism ought to be our lifestyle, our testimony, our obedience to the Lord Jesus Christ. Go forth! Be bold in your relationships! Be bold to the stranger! Confront the masses with the Truth of the Gospel!

Yes, our day with Buck on the campus of UAA was good. We distributed Gospel tracts inside the Student Union, and there were some fruitful conversations. One young man, P.J., appealed to his church attendance and the sacraments when we spoke of being right with God. He got so angry at me when I spoke of how religion cannot save us and appealed to the blood of Jesus Christ. He then stormed off. Pray for this young man’s salvation. We also shared with some students manning a booth about alcohol abuse. I was reminded of how vain is self-help. Only with Christ can we be delivered from the penalty of sin (justification), the power of sin (sanctification), and the very presence of sin (eventual glorification).

Outside, I set up the paint board at a campus bus stop. The crowd was small and inconsistent, but we labored nonetheless. Ricky and Buck handed out Gospel tracts. I preached several times and did a paint board message on the Titanic. You can watch this on YouTube in two parts. CLICK HERE. Last night, Ricky and I went back to the campus and handed out a few tracts. We also sat in on a worship event put on by a campus ministry in the Student Union. I was amazed that no one, save the leader of the Christian band from Louisiana, spoke to us, and we were there for a couple of hours. No wonder the lost use the Church as a crutch for rejecting the Gospel. Still, this will be no excuse on Judgment Day! Anyway, the lady in charge of the event did approach us, but she literally sneered at us when she saw some Gospel tracts lying on our table, demanding to know our purpose. Weird?!? Ricky and I were baffled, convinced that there was a spiritual battle of some sort in that place. Later, she walked by and patted me on the back. ‘Twas a strange dichotomy, and the night only got weirder. I still think of Nathan, the band leader. He showed genuine interest in us and seemed encouraged by our testimony and exhortation to be bold with the Gospel. Perhaps the Lord will use it and thereby give purpose to our presence last night. Before departing, believing the evening to have been a waste and discouraged by the snubs of supposed fellow believers, we attached tracts to a few of cars in a student parking lot, trusting the Word of God not to return void.

There have been other strange encounters with so-called Christians here in Alaska, and I still marvel at the flakiness of many who claim Christ in these parts. It has me longing for the Faithful Remnant with whom we have had fellowship all along the journey, and my gratitude for these is thus increased. A couple of days ago, something really odd took place. I had been in contact with a man who supposedly shared a desire to witness on the streets, and we decided to get together. He took me out to lunch, and we planned an afternoon of targeting the downtown bus station and a local abortion clinic. Things seemed to be going well, and he appeared pretty solid aside from a few statements that put a check in my spirit. Anyway, he took me back to his house and was trying to arrange a plane flight for us in his buddy’s puddle-jumper later in the week. Out of nowhere, this guy opened up his Bible and showed me where he had marked out Scriptures that he said shouldn’t be there, believing scholarly claptrap about “older manuscripts this, older manuscripts that.” He asked me what Bible I was using. I replied, “I stick with the King James because I trust it; it was put together in English by men who feared God (not skeptics and theological agnostics); and it has more than four-hundred years of spiritual fruit in the English-speaking world to undergird it.” Suddenly, this man’s facial expression darkened and he started railing on me. He demanded to know: “Do you believe the King James has any mistakes in it?” I simply answered “No.” What followed astounded me: “That’s whack. You’re whack.” Then, this guy kicked me out of his house and drove me back to the church. It was as simple as that. My last words to him were this: “I genuinely appreciate you buying me lunch. I would say that this has been a pleasure, but that would be a lie. Your behavior is just plain sad.” I walked back into the missionary house dumbfounded. I love how just using a King James Bible in Christian circles these days brings glaring looks, flagrant mocking, and downright persecution. Needless to say, our joint evangelism plans for the afternoon did not transpire. And, I trust the Lord knew best.

Wow, I could go on and on. Encounters like that highlight the love and gratitude we have for all of you out there who pray for us, who support us, who have opened your homes to us, who have ministered to us as we strive to preach the Gospel. THANK-YOU. Our fruit is your fruit. There is a faithful remnant in these dark days.

Please continue to pray for the financial needs mentioned above. Pray also for us as we continue to labor in Anchorage until the end of the month. We also hope to target Valdez and will be going out to Kodiak Island for a week or so after November 1st when the ferry tickets go on sale. There, we will be working with a former pastor who has a heart for bold evangelism and wants to “tear the island up.” We’re excited. Pray for Jamie and our unborn child. She has now reached the half-way point of her pregnancy, and all this travel is difficult for her. Also, home-schooling Bethany is proving a real challenge out on the road; and Charlotte is growing so fast that we cannot keep up. Wow, I love my family and an so thankful that we can share these adventures together. I am also glad I can share them with you all through the written word.

Well, another update has been long and drawn-out. What can I say? I love to write. Be bold and proclaim to the lost repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. There is only ONE WAY to heaven (John 14:6; Acts 4:12).

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

The Boyd’s and Ricky Springer

Fairbanks and the Interior

Fri, 9 Oct 2009 23:08:54 -0400

Greetings once again, friends and fellow-believers, from the vast grandeur of Alaska, a steal of a deal in 1867 that now celebrates its 50th anniversary of statehood. One can easily sweep aside the woes, propaganda, and political claptrap of an out-of-control government up here in the taiga, far from the Lower 48. But alas, even here, there is no escape from the pitiful lostness of mankind, rebellious against His Maker from the Garden of Eden. Thank God: “For as by one man’s offence death reigned by one; much more they which receive abundance of grace and of the gift of righteousness shall reign in life by one, Jesus Christ” (Romans 5:17).

Yes, the days are growing darker, and the air is getting colder as a long winter approaches and we continue to labor here for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ. In this, we breed excitement, ready to experience elements unknown in the Piedmont of North Carolina that we call home. Please pray for us.

For the past ten days, we have been based in Fairbanks, Alaska’s second largest city, boasting not many more people than Hickory, North Carolina. A young believing couple who has been down in the Lower 48 for the past week and a half has allowed us to use their condominium for a base. Situated a few blocks from the University of Alaska-Fairbanks, the location has been perfect, allowing us to easily target the campus and the downtown with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Today, our newfound friends have returned, and we must be moving on. It’s amazing how the Lord works things out. The young man who lives here was a seminary colleague of a college buddy of mine that I haven’t seen in years. My friend emailed me with a name; I made a phone call; and out of this the Lord provided us a temporary base in Fairbanks, something we had been praying for. Thus, we have been busy and now look back with joy at the work that has been done. Through your prayers, you have been a part of it. Thank-you. Whoa . . . . I am again getting ahead of myself. I’ll get back to Fairbanks in a bit.

For now, please pray for us as we eventually make our way back to Anchorage where we will be staying in a missions house behind First Baptist Church for the last half of October. This place is in a prime location, only a few blocks from a busy bus station where opportunities abound to proclaim Jesus Christ. We also plan to target the campus of the University of Alaska-Anchorage as we have done here in Fairbanks.

The trip out to King Salmon that I mentioned in the previous update is not going to happen. The flakiness of Christians, especially those in full-time ministry, is something that has often plagued us in our ministry. True, a man’s word means nothing nowadays in American society, but this should never define children of the Most High God. So many have big dreams and claim they want to do this and do that for God. There’s a lot of emotion, a lot of “God told me to do this” claptrap, and a lot of plans; but sadly, few really ever follow through, opting rather to hole up in the comfort zone and justify why simple things that God declared are efficacious (e.g. Isaiah 55:11) aren’t effective in the twenty-first century. Such was the case with King Salmon. One day, there was excitement about our coming and big plans about what could be accomplished. Shortly thereafter, a phone call was cut short by the need to go watch a trashy sitcom (something a believer has no business watching, much less admitting). A later email spoke of not knowing what we could do in terms of evangelism. Finally, a suspicious phone call on my part resulted in, “You all probably need to find somewhere else to go and do ministry.” After I hung up the phone, I could only chuckle, for I know what had transpired. This pastor started fishing around on Full Proof Gospel Ministries’ website and into our travel blog, and it scared him. We don’t operate in the comfort zone, and he didn’t want us anywhere near his earthly “dominion” in King Salmon. Sad, but true. I only mention this because it is so typical of American “churchianity,” and such an example is a lesson in how believers are NOT to subsist. And, by the way, don’t think that Christian flakiness isn’t noticed and remembered by the lost who foolishly use such as a crutch of unbelief and rejection of the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I’ve encountered this many a time and in many a place. We would all do well to heed Paul the Apostle’s exhortation to young Archippus in Colossians 4:17: “Take heed to the ministry which thou hast received in the Lord, THAT THOU FULFIL IT.”

The Lord obviously had different plans for us as “a man’s heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps” (Proverbs 16:9). Rather than King Salmon, we will be going via a 9-hour ferry out to Kodiak Island for the first week or so of November. There, we will be working with the former pastor of First Baptist Church in Langdon, North Dakota--the first place on this long journey where believers opened up bowels of hospitality to Ricky and me, complete strangers. Thanks to Pastor Jeff Musgrave for this contact information and for making the initial contact with Kodiak of his own accord to help put this in the works. As I made contact with the brother in Kodiak, I encountered a refreshing spirit and a yearning for us to come help get the Gospel out in his neck of the woods. A single statement of his were enough for us: “There is absolutely no evangelism on this island.” Waiting until November (various reasons warrant this) of course delays our return to the Lower 48, but we are convinced this is of the Lord. Stay tuned for more details, and pray that the Lord makes provision for the ferry tickets (cheaper than a plane flight) and the other expenses that will be involved.

A Few Other Prayer Requests:

1. New Tires Needed for the Truck: I thought I could get away with putting this off, but a missionary who has spent a lot of time up here in the bush and has driven the AlCan in the winter highly advised me to replace my worn Michelins. Snowy conditions and whiteout that Ricky and I encountered on a recent evangelism journey out to a small village on the Yukon River further confirmed this as there was a bit of slipping here and there.

1. My truck has started uncomfortably guzzling gas because the catalytic converters are bad. Again, I thought I could put this off until this week. With more than 6,000 miles to drive between here and home and long distances between services in the interior (many of which are closed during the winter), letting the problem linger and worsen could prove a real dilemma. Also, without repair, my vehicle will never pass the overdue emissions inspection that I must obtain immediately upon return to North Carolina. I need to get this fixed here in Alaska, but the cost of the parts alone is nauseating. Please pray that the Lord makes provision in this matter.

1. Ricky would be upset with me for writing this, but his financial support is almost completely depleted. He has stepped out in faith by agreeing to stay with us until we get back to the Lower 48, and his presence will prove a major help and comfort. Pray that the Lord provides for him specifically in terms of finances. In a day and time when some missionaries claim that they need $20-30,000 a month to carry out their ministry, Ricky has subsisted on less than $500 a month for the past five, and he is now reaching the end of the pot. He also needs to invest in some winter gear that the rest of us already had. I have had to rebuke him a couple of times for walking around outside in a t-shirt when it is below freezing.

1. Pray that we will be bold to preach the Gospel on the streets of Anchorage and at the college campus there this last half of October. Pray also that the Lord will show us favor, protecting us from authorities who are willfully ignorant of the freedoms afforded us in the United States Constitution. May we also find opportunity to encourage fellow believers unto boldness for the faith; and may we encounter hearts prepared to receive the message of salvation on the streets. We are extremely grateful to First Baptist Church of Anchorage for letting us base in their missions house for a couple of weeks. During this time, we also hope to get out to Valdez and a few other towns to scatter seeds and seek out divine appointments.

Well, when we left Anchorage back on September 26th, we hung around in Healy for a few days before transitioning into our base here in Fairbanks. There, I was able to exhort believers in a ladies’ Sunday School class unto boldness for the Gospel; and we enjoyed sweet fellowship with brothers and sisters in Jesus Christ. God was good to us, as we were allowed to stay in the cozy little church and then transition into the home of a widowed believer whose husband was killed in an avalanche several years ago. Despite such a terrible trial, this lady maintained a sweet and joyous spirit as she has been forced to raise her son alone. We were convicted through her example about our tendencies to complain about stupid stuff. Some missionaries that live off the grid in nice little cabins with outhouses stocked us up on smoked salmon snagged in the nearby Nenana River, moose burger, and homegrown chicken. This was a true blessing from the Lord as was the fellowship in Christ. One night outside the church, we beheld an amazing display of the Aurora Borealis. Bethany and Charlotte got to play in the snow. And, we tooled around Denali National Park, scattering a few Gospel seeds as the Lord gave opportunity. One incident I recall with sadness: As I was talking on the phone parked in the lot at the National Park Visitor’s Center (everyone else was inside), two rangers walked by and noticed my front license tag. It reads: “Fear God and Keep His Commandments (Ecclesiastes 12:13).” One man pointed with disdain and mocked; the other laughed with scorn; they kept walking. The Lord had me hold my tongue, remembering that it is HE who will have the last laugh as the nations counsel against the LORD and against His Christ (Psalm 2). Thus, we preach repentance, faith, and salvation from wrath only found in Jesus Christ.
Once in Fairbanks, we settled into our more-than-comfortable temporary home and got to work. One evening, we all sauntered around downtown and gave out a few Gospel tracts and a couple pairs of socks to the needy in the name of the Lord Jesus. The mind of a child often amazes we, and I watched with joy as Bethany would approach anyone without the least bit of hesitancy and say: “Will you please read this and think about it?” That night, I specifically recall a young black man who was open and claimed to be saved. We prayed with him right there on the sidewalk about a custody battle he is in the midst of fighting with his ex-wife and thanked him for his service in the United States military. He was so humble as I exhorted him to live for Jesus Christ and be a witness even in the midst of trying circumstances.

In the condominium complex where we have been staying, Ricky and I were able to share Christ with some local kids, using a rope trick that has become a favorite of mine. We gave out a few tracts walking to the grocery store; and I shared with Buzz, a humble young man from North Carolina who works for a glass company up here in Fairbanks. I finally had to replace my windshield after receiving yet another crack, and Buzz gave me a ride to and from our abode while the truck was being worked upon. He took a Gospel tract and thanked me for talking to him.

The University of Alaska-Fairbanks is close enough to where we have been staying that we could easily walk up there to scatter seeds of the Gospel message. On one occasion, Ricky and I walked around campus, distributing Gospel tracts to student passersby and pinning them to bulletin boards. Surprisingly, very few refused, and we rejoiced. One student from South India received the tract with gladness. Several days later, we saw this same guy walking back from the supermarket. He still had that tract in his pocket. Pray that the Lord will use it. Jamie and the girls also went up there a couple of times and passed out yet more tracts. Two days ago, we all slogged up the hill to an open plaza outside the Wood Center right in the heart of campus. It was around lunchtime, and a lot of students were filing past. We held aloft a large sign that asked about Jesus Christ “Lord, Liar, or Lunatic?” and then drew attention to some of our Lord’s claims about Himself while picturing Jesus being whipped by Roman soldiers. Toward the bottom it reads, “If Jesus spoke the truth, he suffered this abuse and death on the cross for you, as a payment for your sins. If you side with his enemies, you will die in your sins.” Needless to say, we halfway expected to be shut down pretty quick by campus security, but the Lord showed us favor, and we were never bothered. Many stopped to read the sign and take tracts from me, Bethany, and Jamie. I recall one student who typifies the average brainwashed college attendee in America. He claimed with absolutely certainty that “many transitional species have been found in the fossil record to prove evolution” (not a single one ever found), appealing to archaeopteryx (proven to be a bird) and then telling me that I needed to cite my sources when he couldn’t so much as give an example of a transitional fossil. I told him that it took far more faith to believe that life came from non-life (something the scientific Law of Biogenesis rules impossible) than to except the simple claims of the Bible, evidence for which is all around in creation, the curse of sin, and the human conscience. I appealed to this young man’s conscience with the Law of God, but as I was getting to the Gospel, his two friends approached and whisked him away. In the end, however, he did take a Gospel tract and promised to read it because I had written it. He also thanked me for talking to him. Who knows what the Lord will do with this? Pray for this young man. Later, we encountered a high-school student who refused to be labeled a Christian because of so many who have highjacked the term with their hypocrisy and the reproach they bring on the name of Christ. She called herself a follower of Jesus, saying, “I know in whom I believe and know what He did for me on the cross.” I marveled at the insight of a high-schooler and understood the disgust. I, myself, would rather be known as a Bible-believer than a “christian” as defined by a relativistic world. I exhorted this young believer to be a bold witness for Jesus Christ and to pass along the tract that I had given her. She assented with joy. I also recall Storm, a respectful young man who grew up here in Fairbanks. He stood and listened to us with intent and acted as if he had never heard the Gospel message. Please pray for his salvation. Yes, it was a weird but good outing that day with the sign. We expected problems, but encountered none. Ironically, a couple of faculty members, it seemed, expressed appreciation for our efforts. One guy who looked like a professor wouldn’t take a tract, but told Ricky, “I just needed the conversation. Thank-you.” I was thankful to see Ricky stepping up to the plate and speaking with boldness, holding that sign aloft for all to see. The Lord has truly done a work in his life along this journey. I will look with earnest to see how God uses him to stoke some fires when he gets back to Tulsa.

There was also a high school near our base off of Geist Road. Yesterday, Ricky and I went over to this prime little spot on a public sidewalk where all the buses and quite a few students come out at the end of the school day. We had been scouting it out all week. We held the aforementioned sign aloft and offered tracts to all who passed by. One lady looked like she was calling the police on us, but they never showed up. We were on public property anyway. One young student from Russia told me that others had tried to “brainwash him with the same crap” I was peddling. Of course, his background, I believe, was Catholic, and we definitely weren’t peddling that “crap” (his words). I appealed to his conscience with the Law of God, mentioned that I had spent some time in Russia, and he then took the tract, promising to read it because I had written it. Pray that the Lord will reveal the truth to this young man, living in a foreign land. May the “crap” he has been fed not blind him to the truth of the Lord Jesus Christ. Ricky went back to the high school today and distributed about 20-30 tracts.

Out of Fairbanks, we also made three evangelistic jaunts into the Interior and toward the ends of the road. Ricky and I took Bethany one afternoon out the Elliot Highway, past the junction of the infamous James Dalton Highway that I recently pedaled, along a protracted gravel lane buried in snow, and down to the remote Native village of Minto on the banks of the Tanana River. We had prayed for some opportunities to witness and later marveled at how the Lord provided. First, we picked up Rodney, a young Native who needed a ride to his house. He asked why we were in that place, and I explained that we had come to bear witness of Jesus Christ and His salvation. He replied, “So, you have come to witness?” I answered in the affirmative, and he said, “Well . . . witness!” So, I started with Creation and took him to the cross. Upon dropping him off at his home, he gladly received a pair of socks and thanked us for talking to him. He promised no one would bother us in his town, especially because I had my daughter with me--a comforting thought. Back on the bluffs above the river, Ricky cooked up dinner in the cold dusk air as Bethany and I walked the streets and passed out Gospel tracts. I talked for awhile with Lindy, who was taking the engine out of his car; and three young boys (Matthew, Devin, and Ben) later followed us back to the picnic table where a mess of chili-mac was piping hot and waiting. I shared the Gospel with them using my famous rope trick (CLICK HERE to see video footage of this on YouTube); and Bethany played with them for awhile. At the local market with virtually bare shelves, we gave a tract to the cashier. Initially suspicious, I retorted, “Don’t worry; we’re not some crazy Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses peddling lies.” He chuckled and then accepted the tract. This comment, as it turned out, seemed to make friends real quick in that place. It’s sad that those who preach lies have so much enthusiasm and dedication to getting their message out to the ends of the earth, but Christians, bearing the Way, the Truth, and the Life, are content to sit home and debate about what is effective and what is not, more concerned about the Holy Spirit’s job than the simple command found in Mark 16:15. That evening, we left Minto rejoicing because God had given us opportunity; and we know that His Word does not return void. Please pray especially for Rodney, Lindy, and those three young boys. There was so much alcohol abuse out there, and those boys just clung to us as an escape from the difficult circumstances they undoubtedly deal with at home. Add to all this the harsh winters and long days of darkness fast approaching, and you have a fine recipe for depression. In those moments, as I have felt down the soiled alleys of South Dhaka in Bangladesh, in the windswept villages of Karelia in Northern Russia, along high mountain passes in Ladakh, above the Arctic Circle in Lapland, and on the streets of Ushuaia in Tierra del Fuego, we seemed to be proclaiming Christ in the uttermost part of the earth. That night, we all hunkered down in the back of the truck off the snow-covered gravel road in some brush. The taiga stretched out below, barren tundra ran over the hills above, and in the sky, a full moon shadowed by passing clouds created an eerie glow.

Earlier, with the last glows of the sun on the southwest horizon, the massive silhouette of Denali, North America’s highest mountain, stood out stark. I was reminded of something written by Hudson Stuck, a missionary to the Yukon and the Alaskan Interior around the turn of the twentieth century. He traveled over ten thousand miles on a dog sled, taking the Gospel to Native villages in the bush that had never heard the Good News. He was also the first to lead an expedition that successfully reached the summit of Denali on June 7, 1913. Later, he penned some interesting words while reflecting on his moments on the summit:

“Oh, the wisdom of man and the apparatus if the sciences, the little columns of mercury that sling up and down, the vacuum boxes that expand and contract, the hammer that chips the highest rocks, the compass that takes the bearings of glacier and ridge . . . Take them all together, haul them up the steep, and as they lie there, read, recorded, and done for, which shall be more adequate to the whole scene--their records?--of that simple, ancient hymn, “We praise Thee, O God!--Heaven and earth are full of the majesty of Thy Glory!” What an astonishing thing that, standing where we stood and seeing what we saw, there are men who should be able to deduce this law or that from their observation of its working and yet be unable to see the Lawgiver!--who should be able to push back effect to immediate cause and yet be blinded to the Supreme Cause of All Causes; who can say, ‘This is the glacier’s doing and it is marvellous in our eyes,’ and not see Him “Who in His Strength setteth fast the mountains and is girded with power,’ Whose servants the glaciers, the snow, and the ice are, ‘wind and storm fulfilling His Word’; who exult in the exercise of their own intelligences and the playthings those intelligences have constructed and yet deny the Omniscience that endowed them with some minute fragment of Itself! (Hudson Stuck, The Ascent of Denali, [Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1989 (rep.)], 109-110).

Another road that branched out of Fairbanks went toward the northeast and dead-ended in the little town of Circle on the banks of the Yukon River. Fascinated with ends of the road, Ricky and I drove 150 miles out there one morning, praying for opportunities to proclaim Jesus Christ. Some would consider such efforts to be vain and a waste of resources. We, however, just follow the Lord when He leads and rest in the promise of Isaiah 55:11. Who else is going to the end of the road? Anyway, we drove over Eagle Summit Pass in a nasty whiteout that forced us to pull over and wait for the fog to lift. Everything was covered in wind-driven snow, and our eyes played tricks on us as we tried to summit a nearby peak just above the pass. The GPS was a big help, but for a few moments, as there was a break in the clouds, I saw that what I thought was a rocky mountainside leading further up the mountain was actually empty space tumbling down the side of the mountain into oblivion. Thank God I didn’t walk too far in that direction. Knowing that the truck wasn’t too far away and that we could follow our tracks back out, it was somewhat fun to imagine what it would be like to be stuck in such conditions far from help and without food and water. ‘Twas a true arctic experience. Interestingly, we found an emergency backcountry shelter, and we were able to stock it with a Bible, Gospel materials, a pair of socks, and some food. Pray that this will bless someone in need who truly is stuck out there. CLICK HERE to see some YouTube footage of those moments on the summit.

Through the hamlet of Central, out to the abandoned Circle Hot Springs, and then on out to Circle, we scattered a few seeds, still praying for purposeful encounters at road’s end. ‘Twas cold as we parked on the banks of the mighty Yukon and sauntered into the ramshackle collection of houses known as Circle. The first road in Alaska’s Interior started here and went to where Fairbanks was later established. A staging ground for the gold rushes up the Yukon years ago, this place has undoubtedly seen its fill of strange characters and the greed of the human spirit. The original pioneers named it Circle, thinking that it was on the Arctic Circle which is actually fifty miles north. Anyway, the Lord answered our prayers, and there turned out to be not a few with whom we could share Jesus Christ. Tracts did go out as did a few pair of socks in the name of the Lord. I think of Nancy and her son, Alex, two Natives who were very humble. Interestingly, she needed help cutting firewood for the winter, and this man promised to gather for her if she would pay him in alcohol. So, we met her as she was lugging a 40 and a case of beer back to her house as payment. Her teenage son was so respectful, and I inwardly mourned for them. They took tracts, claiming to have been in church; but they seemed to know nothing of what it means to be born again. Pray for their salvation. In the local market, we hung around for awhile and watched Native after Native come in there and throw down sixty dollars here, forty dollars there, each leaving with an armful of liquor. Dick, a crass old codger running the place gave us a free cup of coffee and seemed enamored of my bicycling story. He had a long beard, a backwoodsmen accent, and had lived in that place at the end of the road for decades. I offered him a tract as I spoke about Jesus Christ, but he slid it aside saying that he would give it to his wife. His last words to me as we walked out the door were “To each, his own.” Ricky and I, however, did not despair. We knew this was a divine appointment and that a seed had been planted. We prayed for him and departed that place. Please join us in praying for Dick. Hanging around the general store also allowed us to engage several as they came out lugging the booze. Pray that these efforts will not return void. On the way out of town, we stopped to talk to a young girl named Denise who was walking home. She seemed humble; please pray for her. It was a long drive back to Fairbanks; crossing two mountain passes were tricky in snowy conditions; and we almost hit a moose standing on the side of the road. Nevertheless, the Lord saw us safely back to our abode, and we rejoiced, having taken the Gospel to yet another end of the road.

One final end of the road going out of Fairbanks remained, so we all loaded up yesterday afternoon and drove sixty miles out to Chena Hot Springs Resort at the terminus of Chena Hot Springs Road. We had heard that Japanese tourists frequent the place, and I happened to have a small stash of Japanese tracts in my stash. It was a sweet little resort out there with an incredibly cool natural hot springs lake out back. We cooked dinner on the tailgate of the truck, and then Ricky and I took a soak while Jamie and the girls checked out this nearby ice museum. By night’s end, the Lord had again answered our prayers. The place was basically dead (peak season isn’t for another couple of months), but we were able to share Christ with two workers from Laos and another from Japan. Our encounter with Pete from Laos was especially interesting because he currently lives in West Jefferson, North Carolina with his wife and infant son. West Jefferson is just down the road from my hometown. Anyway, he came to Alaska for the season to find work because of the terrible economy in North Carolina. He hasn’t seen his family in weeks and seemed very lonely. We talked for awhile and he promised to read the tract I had given him. We jotted down his wife’s contact information, and I am hoping Jamie can hook up with her when we return. Pete, I believe, was a divine appointment. Please pray for his salvation. We didn’t return “home” until after midnight. The girls were wiped out after some hours in the indoor pool and hot tubs, and we again rejoiced to have preached Christ at road’s end.

Such have been our efforts and adventures in Fairbanks and the Alaskan Interior as of late. Now, we head back toward Anchorage. Enroute, we will again park in Healy for a few days as we cannot move into the missions house until the evening of October 15th. Again, please pray for the Lord’s provision in the matters mentioned above. Most importantly, pray that we will be faithful to proclaim the Gospel and that God will give us abundant opportunity. That, my friends, is why we are out here.

This update has been completed at a picnic table on the beautiful campus of UAF. Fallen leaves are all around, a chill is in the air, and I find myself sad to leave this place. So, help us God.
For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

The Boyd Family and Ricky

Done Pedaling Still Preaching

Sat, 26 Sep 2009 13:13:07 -0400

Greetings, beloved brethren, from the Far North. When I pedaled through Anchorage a little over a week ago, the surrounding mountains were a dull brown. Now, the season’s first snows have given them a frosty splendor, and there is an icy chill in the air. Winter is coming. “Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow” (Job 38:22)?

What once was a two-man evangelism team made up of Ricky and myself has now ballooned to five with the welcome addition of Jamie and my two girls. Yesterday, in a cold misty rain, we hit the streets of Anchorage. A young believer of Eskimo blood joined us as we proclaimed Jesus Christ to homeless in a park, folks congregated around the bus station, and many jaunting up and down the sidewalks. All in all, ‘twas a good outing. Ricky and I both preached on a busy street corner where many stood waiting for the bus. On one occasion, I enjoyed a decent crowd, and several seemed to be listening with intent. Suddenly, a Native American lady started screaming from the fringes, cursing God and threatening to kill me. Toward the end, she got in my face with a fomenting hatred saying, “I will kill you.” I replied, “Go ahead and do what you must do. God still loves you.” Out of nowhere, she pummeled me with her metal coffee cup full of liquor. It went all over me and Glenn, the young Inuit who had joined us. At that moment, I think he wondered what he had gotten himself into. I put my arm around him and said, “Rejoice, my friend. You were counted worthy to suffer shame for the name of Jesus Christ” (Acts 5:41). Like the demon-possessed that followed Christ Jesus around as He proclaimed truth along the dusty roads of Galilee, this woman cursed and screamed as I responded to the pummeling: “Jesus died for you, ma’am, and He wants to save you.” Later, a security guard approached and told us that we could not be addressing groups out there and that technically it was against the law for us to distribute Gospel tracts. I asked, “Officer, aren’t we on public property, and doesn’t the United States Constitution protect our freedom to share our faith?” He dodged the issue and again tried to tell us we couldn’t do what the United States Supreme Court, as recently as 2002, ruled was at the heart of what the First Amendment serves to protect (Watchtower Bible & Tract Society of New York v. Village of Stratton). I chose not to press the issue any further, for we were wrapping up the day’s work anyway. We plan to go back, so I assume it will inevitably come up again. Oh America, Oh America: Thy freedoms art perished from the land. So, help us God. Nevertheless, we rejoice. Many heard the Word on those streets; homeless and Natives were blessed with fresh socks in the name of Jesus Christ; Ricky stepped out of his comfort zone and preached with boldness; Glenn, our new friend, was encouraged and urged by us to share this experience with fellow Christians he would be meeting with soon thereafter; the presence of my precious blond-haired, blue-eyed children softened the demeanor of those who would otherwise reject the message; we sang some old hymns in a park for a group of old men; and Ratif, a young man being drawn toward Islam, left with a Gospel of John, promising to read it. Glory to God!

Much has happened since my last email update, penned in the home of Mr. Lee, a Korean believer who so graciously opened up his domicile to us, complete strangers yet brethren in the Lord. Now, I sit in this same room, rejoicing inwardly at the precious fellowship we have shared with Korean believers these past several days. Alas, however, I must not get ahead of myself.

On Sunday, September 13, we left the Lee home, and by God’s grace, I pedaled the remaining 230 miles to the end of the Spit in Homer, the other terminus of the Alaskan road. The winds on Turnagain Arm were ferocious; the glaciers visible as I crossed onto the Kenai Peninsula were awe-inspiring; and miserable wet and rainy forecasts never really materialized. The Lord was good. After camping at a secluded trailhead, warming up by a nice fire, sleeping under a star-filled sky (something rare in southeast Alaska this time of year), and finding a brand new can of bear spray (not cheap) lying on the ground, we were greeted by blue skies and warm sun. As I made my way through Sterling, Soldotna, and out along the shores of the Cook Inlet, the Aleutian Range, including the colossal Redoubt and Iliamna Volcanoes, stood out stark and capped in snow across the waters. It was almost as if I could reach out and touch them and the countless crags over there in Lake Clark National Park. Our last night before rolling into Homer was spent camping on the beach, beholding a glorious sunset behind these very peaks. Later, I attempted to bathe in those cold waters with a bar of soap and a handful of shampoo. That was an experience I will not soon forget. There were also a handful of final opportunities to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ as I pedaled with all the energy I could muster. I think of 3 ladies at a Sterling General Store, a traveler from Los Angeles, a road construction flagger near Soldotna, a teenager walking down the road who screamed “The Bible is full of lies,” and a young believer in Ninilchik whom we encouraged in the Lord and unto boldness for the Gospel. Later, one of his friends from Anchorage would actually call me we would share some special fellowship with this former marine who had served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Divine Providence is an amazing thing.

I was nervous about my last day in the saddle, a mere 43 miles from our campsite on the beach to the end of the road. The forecast called for a cold, steady rain; and misery seemed inevitable. Ricky and I cried out to the Lord around our little fire, and we awoke the next morning to patches of sun and blue sky. It never rained on me that day. At Happy Valley Store, we gave tracts to a couple of young ladies, and as I rolled through Anchor Point, I stopped to offer a passerby a tract. He wouldn’t even stop, not so much as a pause to even acknowledge my presence. Saddened, but undaunted, it was only appropriate to make a short side trip off the main route. At the end of Anchor River Road, a few short miles through the woods and out to the shoreline, was an interesting billboard that read: “Anchor Point, AK North America’s Most Westerly Highway Point.” I placed a Gospel tract in the nearby public restroom and attached one to the sign itself. As I stood there with the sound of ocean waves and the wind whipping through the firs, I was humbled. In 2005, I had pedaled for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ to Key West, Florida, the SOUTHERNMOST end of the American Road. Months earlier in that ride, I came through Lubec, Maine, the EASTERNMOST end of the American road. Back on September 5th, I struggled with the Gospel into Prudhoe Bay, the NORTHERNMOST end of the American road. Earlier in May, this route came through Rugby, North Dakota, the GEOGRAPHICAL CENTER of North America, and back in 2003, my coast to coast ride for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ terminated on the beach outside of Neah Bay, Washington, the westernmost end of the road in the Continental United States. In that moment, the Lord had brought me to the WESTERNMOST end of the road in all of America, thereby completing the compass. The Gospel had literally been proclaimed from a bicycle across my homeland (12,000+ miles): to all four cartographic extremes of our vast road system, through the geographical center, and at countless points in between. Apart from the grace of Almighty God and without your incessant prayers and support, this never would have been possible. I fought back tears of joy.

Back on the main highway, we paused for some lunch and shared Christ with a local waitress. A small salad and a bowl of navy bean soup would provide the energy to bust out the final 22 miles. A major hill before the final descent into Homer was mentally debilitating. As I struggled in the lowest gear my old warhorse could offer, the culmination of four months of trial, tribulation, and 4,200 miles of pedal revolutions weighed heavy. In those dark bittersweet moments, I heard the repeated blaring of a car horn. I turned to see my wife, my children, and my parents pass me by in a rented minivan. A quarter-mile later, we were reunited at a scenic viewpoint overlooking the town of Homer, the waters of the Cook Inlet, and the surrounding mountains. The Lord had brought them safely to Alaska, and they had arrived in time to see me finish. In fact, from that viewpoint, I could see the end of the Homer Spit, a mere nine miles away. Words simply cannot express the joy of those moments. The Most High brought everything together, and all was perfect. I’ll never forget the image of Bethany running to meet me across that large parking area as I struggled the last few meters up that final hill. That, coupled with Charlotte’s smile, a kiss from my mother, a bear hug from my father, and a warm embrace from my wife made all that had transpired before fully and finally worthwhile. A few minutes later, that joy was further increased as I was able to share Christ with a businessman from Seattle, also pausing to soak in the view. He promised to read and consider the tract I had given him.

So, I dropped down into Homer and out onto the Spit. A bicycle/pedestrian path proved the best option as I sought out a few final witnessing encounters. The headwind on that small sliver of land was more ferocious than anything I had seen since Minnesota, and the last 4 miles were a labor I dare never repeat. Notwithstanding, I paused to give out a few tracts to passersby. One elderly man rudely rejected and screamed “That’s bull#$%@!” as I humbly proclaimed “Jesus Christ is the only way to heaven.” I could tell his wife was embarrassed and it saddened me to think that such would be my last encounter. It wasn’t. Soon thereafter, two disheveled young travelers came out from amongst some abandoned structures. They approached to ask about my flag and what resulted was an amazing opportunity to proclaim Jesus Christ and His Gospel. They gladly received Gospel tracts; a copy of Mark Cahill’s One Heartbeat Away; and a couple pairs of TCK Slog Series for which they were extremely grateful. Please pray for River and Randy. That, my friends, was a divine appointment a little more than a mile from the end. The Lord had answered our prayers.

Finally, 4,207.8 miles after leaving that deserted railroad crossing in Badger, Minnesota where I began on the cold morning of May 21, I reached the end of the road and rolled my bicycle out into the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Believers from back home had prepared a large “Finish Line Banner” that I crashed through as my family and my faithful S.A.G. partner cheered with applause. At 5:00pm on September 16, 2009, it was done. CLICK HERE to see some YouTube clips of these final moments.

An ironic thing happened in that place. After snapping a bunch of photos, I removed the pair of TCK Slog Series Terrace Rolls that I had worn on my feet every single mile of the journey. For dramatic effect, I threw them into the ocean planning to recover them as a memento immediately thereafter. One washed up on shore, and as Ricky waded out to snag the other one, a large spotted seal surfaced and swallowed it whole--a fitting death, I suppose, for a sock that had gone far above and beyond the call of duty. We chuckled, watched Bethany run up and down the rocky beach, packed the bicycle up one last time, and rolled up the Gospel flag until it is called upon again. That night, we celebrated at a local restaurant where I devoured fresh halibut and king salmon caught from those very waters. It was done. He who had begun a good work in us back on May 21 truly brought it to completion (Philippians 1:6). What more can be said?

The next few days were a special time with family as we made our way over to Seward, up to Wasilla, and back to Anchorage. In Seward, Ricky and I took time to hit the streets with the Gospel, handing out a few tracts and enjoying some fruitful conversations. I think of a Korean couple from Anchorage, a skeptic who had a clever way of twisting Scripture, and a man with his dog. Pray for these. We also slogged out to Exit Glacier where Bethany got to touch the ice and climb some rocks. Her father looked on with pride as she handled a class 3 arete (low to the ground, of course) with ease.

Seward sees a lot of clouds and rain this time of year, but we were blessed one day with blue skies and warm sun. Therefore, we all took a boat ride out of Resurrection Bay and into Kenai Fjords National Park. The mighty mountains, the vast waters, abundant wildlife, and incredible calving glaciers were all a testimony to the existence of a Mighty Creator. I understood why the Bible does not waste two seconds trying to prove the existence of its Author. The evidence is all around, and only a fool can deny (Psalm 14:1). As large blocks of Aialik Glacier broke off and plummeted into the icy waters, followed a few seconds later by loud explosions of sound, I muttered to myself, “How finite is man.” That boat ride was memorable in more ways than one, however. We were able to share Christ with a national park ranger, a young man soon to be traveling to Nepal, a family from Portugal, a photographer from the Philippines, and some folks from Utah. The pedaling may be finished, but the labor of the Gospel continues on.

Outside of Wasilla, we drove up to Hatcher Pass where Bethany bagged her first Alaskan peak with her daddy and Uncle Ricky. On the summit of Hatcher Peak (4,811 feet), following a bit of a slog, Denali and Mt. Foraker stood out stark to the north. ‘Twas an incredible view. In that out-of-the-way place, the Lord also allowed us to witness to a man and wife from Anchorage. They took a Gospel tract, and we headed down the mountain. A podunk deli amidst the fall colors along the Glenn Highway, a quaint lakeside inn close to Sarah Palin’s home in Wasilla, and college football highlights on ESPN Sportscenter provided some last moments of sweet fellowship before my parents flew back to North Carolina and we were forced to contemplate how the next couple of months would play out.

The next morning, we returned to Mr. Lee’s home in Anchorage where the past few days have yielded precious fellowship with Korean believers. Enroute, we revisited the Chinese restaurant mentioned in my last update to fellowship with Al Hua, a Korean lady whose husband owns the joint. Please pray for this poor woman. She is a strong believer who endures untold persecution and physical abuse from her husband because of her faith in Jesus Christ and adamance in supporting the persecuted Chinese church with her own personal earnings. Her 17-year-old daughter is pregnant by a 26-year-old black man, and the husband absolutely despises this. He will not let the boyfriend even come on the premises and will not speak to his daughter. On top of all this, Al Hua is also pregnant with her fourth baby and being forced to endure much at a time when the health of this unborn child is at stake. In spite of all this, what we saw was a living and breathing embodiment of Romans 5:3-5 and Philippians 4:11 and a bold witness for the Gospel. I know I was convicted, and we were all ears as we listened to her testimony over a feast of Chinese vittles.

Before all this, I had been praying for someone to whom I could give the mountain bike that I pedaled on the gravel Dalton Highway up to Prudhoe Bay. With Jamie and the kids joining us, we simply had no room for it. While fellowshipping with Al Hua, her pregnant daughter came inside. As it turned out, she has no vehicle, and a bicycle used to be her only means of transportation. It, along with two previous ones, had been stolen; and her father refused to buy another. I made a few adjustments and gave it to her and her boyfriend. They seemed very appreciative. The boyfriend wouldn’t come inside because of the girl’s father, so I went out to him and boldly shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ, urging him to be a man and marry this girl, raising that precious unborn baby in the fear and admonition of the Lord. Jamell was very humble and open, accepting a Gospel tract and a copy of Mark Cahill’s One Heartbeat Away. Later, I saw him devouring the book in the front seat of his car. Please pray for Jamell’s salvation. Later, we gathered together in a time of corporate prayer with Mrs. Al Hua in a secluded corner of the restaurant, crying out to the Lord for her husband’s salvation, her protection, and the well-being of her family. This woman had a strong faith, never complaining, and far more concerned about us and where we would be staying in Anchorage than her own problems. We all were humbled and considered the time of fellowship and the opportunity to share with her family a divine appointment. Please pray that the Lord will save Mr. Ming Chou Fang and that the abuse will therefore stop. That very night, Mr. Lee quit his part-time delivery job at Mr. Fang’s restaurant because he simply could not take seeing such terrible behavior any more. Oh, what a sad situation. What cause have I for complaint about anything? Please commit this situation to prayer. There is much that persecuted brothers and sisters can teach us spoiled-rotten American Christians about walking in Jesus Christ.

As mentioned, the time in Anchorage has been good. Aside from yesterday’s outing on the streets, there have been several opportunities to share Christ with the lost and encourage brethren unto boldness for the faith, the very thing the Lord God has called us to do. We’ve eaten a lot of kimchi; Bethany’s been busy with homeschooling; a sunny day allowed me to bag two peaks on the fringes of town after a dusting of snow; and we have gained a better understanding of what the coming weeks hold for our team here in Alaska.

Today, we head up to Healy to spend a few days in the vicinity of Denali National Park. There, we will be staying in a little Baptist church and seeking out opportunities in that small town to share Christ. From there, we transition up to Fairbanks where we will be housesitting for some believers as they travel back to the Lower 48 until October 9. The condominium where we will be staying is in a perfect location, right beside the university. During this time, we hope to target the downtown streets of Fairbanks and the campus with the Gospel. Ricky and I also hope to find some odd jobs for which we can earn a few bucks. Things are so expensive up here. Pray that the Lord brings this to pass. From Fairbanks, we plan to go target Valdez, partnering with a bold believer there for a couple of days, and then, Lord willing, we will return to Anchorage. From October 15th through the 1st of November, we will be staying at a missionary house operated by First Baptist right in downtown Anchorage, a perfect location from which we can hit the streets and the same bus station mentioned earlier. During this window, Lord willing, we will also be flying out to King Salmon on the Aleutian Peninsula to assist the pastor of a small mission church in a very difficult and spiritually dark fishing town. At the moment, it’s shaping up to be a time of evangelism training for the small church body, witnessing in the community, and taking the Gospel to some nearby Native villages. Please pray that the Lord brings all this together and that this little mission church will ultimately be edified and the Gospel furthered. Pray also that the Lord provides the funds for the plane tickets. Fortunately, the airlines are running a special during the month of October. Otherwise, such a journey would not be within reach. At the end of October, I am hoping that a couple of brothers who regularly preach on college campuses can come up and help us target the University of Alaska for a few days, an evangelism team thing. Right now, we are trying to pull this together. The will of the Lord be done.

Sometime around the first part of November, we plan to start making the long journey toward home, of course proclaiming the Gospel and targeting communities all along the way. Already, some plans are coming together for a few days in Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory. Please pray that we will have wisdom and safety in all of this, for November is not exactly the best time of year to be driving home from Alaska. There will be plenty of snow, ice, and cold temperatures. Even today, we will be dealing with some of this as we drive to Healy and then on to Fairbanks. Nevertheless, the Lord is our refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1).

I am wrestling with putting a new set of tires on the truck for safety’s sake, but this would be expensive, as will some mechanical things that I need to get fixed. Please pray that God makes provision in these matters. Pray for overall provision as we seek to serve the Lord in this place. Things were high when it was just Ricky and myself. Now, there are five of us. I rest in knowing that the Almighty never guides where He does not provide. I worked so hard to get up to Alaska, and we don’t want to rush out of here without striving to carry out the Great Commission in this place. Pray for all I have mentioned concerning the upcoming weeks: that such things will come together and that the perfect will of a Sovereign Lord will come to pass unto His glory, the saving of souls, and the edification of believers. And, don’t forget that Jamie is more than three months pregnant.

For now, we have a long drive ahead of us. Stay tuned for more adventures from the Great Land.

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

The Boyd Family and Ricky Springer

Dalton Details and an Epilogue

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 16:16:15 -0400

Greetings, friends and loved ones, in the name of the One that forms the mountains, creates the wind, declares unto man what is his thought, that makes the morning darkness, that treads upon the high places of the earth: The LORD, the God of hosts is His name (Amos 4:13).

Date: The Lord’s Day, September 13, 2009
Current Location: Anchorage, Alaska
Total Miles Pedaled = 3,979.4
Epilogue Miles Pedaled from Fairbanks = 332

Ricky and I are now well on our way toward Homer, the other end of the Alaska road, as we try to time a fitting rendezvous with my family at the finish line down there sometime Wednesday (September 16). Shortly after sending out my last email update, I pedaled 86 miles from Fairbanks to a sweet little camping spot on the side of the Parks Highway just north of Healy. It felt good to be on my old trusty warhorse after having just pedaled more than 400 miles up the Dalton Highway on a less than comfortable mountain bike. This little epilogue, I must say, seems far less stressful than last week’s leg up to Prudhoe Bay. From north of Healy, it was another 85-mile leg to a highway rest area south of Denali National Park; and then I bagged another century on Friday to a gravel pull-off just north of Willow. Yesterday was a long and arduous struggle in the rain, but the Lord finally brought me into Anchorage. Discouraged and downtrodden, we sat in a little Mexican cafe last evening, thinking we would have to fork out money for a hotel room. I was soaked and cold; both of us were in desperate need of a shower. In that moment, my cell phone rang. It was a Chinese lady who had flagged me down several weeks ago outside of Border City, Alaska. She was driving a van full of youth, and they were returning from an evangelism trip in Canada. To make a long story short, she was out of town and was offering up her home if we needed a place to stay for the night. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Lee, her husband, called me and we rendezvoused at a local Chinese restaurant. There, Mrs. Lee’s sister had prepared us a huge feast (I was so sorry we had eaten Mexican already, but we engorged nonetheless). In that place, I was able to share Christ with the owner (a Chinese man), a cook from Laos, and a Native Alaskan from the Aleutians (all employees). When Mr. Lee arrived, he took us down to his home, gave us the keys to the place, and shortly thereafter returned to work, having to endure the night shift. In those moments, I marveled at the hospitality of these Chinese believers. We were complete strangers, and I had only spoken to the wife for a few moments on the side of the highway miles from here; and that was weeks ago. We traded contact information, and in the right moment, as Ricky and I cried out to the Lord for provision, she called. So, we rested up in this home last night, washed some clothes, recharged, and are still feasting on the leftovers from yesternight’s Chinese feast. We have seen true charity (i.e. the special love that can only exist between believers as a result of the bond in Jesus Christ) these past 24 hours, and we American Christians would do well to learn from it (I Peter 4:8-9). All praise to God!

Yes, this little epilogue has been nice, although I am nearly burned out. 225 miles remain to the end of the road on the Homer Spit. Pray for us. There have been a few witnessing opportunities these past few days, but I must admit: numerous occasions have been blown. Pray for me as I am struggling with boldness and plain old hypoxic weariness. I covet the same prayers that the Apostle Paul coveted from the Ephesian believers in Ephesians 6:19:20: “that therein I may speak boldly, as I ought to speak.” Even amidst such spiritual struggle, several have indeed heard the Word. I think of a gas station attendant in Nenana, an Indian couple from Mumbai, a photographer from Indianapolis, a skeptic from Trapper Creek who flagged me down with a few questions, a man on his bicycle just north of Anchorage, and those in the Chinese restaurant mentioned above. Ricky has also distributed a few tracts, and of course, seeds have been left in highway rest area bathrooms, on bulletin boards, and attached to a few vehicles. May the Word of the Lord not return void in these lives and in these places. Between here and Homer: may we be obedient, bold, and faithful to proclaim repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ.

Friends, I must take you all back to Prudhoe Bay and the Dalton Highway, for that was an adventure worth recapping with a little more detail than I was able to relay several days ago when I wrote to declare “Mission Accomplished.” Again, thanks for all your prayers during that time. In the end, the Lord proved faithful, despite my doubts and unbelief (II Timothy 2:13); and all things ultimately worked together for good up there in His sovereign grace (Romans 8:28).

After recovering from my terrible bout with flu, we had hoped to leave Fairbanks last Sunday (August 30), but it was a terribly rainy day. So, after attending church with Dan Holmgren (the Lord’s provision of fellowship and refuge in Fairbanks) and being blessed by a solid message from the Book of Judges, we sat around all afternoon, bubbling with anticipation and trying to rest. As it turned out, I would need that rest. The next morning was no better in terms of the weather, but we decided to go for it. It was a long drive back to Finger Mountain, the very spot where flu had forced me to stop and turn around a week earlier. The approach took awhile--Livengood, Yukon River, Five Mile, etc. The fall colors, however, were amazing; I could not believe the change one week had made. That, alone, made the delay seem worthwhile. I remember meeting a bicycle tourist back in the Yukon who was from Anchorage. He told me there would be no fall colors on the Dalton Highway because there are no deciduous trees up there, only stunted black spruce. I chuckle to think that so many people don’t know what they are talking about. Anyway, Finger Mountain was not much different than a week earlier. The road was still muddy; the rain was again coming down; the air was familiarly wet and cold. Cautious, we sat in the truck for several hours, praying that the rain would cease. It never did. Cabin fever forced me to run up to the summit of nearby Finger Mountain, just to bag a peak; and then, I had to get on the bike. Weary of the waiting game, I pedaled 18 miles in the rain to the Arctic Circle, what I saw as an important milestone. Yes, it was wet, cold, and miserable; but something was different: I felt much stronger than anytime I was pedaling on that stretch from Fairbanks to Finger Mountain. Obviously, that flu had left with me on the first go-around and only got worse as I headed north, greatly adding to the overall misery. This time, I was healed (save for a nagging cough); and the strength that came from that seemed to minimize the melancholy of the elements.

At the Arctic Circle, Ricky and I camped under some fiery yellow birch trees, having strung up a makeshift canopy to shield us from the rain. It did cease long enough for us to cook dinner and enjoy the rays of the setting sun bursting through the dark clouds to highlight the already gorgeous autumn colors. Satisfaction came in the simplest of things: we were actually camped above the Arctic Circle in Alaska! All night it rained, and the wind blew with ferocity. That night would be the first of several in which insomnia would prove a real problem: a long, long night. I prayed and prayed for sun the next day. It did not come.

So, on Tuesday (September 1), I pedaled 60 miles from the Arctic Circle to Coldfoot Camp. All day ‘twas overcast and chilly as I meandered into the foothills of the Brooks Range. Fortunately, no rain actually fell on me this day, and for that I glorified God. However, the longing to see the sun and feel its warmth became more intense. Autumn colors continued to amaze as entire hills were orange and yellow. Coldfoot, a former pipeline construction camp turned way overpriced hotel with gas pumps and a restaurant, was a soupy mess. There was standing water and mud everywhere, but at least we found a haven of rest. An all-you-can-eat buffet at the restaurant, filled with healthy goodness as opposed to the typical greasy truck-stop garbage that I expected, proved well worth the $18.95/person price. In that place, I was also able to spray off my bicycle and get a free hot shower, the latter being a great blessing. At Coldfoot, we were able to share Christ with a trucker in the cafe, a tour guide with Holland America, a girl working in the hotel, and two rangers across the street at the Federal Interagency Visitor Center. Earlier that day, I had also witnessed to a road construction flagger. Crystal claimed to be a Christian, so I exhorted her unto boldness for the faith. I must say, these encounters helped me to forget about the trials, calling to remembrance the real reason we were out there. That night, we camped in a nearby grassy field. It got pretty cold, and the sound of trucks pulling in and out all night only complicated my ongoing battle with insomnia. Nevertheless, I stayed warm in my cozy down sleeping bag; and Ricky slept like a baby. I prayed all night to see the sun on the morrow. Again, it did not come.

Wednesday (September 2), we grabbed some breakfast before leaving Coldfoot to again press north. The skies were overcast, and one could smell rain in the air. The road was a muddy mess, and I was forced to walk a few segments. A couple hours into the ride, the rain started dropping. I was soaked and miserable, again feeling the desire to call it quits. I passed the Wiseman turnoff, Sukakpak Mountain, and the halfway point of the Dalton Highway. I had to change a flat tire in the rain and then sit in the truck for a long while, trying to dry out. We later cooked lunch beside a stream but couldn’t even do that without getting wet. It seemed the Lord had forsaken us. After 40 miles of struggling on less than three hours of sleep, I could take it no more. ‘Twas 2:00pm, and we pulled off to set up camp on a gravel bar beside the Dietrich River. Sick peaks were to our right and the mountainous interior of Gates of the Arctic National Park was to our left--a sweet spot. Most of the afternoon it rained, and most of the afternoon I slept in the back of the truck. It’s amazing what a little sleep can do for one’s outlook, especially when a guy hasn’t had any in awhile. A good hearty dinner cooked under a makeshift canopy also lifted our spirits: rice, canned chicken breast, and an Indian mango curry sauce reminded me of Delhi while a little fruit cocktail proved a decent desert. Once the dishes were done, it was still early; and we were bored. The rain had stopped, and a nearby peak kept catching my gaze. Longing for a bit of distraction from the hell that had been the Dalton Highway, Ricky and I decided to slog across more than a mile of tundra and up that thing to catch a view. I must say, walking across tundra filled with muskeg and tussocks proved no fun. Then, there was the bushwhacking through thick brush, thinking we could stumble upon a huge grizzly at any moment. Finally, I reached the upper slopes of the mountain where walking proved much easier. It started raining again, but before I knew it, I was standing on the summit. The views were expansive up into Gates of the Arctic National Park and north up the Dalton Highway. A foggy mist only added to the eeriness of the fading light and the joy of having bagged a peak north of the Arctic Circle. That mountain, a true closed contour on my topo map, had no name, so I dubbed her “Distraction Peak.” The slog, as mentioned, was a welcome distraction from the hell that had been the Dalton Highway on a bicycle. I made Ricky turn around below the summit because of fast approaching darkness, and it later proved a real adventure walking through muskeg in the darkness. Back at the truck, that hike seemed to cure the insomnia. I fell asleep pleading with the Lord for good weather the next day. The slog up Atigun Pass was a mere 19 miles away, and the thought of cold rain and nasty mud up there was overwhelming. In my mind, I decided that night to call it quits if I awoke to another day of nasty weather. It would simply be more than I could bear. Before fading into slumber, I Corinthians 10:13 came to my mind. Is it really true, I thought. Time would tell.

Thursday morning (September 3), Ricky was sound asleep and snoring. Suddenly, he was jolted awake by loud shouting and boisterous bellowing. “Woo, Woooo, Woo; Woo, Woooo, Woo.” It was me, howling for joy. The journey would continue, for I had awoken to a clear blue sky and the warmth of the morning sun as it crested the ridge to the east. There was not a cloud to be seen, and the gorgeous fall landscape had taken on a life that I had yet to experience. Fresh snow glistened on the surrounding peaks. Morning had broken like the first morning. I Corinthians 10:13, my friends, had proven true; despite my doubts, unbelief, and hard conversations with God, He had proven faithful, “for he cannot deny himself” (II Timothy 2:13).

That warm, sunny day, I slogged up and over Atigun Pass (at 4,800 feet, this is the highest point of any road in Alaska), being forced to walk several sections of 10-12% grades. Early on, a few hunters stopped to give me a juicy nectarine (a real blessing), and I gave them a tract (the lone witnessing encounter of the day). Shortly thereafter, I passed the farthest north spruce tree, and boom, I was whisked into the barren tundra. There would be no more trees all the way to Prudhoe Bay. The scenery up on the Chandalar Shelf was incredible as the Dalton ran beside the Alaska Pipeline. I was reminded of the Tso Moriri area in Ladakh, India: VAST GRANDEUR. One final slog up a muddy mountainside, and I was sitting at the pass. Amazingly, it was still, about 50 degrees, and intoxicatingly calm. Three to four inches of fresh snow lay on the ground, likewise capping the surrounding peaks. Ricky and I could only pause, contemplate the goodness of Almighty God, and soak up the beauty of that place. We pulled the lawn chairs out, cooked some ramen, and played in the white stuff.

On a sidenote, I never could get the Gospel flag properly attached to the mountain bike because I wasn’t carrying any pannier bags. So, in order to maintain a visible witness on the Dalton for the many truckers and other passersby, I made a cape out of the flag. People definitely noticed it, and it engendered a few conversations. When the wind was too strong, and the cape kept blowing in my face, I simply wore a jersey that read “Judgment is Coming! Trust Christ.” When the truck was covered with mud and filth, Ricky kept the Gospel magnets clean and white for all to see. Thankfully, there were plenty of rivers and streams to make this possible.

Down the other side of Atigun pass was long and arduous. There was a lot of downgrade but still a few nasty uphills in a toilsome headwind as the topography raced toward the Arctic Coastal Plain. The highway ran right up beside the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR), but we saw little in terms of living creatures, save a couple of ravens, an owl, and an arctic fox near the Atigun River. That evening, it clouded up quick, and the wind began to howl. After I had pedaled 66 miles on the day, Ricky and I camped beside a rocky formation, huddled in the back of the truck as rain fell in torrents and the wind blew in a direction that would prove most difficult on the bicycle the next day. What lay ahead was 115 miles of the North Slope that is often engulfed in fog and a dreary mist. Raging winds out of the north were to be expected--a sure recipe for discouragement and disillusion. “Lord,” I prayed that night, “please give us good weather and favorable winds. Without Your help, I’ll never make it to Prudhoe Bay. Have mercy upon us, Your servants.”

I slept good that night. Friday was blustery, overcast, and cold, but THE WIND WAS BLOWING OUT OF THE SOUTHWEST. I pedaled out of camp with a tailwind that would literally carry me all the way to Prudhoe Bay. It wasn’t long before the clouds gave way to clear skies and the rolling hills gave way to bluffs and then the flat coastal plain. But for the herds of muskox grazing along the highway, I could have sworn I was in Kansas, back where I started in the Dakotas, or perhaps California’s San Joaquin Valley. When I heard a couple of seagulls crying overhead, a zing of excitement rose up within me. The Arctic Ocean was getting close. Muskox, caribou, waterfowl--we saw a lot of wildlife that day. There were also some opportunities to proclaim the Gospel: a hunter from Anchorage, a trucker, and a road construction worker who gave me a lift through a 3-mile zone of torn-up road riddled with heavy equipment. They asked me not to ride through there because of the danger, so I obliged.

That evening, Ricky and I beheld a glorious sunset as we prepared a mess of fried luncheon meat, curried potatoes and onions, and fruit cocktail on the side of the now flat Dalton Highway. Contemplating, I marveled. The Lord had given me a tailwind much of the day, a good and perfect give from above (James 1:17). I cannot imagine having to pedal that same stretch in the typical headwind and dense rainy fog that is the norm in that place. Again, God was faithful not to put upon me more than I could bear As we ate, the moments were memorable in the stillness of dusk. Temperatures were in the mid-fifties; the weather was perfect; and that on the Arctic Coastal Plain in September, of all places. I asked Ricky, “What do you have to say about this weather?” He replied, “God hears the prayers of His saints.” I immediately thought of all of you who had been praying for good weather. The Lord heard; He answered your prayers. After dinner, I pedaled another 12 miles or so, breaking a spoke and being forced to fix something I had never fixed before, right there in the middle of the Dalton Highway. I was frustrated then, but we both chuckle now. Let me put it this way, I was glad to have salvaged a few spokes off the wheel I destroyed on the original mountain bike when I was backing out of my driveway back on May 8th. Without these extras, I would have been walking the last 22 miles into Prudhoe Bay. With the wheel fixed, I stopped when my odometer read 102.31 miles on the day and we had reached the last suitable pullout before the end of the road. A century day on a gravel road riding a mountain bike! Wow! A full moon came up over the river that night, the temperatures plummeted, and we could see the lights of Prudhoe Bay in the distance.

Saturday (September 5), I pedaled the final 19.55 miles into Prudhoe Bay. ‘Twas another clear, sunny day with a tailwind. I went as far north as I could to the east security gate (only those with security clearance can pass) and then circled back around to the Arctic Caribou Inn, the only place in town where we could find a sign that said “Welcome to Prudhoe Bay.” After 3,648.8 miles from Badger, Minnesota, that was the finish line.

Ricky and I overnighted at the Prudhoe Bay Hotel, a place that primarily houses oil workers and truckers. I still shudder to think how much it cost for a single night to stay in a room that reminded me of my college dorm, shared bathroom down the hall and all. At least 24-7 all-you-can-eat meals (not greasy truck stop food, but quality stuff like you get on a cruise ship) and laundry service were included. Ricky and I also got to enjoy opening day of the college football season in front of a big screen. The rest, the showers, the food, the ability to do laundry, the football: ‘twas well worth the obscene cost of the room and would energize us for the long drive out that gravel Dalton. You better believe we stuffed to overflowing with food before we left that place.

The next morning, we took the tour out to the Arctic Ocean, the only way to set foot in the waters because the oil companies control all the land and require security clearance north of the town. I was praying for a witnessing encounter right out there at land’s end. In 2004, I was rejected with hostility at land’s end outside Neah Bay, Washington. Of that encounter, I wrote:

“For a long time, I had prayed that the Lord would give me the opportunity to proclaim the Gospel to a lost soul right at the finish. This seemed improbable, for we were out in the middle of nowhere. However, the Lord was faithful: there was a car parked on the beach with a man and a woman inside. Before packing up the bicycle for the last time, Jamie and I approached and knocked on the window. I explained what I had just completed; the man congratulated me; and I proceeded to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ. What followed was one of the harshest and rudest rejections we had encountered along the entire journey. ‘If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye; for the spirit of glory and of God resteth upon you: on their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified’ (I Peter 4:14).”

In 2005, I prayed for a similar opportunity at land’s end in Key West, Florida. Of that I wrote:

“The next morning, (Wednesday, December 14) Jamie took me back to Ramrod Key, and by God’s grace, I pedaled the final 27 miles to our ultimate destination. In Key West, many saw the Gospel banner, and I was able to share Jesus Christ with a woman at Milemarker 0 of Highway 1. She stopped and offered to take my picture. I then pedaled over to the corner of Whitehead and South Streets, the southernmost point in the continental United States (only Hawaii is farther south). Jamie and Bethany were waiting for me, and at 3,411.6 miles, the pedaling journey was complete. At this place, there was a buoy-shaped marker, and lots of tourists were taking pictures. We were able to pass out some Gospel tracts, and the reaction was far different from the cold shoulder that I received out on that remote beach outside of Neah Bay, Washington. One man was rude to Jamie, but I was able to proclaim Jesus Christ to a group of six college students who were visiting from Daytona Beach. All accepted Gospel tracts and politely listened with interest. Please pray for these!”

On September 5, 2009 I had again reached another cartographic extreme at the end of a long pedaling journey. Again, the Lord gave me opportunity to share at the water’s edge, this time with three South Indians currently living in Seattle. They had driven up from near Anchorage the day before and had arrived in Prudhoe Bay at 3:00 that morning. That evening, they would drive back to Anchorage to catch a flight out. Wow, impressive! We talked of India; I spoke of the Creator God and Jesus Christ; they took Gospel tracts; all was ordained of Almighty God. Of course, Ricky and I threw off our shoes and walked out into the water. Unlike the Arctic waters on the north coast of Norway in which I swam back in 2006 (i.e. ice cold but bearable because of warm ocean currents that make for ice-free ports), these waters, fortified by cold currents that bring solid ice in the winter, were brutal. Swimming was not an option, and it took some time for sensation to return to my feet. Nevertheless, it was fun; it was fitting; it was fantastic.

Back in Prudhoe Bay, we were able to share Jesus Christ with a hotel clerk, the wife of an oil worker, two oil workers who gave us a ride over to the local post office, and, of course, the three previously mentioned young men from India. Please pray for the salvation of these. The culture of Prudhoe Bay is an enigma of sorts. No one lives there permanently. Most people work three week shifts of twelve-hour days and then go home for three weeks. The couple who runs the hotel where we stayed is from Alabama. They work in Prudhoe for three weeks and then fly home to Dothan, Alabama for three weeks: over and over and over again. The pay is good up there, but the hours are long, and the conditions are harsh. Depression is common; immorality is a real problem; and there seems to be little, if any, witness for Jesus Christ. Ricky and I saw no evidence of even an option for worship or Christian fellowship on Sunday mornings. We tried to sow a little light and leave Gospel tracts in that spiritually dark place owned and operated by large, greedy oil companies who won’t even let an average tax-payer walk of his own accord to the shores of the Arctic Ocean. I pray the Lord will bless and use our efforts, meager as they were

On our way out of town Sunday afternoon, big snow flakes began to fall in droves. It was beautiful. I had heard that there was a tack board somewhere in town where people who have ended long journeys in Prudhoe Bay get their picture posted. Finally, we found it in the post office/general store. A lady took my picture with the bicycle, holding the Gospel flag for all to see. She put it on the tack board along with a few words that I penned, and the witness will therefore remain. I gave her a pair of TCK Slog Series for her trouble and shared Christ as a few people stood around to listen, including one young oil worker who promised the read the tract I had written. ‘Twas an apposite ending to our time at the top of the world. We drove south in a driving snow as the tundra turned white before our eyes. A herd of muskox, a baby wolf, arctic fox, ptarmigan, and an eagle were all we saw on the coastal plain as flat gave way to bluffs, rolling hills, and then the mountains of the Brooks Range.

At one point, we parked the vehicle and trudged up the Atigun River Valley across barren tundra and nasty muskeg in a cold mist to within the boundaries of ANWR. There were no fences or signs, and my GPS unit was the only proof that we had hiked into the Refuge. Right there along a cascading river at the foot of steep cliffs, we could hear caribou bellowing to the east. The remoteness could be felt; it was special. Back at the truck, I contemplated a map of Alaska. The oil companies control the entire north coast of Alaska, save for the northeast corner, a few miles (comparatively speaking) within the boundaries of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. That stretch of ANWR is the only place on the north coast of Alaska where I could freely fly or hike in and enjoy the Arctic coast in the fashion in which the Creator framed it. And, the oil companies want to gobble this up as well. If they had their way, there would be oil rigs, worker camps, and security gates all over that place as well. I must say, the few minutes that I spent in ANWR, contemplating the vastness of my Saviour’s creative handiwork, forced me to reconsider and disregard a dogmatic political opinion about drilling there that I have often spewed forth without real knowledge or understanding. I’m sorry if this doesn’t fit the kool-aid drinking Republican worldview. Yesterday, I spoke with a man who tried to blame all the problems of American on President Obama. I mentioned that America had become one of the most immoral nations in the history of the world, turning its back on the God of its Founding Fathers long before the current president came onto the scene. He then tried to say that most Americans are basically good at heart and fighting the evil of the Obama Administration was the way to save our country. Of course, this is foolishness. The problems of our once great nation are a problem of the society at large, not only the immoral godlessness that rages like wildfire and the lukewarm churchianity that deceives and damns, but also the covetousness and man-centered profiteering of corporate America, the same greed that would rape the only remaining stretch of pristine Arctic Coast for a few drops of oil. Jeremiah 17:9 is oh so true. But take heart, my friends, I am not a politician, and politics cannot fix America or this troubled world. I am a prophet, a preacher, and I proclaim to you this day: All will be made right when Jesus Christ physically and bodily sets up a kingdom on this earth, to rule and reign with His saints for a thousand years. That day is coming soon. Be comforted, for we born-again believers “according to his promise, look for a new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness” (II Peter 4:13).

Whoa, how did I get off on that tangent? Here’s a bit of advice: when bearing witness of the Gospel to a lost man, never allow yourself to be led into a discussion concerning politics. However, politics, regardless of one’s left-wing or right-wing bent, are an excellent bridge to the corruption and sinfulness of man in view of God’s Holy Law. Appeal to the conscience with the Law of God, and that right quick, for it will plow the ground of the heart, preparing it to receive the seed of the Good News. With the Law and the knowledge of sin, THE GOOD NEWS THEN MAKES GOOD SENSE.

After our little hike into extremely pristine and wild ANWR, we drove south to the same little spot where Ricky and I had camped below “Distraction Peak” on the way up. Up and over Atigun Pass, the snow of a few days before was gone. It was ugly and dreary. I again thanked God for the awesome conditions we encountered heading north. Beside the Dietrich River, we slept soundly. The next morning, desiring to satisfy my craving for national parks, Ricky and I bushwhacked several miles up a drainage, setting our feet within the boundaries of Gates of the Arctic National Park. Again, there were no trails or signs, only a GPS unit to guide us. Multiple river crossings were a nightmare as were steep cliffs and brush as we bushwhacked hillsides. On the gravel bars, fresh moose, caribou, wolf, and grizzly tracks were in abundance. One set of wolf tracks revealed paws as big or bigger than Ricky’s hand. I carried an ice ax, and Ricky had the bear spray cocked and ready. Sadly, we never saw anything. Finally, we stumbled upon the confluence of two streams and slogged up a forested dome to the summit. We were within the Gates; I had bagged my 49th out of 58 national parks. My GPS showed a closed contour, so I fittingly designated it Confluence Dome. The slog back to the truck was a beast, but the taste of remote wilderness and the beauty of the day were well worth the effort.

Coldfoot, the Arctic Circle, Finger Mountain (where I quickly scrambled up the Class 4 Finger Rock just to bag another peak), Five Mile (where we stopped in to follow-up with Julie, the crass cook from the burger joint that I mentioned a couple of emails ago), Yukon River, and the 72 miles of pavement from Livengood back to Fairbanks: these all passed slowly as it took hours to drive out. At 3:00am on Tuesday morning (September 8), we bedded down in the back of the S.A.G. wagon beside a weigh station in Fox. From there, the pedaling route would break off the original jaunt and start toward Homer the next morning. Later that day, we cleaned up and recharged in the home of Dan Holmgren AGAIN--what a refuge that place proved to be, and what a convicting example of selfless hospitality Dan showed himself to be. We enjoyed sweet fellowship that evening over Thai vittles, and on the morrow, I found myself pedaling south amidst a slew of arboreal yellows, oranges, and reds. Homer was almost 600 miles away, and I thought: “What in the world have I gotten myself into? An epilogue?”

Now, we’re here in Anchorage, safe and sound in yet another believing home opened to us. In four days, my parents, my wife, and my children will be waiting for us, Lord willing, at the end of the Homer Spit (Pray for traveling mercies to be upon them). I have 225 miles yet to pedal, ever vigilant for opportunities to proclaim the Gospel. My parents will spend a few days here before flying back to North Carolina. The rest of us, Lord willing, will remain to target the streets of Anchorage and surrounding areas with the Gospel for a month or more. Still, we wait for provision in terms of temporary housing. Please keep praying about this as well as continued financial provision from the Lord to sustain us along a journey that is far from complete.

Thanks for your friendship, your prayers, and your support. The fruits and the victories that I have described herein are yours. TO GOD BE THE GLORY!

A couple of days ago, by the way, I broke from the bicycle for a couple of hours so Ricky and I could drive up into Denali National Park. The Great One, North America’s highest mountain, stood out stark, and I thanked God for allowing me to see this, clear evidence of a mighty Creator. Truly, “the fool hath said in his heart, There is no God” (Psalm 14:1). Attaining the summit of this mighty peak must await another time.

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,
Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

Mission Accomplished

Wed, 9 Sep 2009 16:14:09 -0400

Greetings, beloved, in the name of the Great God and our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. This update will be brief because time is short. I will come back in a few days, filling in the details.

I am writing primarily to say: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. The Lord God heard the prayers of His saints, and He brought us into Prudhoe Bay at the top of the continent this past Saturday (September 5, 2009) at around 12:30pm, and this after three straight days of bountiful sun and a gnarly TAILWIND in the Arctic Coastal Plain. Ricky and I overnighted in Prudhoe, took the tour out to the Arctic Ocean on Sunday morning (you cannot go out there on your own because of oil company security restrictions--DISGUSTING), shared Christ with three young men from South India right there on the beach, and then started heading out the long gravel road in a driving snow that afternoon. So many more details and witnessing encounters at the end of the world . . . I will write more later.

Current Location: Fairbanks, Alaska
Total Miles Pedaled (Badger, Minnesota to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska) = 3,648.8

Monday, at about 3:00am, Ricky and I safely pulled back into Fairbanks. The truck was a real site, and it took us hours to get the road gunk off the exterior. The drive back was awesome. We hiked into the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR), bushwhacked into Gates of the Arctic National Park, climbed a small peak I dubbed Confluence Dome, enjoyed one last night of camping above the Arctic Circle, and followed up with a few witnessing contacts we made on the way up. To God be the glory, great things He hath done. Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for your prayers. I look forward to a more detailed recap.

I thought the cycling was finished; it definitely is for the mountain bike. I literally limped into Prudhoe Bay on that thing with a warped rear wheel. However, these past few days, I have been studying the map and thinking a lot about cartographic extremes. Putting all my bicycle missionary journeys together, I have now pedaled with the Gospel to the southernmost terminus of the American road in Key West, Florida; through the easternmost terminus of the American road in Lubec, Maine; out to the northernmost terminus of the American road in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska; and through the geographical center of North America in Rugby, North Dakota. Neah Bay, Washington was a western terminus of sorts back in 2004, but the real westernmost terminus of the American road is near Homer, Alaska’s other end of the road about 580 miles south of here. Having prayed about it with Ricky for several days, we sense the conviction to go for it, thereby bagging all major points on the compass with regard to the American Highway and eclipsing 4,000 total miles for the bicycling journey. I have eight days until my family arrives, and an incredible ending would have them waiting for me at the end of the Homer Spit when I pedal up. We’ll see if this comes to pass. I will leave Fairbanks this afternoon, breaking off from the point where the previous route went north toward the Dalton, and Lord willing, I will pedal down the Parks Highway, past Denali National Park, through Anchorage, out the Turnagin Arm, and down to Homer. Pray that as before, we will have numerous opportunity to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The Gospel flag will be flying, and right now, we enjoy glorious autumn weather. Pray for us. My legs are tired, but the hard part is done. This will be an interesting little epilogue.

Our main prayer request remains a place to base in the Anchorage area for a couple of months. Several of you have offered up contacts, and I appreciate greatly your efforts. Unfortunately, nothing has materialized, and it concerns me that Jamie and the girls will be arriving in a week. I had hoped to have something set up by then. Please pray that the Lord makes provision. If we cannot find a place to stay, we will have to immediately begin the long drive home soon after my family arrives. I had really hoped to take some weeks for evangelism on the college campuses and in the Anchorage area. After much prayer and contemplation, we sense the need to wait on the Lord and quit trying to make things happen. I will be spending the next week pedaling toward Homer for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ. Pray that the Lord provides during this time. It would make my pregnant wife, traveling with two small daughters, a lot more at ease to arrive with a refuge she can call home for a few weeks. Again, if any of you have contacts in the Anchorage area, please investigate and get back to me. A missions apartment to rent for a couple of months, some missionary housing, or an unused church parsonage--surely there is something available. The matter is in the Lord’s hands. Thanks for your prayers and kind efforts to help.

Please also continue to pray for the Lord’s financial provision in and throughout this journey. Things are very expensive up here, and I am going to have some sizable bills with regard to truck maintenance coming up. The Lord has been so good and bountiful in His provision thus far, a lot of times in and through the generosity of many of you. We are eternally grateful and look forward to how He will direct our steps going forward.

Pray for Jamie and the girls as they fly next Tuesday (9/15). My parents will be coming up with them and stay for about five days. I am looking forward to seeing them at the new finish line in Homer. Pray that the timing works out perfectly.

Well, I better go. Again, I will write with details of the last days on the Dalton Highway as soon as possible. There is much to tell and much for which we can glorify Almighty God. I have a lot of great photos I intend to post on FPGM’s Travel Blog as well as good YouTube commentary, so please be patient with me.

But, for now, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. You, through your prayers and support, were as much a part of this as Ricky and I. The victory, the fruit, the joy is yours, my friends.

Nahum 1:7 got me through the final difficult days up there on the Dalton. When the weather finally broke, the temperatures warmed up, and a favorable wind came out of the south, I was overwhelmed with this truth: “The LORD is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble, and he knoweth them that trust in him.”

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

Dalton Discouragement

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 02:08:46 -0400

The bondage of more than a week’s worth of discouragement and spiritual frustration was finally broken this afternoon as Ricky and I took to the streets of Fairbanks with tracts in our hands and the Gospel of Jesus Christ on our lips. Many heard the Word as fresh socks went out to the less fortunate in the name of Christ and the Gospel was made the topic of conversation for tourists and locals alike. I think of Anthony working in the bus station, a few Japanese tourists, a tour bus driver, a couple of children with their babysitter, a man on his bicycle, several groups of Native Americans, and a laborer preparing ground for the laying of concrete. May the Lord bring salvation to all of these by grace through faith (Ephesians 2:8-9).

Did I make it to the finish line in Prudhoe Bay last week? Did the Lord bless us with good weather on the Dalton Highway? Did we catch a break anywhere as we tried to wrap up the bicycle part of this missionary journey? A resounding NO is the answer for every one of these questions.

*Date: August 30, 2009
*Current Location: Fairbanks, Alaska
*Total Miles Pedaled = 3,342.2
*Recent Wildlife Encounters = flocks of Arctic Ptarmigan, a big weasel, two huge black bears hanging around the S.A.G. trailer, some moose
*Worst Road in America for Pedaling a Bicycle = Alaska’s James Dalton Highway

To make a long story short, I pedaled to within twenty miles of the Arctic Circle (315 miles from Prudoe Bay), and we had to make a beeline back to Fairbanks. The weather had been horrible (rain, rain, cold rain); the road had been a real beast (up, down, up, down, crazy 12-15% grades); and a slight chill that came with me from Fairbanks following my last update quickly turned into high fever, a hacking cough, sheer exhaustion, and the inability to continue on. The last day, after only making 30 miles the previous day, I awoke with a high fever and a pounding headache. The morning was clear and sunny until the very moment I got into the saddle. Almost immediately, the clouds rolled in; and a cold, misty rain began to fall. Such has been our “luck” of late. Out of the trees and into the tundra, the hills got more gnarly, and I struggled just to get to the Arctic Circle. 25 miles, 20 miles, 18 miles, 17 miles . . . I could go no further. I found Ricky pulled over atop Finger Mountain, climbed into the front seat of the truck, slept for 2-3 hours, and eventually woke to be greeted with a 102 reading on the thermometer positioned under my tongue. I was done. “Take me back to Fairbanks,” I pleaded. Four hours later, we pulled into Dan Holmgren’s driveway, the single brother who had let us stay here during our first few days in the area. This was Monday of last week, and I have pretty much been in the bed ever since. Some kind of weird flu was my demise, and a fever hovered around 103 for a good part of the week. Two days ago, Ricky came down with the same deal. Fortunately, his came and went a lot faster. I seem to be on the upswing, and today was my first real day of going out and getting back to the work of evangelism. It felt great. Tomorrow, after joining Dan for worship at his church, Ricky and I, Lord willing, will head on up the Dalton Highway and try this thing again, from the very point, of course, where the journey came to a screeching halt atop Finger Mountain. 315 miles remain through difficult terrain; and the weather will be the major variable that determines success or failure.

If you commit anything about our missionary journey to prayer over the next week or so, may it be the weather. Oh God, please show us favor with sunny, clear days. Pray for strength, our health, and protection from sickness that brought failure to our first attempt. Pray also for a hedge of protection around the S.A.G. vehicle, mechanical well-being with the truck and the bicycle, and, or course, opportunities to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ to Native Americans, truckers carrying loads to and from Prudhoe, locals, fellow travelers, and whoever else may cross our paths.

So far, all we know of the Dalton Highway is discouragement, frustration, and failure. But, by God’s grace, it looks like we will have another go at it. To be honest, I don’t even want to bother with recap from our previous days up there. At the time, I was so miserable and the temptation to quit and make a beeline behind the wheel back to the Lower 48 was as strong as ever. Had it not been for Ricky’s coolheaded sobriety, I probably would have, regretting it long thereafter. I thank God also for cell phone service in Fairbanks and Dylan Harris, one of my best friends who has partnered with FPGM in difficult situations before. He talked some sense into my thick head and gave me a good disciplinary spiritual beat-down. Looking back, I don’t guess all was bad, and a little recap will at least be an exercise in reminiscence.

Last Friday (August 21), I mounted the bike at the Fox Jct., just north of Fairbanks, where I had ended my last day in the saddle (a very cold and rainy jaunt from Salcha). It was a crisp, sunny day with high cloud bands; and 70 miles later, I was at the end of the pavement and the official beginning of the Dalton Highway (Prudhoe Bay = 415 miles). All had been good thus far. I shared Christ that day with a couple of hunters and a family who thought they were on the road to Anchorage (i.e. extremely lost). The road was good, the hilly landscape was beautiful, and as I climbed up and over Wickersham Dome, I could have sworn I was pedaling the Blue Ridge Parkway during the month of October somewhere north of Fancy Gap, Virginia. A strong home-warming sense of Appalachia followed me much of the day and uplifted my spirits. At about 6:30pm that evening, all that changed.

The first few miles of the Dalton Highway were a nasty. In that short span, it felt like I had climbed Mt. Everest, K2, and the South Face of Annapurna in one swoop. I could feel a strange sick fatigue coming on, so we stopped for the night at Milemarker 6. The truck traffic on that road was insane--big rigs left and right hauling supplies back and forth from the North Slope oil fields. If you have ever watched that reality show Ice Road Truckers, this is that road (only the snows haven’t come yet).

Saturday, it took me all day to log 55 miles, and we stopped at Five Mile just north of the Yukon River. By this time, I sensed I was getting sick but still confident that I could beat it. Dropping down to the Yukon River, however, I became covered from head to toe in wet mud, splattered by passing trucks and doused by my tires tossing up a soupy calcium carbonite (something they put on the roads up here) mess. I wish you could have seen the truck, the S.A.G. trailer, and me. It was almost enough for me to quit and go home. At Five Mile, we found an artesian well with water flowing out of a fireman’s hose. The only option: spray myself and the bicycle down, hand-wash my clothes, hose off the trailer, and all this before the rain started. Freezing, I finally got clean, but my health paid the price. That night, fever and a pounding headache set in, and we were all but stopped in our tracks. Fortunately, we did not become immediately aware of this and spent the evening hanging out in a little trucker’s cafe. We shared Christ with Jim, a trucker who recently came up from Michigan to find work. He, like most of the big-riggers on the Dalton, makes the trip up from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay and back 2-3 times a week, even in the dead of winter. Another trucker named Jim was a crass fellow from Anchorage who loved to pan for gold. He claimed to be a Christian but had a profane mouth on him as bad as any I have ever heard. With choice words for President Obama, he bemoaned the corruption of the American government and the loss of freedom that seems to be occurring all around. I quickly turned the conversation to the corruption of man in general and the imminent judgment of Almighty God. “Jim, are you ready to meet the Lord, I quipped. “No,” he said, “I am trying to get right.” I took him through the Law of God, showing from the Scriptures that we are guilty before our Maker, hopelessly loss and incapable of earning merit with One who is holy and righteous. “But this is what God did for you,” I explained . . . Ricky and I went on to proclaim repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. Jim accepted a Gospel tract and promised to read it. I said, “Jim, how can I pray for you out here as I pedal the Dalton?” Suddenly, he got up out of his chair and walked away saying “My life is in such a mess.” We never saw Jim again, and those were his last words to us. I considered it a divine appointment; pray for his salvation. We also shared with Julie, the abrasive woman running the little cafe. I trust the Lord will use it. The burgers there were huge, greasy, and good, but I cringed to pay $11.00 for one. Everything is so expensive up here.

Saturday morning, it was a steady rain until about 1:00 pm. I was beginning to feel weak but determined to press on. So, we ditched the trailer behind the little Hot Spot Cafe, threw a bunch of gear into the back of the truck, and headed north. Sand Hill, then the 1.5 mile climb up Mackey Hill . . . I shudder at the memory. Thirty miles was my limit that afternoon, and it felt like I had gone over a hundred. ‘Twas cold, wet, and a real slog. The only fond memories of that day are the amazing autumnal colors of the tundra; the incredible snake-like design of the Alaska Pipeline as it paralleled the road; and clumps of sweet, ripe blueberries that provided a refreshing snack each time I stopped to catch my breath, hack up a lung, and get warm. That evening, we were forced to cook in the back of the truck because of a steady rain, and the night seemed one of the longest of my entire life. Sickness kept me in bed most of the morning the following Lord’s Day, and by Sunday’s close, we were back in Fairbanks, dejected and despondent. Everything was soaked, the truck was a mess, the mountain bike was trashed, and I just wanted to go home.

After almost a week in bed, healing has finally come. Swine flu, regular flu, a bad cold with fever, or some other bug--I have no idea what that was, but thank God it’s over. I thank God also that Ricky was spared the worst of it. Two days ago, it didn’t look promising for him, but the Lord’s healing hand acted quick. A fruitful day on the streets in Fairbanks was good medicine, and having stocked up on groceries again, we are ready to give the Dalton another shot.

Tomorrow, my friends, will be our last shot. Quitting is not an option, and neither is returning back to Fairbanks to rest up for another attempt. Pray for us. Oh, we need a break in the weather. It seems like the sun never comes out for any extended period of time up here in the Alaskan Interior; and the cold rain is so depressing. I’d even settle for a little snow over the dreary wetness.

Hopefully, I will soon write with a happy ending to this summer-long story. I again call your attention to specific prayer requests that I highlighted in my previous update:

• The truck is having problems with the catalytic converters, and, I was informed a little over a week ago, it will cost almost $2,000 to replace them up here. I cannot afford this, so we are forced to ignore the problem for now and again head up the 400+ mile gravel and remote Dalton Highway. Pray for wisdom and the Lord’s provision in this matter. I will probably have to fix this before the long drive back to the Lower 48 later this Fall. Again, I say, pray for the Lord’s provision.

• Jamie and the girls will fly up to Anchorage on September 15. My parents will also join them and stick around for a few days. Pray for traveling mercies.

• The remaining 315 miles that I must pedal form Finger Mountain to Prudhoe Bay will be rugged and remote with as much as 250 miles between any type of service. Ricky and I will be out of contact for about ten days. Like before, the weather will make this part of the journey awesome or miserable. Please pray for sunny skies, safety, protection from vehicle and bicycle problems, witnessing encounters, and a strong finish at Prudhoe Bay.

• After the bicycle ride, our plans are to remain in Alaska for a month or two, focusing on evangelism at the college campuses and on the streets in the Anchorage area. Jamie and the girls, of course, will be joining us for this. In order for such to happen, the Lord will have to provide a base of some sort (i.e. an apartment we can rent for a couple of months, an empty church parsonage, etc.). So far, we have no leads. Please pray for provision in this matter. I would like to have something set up for my family to immediately transition into when they arrive. If any of you have contacts in the Anchorage area that can possibly assist with this, please let me know.

• Things are very expensive up here in Alaska, and our funds are rapidly diminishing. We continue to live and operate on faith each day, so pray earnestly that our needs are met as the Lord has been faithful to oversee thus far. If the Lord should lay it upon your heart to financially contribute to the work of Full Proof Gospel Ministries, the contact information appears at the bottom of this update, and remember that all contributions are tax-deductible for American citizens. A charitable-giving receipt will be mailed out to you at the end of the calendar year. Above all, your prayers are coveted.

Well, I need to go rest up. A slight cough is still a nagging problem. Lord willing, we will sleep at the Arctic Circle tomorrow night, giving praise to the Almighty Creator as we gaze at the dancing fire of the Aurora Borealis. Oh, before I go . . . I want to publicly express how grateful I am for Ricky, my support partner. He went out of his way to take care of me this past week, going above and beyond the call of duty in so many areas, and that despite feeling under the weather himself. Numerous times, I yearned for my wife and my mother. Ricky was the only one around, and he took up the motherly mantle as best he knew how. He has been a blessing going all the way back to Minnesota, and I never would have made it this far without his help. Ricky, let’s go out tomorrow and “git-er-done!”

Dan, if you are reading this, your home was a real refuge during the darkest hours of this entire journey. Words cannot express how grateful we are for your hospitality, and I pray God you aren’t rewarded with the sickness that I brought within the walls of your Fairbanks abode. Friend, thank-you.

Unlike King Asa of Judah with the Syrians and the physicians (II Chronicles 16), we must now look to the Lord to bring us to the finish line. All is in His hands. Intercession on our behalf will be most appreciated.

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

Jesse Boyd

Into the Great Land

Thu, 20 Aug 2009 19:41:27 -0400

Greetings, my friends, from Alaska, the Great Land. The days are growing chilly, but the finish line of this epic bicycle missionary journey is within grasp. Pray for us as we strive for a strong conclusion.

Date: August 20, 2009
Current Location: Fairbanks, Alaska
Total Miles Pedaled = 3,173.2
Longest Single Day’s Ride = 151.86 miles (Tok, Alaska to Salcha, AK)
Most Miserable Day’s Ride = 62.29 miles in a cold rain (Salcha, AK to just north of Fairbanks, AK)

Pressing Prayer Requests:

• The truck is having problems with the catalytic converters, and, I was informed yesterday, it will cost almost $2,000 to replace them up here. I cannot afford this, so we are forced to ignore the problem for now and head up the 400+ mile gravel and remote Dalton Highway nonetheless. Pray for wisdom and the Lord’s provision in this matter. I will probably have to fix this before the long drive back to the Lower 48 later this Fall. Pray for the Lord’s provision.

• Jamie and the girls will fly up to Anchorage on September 15. My parents will also join them and stick around for a few days. Pray for traveling mercies.

• The 500 miles that I must pedal north of Fairbanks involve rugged and remote road with as much as 250 miles between any type of service. We will be out of contact for about ten days. The weather will make this part of the journey awesome or miserable. Please pray for sunny skies, safety, protection from vehicle and bicycle problems, witnessing encounters with oil truckers, and a strong finish at Prudhoe Bay.

• After the bicycle ride, our plans are to remain in Alaska for a month or two, focusing on evangelism at the college campuses and on the streets in the Anchorage area. Jamie and the girls, of course, will be joining us for this. In order for such to happen, the Lord will have to provide a base of some sort (i.e. an apartment we can rent for a couple of months, an empty church parsonage, etc.). So far, we have no leads. Please pray for provision in this matter. I would like to have something set up for my family to immediately transition into when they arrive. If any of you have contacts in the Anchorage area that can possibly assist with this, please let me know.

• Things are very expensive up here in Alaska, and our funds are rapidly diminishing. We continue to live and operate on faith each day, so pray earnestly that our needs are met as the Lord has been faithful to oversee thus far. If the Lord should lay it upon your heart to financially contribute to the work of Full Proof Gospel Ministries, the contact information appears at the bottom of this update, and remember that all contributions are tax-deductible for American citizens. A charitable-giving receipt will be mailed out to you at the end of the calendar year. Above all, your prayers are coveted.

My friends, the Lord has been good, and I have pedaled almost 600 miles since I remounted the bicycle at the spot of the hit-and-run east of Whitehorse more than a week ago. Finally, Ricky and I made it into Alaska; it’s good to be back in our own country. Alaska, the Great Land, is a vast place, and it takes some real effort to make as little as an inch on the map. Notwithstanding, we press on, with one remaining pedaling segment staring us in the face: the James Dalton Highway (a.k.a. the Haul Road) up to Prudhoe Bay. Once I hit the gravel near the Yukon River Crossing, my old warhorse’s job will be complete. I’ll have to get out the less than comfortable mountain bike, pull countless hills and dales, follow the Alaska Pipeline, cross the Arctic Circle, dodge numerous oil tankers barreling down the highway, climb up and over the mighty Brooks Range, skirt Gates of the Arctic National Park and ANWR, drop down onto the North Slope, arrive at the end of the road, and then drive more than 400 miles of gravel just to get back out. Needless to say, your prayers are coveted. In the midst of all this, may we find opportunity to proclaim Jesus Christ, divine appointments.

Time on the bicycle has given me opportunity to contemplate many things. Aside from trying to memorize the books of II Peter and James, I have thought much about the times, desiring to be like the men of Issachar “that had understanding of the times, to know what Israel ought to do” (I Chronicles 12:32). My friends, the days are dark, for “there were false prophets also among the people, even as there shall be false teachers among you who privily shall bring in damnable heresies, even denying the Lord that brought them . . .” (II Peter 2:1). If there’s one thing the New Testament warns the believer about more than anything else (and, consequently, gets preached about less than anything else), it’s false teachers, particularly the subtle ones on the inside who aren’t so obvious. Everything must be judged by the Word of God. The fellowship with various believers along this journey has led to in-depth discussions of such things, seeing as the same problems that plague American “churchianity” are rampant in Canada as well. Beware, my friends, of the ERROR of Balaam (Jude 11: man-centered ministry and experience over God’s uncomfortable truth), the WAY of Balaam (II Peter 2:15-16: those that engage in ministry as a career instead of a calling), and the DOCTRINE of Balaam: (Revelation 2:14--using the world to achieve success in ministry). Knowledge of the Word of God is the only sure defense against the lies (II Peter 1:19-21).

Yes, the days are dark, and America is careening at mach speed toward Communism. Days of persecution for the American Church are just around the corner. Alas, however, we have cause to rejoice. As things wax worse, the blessed hope of the believer draweth nigh (Luke 21:28). Be in prayer, be in the Word, boldly share your faith.

I’ll stop preaching, for a little recap is warranted. From the scene of my attempted murder, it was six straight days in the saddle (41 miles; 94 miles; 73 miles; 80 miles; 42 miles; 87 miles). For the first couple days of this segment, I could barely walk, as my legs were battling major aches and pains. But soon, this dissipated, and I feel strong even now. Thanks for your prayers; the Lord’s healing power was strong. Also, the weather never did play out like the grim forecasts mentioned in my last update. All six of the days mentioned above left me mostly dry, only skirting a bit of drizzle here and there. At Border City, Alaska, we awoke to a dreary cold. I reluctantly checked the weather forecast, convicted that I was being no different than King David when he insisted upon taking a census of the men of Israel (II Samuel 24; I Chronicles 21). The prognostication: 70% rain ALL DAY. I had forgotten my prayers of earlier that morn and went to man for the information. My conscience was pricked; I asked the Lord’s forgiveness; and then we set out anyway in faith. For the first ten miles, it lightly rained. Then, amazingly, the clouds broke over the Wrangell Mountains to the south. The blue sky finally reached me, and the remaining 77 miles of that day were under a warm sun and with a crisp Fall breeze (i.e. perfect bicycling weather). Needless to say, I don’t even bother checking the weather forecasts anymore.

As we left Whitehorse, Ricky and I had a couple of encouraging encounters with believers, and we trust our example exhorted unto boldness. I think of Bruno, a Swiss missionary living in Whitehorse. We shared a time of prayer together in a gas station parking lot. Oh, such are special memories. Then, there were a couple of fishermen from Oregon who seemed edified by what we were doing. That day, we also witnessed to a girl with blue hair and a family from Charleston, South Carolina driving a huge bus fueled by recycled vegetable oil. These actually gave me and the bicycle a lift through a 5-mile stretch of nasty and dangerous road construction, which, of course, afforded the opportunity to proclaim Christ. Please pray for Bob and his family. They had been driving that bus all over America all summer, and yes, it was running on recycled vegetable oil. Wow! That night we camped at an isolated rest area northwest of Haines Jct. It has been a long 93-mile day in the saddle, but I felt good.

The next day was glorious autumn weather as I pedaled along the feet of the mighty St. Elias Mountains in the Yukon. Somewhere up there was Mt. Logan, Canada’s highest peak. Dreams of summiting her lofty heights danced in my mind all day. Ricky and I took a break late morning to saunter through a spruce forest to an open vista over a large burned-out valley. And, some say there is no God? Fools (Psalm 14:1)! That afternoon, I encountered a number of bicycle tourists heading south with various ultimate destinations. I would flag each one down and then encourage them to stop at my S.A.G. vehicle parked a little ahead of them. There, I explained, they could enjoy an ice-cold soda and get a fresh pair of TCK Slog Series socks. The gestures were greatly appreciated and proved excellent bridges to the Gospel. I think of William from Anchorage who was pedaling to Haines. He seemed open and chugged down that can of root-beer faster than anyone I have ever seen. Then, there was a young man who started at Prudhoe Bay and was going to try for the bottom of South America. Even at the point, he was expressing doubts about following through. As I brought up the things of the Lord, he claimed to be a Christian but admitted that the things of the Lord had been far from his mind of late. Ricky later followed up with both of these when they stopped at the S.A.G. wagon. There were also two German cyclists in the mix. Pray for these, that our encounter with them will not prove in vain with regard to eternal salvation.

Soon thereafter, there were no more bicycle tourists, and I dropped down into the Kluane Lake Basin. This place, a bit of a moonscape, was amazing and reminded me of Mono Lake in California (one of my favorite places on earth). I pedaled along the shore of this huge lake for many miles in a nasty headwind. There were some long dirt sections, torn up by road construction, that I was forced to walk, but all was good. It was a glorious afternoon, the water was a bright blue, many passersby saw the unfurled flag, and the Lord spared me from a huge cougar that Ricky saw cross the road shortly after I had pedaled by. That evening, we grabbed dinner at a lone cafe in Destruction Bay, scattered a few seeds, and then continued on. The long day ended on a good note as we found free camping outside a lodge/cafe at Burwash Landing. From Destruction Bay, the last ten miles to Burwash were some of the best of the entire trip: quiet, hushed, soft alpenglow on the snowy peaks of the St. Elias Mountains, the calm waters of Kluane Lake. I was closing in on Alaska, and I could feel it. All praise to the Maker of the vast wilderness of the Far North (Amos 4:13). Before bedding down, I paid $4.00 for a hot shower at the lodge, and it was the best $4.00 I have ever spent on anything. ‘Twas good to be clean.

From Burwash, there wasn’t much in terms of witnessing opportunity save for RVers and motorists passing by who undoubtedly saw the message of the unfurled flag: “Jesus Christ is GOD! The Bible is Absolute Truth!” Ricky did get to share with a family from San Diego at a podunk general store. Our last night in Canada was spent at a remote highway rest area with an expansive view looking into Alaska. The international border crossing was a mere 40 miles away, and the day had been perfect for pedaling: high cloud cover, faded sunlight, a cool breeze, and the smell of autumn. I saw the rear-end of a female moose skirting off into a mess of black spruce, and two long-necked swans were observed flying south. At the rest area, it was chili-mac for dinner in a horrid mess of mosquitoes and black flies. The bugs eventually dissipated; I took a bucket bath in the parking lot; and Ricky and I lounged, looking at the view and reliving the journey for hours. It was a special last night after almost 2,000 miles in Canada.

The next day, we slept in and then grabbed some breakfast in Beaver Creek before passing by Canadian Customs. There, I actually got to give out a few Hindi tracts and speak the Gospel in broken Hindi to a couple of men from India. I pray the Lord used it. We also left a few tracts around town, if you could even call it a town. Between Canadian and American customs, it was a long ten miles on terrible road, but the Lord allowed us to help out a young couple from Anchorage driving to Wisconsin so the husband could start seminary training. Their vehicle had broken down, so Ricky shuttled them a few places until they could find a tow truck and refuge for the night. They had a little girl, perhaps Charlotte’s age, with them, and I felt so terrible about their situation. I wish we could have done more, but they seemed so appreciative and encouraged, as fellow believers, about what we were doing. Please pray that these safely make it to Wisconsin and that this young man is used of the Lord mightily in the work of the ministry. A couple from Fairbanks stopped to help out as well, and the Lord allowed me to share Christ. In these remote places, we’ll take any witnessing opportunity we can get.

American Customs was easy, and the fellows there were extremely courteous and friendly, not what I am used to when coming back into the States from abroad in Newark or Chicago. I rejoiced to be in Alaska. I napped at a roadside monument marking the 141st Meridian, the actual border. My feet were in the Yukon, my head was in Alaska, and a warm sun was overhead. Even now, ‘tis a fond memory. Several people stopped at the monument, and the Lord allowed us to give out a few Gospel tracts.

Late, we parked at a fuel station for the night. The lady inside claimed to be a believer and gave us a free meal. This was a huge blessing. The next morning, it was a long ride over to Tok under a mostly sunny sky (mentioned above). Some witnessing encounters come to mind: A cyclist from Juneau was pedaling to Anchorage. Originally, from Oklahoma, he was sporting a Sooner flag and talked a lot about college football. The season will be starting soon, and there is nothing like college football in the South. I will be sad to miss it. Anyway, he took a tract but didn’t seem too interested, making a very foolish statement: “You have your Gospel; I have mine.” His, of course, was a reference to Oklahoma Sooner football. Something so eternally meaningless was “gospel” to this man? Oh, this saddened me. I kept running into this gentleman that day, and we offered to share a hearty lunch we had cooked outside a gas station at Northway Junction. I think he was so uncomfortable with our Christian witness that he turned down a free meal in favor of purchasing overpriced grub unfit for a dog inside the store. Sadly, Ricky later saw that he left the Gospel tract on a table inside. Maybe the Lord meant it for someone else. Pray for this young man. Much later that day, I ran into another bicycle tourist. Solomon was from Anchorage and was pedaling to Haines. All his gear was homemade, including panniers made from kitty litter containers. It gave me a lot of good ideas for my next big ride, if there ever is one. Solomon was very open. I believe he was Jewish, and he promised to read the Gospel tract, appreciating my promise to pray for him along this journey.

Ricky and I rolled into Tok very late, praying specifically for some refuge for the night. All day, we had tried without success to contact a church in town about parking in their parking lot and joining them for worship the next morning. All were dead ends. One pastor’s wife basically told Ricky: “We have no extra beds; you should call another church.” I was reminded of an old song by The Band. I starts a little something like this: “I pulled into Nazareth feelin’ ‘bout have past dead. I just need some place where I can lay my head. Hey Mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? He just grinned and shook his head; no was all he said.” Undaunted, we ducked into the Grumpy Grizzly Cafe, confident that the Lord would make provision before the day was done. Our waitress was a young lady who attended the local Assemblies of God church. She said her mother was a pastor and claimed to be a Christian “all her life.” I mentioned that we are born in sin and must be born again. Sadly, this young lady had no clue about biblical salvation; and as I took her through the Law of God, highlighting our guilt before a Holy Creator, and then explained the propitiatory death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ and the free gift of salvation upon our repentance and faith, she bore an expression on her face as if she had never heard this message. What in the world do they preach at that church? Please pray for Lisa; she at least seemed open and promised to read the tract.

As we feasted on some fried chicken in that place, two motorbikers from Tennessee sat down beside us. Carl, originally from Oklahoma, noticed Ricky’s OU t-shirt and initiated a conversation. These had just been to Sturgis and were finishing up a tour of Alaska before heading back home. To make a long story short, Carl briefly left the restaurant, and when he came back, he threw a room key down on our table. “We got you guys a hotel room for the night; you look like you need it.” Then, he paid for our meal. I was overjoyed; the Lord did provide as we believed He would. Carl and William quickly scooted out of there before we could even give them a Gospel tract, asking us “to put in a good word for them with the Big Man upstairs.” These obviously were not saved, but the Lord used them, and I pray He will reward them for their kindness to a couple of traveling preachers, drawing them unto salvation. It troubled me that these left before I could even give them a tract. Their room was beside ours, but they were in bed when we arrived. I left a note on one of the Harley’s, expressing our deepest gratitude and pleading with them to knock on our door before they took off.

The hotel room was really nice, and we slept well. The next morning, I awoke early, but our benefactors were gone. I never even got to give them a Gospel tract. This saddened me, but the Lord is in control. Please pray for Carl and William. May the messages they paused to read on the back of the S.A.G. trailer prick their consciences all the way back to their homes. I still marvel over the Lord’s provision in this matter.

That morning was a rainy Lord’s Day. Sipping coffee in the hotel lobby, we shared Christ with a couple of locals and then went looking for a place to worship. We found a quant little whitewashed church building and ducked inside. It was an uplifting service there at Faith Chapel. The pastor preached on hell and exhorted the believers unto evangelism, appealing to obedience rather than concern with results. This was refreshing and a lift to our spirits. I thanked this man afterwards, and to make a long story short, the church folks allowed us to do laundry and spend the night in the adjacent log cabin parsonage. What better day to take rest than the Lord’s Day. Oh, that was a cozy refuge out of the rain. The pastor also took us out to lunch where we joined other believers around the table. It was a good time of fellowship. Monday morning, we found it difficult to leave Tok.

Monday, August 17, was a day of milestones. I passed 3,000 miles for the entire journey. I eventually reached the official end of the Alaska Highway at Delta Junction. I pedaled 50 miles straight without my feet touching the ground (previous record was 42). By the end of that segment, my bladder was about to explode; I knew I should not have drunk so much tea that morning I actually thought about trying to somehow relieve myself into one of the water bottles while pedaling so I could reach the record. Thankfully, this did not come to pass. A couple of times, however, Ricky did hand-off food to me as I whisked by. At the 50 mile point, I jumped off the bike, ran into the woods, and felt much better a couple of minutes later. I went on that day to bag the fourth century-long day of the journey, the longest single day of pedaling for this journey, and my all-time personal record for miles pedaled in a single day. At 11:50pm, I skidded into an isolated pull-off with my odometer reading 151.86 for the day, shattering my record from seven years ago by 15 miles. Glory to God!

Earlier, we stopped to cook spaghetti at a picnic table in Delta Junction. No one was about, so we put out a few Gospel tracts around town, if you could even call it a town. From there, the remaining 42 miles to the sesquicentennial pull-off was difficult but satisfying. Moose were everywhere, and while crossing the Tanana River, I caught a marvelous glimpse of the Alaska Range and what I thought to be Denali, the Great One. Later, I discovered that this was Mt. Deborah, but the view was astounding nonetheless. I even paralleled the Alaska Pipeline at some points.

Tuesday of this week was a day most miserable: 63 miles to the Livengood Jct. north of Fairbanks in an incessant rain. The one high note during the ride was lunch at a little cafe in Salcha. As I was taking off my rain gear, a rough-looking man approached and made inquiry about my journey in a manner laced with profanity. He then brashly recommended taking advantage of the Alaskan women up in Prudhoe Bay. I replied, “Sir, I have a lovely wife of twelve years that is most appreciated and amazingly satisfying. Why would I want to throw that away and do something so stupid?” As he returned a blank stare, I offered him a Gospel tract. Expecting a harsh rejection, he paused, and then with sincerity said, “Man, I really appreciate your testimony. Thank-you.” Perhaps the Lord will do something in that man’s life.

From Salcha, it was a long ride on a busy highway through Eielson Airforce Base and into the town of North Pole. I was covered with road grime and soaked to the core. There comes a point when even Gore-Tex no longer works. Under a mini-mall awning in North Pole, I tried to dry out. ‘Twas cold. The final 20 miles were to the junction north of Fairbanks where I will soon head up toward the remote James Dalton Haul Road. Thankfully, we had refuge that night with Dan, a fellow-believer, who lives north of the city up here on a sweet little forested dome. Tonight, we will share fellowship with Jenkins Family. These contacts were a result of an encounter with a brother in Idaho many moons ago, and we rejoice at how the Lord orders our steps (Proverbs 16:9) Today, the skies are clear, and I pray this is the beginning of the typical crisp and clear September weather typical in these parts. Rain will make the Dalton Highway most miserable. Again, please pray for good weather.

Today (Thursday, August 20), we hope to hit the streets in downtown Fairbanks. Pray for boldness and divine appointments. The rest of the time is being spent stocking up, cleaning up, and preparing for the last 500 miles. Keep us in your prayers, especially the next ten days or so. The potential for flat tires, running out of gas, a breakdown, or a plethora of other problems is high, especially considering the news I discovered about my truck yesterday. What can we do but press on and trust the Lord? Lord wiling, I will try to make some sort of contact with you all from Prudhoe Bay when, and if, we arrive.

Until then, fervently pray; glean from the Word; and boldly share your faith in Jesus Christ. Don’t forget the specific prayer requests mentioned above.

Respectfully Yours,
Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer.

P.S. Last night, I watched a documentary about a guy who walked across the Brooks Range of Alaska a few years ago, battling horrendous bugs and weather the entire way. If he could endure that with nothing but a backpack and a few supply boxes airdropped along the way, surely we can endure, with the Lord’s help, whatever the Dalton Highway throws our way. This man sadly said, “If there is a heaven, and if I am good enough to get there, I hope it is like this [the arctic beauty of the Brooks Range].” As for us: “Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will joy in the God of my salvation. The LORD God is my strength, and he will make my feet like hinds’ feet, and he will make me to walk upon my high places [or, in my case, pedal to my north places].” (Habakkuk 3:17-18).

Cast Down But Not Destroyed

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 03:03:53 -0400

Greetings, beloved, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. This morning, I awoke to the rain beating on the tin roof of a little one room cabin we were forced to rent yesterday here in Whitehorse. Though expensive, it was a cheaper option than any hotel room. Ricky and I can hardly move around in here, and the nasty weather, combined with nagging pain in my legs (Is it possible to sprain one’s quadriceps in a crash?), a pain that is seriously inhibiting my ability to walk at the moment, forced us to stay put another day. The cold, the rain, the pain, the expensive nature of everything, our rapidly depleting funds, the incident with the ATV, the nonsense down in Skagway, and unabating loneliness all seemed to amalgamate and kindle an intense desire to call it quits and head home. As the day wore on, and the rain persisted, the resulting idleness only incensed that desire. Finally, much later than I should have, I went to the Word. I have been trying to memorize the Book of James, and several things hit me like a sledgehammer in my self-pity:

“Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and he will draw night to you” (James 4:7-8).

“Be ye also patient; stablish your hearts: for the coming of the Lord draweth nigh” (James 5:8).

“Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy” (James 5:11).

“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good [i.e. finish what I have started and complete the work God called me to do], and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17).

The only option was to press on. So, around 5:00pm, I bundled up in my rain gear, threw the mountain bike in the back of the truck, and had Ricky drive me back to the scene of the hit-and-run. Enroute, I thought about how Whitehorse and the surrounding area is known to be a major hub of the occult here in Canada. I guess I should not be surprised about what happened last week as I approached the Yukon’s capital with clear Gospel truth flapping in the wind: “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood . . .”

So, with a macabre defiance of the intimidation, I climbed into the saddle and ignored the pain. With a bold Gospel message on the back of my cycling jersey, I pedaled 41 miles (much of it in the rain) from the very spot where the Evil One tried to take me out all the way through Whitehorse and on to Portage Creek. Now, I am back in this little one-room cabin, and I again find it difficult to walk. Nevertheless, in this cold, wet ride, a victory was won and certain fears were overcome. The weather forecast for the next several days looks grim. Please join with us in fervent prayer that the Lord will override the forecasts of men with pleasant conditions that allow us to put miles behind. Today, I saw two flocks of geese heading south. The leaves are started to turn. We cannot afford to lose many more days.

Date: 8/10/2009
Current Location: Whitehorse, Yukon Territory
Total Miles Pedaled = 2,581.1
Best Dumpster Diving Treasure = badly needed rear brake assembly for mountain bike
Places of Refuge found with Canadian Believers = 7
Bear Encounters = 12
Fastest Speed Attained on Bicycle = 42 mph
Recent Interesting Witnessing Encounter: Chinese gold miners at Dease River Crossing

Despite the attempt on my life nearly a week ago and the nonsense with the police down in Skagway (Beware the lies they are putting out in response to some of your emails), the Lord has been “very pitiful and of tender mercy” (James 5:11) to Ricky and me up here in Northern Canada. Cast down, but not destroyed . . .

Foremost, it was a miracle that this journey did not come to a screeching halt when I was run over by that ATV. The fact that I was not seriously hurt or that the bicycle was not destroyed is the subject of continued contemplation in my mind. Thanks for all your prayers. May the man who did this come to repentance as Saul of Tarsus did after persecuting the churches.

Before that incident, however, a lot happened since my previous update in Stewart, British Columbia more than two weeks ago. I must give testimony of these things. In Hyder/Stewart, Ricky and I sat in the truck, waiting for a break in the rainy tempest. It finally came, and we had more than a week of hot, clear days up here in the Far North as I pedaled to the end of the Cassiar Highway and turned west on the Alaska Highway into the Yukon, almost making it to Whitehorse before being pummeled off my bicycle into the middle of the highway. Temperatures got into the 90’s a few days, and it was hard to stay hydrated. I thanked God for all the icy creeks and lakes that served as water sources and swimming holes. Now, a cool spell has swept in, and as mentioned, I have seen a couple of deciduous trees starting to turn yellow. Autumn and the snow will come to the Far North before long, and there remains a little more than 1,000 miles yet to pedal. Pray for us.

The Lord’s doings in the Stewart/Hyder area were far from finished as I signed off with a little epilogue in the last update. Soon thereafter, we met Rodger from Lynchburg, Virginia, a fellow Liberty University alum, in the Hyder laundromat. We hung out together all weekend and enjoyed the Christian fellowship. He bought us a couple of meals, provided some valuable information about sweet camping spots and fishing holes up in the Yukon, and hopefully, was exhorted by us unto boldness for the Gospel. I won’t speak for Rodger, but I know we needed the encouragement and the fellowship. Thanks, my brother.

Last update, I also spoke of us seeking out refuge in Stewart, waiting upon the Lord. After 36 straight hours in the truck, waiting for the rain to stop, we finally ran into Fernie Corbell, the pastor of the local Stewart Christian Fellowship, and his lovely wife. Wisely and rightfully so, they wanted to know what type of “Christians” we purported to be. I said, “the born again kind,” and we then realized that we were with a people of like faith and like mind. They provided us a room in the church, and that family was so hospitable toward us for the couple of days we stuck around: pizza, moose spaghetti, fresh salmon, hot coffee, etc. The first night we crashed at the church, a youth group from Zion Lutheran in Sacramento, California was passing through on their way back home from a missions trip in nearby Moricetown. They, too, stayed at the church, and I asked if I could join them for their evening time of devotion. Before I knew it, they asked me to share something with them from the Word of God, and I was then able to exhort a group of young people unto boldness for the faith. I was so encouraged by the response and was able to give out a bunch of Mark Cahill books about evangelism and supply them with some Gospel tracts for distribution. Afterwards, Pastor Fernie was apparently moved and asked me to stick around and preach for his congregation on Sunday. I assented, and, as is my custom, proclaimed to the brethren that Lord’s Day the filling of the Holy Spirit as boldness to speak the Gospel (cf. Acts 4:31), providing practical insight on how to go about sharing one’s faith in Jesus Christ. The response was overwhelmingly positive, and I considered the entire matter to be a divine appointment. For us, it was also good to be in the house of the Lord on a Sunday morning. Rodger came; we all had a good time, even though I preached until almost 1:00pm. Fortunately, there were no high windows through which anyone, having fallen asleep, could fall out as did the young man in Acts 20 when Paul was preaching long at Troas.

Saturday and Sunday were beautiful sunny days in a place where such is rare, so we got out and explored a bit. There were, of course, some witnessing opportunities. I already mentioned Tom in my last update. Please continue to pray for him; Fernie has been sowing seeds with this guy for awhile. I rejoiced that Ricky and I could water them. We also shared with a lady in the Glacier Bar in Hyder, the place where tourists go to get “Hyderized” (i.e. taking a shot of local moonshine). For me, no thanks! It was, however, one of the only restaurants in town, and the burgers were excellent. Then, there was a kid from Wisconsin playing around in the streets, an elderly couple from Colorado, and Gospel tracts that got put out in not a few strategic places. We also tagged along with Rodger out the Salmon Glacier Road to see an incredible washout (It will take them a while to get that fixed) and study a few grizzlies fishing for salmon on Fish Creek as well as couple of bald eagles. We also enjoyed the sun, mingled with the locals, answered twenty ridiculous questions every time we were stopped at Canadian Customs when coming back from Hyder, and I was able to finally put together the mountain bike I would soon need for rough, gravel sections on the Cassiar Highway and eventually the old Haul Road going north out of Fairbanks, Alaska to Prudhoe Bay. Thus far, this bike had simply traveled better in the box.

So, in Stewart Community Church’s side yard, I started tinkering and putting together only to discover that the rear brake assembly was stripped and unusable. The first real gravel section to be encountered, I had heard, would be a steep descent down to the Stikine River. Working rear brakes would be a matter of life and death, or at least health or grave injury. My OCD had me labor for hours trying to repair the spring system to no avail. Frustration then drove me to give up and contemplate the three-hour drive right back where I had come from to the nearest bicycle shop. Then, Fernie told about a nearby landfill, suggesting that we at least look around for an old bicycle. Ricky and I decided to at least give it a try. There were a few bicycle skeletons but nothing of any use. It reeked in that place, and the bugs were approaching Egyptian Plague status. We witnessed to the lady working out there, gave up our search, and then went back to the church, planning the drive back to Terrace and contemplating lost days as a result. As we drove up, Pastor Fernie was working on the bicycle. He had gone up to the landfill on his own, and we had just missed him. As he too was about to give up, he started digging under a pile of trash and found the back of a mangled bicycle buried therein. Sticking out was a rear brake assembly of the exact style that I needed. To make a long story short, it worked perfectly, better even than the original setup. My friends, this was the ultimate dumpster dive, divine provision of the highest order, right there in the little hamlet of Stewart, British Columbia. Just a few days earlier, I had complained that dumpster diving in Canada had yielded nothing; I only needed to be patient. The Lord was good, and as it turned out, I needed those brakes dropping down to the Stikine as I approached speeds of 40 mph on a gravel road with a mountain bike!

Oh, I could go on and on about our time in Stewart and Hyder. On Monday morning, after another home-cooked breakfast at the Corbell hearth and more precious fellowship, we finally took off, sad to leave the brothers and sisters who had been so good to us. As we drove back up the Stewart highway past the Bear Glacier and on to Meziadin Junction to rejoin the bicycle route, I thought about Paul with the Ephesian elders in Acts 20:37-38. Inwardly, I, too, wept sore. Thank God for His kingdom and the reunion that one day will be in that place. Fernie, Madeline, Rodger, Doug: If you are reading this, thanks so much for the fellowship and the kindness you showed toward a couple of traveling preachers. As 3rd John says plainly, this makes you fellow-helpers to the truth we proclaim out here in the highways and hedges. I will never forget that precious corner of the continent where we met. Everyone else, please pray for Pastor Fernie, his family, and the very difficult ministry that they have in Stewart. Pray that the church will thrive, stand firm upon the Word of God, and continue to be a light in that dark place. Pray for Doug (talked about him in my last email update), that the Lord will use him as a bold witness; and pray that Rodger will safely make it back to his home in Virginia.

After getting back into the saddle, I pedaled nine straight days: 66 miles, 101 miles, 41 miles, 70 miles, 75 miles, 55 miles, 17 miles, 77 miles, 74, miles, then CRASH! Along the remaining 350 miles of the remote Cassiar Highway (#37), in particular, we were blessed with refuge in three believing homes for three straight nights. Oh, the Lord was good. The Apperloos in Dease Lake fed us and put us up in the nice little “prophet’s quarters” in their church. The Vicory’s in Jade City lived in an amazing log home completely off the grid. They, too, fed us and gave us beds in their cozy basement with the intoxicating smell of fresh cut wood to help induce slumber. It was so dark down there; I loved it. At 37 Junction, the Kube’s fed us for free in their little cafe and then gave us beds in their home for the night. At all three places, much-needed hot showers were a huge blessing, and the fellowship was spiritually uplifting. Thank-you, my newfound friends, for the kind hospitality you showed toward a couple of traveling preachers. May the Lord return the blessing upon you all tenfold, no, an hundredfold. I still marvel at how the Lord has answered prayers concerning refuge and believing contacts up here in Canada. Three nights in a row on one of the most remote stretches of highway along the entire journey, WOW!

The hospitality shown by these folks put to shame a troubling experience with the pastor of the Baptist Church and his congregation in Whitehorse after the incident with the ATV. At first, this man seemed very helpful, as I wrote when I let you all know about the wreck. However, as time proved, all he could do was talk about himself while we were basically left hanging in a church parking lot with no effort from anyone there to try and meet some of our basic needs (e.g. access to a bathroom, a place to do some laundry, a home-cooked meal, a bed to sleep in AFTER BEING RUN OVER BY AN ATV, etc.). That Wednesday night, hardly anyone at the church even spoke to us when we attended service, and that after being asked to give testimony of the wreck. The next morning, following a long night in the parking lot, the preacher showed up and had the gaul to say, “Man, I wish there was more that we could do to help you guys out.” I bit my tongue and marveled at how clueless some Christians can be. For these reasons, once I got the bike back from the shop in Whitehorse, we just packed up and left. Seeking real rest, we drove down to Skagway, Alaska and were forced to fork out money for lodging there and back here in Whitehorse just to get the healing rest that I needed.

Oh well, that troubling situation simply highlights in my mind all the positive interaction we have had along this journey with extremely kind and overtly hospitable believers. Many a time, a home has been opened to us; a meal has been prepared for us; and provision has been sent with us. There are simply too many people to name going back to the journey’s beginning in northwest Minnesota. Thank you all! Besides, as we sat in that church parking lot one night, forced to use a patch of woods across the street at a school for restroom purposes, the Aurora Borealis put on quite a show. We were enthralled, at least able to forget about the trials for some moments. All praise to the Maker of the dancing lights!

Back to the journey: Shortly after resuming the ride from the Cassiar/Stewart Junction, I eclipsed 2,000 miles on this cycling slogfest. The place was the top of a hill with thick forest lining both sides of the road. Mountains were visible to the north and the south; the sun was hot; the flies were a nightmare; and the heat meant wildlife was nowhere to be seen. Still, it was a good feeling. Soon thereafter, as mentioned, I needed the mountain bike, and thanks to the Stewart landfill, it was ready. The gravel sections were actually fun, and areas of road construction meant witnessing opportunities with the crew and cold drinks given out in the name of the Lord Jesus. So, I had to do a bit of switching: pack up the old warhorse, get out the mountain bike, pack up the mountain bike, get back on the old warhorse--a bit aggravating, but good preparation for the upcoming Haul Road up to Prudhoe Bay.

All up the Cassiar, the bugs were crazy: mosquitoes, blackflies, horseflies, no-see-ums. At this moment, I am still covered by scabbed-over bites, pausing every few sections to almost claw my skin off. Even 100% DEET is not a fool-proof shield in these parts. Ugh. The heat, as mentioned, kept the wildlife off the roads; we haven’t seen much save a couple of stone sheep near Good Hope Lake and a grizzly grazing a few miles east of Continental Divide on the Alaska Highway.

Oh, but the witnessing opportunities, the most important part of the ride, have been abundant. I think of Alexandra, serving as a waitress in a little Dease Lake cafe. She was from Mexico and had no one in the area with which she could speak her native language. I shared with her in Spanish a bit and gave her a Spanish Bible and some socks. She was so grateful and tears began to well up in her eyes. Please pray for this young lady’s salvation. We also met a couple from Alaska in the process of moving to Boone, North Carolina so the husband could attend the very college where I have done a bit of street preaching. They took tracts. Of course, we also shared with road workers, a few RVers, a German bicycle tourist, Natives, a hitchhiker, some Chinese gold miners (I was so glad I had brought along those Chinese Gospel tracts), a Japanese family headed to the Northwest Territories, and an old man at Johnson’s Crossing. Socks have been given out to not a few the name of Jesus Christ, and the Word has gone forth in remote corners. Ricky has been very bold, and I am really proud of him.

One night, as I was walking around Dease Lake, I found a wireless internet signal at a small college facility. I was able to call my wife on Skype through my IPhone (This always garnishes lots of stares from locals seeing as there are no cell phone signals anywhere close) and was talking to her as I noticed a European bicycle tourist conversing with a local. I heard him say, “You must see this. I found it in a rest area bathroom recently, and IT’S ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS.” He pulled out one of my tracts and then went on about how hilarious it was. I started to confront him about the truth contained therein but sensed divine restraint. I watched from afar as the cyclist did not throw it away but put it back into his journal. I knew the Lord would use it, and in that instance, I just needed to leave well enough alone. I was encouraged to know that leaving tracts in the few rest areas we have encountered was not a vain exercise. Please pray for this young man, that what he deemed hilarious will soon be to him an amazing treasure that he will never relinquish.

Speaking of those Chinese gold miners, we met them at a little campground owned by believers. We had heard about these brethren from the pastor in Dease Lake and decided to stop by for a few hours in the middle of the day to encourage them. It was good fellowship, and Denis, the owner, let us swim in the lake and take the canoes out. It was good fun and helped energize me for another 30 miles that evening. Denis had recently sold the place to Chinese miners and was transitioning out. The miners were around that day, and the Lord allowed us to water seeds that this brother had already been planting. The Chinese tracts made an impact; I could see it on their faces. I am amazed at how the Lord orchestrates things. That evening, the 30 miles to the Vicory Home just south of Jade City was the best stretch of road over the entire journey. I had the Cassiar Highway all to myself. I skirted a strange storm pattern, had precious cloud cover, beheld sick peaks, and even laid down in the middle of the road for a short siesta. I knew no cars would come. Oh, this one pyramidal crag caught my eye--The Needlepoint. I wish I could have climbed that, but there was more important work to be done.

In Good Hope Lake, I preached to a group of Native teenagers. You can see some video footage of this by CLICKING HERE. They seemed open and really appreciated the tracts and socks . . . Sorry, my thoughts are so random and scattershot at the moment. So much has happened, and I keep remembering stuff.

Finally, I crossed into the Yukon, after pedaling more than a thousand miles in British Columbia. The Cassiar was suddenly behind me, and I made a left onto the Alaska Highway. From this point, things seemed a little more vast; the bugs weren’t quite as bad; and the air got smoky as massive forest fires burned in the vicinity.

At Continental Divide on the Alaska Highway, we paused at this campground/lodge/cafe to get a cup of coffee and ponder a day of rest. We met two brothers from Wisconsin who were on their way to Alaska to do a little street evangelism and carry a big cross through Anchorage. These two retirees (Rick, a contractor; and Tom, a former schoolteacher) saw my flag and the Gospel messages on our trailer. We had some good fellowship, and they bought us lunch. Unfortunately, the transmission in Rick’s truck had died, so they were waiting for a tow truck to come from Whitehorse. When they did leave, we were able to slide into the camping spot for which these had already paid that night. The Father provided once again! We all prayed together before they left, and I petitioned the Lord that the truck could be fixed promptly so that the journey could be continued and the mission completed. Like me, these were away from their wives and trying to be obedient to the Lord. I felt a special camaraderie. Please pray for these brothers.

That night, I had a dream that I quit in the Yukon because of some incident and went home, gravely regretting it long thereafter. In fact, this has been a recurring nightmare throughout this journey. Two days later, I was hit by that ATV, and it seemed this dream was coming to pass. May it never be! “We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed . . .” (II Corinthians 4:8-9).

From Continental Divide, it was two long and uneventful days through Teslin, Johnson’s Crossing, and Jake’s Corner before everything came to a crashing halt on the highway. Quickly thereafter, I had to deal with my sudden reluctance to witness. The next morning, after a toss-and-turn night in a church parking lot, we hit the streets of Whitehorse, the capital of the Yukon and a major Canadian center of the occult. I was limping a bit but determined. There were some good conversations; we distributed tracts on Main Street; socks went out to some less fortunate in the name of Jesus Christ; and I got to preach using a rope trick to a group of Natives outside a bar. Let’s see, we also witnessed that day to some Germans, a man from Switzerland, a couple of Filipinos, and a lady from Mexico. All in all, ‘twas good medicine and a snub toward the Evil One who tried the day before to completely derail the journey.

Of course, I already wrote about the time in Skagway, A.B. Peak, the harassment from the police department there, and the divine protection as we took the Gospel to the streets. As important, I really did find healing rest in that place.

Please pray for continued provision as we press on. Things are very expensive up in Canada, especially gas. The other day, we had to pay the equivalent of $4.28/gallon. Also, the hit-and-run has cost a lot of money in terms of lodging and having to stay put, something we did not anticipate. In so many ways, the Lord has provided on this journey, so we do not despair. Just pray that He continues to do so. Wy wife and children will be coming up here in a little over a month. I am trying to talk my parents into flying up as well and all of them meeting Ricky and me at the finish line in Prudhoe Bay. That would be special; the will of the Lord be done. Pray also that my legs will heal.

Just for your information, I am also doing a blog for TCK Slog Series, an outdoor sock line that I helped to design a couple of years ago. My job with Twin City is very flexible and allows for a little extra income, sort of like Paul with his tent-making enterprise. CLICK HERE to check out this blog. Also, if you want some good socks (I am definitely not a salesman, so I would never recommend something I didn’t truly stand by), pick out a pair of TCK Slog Series at www.slogseries.com, or consider Racesox, our competitor’s line, at www.racesox.com. Use the online code “TRAILER” when placing the order at either site, and you will get 25% Off. This information is advertised on the sides of my S.A.G. trailer, so I thought I would simply share it with my audience. I don’t think any of you will be up here in the Yukon to see it for yourselves, and I don’t think my bosses will mind. As for me, I donned a pair of TCK Slog Series Terrace Rolls back in Badger, Minnesota when I began this cycling adventure. I am still wearing the same pair more than 2,500 miles later. It’s certainly not necessary, but maybe I should change out my cycling socks. They have certainly proved their worth. Nah, if it’s not broken, why fix it?

Tomorrow, Lord willing and with favorable weather, we leave Whitehorse and head back into the woods. 350 miles to Alaska. 600 miles to Fairbanks. A little over 1,000 miles to the finish line. Cast down, but not destroyed . . .

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

P.S. It has been brought to my attention that some of you have received a response from the Chief of Police in Skagway regarding your inquests. Beware these lies. First of all, we were not blocking a bus turnaround with a camper. I don’t have a camper, and it was a scenic overlook, not a bus turnaround. Moreover, we were parked on the shoulder near a sign that read “No Parking, EXCEPT on Shoulder.” The police officer acted like a jerk from the beginning and said we could not camp there, even though that is not what we were doing, only cooking a little breakfast. We agreed to leave, and that is when he picked up the Gospel tracts and told us it was illegal to distribute “this type of literature” without a permit from City Hall. That is when I protested and made reference to our Constitutional rights and decisions handed down on the matter from the United States Supreme Court. This statement was made by the Chief of Police to a friend of mine: “He [i.e. the officer] stated that if they [Ricky and me] wanted to distribute handbills to contact city hall and they would help him. I cannot fathom why any Christian, wanting to spread Gospel tracts would baulk [sic.] at such a request. If they were turned down at THAT level, then a viable concern is warranted. It appears to me that maybe some people are traveling around looking for a fight, rather than spreading the gospel.” Sir, with all due respect, I will balk at a blatantly unconstitutional law that not only requires a permit (something we could not obtain, even if we wanted to, for the evangelism we planned to do on a WEEKEND) but charges a $100.00 deposit for it. I love how guys like this try to turn things around an blame it on the Christians “looking for a fight” and then do everything possible to cover up the rogue and inappropriate actions of officers in their charge. This chief sounds a lot like Chief Tom Adkins in Hickory, North Carolina. The two must know each other. Anyway, I am sorry to rant a bit. Ricky and I don’t need to defend ourselves. It would have been foolish for us to be looking for a fight right after I had survived one with that ATV. Just beware the lies, and thanks for writing in to express concern about a blatantly unconstitutional municipal ordinance. Evil triumphs when good men do nothing; and persecution comes when Christian men say nothing.

Even in Skagway

Sat, 8 Aug 2009 16:06:22 -0400

Greetings brethren. Presently, I am nursing myself back to 100% and am quite confident that I can get back on the bicycle soon. To clear our heads, Ricky and I drove down here to Skagway, Alaska, hoping for some witnessing opportunities and a little respite back in our own country. Miraculously, my injuries after being run over by that ATV, were minor, as was the damage to the bicycle. A shop owner in Whitehorse, despite being very busy, worked late one night to fix the bike and then wouldn’t charge me a dime for it. That was a real shot of encouragement after battling depression and disheartenment for a couple of days following the attack. I did file a report with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but they did not seem too eager to pursue. I argued that this was a hate crime, and it was; but the response was a mere “We’ll look into it.” Had I been a homosexual or a Muslim in the same situation, there is no doubt in my mind that they would be combing the hills even now, looking for the perpetrator. Truly, our world is turned upside down. Nevertheless, we carry on. The Lord is good; your prayers are greatly appreciated. Thanks so much for all the encouraging emails and voice-mails that I received from many of you these past few days. I have no cell phone service in Canada, so I am unable to return the calls, but I could at least receive your messages down here in Skagway. I was greatly strengthened and uplifted by all the kind words and prayers.

Unfortunately, I am saddened to report that the trials and tribulation has not abated. Yesterday, down here in Skagway, we cooked breakfast at a little overlook above the town. While doing so, a busload of tourists from one of the docked cruise ships pulled up to catch the view. As the people loaded back onto the bus, we distributed Gospel tracts without incident. About ten minutes later, a policeman showed up and told us that we had to leave. He also picked up one of our tracts and said that it was against the law for us to distribute “these things” in Skagway. We were required, he said, to obtain a special permit from City Hall. I politely protested, arguing that the First Amendment of the Constitution of the United States afforded us the freedom to share our faith without a permit. I also informed him that several clear United States Supreme Court rulings, one as recent as 2002, stated that it was unconstitutional for any municipality to restrict or require a license for the distribution of religious literature (e.g. Schneider v. New Jersey; Lovell v. City of Griffin, GA; Watchtower Bible & Tract Society of New York v. Village of Stratton). Of course, this only angered the officer, and he replied: “Son, you’re not in North Carolina anymore. This is Skagway, Alaska.” I then came back, “Well sir, this is the United States of America, and the same Constitutional protections afforded us in North Carolina apply to us here in Alaska.” He got his dander up, said something about making a Constitutional battle, and then stormed out of there. It was clearly communicated, in my opinion, that we would face arrest if we tried to distribute tracts anywhere on city property.

I actually looked up the city code of ordinances and was amazed to note a blatantly unconstitutional provision (8.02.090) that not only required the obtaining of a special permit to distribute literature but demanded the payment of a $100.00 bond for the issuance of said permit. After speaking with my attorney at the Alliance Defense Fund, I was confident that this ordinance would not stand up in federal court and that we should carry on as planned.

Today, with one cruise ship still in dock, there were people milling about downtown. Ricky and I canvassed the town and distributed a number of Gospel tracts, praying for divine protection and blindness on the part of the authorities. The same police officer from the day before was roaming around, but he never seemed to take notice of what we were doing. I believe the Lord blinded his eyes. All in all, ‘twas a good day of labor and helped me to put the ATV hit-and-run out of my head.

Regardless, this ordinance needs to be challenged and protested, at least in some small way. In a small corner of Alaska, of all places, we were told that we could not share our faith in Jesus Christ. Truly, America is turned upside-down. There is something we can do to at least bring the issue to the table in this small town:

Please telephone or email the Skagway Chief of Police or the Mayor and express your concerns over the above-mentioned ordinance and the treatment that Ricky and I received as fellow-Americans simply desiring to share Jesus Christ with others through harmless Gospel tracts. If we flood these offices with emails or phone calls, as many of you did back when my brother and I were arrested in Hickory, North Carolina, perhaps other believers who come to Skagway to share their faith will be protected from harassment. Here is the relevant contact information:

Chief Ray Leggett
Skagway City Police
907-983-2232
r.leggett@skagway.org

Mayor Thomas Cochran
907-983-2297
t.cochran@skagway.org

A wise man once said, “Evil triumphs when good men do nothing.” Let me adlib: “Freedom is lost when Christian people say nothing.” Please assist us in this matter.

Aside from the incident with the Skagway Police, yesterday was refreshing. A mere three days after being run over by an ATV, I decided to assess the state of my health by climbing A.B. Peak. The trailhead is just outside of Skagway and starts around sea level. The summit, five miles later, is over 5,000 ft. The Lord saw me to the top after a brutal slogfest; I needed that time alone in the wilderness to clear my head. ‘Twas cloudy, typical Southeast Alaska, but the scenery was incredible amidst the rocks and tundra grasses above treeline. The seaport of Skagway and the docked cruise ships were visible thousands of feet below, and sick peaks with huge glaciers were all around. All was quiet on the summit, and I made up a little summit register with a tract and a Gospel of John. Navigating thick brush (prime grizzly habitat) on the way down that evening made me a little nervous. I simply sang old hymns very loudly so as not to suddenly startle any dangerous wildlife. Finally, I made it back to the road, and Ricky gave me a ride back to the hotel room he had gotten for us that afternoon. Though a little sore, the time alone with the Lord in the woods was good. It was impressed upon me strongly that we should carry on.

Despite the tribulation, much has happened for which we all can rejoice since my last major update in Stewart, British Columbia more than two weeks ago. I am currently working on an update detailing these things and hope to get it out to you sometime tomorrow. Truly, the Lord has been good; and undoubtedly, many of your prayers have been answered.

This Lord’s Day, we left Skagway on a good note. Over breakfast at a smoky corner cafe, I overheard a waitress talking about how bad things had been for her lately. I sensed a conviction to engage her, sharing my experience with a few recent bad days (if you know what I mean). While blessing her with a very healthy tip, I spoke of Jesus Christ and how He had changed my life. She said, “I need a life change, and promise to read this,” pointing to the tract I had given here. I know this was a divine appointment. Besides, I heard someone recently say how he was giving out much larger tips than normal in restaurants. “I would rather,” he spoke, “see these hard working people get it than for the Obama government to take it from me in taxes.” Good idea, I suppose.

After this encounter, we drove back to Whitehorse without any trouble crossing back into Canada. Today, I thought that I could resume the journey. It didn’t happen. My legs started hurting really bad yesterday evening, and this morning, I could hardly walk. So, we had to fork out more funds for lodging, this time a quaint little cabin overlooking the Yukon River (cheaper than an actual hotel room). Please pray hard that I can resume pedaling Monday morning. I am concerned about the days we are losing.

Please keep praying for us, particularly for our safety. Twice on this journey (once on Mt. Sinopah and also with that ATV), I came dangerously close to death and complete derailment of this mission. In both cases, the Lord miraculously delivered. “He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6). We press on.

Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

Urgent

Wed, 5 Aug 2009 16:04:36 -0400

Greetings, friends. We need your prayers. Last night, I was the victim of a hit-and-run about 35 miles east of Whitehorse, Yukon on the Alaska Highway. A man tried to run me over twice with his car and was unsuccessful. About half an hour later, I saw a guy on an ATV drive by on a trail. I waved at him, not knowing at the moment it was the same fellow. He drove up onto the road, came up from behind, and ran me over while traveling pretty fast. As I lifted my head up from the pavement to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator, he was screaming and cursing while driving off. My first thought: this was the same guy. The only possible motivation for this was hatred for the Gospel message on the flag that I was flying. I had never seen this guy before and had been on a remote section of road most of the day.

Anyway, I am banged up pretty good, but miraculously, I show no major injuries. My head smacked the pavement hard, but the helmet did its job. Earlier, I had thought about taking it off for awhile because I was sweating profusely. I didn’t, thank the Lord. I had also thought about changing into shorts and never got around to it. The long spandex saved my legs from turning into mincemeat. Ironically, the pannier bag with the attached flag took the brunt of the impact and absorbed the initial contact with the ground a split second before my left leg followed. Undoubtedly, this saved me from a broken femur and the end of this journey. The flag that this man hated so much actually proved a hedge to upend his intentions. Even as I sit here in pain, it’s hard not to chuckle.

All in all, the Lord God was very merciful. Ricky found me soon thereafter. We then packed everything up and came on to Whitehorse. A pastor of a little Independent Baptist Church here has been very helpful, and we are staying at the church. For now, I cannot ride. A good chunk of skin is missing from the part of my thigh that makes contact with the bicycle seat.

Interestingly, the man came back to the scene of the crime while I was in the truck and Ricky was packing things up. He must have come back to finish the job, but the presence of a vehicle obviously scared him, and he kept on going.

Please pray for us as we decide how to proceed from here. I am filing a report with the local police (not that it will do any good). Obviously, I need to heal. The bike is banged up a bit (most likely salvageable), and I will likely have to fork out some funds to get it roadworthy again. Also, we cannot afford to lose too much time as the snow will come sooner rather than later. I still have a little over 1,000 miles left to pedal. I am compelled to resume from the spot where the incident occurred because I am uncomfortable with skipping sections. Pray for wisdom in this.

I had an email update ready to send out, but this incident threw a monkey-wrench into that. The Lord has been very good, and much has happened since my last correspondence from Hyder, Alaska many miles ago. Last night’s incident doesn’t even come close to overshadowing all the blessings and witnessing opportunities of late. I will get that update, revised of course, out to you all as soon as possible.

Friends, I was targeted because I am a Christian. This is the only reasonable explanation for what transpired. Now, I embrace an empathy for believers around the world who know real persecution in a way that the arrest in Hickory last year didn’t even come close to creating. If anything, my resolve is strengthened. By God’s grace, we will complete the task; and I will not cease to preach repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ, even if it means my life.

Thank God I live to proclaim another day. I am confident your faithful prayers had a part in this. Pray for us with fervency. Pray also for those around the world who hazard their lives on a daily basis because of their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. For me, I have just had a taste of what these are fed day in and day out.

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus,
Jesse Boyd

Halfway and Then Some

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 14:01:50 -0400

Halfway, and Then Some

Greetings, those of you who have been following our bicycle missionary journey to the top of Alaska: It’s been almost two weeks since my last update, and yes, we are still safe and sound, weary, but safe and sound. All praise to the Most High God.

Current Location: Hyder, Alaska
Total Miles Pedaled = 1,962.7
Total Number of Flat Tires = 2
Bear Encounters = 8
Places of Refuge found with Canadian Believers = 3

At the moment, I am sitting in the back of the truck while it drops a steady, misty rain. We are parked alongside a raging glacial river just over the international border from Stewart, British Columbia in a solitary little American outpost called Hyder. After six straight days in the saddle, I packed the bicycle up at the Cassiar/Stewart Highway Junction last night, and we drove the forty miles down the side-road to this place. Today and tomorrow will be much needed rest days, and we intend to explore these adjacent backwoods towns, if you can even call them that. At least there’s gas here, a cafe or two, and a grocery store. We are praying for some refuge in the home of a believer as well. The blackflies and mosquitoes are a plague; Ouch! They are all inside the back of this truck. Get out of here! Ouch, bites all over me. Ricky is out like a light next to me and seems unbothered. Anyway . . .

So, we actually slept in Alaska last night. Hyder is a strange anomaly. At the very southern tip of the Alaska Panhandle, this place is separated from the rest of the state by water and big mountains. The community actually uses Canadian currency and observes Pacific time, except, that is, for the little federal post office building. They say it’s a rough crowd here; we’ll see if the missionaries get run out of town or not. It behooved me to come down here and actually cross into Alaska. Though anticlimactic after a hard day in the saddle, I finally tagged my 50th State. My father and I have enjoyed a bit of a contest for many years concerning who has visited the most States. While tied at 49 for a long while, I grabbed the victory late last night.

My previous update concluded in Clearwater where we found refuge at a little Bible Camp. The fellowship was sweet in that place, particularly with Duane, the camp administrator. While there, we also drove up into the Wells-Gray Provincial Park to behold some incredible waterfalls: deep, dark forests with icy torrents plunging hundreds of feet out of narrow chasms into bowl-shaped canyons far below. At one vista, I asked, “So, happenstance or the handiwork of a Mighty Creator?” This question then allowed us to share Christ with two young people from Kamloops. One girl claimed to be a “geologist” and thought she knew everything about everything, but at least she took a tract and promised to read it.

From Clearwater, the route proceeded north along the Yellowhead South to its junction with Highway 16, the main cross-country Yellowhead Route. Again, I battled some cold rain, and mosquitoes were a plague in the evenings as we tried to bed down. Notwithstanding, beautiful waterfalls, snowy peaks in abundance, green meadows, and the evening campfire kept my spirits up. Late one day at dusk, I was very hungry, and it was still a few miles to a suitable pull-off. A couple of Christian fishermen from Edmonton drove up and handed me a huge fresh-baked cranberry-orange bran muffin. They had seen me earlier and went and picked it up for me somewhere. Oh, it was tasty. Appalachian Trail thru-hikers would call this “trail magic,” but I call it a good gift from the Father of lights in whom there is no variableness or shadow of turning (James 1:17).

There has been other such provision out here along a route where beforehand we had zero contacts. The day after gobbling up that bran muffin, we started early, and I finally got to the junction with Highway 16, just outside Jasper National Park. Ricky and I decided to break for a couple of hours and drive east up to the Alberta border and check out Mt. Robson, the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies. Yeah, the ride was beautiful, but an overabundance of tourists and obnoxious RV’ers took away much of the fun. It rained on us as we were trying to cook dinner, and the price of gas up here in Canada had me quickly wondering why we were wasting it. Needless to say, the day only went downhill from there. It was about 5:00pm before I could get back in the saddle because of thunderstorms, and even then, I was forced to ride through a cold rain. Just before dark, a van pulled up with a man and his son inside. They asked if they could give me a ride, at least through the rain. It was tempting, but I had to politely refuse. It would have been “cheating.” As it turned out, these were believers from Prince George. We were headed that way, and this seemingly coincidental encounter eventually resulted in us having a place of refuge in their home a couple of days later. Ricky and I had specifically been praying about this because Prince George would be the last sizable city on our route for a long time. We wanted to hit the streets there, service the truck, do some laundry, and definitely get a shower. Again, we were in the right place at the right time, despite what I had perceived to be a wasted side trip up to the Alberta border and annoying thunderstorms that forced delays. More on Prince George later . . .

Back to God’s provisions: In McBride, after a few witnessing encounters, we ducked into a local cafe for a hot cup of coffee and some lunch (Groceries were low, and we were both too lazy to cook). Shortly thereafter, a lady came inside and asked if I was the one on the bicycle. Colleen, a believer from Quesnel, was on her way to Edmonton with her teenage son. She was so encouraged by the bold message on my flag and by our witness. We shared a few minutes of fellowship before she handed us Can$100 and departed. Later, as we finished eating, we discovered that she had also paid for the meal. “The LORD is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him” (Nahum 1:7). Along this route, we’ve also been given some bear spray (not cheap), gas money here and there, and a couple of tasty frozen popsicles.
I could go on and on. Yes, there have been difficult days and periods of discouragement. But, I Corinthians 10:13 has proven itself true time and time again. Just as the breaking point seems to approach, the Lord intervenes with some form of strengthening encouragement. Undoubtedly, such instances are specific answers to your faithful prayers for us. Thank-You!

Finally, after traversing some beautiful country, we rolled into Prince George. Dave, when offering me a ride the other night, had given me his phone number. So, I called, and he invited us over to crash at his place for a couple of nights. Oh, this was a blessing; what a precious Christian family! The Neuman’s had a large hot tub on a sweet little wooden deck behind their home. I had been dreaming about a hot tub to soothe my aching legs for many miles. Dave’s wife cooked us some wonderful grub; his teenage kids were a joy to be around; the fellowship and discussions about the things of God were uplifting; we did some laundry; the showers were nice and hot; and we had a base from which to target Prince George with the Gospel, service the truck, and get some minor repairs done on the bicycle.

Down in Prince George, Ricky and I gave out close to two dozen pairs of socks to the less fortunate, mostly Natives, in the name of Jesus Christ. I also did a little open-air preaching, and we distributed not a few Gospel tracts. Pray particularly for Paul who worked on my bicycle and a lady from Bangladesh who was working in a local Indian restaurant.

It was hard to say goodbye to the Neuman’s. They followed me up the hill to the edge of town, and we shared some iced lattes from Tim Horton’s (a sweet little Canadian coffee shop chain; I look for these with intent because they are cheap and the coffee is way better than Starbucks) before I pedaled off into the sunset. Dave and Laura, if you are reading this, words cannot express how thankful we are for the kind, generous hospitality that you showed toward us. May the Lord return the blessing upon your own heads tenfold, no, an hundredfold.

Since leaving Prince George, it has been six straight days in the saddle: 60 miles, 47 miles, 93 miles, 40 miles, 75 miles, 79 miles. A couple of rest days down here in Steward/Hyder are well-deserved and hard-earned. As always, there have been witnessing opportunities. We scattered some seeds in Vanderhoof while waiting out the rain, had a couple of conversations at highway rest areas, etc. As I passed through Fraser Lake late one afternoon, I called my wife on a pay phone. She informed me that she is pregnant with number three. Thank God for that flight back to North Carolina from Seattle as few weeks ago! The Lord answered our prayers in more ways than one, and I was overjoyed to hear the news. Despite what spiritually bankrupt American society says, “Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward . . . Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them” (Psalm 127:3,5). When I
got off the phone, I didn’t know what else to do but pedal. I busted out another twenty miles with a grin from ear to ear. Please pray for Jamie and for the little one inside her womb. Oh, that reminds me of another blessing. I was able to use my airline miles to get tickets for my family to come up to Alaska. It only cost me $10.00! They will be meeting us, Lord willing, in Anchorage on September 15. We will all journey back to North Carolina together.

The 93-mile day mentioned above was particularly difficult. I missed lots of witnessing opportunities due to fatigue and plain lack of desire. The face of one hitchhiker that I pedaled right by continues to haunt me. The route boasted some major hills, and as I finally dropped into Houston that evening, we made contact with the pastor of the local Baptist Church. These were his words, “I’d love to help you guys out, but I am getting ready for bed.” Such a statement needs no further comment. We left Houston, I pedaled on. We tried to camp just outside of town at a rest area, but the bugs and the mud were a nightmare. I was close to a spiritual meltdown, so I kept going. Up, up, up, I didn’t know I would have to climb Mt. Everest to get out of Houston. Finally, we found a large paved pull-off just below the Hungry Hill Summit. I was only seven miles from an unplanned century, and the temptation to keep going was strong. But alas, it was late, cold, and dangerous to be on the roads with the wildlife. So, I reluctantly exercised the same discipline that I have been forced to use just below the summits of a few peaks in my life: aggravating, but smart. An informational sign at the pull-off told of phantom 1,000 lb. grizzlies on this hill, so we bedded down uneasy. Beside me, the 12 gauge was loaded and ready with alternating shells: shot, slug, shot, slug. I awoke shortly thereafter to loud racket outside. The phantom grizzly had come. I popped the tailgate open, leapt outside, and lowered my weapon: nothing. As it turned out, a large field rat had crawled up into the truck engine and gotten stuck. Eventually, I flushed him out and got to sleep as dawn’s light arose in the east.

Morning came quick, and we dragged out of bed by 10:00am. I was in desperate need of some encouragement and mightily blew it with a couple of bicycle tourists from Kansas, neglecting to speak the Gospel. Frustrated, I busted out some push-ups while two highway crewmen looked on. I thought they were chuckling about the Gospel messages on our trailer as I fumed. Ricky and I then gathered behind the truck and prayed in earnest for boldness and a much-needed refuge for the night. Within five minutes, both of these prayers were answered. A fresh wave of boldness from the Holy Spirit (Acts 4:31) had me approach the two highway crewman and offer Gospel tracts. As it turned out, one was a believer, and later, as we prepared to leave, he approached and offered up his home in Smithers as a place of refuge for us that night. He said, “You boys look real discouraged and the Lord told me to come over here and ask.” Again, I Corinthians 10:13 proved itself true. Earl was a cool guy. He works for the Highway Department and likes to fly his little prop-plane all over the area in his spare time. His wife cooked us a wonderful meal; we got showers; we did laundry; the fellowship was sweet; the bed was more than comfortable; and morning came too soon. Earl, if you’re reading this: Thank-you, my friend. May the Lord reward you richly for the hospitality you showed toward us. And, next time, you’ll have to take me up in that plane of yours.

From that initial offer of tracts to Earl and his boss, there have since been numerous witnessing encounters as the Lord continues to give us boldness. We spoke with several in Smithers, a few Natives in Moricetown, travelers at Seely Lake (where we stopped for a refreshing swim), and of course, there was Tom, a unique character I ran into near Trout Creek. He saw the bicycle and the trailer parked out by the highway and came out of his house shirtless, with a big gold chain around his neck, shouting, “What is this, the holy-roller express coming through town?” I replied, “No sir, we’re just a couple of sinners saved by grace.” He came back: “Oh, you people are Americans. We shoot Americans up here.” I said, “I dare you to try. You’ll find that I don’t die easy.” He appreciated the bold humor, I guess, and we had a long conversation about the things of God. Tom just couldn’t conceive that Jesus Christ was the only way to God and that salvation is a free gift. Nevertheless, he took a tract and promised to read it. He said, “You’re telling me that same stuff my fishing buddy has been telling me for years.” I replied, “God is trying to get your attention pal. He even sent an American on an bicycle. You better listen.” Please pray for Tom’s salvation. I believe this was a divine appointment.

Finally, we got off the Yellowhead Highway and started north on the remote Cassiar Route (Hwy. 37) toward the Yukon. I was glad to leave that route some call the “Highway of Tears.” West of Prince George, numerous female hitchhikers have gone missing, presumably murdered, over the past couple of decades, and the killer has never been found. A couple of billboards begged women in large letters not to hitchhike. “Killer on the loose,” it read alongside pictures of a few victims. Troubling, terrible, sad.

On the Cassiar Highway, where services are sparse, the woods are thick, the wildlife is abundant, the mountains are majestic, and the road is lonely, there have been some opportunities to share the Gospel in a couple of Indian villages. In Gitwangak, I preached Christ to a young man as we stood amidst a slew of tall totem polls. In Kitwanga, we waited out the heat of the day and sipped coffee at a little cafe: a few tracts went out. In Gitanyow, some tracts went out, we saw more totems, enjoyed an ice cream sandwich, and I preached to a group of about ten teenagers. They at least listened, and a few took tracts. Shortly thereafter, the loop road through town turned to dirt, and I had to walk about 2 miles through an insane mess of mosquitoes back to the main highway where I rendezvoused with my S.A.G. wagon. Normally, I would have been freaking out, but I was on a spiritual high after preaching to those teens. That alone was worth the walk and the plague of bugs.

That night, I bathed in an icy river and relived old high school memories to Ricky in the back of the truck before we fell asleep. ‘Twas a spooky place where we camped. It never got fully dark; bugs were everywhere. I awoke late to relieve myself, and in doing so, took in a nice performance of the Aurora Borealis.

Yesterday was a long ride with only one opportunity to share Christ--a highway worker. Passersby could undoubtedly see the “Repent of Perish, Prepare to Meet God” flag unfurled in the headwind, and a few RVer’s gave me a thumbs-up. I saw two big black bears. One huffed and acted like he was going to charge. For a split second, I felt fear and reached for the bear spray. Beautiful purple flowers, patches of arctic cotton, sick glacial-carved peaks, and unending forest: such were the delights of a day in the saddle in the Far North.

Just for your reading enjoyment, here was yesterday’s menu prepared roadside on a camping stove:

Breakfast = fried eggs, sausage patties, a bagel w/jam, and a banana
Lunch = curried potatoes, ham & cheese sandwiches, fresh British Columbia cherries
Dinner = bratwurst with kraut inside of folded slices of wheat bread, raw carrots, a spoonful of Indian pickled mango

Well, we have a couple of rest days ahead here in Stewart/Hyder. We need food and a shower. Hopefully, I can find internet access to get this update out. Please continue to pray for us along this missionary journey. Things are real expensive up here; pray that the Lord will continue to provide. The Cassiar Highway continues for about 350 more miles before intersecting with the Alaska Highway in the Yukon. Some sections are gravel, I hear, so I will be pulling out the mountain bike for the first time. It’s actually still boxed up in the trailer, so I need to put it together down here in Stewart. Again, please pray for us. God has shown us much favor thus far, but there remains potential for real trouble out here in the middle of nowhere.

One final note: A couple of days ago, just outside Smithers, I attained 1,800 miles. Friends, that was only the halfway point. I marvel at what the LORD has done these past couple of months, and I spiritually salivate thinking about what is yet to come. Halfway, and then some: we press on!

For the Word and God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

Epilogue:

Well, we sat around all day here in the Stewart/Hyder area, and it is still raining. The back of the truck is leaking, and we are trying to stay dry, parked here behind a bottling plan. The day was not without a few highlights, however. Tom, a Hyder local, let us take a shower inside this bottling plant. It was actually a nice facility, and ‘twas good to get clean. I gave this man a pair of TCK Slog Series and a Gospel tract for his kindness. He was very grateful and is letting us park here behind the warehouse. At least we have an electrical hookup, so I can finish this update. We also hung out with Doug, a Christian fellow who attends the local Independent Baptist Church. We exhorted him unto a closer walk with the Lord, and he seemed appreciative. It’s a bit aggravating traveling between Hyder and Stewart because one has to stop at Canadian customs and answer a bunch of stupid questions each time. There is no American customs; it burned down a few years ago. In fact, there is not even any police here in Hyder. The locals pretty much police themselves--a very interesting corner of America. If one wanted to escape Chairman MAObama and his minions, I guess Hyder would be one of the better options. Hmm, I may actually want to seriously consider this as our nation continues to plunge toward Soviet-style Communism, government control from cradle to grave, and eventual re-education camps. Oh well, I’ll keep preaching. GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES!

Back in the Saddle

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 16:51:15 -0400

Greetings, beloved, in the name of the Most High God, the Maker and Framer of this great wilderness through which I now ride. For, “the LORD hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet” (Nahum 1:3). Thank God for Jesus Christ: salvation to God (Romans 5:1-2), and salvation from God (Romans 5:9).

Current Location: Clearwater, British Columbia
Total Miles Pedaled = 1,290
Sasquatch Sightings = 1 (CLICK HERE to see)
Price of Gasoline in Canada = $3.50-$4.00/gallon
Price for a dozen eggs = $2.50-$3.50/gallon
Gatorade/Powerade for the Ride = no longer an option, way too expensive.

*VERY IMPORTANT: If you recently received an email, claiming to be from FPGM, and making some ridiculous request for money, please disregard this. The ministry’s email account was spoofed last week, and I was flooded with thousands of messages returned to me that were supposedly sent out by me. I know not what they said or where they went. Thankfully, I believe the problem is now solved. We, here at FPGM, would never beg anyone to wire us money via email, so please don’t do it, thinking the request is legitimate.

Much has transpired since returning from our brief stint of refuge with my family back in North Carolina. The return flight to Seattle was ridiculously long, and my luggage was lost for more than 24 hours. Flying domestically in the States has become such a hassle. Formerly free amenities now cost an arm and a leg, and they treat you like garbage. A passenger has to pay extra now to transport a piece of luggage, and even still, they cannot send it to the right airport. Just for information’s sake, I don’t recommend flying Delta. Awful!

Anyway . . . back in Seattle, we headed for Yakima where I had a speaking engagement at a little Baptist Church where Jamie and I used to attend. Enroute, we camped off the road below Mt. Rainier and did a little climbing up in the Tatoosh Range. There was so much snow, and it was fun to teach Ricky some technique with an ice axe. Our attempt to summit Pinnacle Peak ultimately failed because there was only one ice axe between us. Oh well, the views of Rainier were incredible, an overall gorgeous day. Back in 2002, Dylan Harris and I climbed Rainier, my first real mountaineering expedition. It was nice to be back with the mountain again and to praise its mighty Maker (Amos 4:13).

In Yakima, the fellowship with old friends from Bible Believers Baptist Church was special. A former member who died of cancer a few years ago was a special friend of ours, and he left some money to FPGM for the printing of Bibles in his will. We used every cent of it toward Project Jagerna in Nepal, and we included a small statement of dedication to this lover of God’s Word in the preface of the first John/Romans editions that came off the press. It was nice to be able to show this to the people there and to share about the work. As is my custom when given opportunity, I exhorted the body unto boldness and faithfulness to proclaim openly the Gospel of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. Please pray for this little church. They have experienced some real trial and tribulation over the past couple of years in a very difficult and spiritually dark corner of the country. Still, the believers there endure.

From Yakima, we traveled back to Idaho to pick up the trailer and then proceeded back to Whitefish, Montana, the place where I had ceased pedaling so as to recover after that spill on Mt. Sinopah. It was the weekend of July 4th; Dylan Harris drove up from Oregon; and our friend, Todd Bradshaw, got off work for a few days. These two joined us for the weekend, and we took the opportunity to climb up in Glacier National Park. The road to Logan Pass was now open, so that made for short approaches to some pretty impressive peaks. Besides, Sinopah had left a sour taste in my mouth. I needed some positive closure with that place. Friday night, about 9:00pm, we slogged up Mt. Oberlin, and Ricky, after going 0-3, finally bagged his first summit. From the top, we observed a fiery sunset and soaked in some incredible views. Three young park workers showed up while we were on the summit, and as they soaked in the view, Dylan asked, “So, the product of blind chance or a mighty Creator?” One girl actually responded, “Oh, definitely blind chance.” Another replied, “Probably some combination of both.” Fools (Psalm 14:1)! One ultimately took a Gospel tract, but I heard them mocking as we headed down. Sad, but true. Galatians 6:7 immediately came to mind. Notwithstanding, however, our spirits were not dampened. Navigating cliffs and sliding down snow fields in the light of a near-full moon was awesome, and we finally bedded down in our trucks around 2:00am. Funny thing happened where we were parked: In the spot where one of us urinated, mountain goats came quickly and licked it up. I guess you don’t see that too often. Also, we had a sasquatch sighting up on Oberlin, and Dylan was able to snap off a quick photo picture. Check out some of the recent photos I posted to FPGM’s Great Commission Gallery, and see if you can find this interesting shot.

Early the next morning, some hail and a bad thunderstorm rolled through. Huddled in the truck, I thought there would be no climbing this day. Quickly, however, things cleared off, and Dylan, Todd, and I set out for Mt. Reynolds, a Matterhorn-like spire just above Logan Pass. This Independence Day was gorgeous, and once we got away from the bottleneck of people slogging up the snow to a nearby lake, the exercise became quite enjoyable. Our desire was to attack a route across the precipitous north face that involved a sick little game trail right across the face itself. When we finally reached the game trail, however, there was still patches of ice in there with nowhere to maneuver above or below, only loose rock and sheer drop-offs. Images of former accidents on nearby Going-to-the-Sun Mountain and Mt. Sinopah came to mind, but I was persistent. Thankfully, Todd talked some sense into us. Gentlemen, he said, “We’ve all got families.” That was all Dylan and I needed to hear. We bailed therefore on that route and traversed around to the south side, praying we could find a suitable route from the southwest. The Lord answered those prayers, and we finally crested the summit. The views were absolutely incredible, and the air was still. We watched a thunderstorm to the north, put some Scripture and a Gospel tract in the summit register, and then headed down. Reynolds had been on my list for awhile, and it was nice to finally bag it, especially while enjoying sweet Christian fellowship with a couple of good brothers. All in all, ‘twas a nice little adventure. We saw a few mountain goats, lots of incredible wildflowers, marmots, and snowy crags in abundance. I love the mountains, but I love their Maker more.

Back at the truck, Ricky had done quite a bit of reading, and we finally hooked back up. A bath in a powerful ice-cold waterfall just off the road went beyond refreshing into the realm of pain, but at least the B.O. was gone. That night, we camped out at a Highway 2 pull-off just outside Kalispell and enjoyed some last moments of fellowship before Dylan and Todd went home the next morning. Thanks, guys, for coming up to hang with us. The fellowship helped me transition smoothly from being with my family to the loneliness of these Canadian highways.

Aside from the peakbagging adventures, the weekend with Todd & Dylan also yielded a few witnessing opportunities. I already mentioned the encounter atop Mt. Oberlin, and a few more Gospel tracts also went out in the national park. On Friday, as we all drove over from Idaho, we stopped in the tourist town of Sandpoint and hit up a beach at a local lake. I got to share the Gospel with a couple groups of young folks using a little rope trick, and quite a few Gospel tracts were passed out. A group of beer-chugging tattooed slackers became very hostile when Dylan tried to share about Jesus. They openly mocked our Saviour and spewed forth utter blasphemy with no conviction. What is wrong with people? Oh well, the Word of God never returns void (Isaiah 55:11).

Sunday, July 5th, was lonely, to say the least. Dylan and Todd were gone; I was really missing my family; Ricky doesn’t talk much; etc. The Lord was good, however. We “randomly” popped into a little independent Baptist church there in Kalispell that morning and heard some good preaching. The pastor found out about who we were and why we were there and then spoke some refreshing exhortation right to us from the pulpit, urging us to press on and to complete the task. He then asked his flock to jot down our names and commit to pray for our journey. I was humbled and thereby blessed. The fellowship was good, and I chuckle as I remember how we shaved and got dressed for church that morning in a warehouse parking lot.

Sunday evening, I climbed back on the bicycle near Whitefish and busted out about 30 miles, tagging the 1,000 mille milestone somewhere in the forest along U.S. Highway 93 just south of the Canadian border. Our last night in the United States, we camped in a gravel pit below a full moon, a blanket of stars, and the silhouettes of innumerable firs.

Monday of this past week, we crossed into Canada, but not before doing a little seed sowing in the last American town of Eureka. We handed out a few tracts and had some good conversations. Eureka was also the last place to stock up on supplies before having to pay ridiculous Canadian prices. The border crossing was surprisingly easy, and I was shocked that they didn’t even ask to see the shotgun and rifle that I declared for protection against wildlife. No trailer search, no ridiculous interrogation, no question about the Gospel messages all over the trailer and the boxes of tracts and Bibles inside, all was smooth and quick. We were out of there in ten minutes. I considered this to be a specific answer to prayer. The Lord is good. Sadly, we will probably be treated like criminals by the Americans when we try to re-enter our own country.

Canada, thus far, has been difficult. Gasoline, groceries, everything is so expensive; and the culture is a bit different. Witnessing is tough, and there seems to be a spiritual darkness that pervades. Please pray for us as we make our way up through British Columbia toward the Yukon and then on into Alaska. There have been some bright spots. In Skookumchuck, a Christian lady running a campground gave us a discount and was encouraged by our work. Also in that place, we were able to share Christ with some Dutch folks that recently moved there. Later, in Golden, I had an interesting encounter with Trevor, who claimed to be inspired by the teachings of Hinduism and that we are all part of the essence of God. I was pretty bold with this guy, appealing to his conscience and rebuking him for claiming to be open-minded yet refusing to at least read a Gospel tract. In the end, when he found out I had actually written the tract, he received it with gratitude and promised to read it. Obviously, he had been pricked in some way. He urged me to go check out some mediation center in town since I was interested in spiritual things. I replied, “Trevor, I’ve stopped searching. Jesus found me, and if He can save a wretch like me; He can save you as well.” Please pray for this young man.

In BC, my plan was to pedal up through Kootenay, Banff, and Jasper national parks in the heart of the Canadian Rockies. However, at the entrance, upon learning about ridiculous entrance fees (i.e. if you stop for the night) and the requirement that you camp in a campground ($20/person/night), we started looking for another route. Through the tourist traps of Radium Hot Springs and Golden, the traffic was a dangerous menace, and discouragement quickly set in. One day, I just kept pedaling and didn’t stop until my odometer read 104 miles for the day and the clock almost read midnight. During one leg, I even went 42 straight miles without a single dismount. Needless to say, I soon had some serious saddle sores to show for it. That night, we pulled over at a mosquito-infested rest area in the rain. Just a few miles back, a herd of elk stampeded out into the highway right in front of me in the darkness. It was a close call. In those moments, the temptation to quit was strong. I was sick of it raining on me every day, sick of the traffic, overtaken by culture shock, and just plain weary. But alas, “Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall. My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me. This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope. It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:19-23).

So, I continued on to the end of Highway 95 and then joined the Trans-Canada until it reached its northern zenith before turning south toward Kamloops. After much contemplation and prayer, we decided to pack up the bike and drive over to the same latitude on the Yellowhead Highway (5) in the next valley to the west. This road would climb north and intersect with the original route as it exited Jasper National Park. That way, we could escape about $300 in national park costs and avoid the highly traveled and very dangerous Trans-Canada as it winds through the mountains toward Vancouver. Speaking of traffic, British Columbia has no real interstates, and main thoroughfares, like the Trans-Canada and the 93/95 see lots of big trucks, RV’s, and obnoxious tourists. I have had not a few close calls, and strangely, the traffic seems to come in bunches: several minutes of quiet, then 10-15 vehicles (including a few big trucks) flying by you at highway speeds. I detest it, especially since the shoulders are not that great.

Our route alteration turned out to be of the Lord. Truly, “A man’s hear deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps” (Proverbs 16:9). The ride through Glacier and Mt. Revelstoke National Parks was awesome (no fees if you do not stop, impossible on a bicycle), and at a truck stop in Malakwa, we were able to witness to a couple of young ladies. Crystal seemed especially open, and I considered it to be a divine appointment. Please pray for this lady’s salvation. A hearty meal and a hot shower at that place were added blessings. So, we drove down through Kamloops and started up the Yellowhead until well past midnight. A sweet camping spot along the Thompson River was a fitting conclusion to a very long and exhausting day that started with fifty miles in the saddle.

Yesterday (Friday, July 10), we went into the town of Clearwater to do laundry and get some much-needed groceries. I had pedaled more than 300 miles in five straight days and needed some respite. I specifically asked the Lord to put believers into our path. What resulted was refuge at a little Bible Camp here in town, a couple of free meals, fellowship with solid believers, and a place to clean up and recuperate. The Lord is very good; His provision is abundant. There have also been a couple of good witnessing encounters here in town. I think especially of Jordan, a troubled young man who seemed hostile at first but then softened and took a Bible. He asked me to write my name and email address in the front. Please pray for this man’s salvation.

So, that’s the skinny from the past week or so. We would much appreciate your continued prayers. Specifically pray that God will continue to put believers into our path and provide places of refuge in this unfamiliar place. Pray also that we will be bold despite the spiritual darkness and hostility toward the Gospel. Pray the Lord to provide for Ricky, in particular. He has almost run out of money, and we are trusting our Heavenly Father to provide. FPGM also saw a major unexpected expense last week as the ministry vehicle (Jamie’s only source of transportation while I am out here on the road) chalked up a $1400.00 repair bill. That was supposed to be gas money for this missionary journey. I don’t mention these things because I am discouraged but because I am excited to see how the Lord will again take care of His people. As always, your prayers are coveted.

Well, I should sign off. The day is growing long, and we probably need to hit the road. I know not where we will sleep tonight or what we shall see. Alaska, or bust!

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

P.S. CLICK HERE to check out FPGM’s Great Commission Galleries for updated photos derived from the events described above. I have added pictures to the “Montana” Gallery and have since created “Home & the Pacific NW,” “More Montana,” and “British Columbia” Galleries.

Over the Mountains and a Southern Sortie

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 14:44:22 -0400

Greetings, my friends, in the name to which every knee will one day bow, the Lord Jesus Christ (Philippians 2:10-11). All is well on the Alaska Missionary Journey front. Thanks for your prayers.

Current Location: Hickory, North Carolina
Total Miles Pedaled = 985.5 (Badger, Minnesota to Whitefish, Montana)
Miles Before Crossing into Canada = 65
Number of Encounters with Grizzlies = 1
Near Death Experiences = 2
Sasquatch Sightings = 0

Yes, at the last minute, the Lord worked it out for Ricky and me to fly back to North Carolina for a few days so that I could be with my family before beginning the long, remote route through Canada. Truly, my Heavenly Father is never late; He’s never early either, always right on time. The plane tickets were completely provided for, and the drive over to Seattle from Western Montana, of course, allowed for some street fishing in unexpected places. Tomorrow, we return Seattle where I need to pick up the truck at the home of some friends. Wednesday night, I will be preaching at a church in Yakima. Thursday, we pick up our trailer at a friend’s house in Idaho; and then Friday, Lord willing, I start pedaling toward the Canadian border, hoping to cross that evening. As always, we covet your prayers.

Since leaving Great Falls a couple of weeks ago, much has happened. After that week of rest in the Beierle home, the Lord helped me to bust out 100 miles on the first day. A mere fifty or sixty just wasn’t going to cut it. I had to get into the mountains. All day (through Cut Bank, across the Blackfeet Indian Reservation, and into Browning) the front range of the Rockies could be seen, never, however, seeming to draw any closer. The headwinds were gnarly, and I only averaged a hair over 10 mph. Finally, I came upon groves of alder and the roots of the mountains. Never in my life had I been so glad to see trees. Tears actually came to my eyes, and mixed with the sweat, this became a salty mess. I just wanted to keep pedaling. For dinner, Ricky and I cooked some rice on the side of the road with jagged crags to our left and expansive prairie to the right. In a weird way, the vast landscape I had battled and cursed for nine hundred miles was suddenly fading behind me. I found myself missing it. Now, I had to cross the mountains. Uphill, yes, but every up has a down, and with curves and corners, one cannot see what is ahead and can at least imagine good things. That evening was a real slog up and over a pass, but I attained 40 mph on the seven-mile downhill into the small town of St. Mary. Years ago, Jamie and I passed through this place, and I remembered a little cafe where one could get excellent homemade fruit pies. I sent Ricky ahead and then rolled up five minutes before closing. A big fat piece of raspberry pie was waiting. ‘Twas a special moment. As dusk approached, I pedaled on into Glacier National Park, by this time striving for 100 miles on the day. The route with a large glacial lake on one side and daunting cliff walls on the other was splendid. A rockfall warning sign, I learned, takes on a much more serious meaning while on a bicycle as opposed to inside of a car. Nothing fell on me, thank God. Uphill, uphill, uphill toward Logan Pass. As the last light of day faded around 11:00pm, I rode up on a large grizzly bear in the middle of the road. He just stared me down; I was slogging uphill; there was no escape. So, I just made a lot of noise just like they tell you to do. He scampered off into the woods. For a few minutes, I heard him traipsing beside of me under cover of the forest--a magnificent creature. As my odometer hit 96 miles for the day, I ran smack dab into a road closure in the pitch dark. Spring avalanche damage had halted the opening of a 33-mile section of Going-to-the-Sun Road up and over Logan Pass down to Avalanche Creek. Ricky would have to shuttle me all the way around to resume from the other side of the barrier. Oh, I was frustrated. Only four miles from a century, and I was stopped dead in my tracks. So, I turned around and pedaled east until that odometer read 100. It was an awesome downhill, and I felt strong. The knee was healed. Thanks for your prayers concerning that weeks ago.

That night, we found the sweetest of all camping spots alongside a mountain back road. I had only seen stars like that a couple of times in my life (atop White Mountain in California with Bishnu last summer and in Texas’ Guadalupe Mountains with Jamie back in 2003). How can people deny the existence of a Creator? Fools (Psalm 14:1)! Hey Russ, if you are reading this, the bucket bath thing you taught me over in Ladakh has come in real handy out here on the road. That night, under a curtain of stars with slight flickers of the Aurora Borealis, I boiled a couple pots of water, grabbed my trusty bucket, and a much-needed bath on the edge of a burned-out forest made me feel like a new man. Ricky remains skeptical about the bucket bath; but I’m the one who sleeps much sounder.

The next morning, having pedaled much farther than anticipated the day before, we decided to take a break and climb a mountain before driving over to the west side to resume at the other end of the road closure. I thumbed through my peakbagging guidebook for Glacier National Park, remembering the last time I had a summit itch in this place. I took a scary fall just below the summit of Going-to-the-Sun mountain and never wanted to mess with the loose trashy rock in these mountains again. Well, I was back. This time, I opted for Mt. Sinopah, a pyramidal crag at the head of Two Medicine Lake. It looked daunting but doable. A steep couloir would be a challenge, but I welcomed some technical climbing. So, Ricky and I slogged through several miles of nice forest and saw a couple of sweet waterfalls. Then, it was a nasty bushwhack up through alder thickets to tree-line and mountain meadows. Before I knew it, the sick little couloir was staring me in the face. I made Ricky stay behind to soak up the awesome view of neighboring peaks as I pushed for the summit. There was lots of snow in the couloir and I was thankful to have an ice axe. Water was streaming over the cliff bands, and the rock was typical Glacier National Park loose nastiness. I traversed a couple of snow fields and stayed on rock as much as possible. Some serious exposure and a few Class 4 moves had me wondering how in the world I would get back down. Finally, I reached the summit, a knife-edge ridge with amazing views. All praise to the Maker of the Mountains (Amos 4:13)! Quickly, I snapped a couple of photos, put together a summit register with a Gospel of John and a few tracts, and penned these words in my journal: “Wow! Weather is coming in. How will I get down? Scary. Lord, make my feet like the mountain goat (Habakkuk 3:19). Ricky is somewhere far below and probably worried. Gotta get off this mountain. So, help me God!” . . . Yes, the Lord eventually got me off that mountain and back to the truck with Ricky in an annoying afternoon rain, but not before I took a frightening 100+ ft. tumble down one of those steep snow chutes. There was no way I could descend the rock, so I had to kick steps and carefully position my ice axe down the 50-60 degree snow. I made it down one chute, then two, and then traversed across some scary small fissures. In the third chute, I kicked a solid step out and then pulled out my axe to reposition. The step collapsed, and I started tumbling end over end. Stupid me had forgotten to take the protective rubber end off my ice axe, and I tried to pull it off to no avail as I was falling. Thankfully, the Lord gave me the presence of mind to perform the self-arrest techniques I had often practiced. With my life flashing before my eyes and dangerous rock bands quickly approaching, I rolled over and dug in with all my might. The “rubber-protected” end grabbed, and I came to a halt. Oh, the rock was so close. I looked up, and blood was splattered on the snow. Uh oh, I was hurt; maybe the ice axe stabbed me in the fall. I sat up, felt around; all my limbs were there; no major injuries. Where was the blood coming from? Oh, merely an inconsequential gash on my left pinky finger. I never knew a small cut could bleed so much. I paused with tears welling up in my eyes. It was not yet my time. “Thank-you, Lord. If you still aim to use me, I am willing,” I prayed. I had almost gone home that afternoon, but it was not yet time. I presume some of you were praying for me at that moment. Thank-you; your prayers were heard. So, that’s two technical climbs in Glacier National Park and two scary falls. Maybe I should take a hint. Nonetheless, the mighty Sinopah was conquered. CLICK HERE for some summit footage that I took just before the fall. God is good.

Anyway, there were a few witnessing encounters in the park that day, and it was a long drive over to the other end of the road closure. Once we crossed the continental divide, windswept hillsides gave way to deep, dark coniferous forest--sasquatch country. We camped that night alongside the Flathead River in thick trees. ‘Twas a bit spooky.

The next morning, I awoke feeling like I had been run over by the very trains that kept passing by in the night on the nearby tracks. It was then I discovered that I had sprained my wrist pretty bad, and I could hardly walk--major whiplash, I guess. It was all I could do to bust out 27 miles from the western road closure down to the little town of Hungry Horse where we found refuge for the night at a little Bible camp. Back at Avalanche Creek, where we found the road barrier, Ricky and I had to wait out the rain and deal with obnoxious tourists for hours. Finally, I mounted the bicycle and started pedaling along the river and Lake MacDonald, only, that is, to see a sign that read “No Bicycles on This Road 11:00 am - 4:00pm.” It was merely 3:00pm, so what was I supposed to do? Stupid federal lands with their nonsensical regulations! I actually almost made it through the seven-mile “closed zone,” but with less than a mile to go, Miss Park Ranger showed up. Naturally, she acted very suspicious, especially eyeing my “Repent or Perish” Christian flag. Of course, “backup” came to her aid, and they had to discuss me for some minutes. Had I been pedaling down the road with a head scarf, a turban, and a bomb strapped to my chest, they probably would have just waved and drove on by. But no, a Christian flying an offensive Bible message is just too dangerous on federal lands, I guess. Anyway, I explained that I was pedaling to Alaska and that I had to maintain a continuous route as much as possible. I had no idea of this so-called rule until riding up on the sign, and my support vehicle was nowhere around. Finally, I was freed to continue. Ahh, federal lands, the National Park Circus, you gotta love it.

That night, after making camp, we drove over into Kalispell for a little street fishing. Having crossed the mountains, we encountered a bit of a culture change. To sum things up, I am accustomed to hitting the streets with a woven and brightly-colored purse-like bag that I obtained in Guatemala several years ago. It is perfect for carrying my Bible, Gospel tracts, and a few witnessing supplies. All through Minnesota, North Dakota, and Eastern Montana, this bag brought strange stares and a few whispers. On the west side of the Rockies, it fit right in. In Kalispell, the Lord reminded me of an important Scriptural truth: The Lord is no respecter of persons (Romans 2:11); shame on me for being so (James 2:9). Oftentimes, I look at people and assume they will respond to the Gospel a certain way, preparing for an ugly encounter. This night was no different. A rowdy group of teenagers was gathered on a street corner making gestures to passing cars. I knew we had to give them the Gospel, and I warned Ricky that it was probably going to get ugly. “These reprobates won’t listen. Prepare for a good cussing, especially from the kid in the cut-off gray t-shirt,” I said. Just the opposite happened. Those kids humbly listened, especially the one in the cut-off gray t-shirt. I took them through the Law of God, proclaimed Jesus Christ and His salvation. Ricky shared some testimony. Many took tracts, and there was very little interruption. I recall one seventeen-year-old pregnant girl. We promised to pray for Misty and begged her not to abort the child, something her so-called “boyfriend” was pressuring hard. I told her to call me, pointing out the contact information on the back of the tract. Jamie and I would take the baby and raise it in the fear and admonition of the Lord if she needed us to. I really meant those words, and she started crying. Please pray for this young girl; that God would silence the pressure of her boyfriend and convict her unto salvation and a desire to raise her child in fear of God. May God protect the life of that little baby. It was a good night out there on the streets in Kalispell. As I found out, it’s a mistake to assume someone will be closed to the Gospel because of the way they look.

After Kalispell, I could only pedal about 12 miles the next day over to Whitefish. My wrist and legs hurt so bad from that fall on Sinopah; I was done for the time being. Besides, ‘twas a cold, nasty rain all day with several days of it to come. So, after much pondering and prayer, we decided to drive several hours over to Rathdrum, Idaho to see a friend and then target the streets of Spokane, Washington, a decent-sized city that Bishnu and I had missed last summer. Enroute, we went street fishing in Libby, Montana and Bonners Ferry, Idaho. Tracts went out, and there were a few conversations. I pray the Lord used it. In Rathdrum, the fellowship with Todd Bradshaw was special. His wife and kids were out of town, but that family has been special to us going back to the days of Mammoth Lakes where Jamie and Rebecca had their first babies only a few days apart. Anyway, we sharpened one another spiritually; Todd’s front yard was perfect for cleaning up all our stuff after a couple of days of pedaling in the rain; we worshipped at my friend’s local church where the Lord provided a contact in Fairbanks, Alaska (something I had been praying for); we took an ice-cold swim in the Spokane River; and, at the seeming last minute, the Lord provided a couple of plane tickets to fly back to North Carolina if we could leave out of Seattle. What a blessing, for while nursing some wounds, I couldn’t pedal anyway. So, last Monday, Ricky and I made the 5 hour drive over to Seattle after hitting the downtown streets of Spokane. There were lots of people out that day, and there, Ricky preached open-air for the first time. The Lord gave him boldness, and I was proud. I also preached a couple of times to a tough crowd outside a bus station. Hecklers abounded, but the Word did go out. CLICK HERE to see some video footage. We also distributed socks in the name of Jesus Christ to quite a few homeless and initiated some interesting conversations. Again, ‘twas a good day of proclaiming the Good News. 
In Port Orchard, we stayed with some friends that Jamie and I met on our first bicycle missionary journey. This precious family let me leave my truck in their driveway, saving us the ridiculous cost of parking at the SeaTac Airport. It was a long flight last Tuesday, but the last several days of fellowship and quality time with my girls have been rejuvenating, to say the least. Thank-you, O Lord. And, thanks to the believers of New Testament Christian Fellowship for taking care of and entertaining Ricky while here. He, too, has been energized for the long road ahead. Finally, thanks to a faithful and long-time supporter of this ministry for providing the plane tickets. You know who you are, and we love you. May the Lord return the blessing upon your own head tenfold, no, an hundredfold.

Tomorrow morning (Monday), we leave out early. Please pray for us. It will be a long flight. Hopefully, we can camp near Mt. Rainier tomorrow night, and then, Lord willing we will make our way over to Yakima where I will be sharing with the brethren at Bible Believers Baptist Church on Wednesday night. Then, we must return to Rathdrum for the trailer and then back over to Whitefish. From there, the route turns north. Almost 1,000 miles down; several thousand more to go. So, help us God. Friday night, late, pray for us as we try to cross the border. We are carrying lots of Bibles, Gospel tracts, and supplies, as well as two long guns for protection against wildlife. I think I have obtained the proper paperwork and pray that the authorities give us no trouble. The laws in Canada are much stricter than here, and hate crime legislation has been used up there to try and silence Christians. To be honest, I don’t know what to expect. So, please just pray that a bicyclist with a Christian flag and a S.A.G. vehicle with Gospel messages all over it don’t run into any trouble tying to get into that country.

Pray also that the Lord will continue to make financial provision for this journey. He has been more than faithful thus far, and thanks to those of you who have been a part of this. Fuel prices continue to climb, and this translates into around $4.00/gallon in Canada. Everything else is way expensive there too. May we be good stewards, and may the Lord meet our needs.

Before I close, there was an interesting aspect to God’s timing with regard to our southern sortie. Hickory Alive is going on this month and next, so we joined forces with believers from New Testament Christian Fellowship last Friday and targeted that debauched festival. That is the same venue where Matthew and I were arrested last year for distributing Gospel tracts CLICK HERE to see the arrest video. This time, armed with documents from our attorneys and letters from the City of Hickory promising protection of our First Amendment freedoms, the police and the Jaycees knew better than to give us any trouble. Praise God, for a victory was truly won last year, thanks to the prayers, emails, and phone calls of many of you. Many Gospel tracts went out Friday night. I open-air preached a little. We walked around wearing sandwich boards bearing convicting Scripture messages. There were numerous good conversations. And, aside from hecklers or the taunts of drunks and hypocrites claiming to be Christians, we had no trouble. At one point, a few of us were distributing tracts down where beer was being served. I looked up and found myself standing beside the man from the Jaycees who made so much trouble for us last year. He and his friend rambled on and on to each other about how much they could not stand people like us. But this time, there was nothing he could do to stop the Word from going out. I couldn’t help but praise the Lord for such a victory. Pray for that man’s salvation. A couple of years ago, he told me that he hated the message of the Bible. If the Lord can save a wretch like me, He can easily change that man’s hate into love for the Word of God. Oh, the night was good; and it was so encouraging to partner with a sizable group of believers. Right now, I think of Alex, Bo, Chad, a Catholic woman, and several others that heard the Gospel and seemed pricked. Please pray for the salvation of these.

Well, I better sign off. There is so much more I can write, but to be honest, time would be better spent this afternoon with my wife and daughters. I dread bidding them another farewell tomorrow. ‘Tis a necessary sacrifice (Luke 14:26). Pray that the Lord gives me strength in this and that Ricky and I will continue to speak boldly.

So, we came over the mountains and took a southern sortie. What could possibly be next? Stay tuned . . .

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

P.S. I have uploaded more photos to the blog site from the events described in this update. To view, CLICK HERE.

The Highline and Great Falls

Sun, 14 Jun 2009 10:49:46 -0400

The Highline and Great Falls

*Current Location: Great Falls, Montana
*Total Miles Pedaled = 846.3
*Number of Near Death Experiences on the Bicycle = 1
*Best D-Mart Treasures = Sun-dried Tomato & Basil Cream Cheese and a bunch of Capri-Sun drinks

Greetings, beloved, in the name of God the Father, the Great Spirit (John 4:24) and the Creator of all things, and the Lord Jesus Christ, the only One who can save us to God (Romans 5:1-2) and from God (Hebrews 2:3).

Since my last update in Malta, I have pedaled another 200+ miles on U.S. Hwy. 2, otherwise known as Montana’s Highline, and we have been busy about the work of the Gospel here in Great Falls, one of the largest cities near our route thus far. Since Wednesday of last week, we have found refuge in the home of Chuck and Lola Beierle, a precious couple whom I had never formally met until we arrived. Amazingly, all the way out here in Great Falls, Mrs. Lola heard about Matthew and me getting arrested for handing out Gospel tracts in Hickory, North Carolina last year. A friend from Great Falls, whose sister had seen it on the Charlotte News, passed the word along, and Mrs. Lola, along with many others across this nation, prayed fervently for us. She also sent an encouraging email to me and a strong opinion to the Hickory Police Department. Since, this couple has followed our ministry, and they were very kind to make their home a refuge for us in a place we had wanted to target here in Montana. The fellowship has been sweet as has the work of evangelism here on these streets. I am still amazed at all the good the Lord brought out of that arrest last year. So many we did not know from Adam prayed for us, and as a result of the incident, the Lord has put many faithful and precious believers directly into our path. Truly, we can “glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope maketh not ashamed” (Romans 5:3-5).

Oh, I have gotten ahead of myself. Back in the park in Malta, as Ricky and I huddled in the truck, waiting for the rain to cease, we decided to drive 18 miles back to the Sleeping Buffalo Hot Springs and fork out another $5.00 for a hot soak. That was at least better than sitting in a cold truck. What we quickly discovered was that the Lord was not finished with us in that place. Do you remember our divine appointment with Anthony? Well, we got to follow up with him a great deal. Truly, the Lord was doing something there, and I believe he is close to salvation. Also, we encountered Rose, a tattooed mother who worked at the hot springs “resort” and showed signs of a real difficult life. She was under conviction as I proclaimed the Gospel boldly. Rose spoke about having walked away from God years ago, but tears streamed down her face as we preached Jesus. Ricky and I prayed with her, finished our supper at the little poolside cafe, and then prepared to take a quick soak before returning to the park in Malta for the rainy night. Later, however, Rose returned and insisted that we stay there at the hotel free of charge. It was nothing fancy, but it was a warm bed out of the rain, and it was gratis. Oh, what a blessing. I was reminded of Jesus’ words in Luke 16:9. Staying the night, therefore, we were able to witness to lots of people: a droopy Canadian pervert who kept making obscene remarks about women, two of Anthony’s friends/co-workers, some young guys from Havre, and a skeptic with a devious smirk who thought the Bible was just a man-made book. All heard the message of repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. ‘Twas a divinely ordained set of circumstances that we marvel about even now. The next morning, a hearty breakfast in the cafe was free, courtesy of Rose, and as we finally departed that place, we found this note attached to our door: “Thank you both for coming to the Sleeping Buffalo. One kept my eyes closed for a few years. Thank you and our God for opening them again. Be safe. Rose.” The credit goes to the Lord. Please pray for Rose and Anthony, two certain divine appointments in Sleeping Buffalo, Montana. Both are close to salvation; may the Enemy not steal the seeds that were planted in their lives. I told both that I would have many people praying for them.

After our night at the Sleeping Buffalo, the rain became more intermittent, and by late afternoon, it looked like I could at least get a few miles behind me before dark. So, around 4:00pm on the Lord’s Day, we again headed west. All evening, it was as if the Lord put a hedge of protection against the weather around me and the bicycle. Storms were all around, sometimes having crossed my path just before I pedaled through or just after. Originally, I had only planned to do about 40 miles, hoping to camp for the night at a rest area in Fort Belknap Agency on the Indian Reservation. Unfortunately, upon arrival, the rest area was a boarded-up dump; and both Ricky and I had a strong sense that we were not welcome in that place. The Lord pressed upon us to get out of there, but not before He gave us a couple of witnessing opportunities with Native Americans in a gas station parking lot. So, I kept pedaling and didn’t stop until my odometer read 70 miles. I cannot believe I pedaled that far, not having been able to start until late in the afternoon, but ‘twas not regrettable: incredible cloud formations, a glorious sunset, a bit of wildlife, my first glimpses of the Rockies (the Little Rockies and Bearpaw Ranges to the south), a huge red moon rising over the prairie, and the cadence of my tattered Christian flag flapping in the wind. Late, we rolled into Chinook and found a park on the outskirts at a water treatment plant. Amazingly, the place had a heated and very clean rest room with a hot shower--a weird and definitely unexpected blessing out in the middle of nowhere. Praise God!

The next day, after witnessing to some elderly gentlemen in a Chinook bakery, the route continued on through Havre, where Ricky and I walked the streets and distributed Gospel tracts. Some socks went out in the name of Jesus to a few homeless, and later that day, Harvey Dustrude from Havre called my cell phone. Ricky had given him one of my Blunt Truth tracts that had the FPGM contact information on the back. Anyway, he called under real conviction, desperately wanting some more information. Tomorrow, I am mailing him a package with a Bible, some books, and a stack of those same tracts that he wants to give out to some friends. May the Word of the Lord not return void. Please pray for Harvey’s salvation. I knew that contact information would come in handy one day. The remainder of that Monday was sprinkled with a few more highlights: lunch and an afternoon nap in a Wal-Mart parking lot; bison meat spaghetti cooked in the parking lot of an abandoned school in a podunk Montana town; glimpses of freshly fallen snow on the Bearpaw Mountains to the south and the Sweet Grass Hills to the north; cold prairie solitude at dusk and a multitude of pronghorns, an owl, and lots of prairie dog roadkill. And, there was U.S. Highway 2 Milemarker 333, the HALFWAY point across Montana! So, help me God. All that day, the Lord again put a hedge around me against the weather. Torrential rain and hail could be seen falling all around, but it never dropped over me on the bicycle. Only as I finally rolled into the small town of Chester, after 84 miles, did I feel a few sprinkles. There, we camped at a highway rest area.

From Chester, it was about 55 miles over to where we packed up the bicycle and headed the 75 miles down Interstate 15 to Great Falls. That day’s ride was short compared to the day before, and finally, the main front range of the Rockies came into view. Soon, I will be out of this prairie and into the heart of the mountains. In Shelby, the last hub along Interstate 15 North before it ends at the Canadian border, we walked the streets, gave out some Gospel tracts, and talked to a group of punk teenage girls in the park. Tomorrow, Lord willing, I will resume the ride where we packed up along Highway 2 a few miles west of that town. Pray for me. These days of much-needed rest, I believe, have brought healing to my knee. It feels strong. Thanks for your prayers concerning this matter.

As mentioned, we have been parked here in Great Falls since the middle of last week. My bicycle has been in the shop, and I hope to pick it up tomorrow afternoon. I am also waiting on a care package scheduled to arrive from my wife tomorrow. Hopefully, I can pedal about 25 miles before dark tomorrow evening, stopping somewhere near Cut Bank. Anyway, much has transpired in this place.

For starters, I got my truck serviced at a local Midas, and this proved to be of the Lord. The mechanic found my transfer case plug missing and the transfer case therefore emptied of oil. I have no idea how or when this happened, but I’ve heard about pranks like this done to out-of-state vehicles on the Indian Reservations up here. Thankfully, no real damage had been done, and it’s now fixed. Again, the Lord directed our steps and protected us from a major problem far off the beaten path. Your prayers are being heard. Thank you.

The witnessing opportunities in this town have been abundant. Ricky and I hit up a local mall, the downtown streets one evening (where we gave out fresh socks and preached to some homeless, distributed a few Gospel tracts, and prayed with a lady concerning her rebellious son), and Saturday’s busy Farmer’s Market. Regarding the latter, we found a grassy spot in the public park, a place that saw lots of foot traffic between the two main sections of the market. There, I set up the paintboard and preached open-air for about four hours. Ricky distributed a mess of Gospel tracts, and many heard the Word of God. Early on, the manager of the Farmer’s Market came over and tried to shut us down. I calmly explained that I was on public property and had every right to be there. I invited him to call the police so we could talk about it and was intent upon taking the same stand we took in Hickory last year. Marv, the manager, got so angry at me and hurled a few threats right there in front of a bunch of people. I coolly responded, “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I am not leaving.” The preaching continued until the market shut down, and Marv never came around again. The Lord protected us from the authorities as we had prayed before getting started. I recall numerous encounters from the market that covet your prayers: some teenage kids who had never heard the Gospel and had never owned a Bible; Angie, a tattooed and multi-pierced atheist who took one of Mark Cahill’s books and promised to read it; a college kid who had read a little too much of Dan Brown’s farcical nonsense; and several Christians whom we exhorted to be witnesses for Jesus. All in all, ‘twas a good day of bold preaching and evangelistic outreach. I was hoping I hadn’t dragged that paintboard with me on this journey for nothing. To view a little video footage of me preaching at the Great Falls Farmer’s Market, as well as other clips from this missionary journey, CLICK HERE.

As busy as we have been here in Great Falls, Ricky and I found time to saunter along the Missouri River, following in the footsteps of Lewis & Clark. Oh, to have seen these places as those explorers did. What is happening to this world? Even so, come quickly Lord Jesus. Anyway, down near the river bank, we watched some baby Great Horned Owls fidget in the cottonwoods, reminisced about the trip on an exposed bluff, and listened to the clear bubbling waters of Giant Springs. The escape was much-needed and refreshing.

We also went hiking in the nearby Little Belt Mountains, and I bagged a small 8,290 foot peak. After more than 800 miles of prairie, it was weird slogging through snow, coniferous forest, and along a barren ridge that sported views of distant storms, prairie expanse and the mighty Chief Mountain to the northwest, surrounding crags, and deep valleys. There was a stillness up there that was intoxicating. All praise to the Maker of the Mountains (Amos 4:13)! The time we spent up there in corporate prayer energized us for the work at the Farmer’s Market the next morning. Later, as we investigated a sweet little waterfall, Ricky and I ran into a guy from Great Falls who knew about Newton and Conover, North Carolina. Weird? We got to witness to this man, and he took a Gospel tract--a fitting end to a memorable outing.

Well, this Lord’s Day has come to a close as has our time here in Great Falls. Fittingly, so should this email update. The hour is late, and I must rest. Thanks for all your prayers and continued support. The Father continues to provide, and the Word continues to go out. Pray for us this week as we cross the mountains and strive for Milemarker 0 on Highway 2 here in Montana. Then, it will be a short stint in Idaho to the international border, a break from the bicycle to target nearby Spokane, and then the long expensive route through Canada will begin. Pray that the Lord continues to meet our needs. Gasoline, by far, is the greatest expense, and it is now around $4.00/gallon in Canada. Soon, I also have to buy the plane tickets for my wife and daughters to fly up to Alaska and rendezvous with us in Anchorage. Pray that we can get cheap fairs. I had hoped to return to North Carolina to be with my family for a week before heading into Canada, but for the moment, the chances of this are looking bleak. The will of the Lord be done. I miss my three girls something awful. Pray for us as we have to be apart.

This morning, as we joined the Beierle’s for worship at their church, I noticed a big map of the world on the foyer wall. I looked at how far we had come and then saw how far there is yet to go. I felt weak in the knees and lightheaded; I had to sit down. Can we beat the winter? God knoweth. As for Ricky and me, we take it one day at a time. The Lord is good; His mercy endureth forever.

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,
Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

P.S. Check out a few photos from the bicycle journey by clicking “Galleries” above.

Many Miles and Much Provision

Sat, 6 Jun 2009 16:02:14 -0400

Current Location: Malta, Montana
Total Miles Pedaled = 639.7
Number of Flat Tires = 0
Number of Broken Spokes = 1
Best Meal Prepared on a Camping Stove: Homemade vegetable soup canned by my wife last year mixed with a pound of ground venison, fresh eggplant, cayenne pepper, and a pinch of salt; enjoyed at a highway rest area in Montana

“Well, sir, before you take off, let me at least give you this Gospel tract. It will be a blessing . . .” The leather-clad biker heading for British Columbia interrupted, “No, really, I don’t do Gospel. Have a nice day.” This encounter somewhere on the prairies of Eastern Montana brought an appropriate description to mind: “Happy Pagan.” There are lots of happy (at least they seem to be happy) pagans in these parts, content to live it up and partake of the handiwork of the Creator but having no time for the things of God, worshipping and serving “the creature more than the Creator. who is blessed for ever. Amen (Romans 1:25).” Somberly, I reflect on the truth of II Peter 3:5-7:

“For this they are willingly ignorant of, that by the word of God the heavens were of old, and the earth standing out of the water and in the water: Whereby the earth that then was, being overflowed with water, perished: But the heavens and the earth which are now, by the same word are kept in store, reserved unto fire against the day of judgment and perdition of ungodly men.”

Happy pagans here, happy pagans there. Such is becoming America. Like Noah of old, a preacher of righteousness, are you warning them of the wrath to come? Even so, we preach Jesus Christ and Him crucified.

Greetings, beloved. I sit here in the back of my truck in a park in the small town of Malta, Montana, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. We are hunkering down, and may have to do so for a couple of days. Only God knows when I will find internet access to get this update out. Anyway, a storm has moved in: rain, cold wind, near-freezing temperatures, and possibly some snow. This is no day for bicycling, and a slightly swollen knee cries out for some respite. I thank the Lord for this spot of green grass, the picnic shelter beside which we are parked, and the nearby electrical outlets. Oh, this down sleeping bag is keeping my feet toasty even as I type.

The road out here has been long and difficult at times, but Ricky and I press on. Thanks so much for your prayers. They have been answered as the Gospel has gone forth in a variety of venues, and there has been much divine provision across North Dakota and here in Montana. Home-cooked meals, hot showers, refuges for the night, financial provision, and fellowship with believers have been par for the course since we left Langdon almost two weeks ago. Places like Minot, Stanley, Williston, and Wolf Point (and the believers and local church bodies we encountered there) will forever be etched into our minds. The Lord is good, and His provision is bountiful. Thanks for crying out to Him on our behalf regarding these needs out along lonely roads. God has been faithful to answer. Also, to my new North Dakota and Montana friends who may be reading this: Thank-you for entertaining strangers and edifying us, via fellowship and ministering toward our needs, to press onward for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ. So precious is the fellowship with the Remnant Body of Jesus Christ. Hebrews 10:25 is there for a reason; we should heed the exhortation while we can.

As mentioned, we have been able to proclaim the Gospel in a variety of venues. I often use a little rope trick to declare God’s Law, man’s guilt before it, and God’s provision through Jesus Christ. This works particularly well with kids, and I have been able to use it many times out here. I think of a group of young people in the park back in Culbertson, Montana; two teenagers walking down the street of the same town; a young boy with his skateboard in a gas station in Cando, North Dakota; some children playing on their back porch in the small hamlet of Saco, Montana; and a handicapped girl swimming in the hot springs in Sleeping Buffalo, Montana. She, in particular, really loved the rope trick and was so excited to receive a Bible. She had lost hers a while back. Please pray for Selena, that God would give this precious special needs girl an understanding of Jesus Christ’s love for her.

At a highway rest area in North Dakota, we shared Christ with a trucker headed for Edmonton, Alberta. He was originally from the Ivory Coast in West Africa. There was a Canadian couple headed for Vancouver Island and another family on their way to California. I recall some obnoxious RVer’s from Alabama and South Dakota in a small cafe in Williston, North Dakota. We preached Christ boldly, and they took Gospel tracts. Also in Williston, we found a young lady’s driver’s license left in a shopping cart. Addresses are easy to find in these prairie towns laid out like grids, so we decided to return it to her ourselves. We found her place in a mobile home park; she was so grateful and therefore open to the Gospel. There were also encounters with Native Americans as I pedaled across the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. One young Sioux was walking to Oswego, a long distance; and he was very thirsty. I let him chug down one of my water bottles and then proclaimed the Living Water. There was also a biker from Richmond, Virginia headed for Alaska on his Harley. He accepted a Gospel tract and took my picture “to prove to people that I got this tract from a guy pedaling to Alaska” (his words).

Such are the encounters of day-to-day life out here on this long journey. May the Word of the Lord not return void (Isaiah 55:11). As I type, the pitter-patter of rain on the roof of my camper shell is making me sleepy. Therefore, please forgive any typographical errors. Yes, a few witnessing encounters have been special, true divine appointments. As I rolled through the small town of Cando, North Dakota, Ricky walked into a gas station to ask if we could sit inside and make some sandwiches. Such sparked a long conversation with Carrie Lynn and her teenage son. This family was from northern Saskatchewan and was in the United States on a work visa for her husband’s job. She, in turn, ran the little convenience store. Anyway, to make a long story short, we proclaimed Christ, and she, being open and asking us to pray that her family could find a Bible-preaching church, then told us to go through the store and stock up on any food supplies we might need. We left with some much-needed groceries free of charge. What a blessing!

Yesterday, we awoke late morning after I had pedaled until 2:00am. I wanted to experience the solitude of the prairies under the glow of the moon, a sky full of stars, and no wind. It was glorious and lonely, lonely in a good sort of way. Anyway, the day had been stressful for a variety of reasons, so I finally bedded down fainthearted and perplexed. Would the Lord put upon us more than we could bear? As I shut my eyes in the back of the truck parked at a highway rest area, I resolved that there was no way I could pedal another day in these headwinds. My incentive to witness was gone. In fact, I didn’t care at that point if I ever woke up. Well, I did wake up. And, I discovered first thing that morning that the Lord never puts upon His children more than they can bear. He sent me an east wind, a powerful east wind that is extremely rare in these parts. I busted out almost 60 miles yesterday with little effort. And, the Holy Spirit gave me fresh incentive to be about my Father’s business. Early afternoon, I noticed a sign that read “Sleeping Buffalo Hot Springs 1 mi.” The road ran off to the northeast, and I knew that would be a hard mile pedaling directly into the wind. Ricky and I decided to check it out. What resulted was a real blessing. At $5.00 per person, we were able to hang out at this hot springs “resort” all afternoon. It was the best five bucks I have spent on this entire journey. The hot springs, diverted to a giant naturally heated indoor pool and a 106 degree hot tub, though less than aesthetic because of the minerals in the water, were awesome, just what my aching body and throbbing knee had been clamoring for. Minerals for the skin, warmth for the bones, shelter from the winds, and not a few witnessing opportunities. We proclaimed Christ in that place to an 80-year-old farmer from Plentywood. Al was a Seventh Day Adventist who spoke a lot about keeping the sabbath. We, however, kept turning the conversation back to John 3:3. I believe he was a saved man, though his idea of hell as complete annihilation was biblically wrong. Nevertheless, Al seemed moved by our boldness and prayed for us before we left. The encounter definitely shook him up a bit and I trust it will be used of the Lord. There was also Selena, the handicapped girl I mentioned earlier, a Jehovah’s Witness family, and a couple of teenage punks who really thought they were cool. All heard the Gospel. Finally, there was Anthony, the certain divine appointment of the day. A young man, he had moved away from his family back in Oregon to come live out in the middle of nowhere and work as a cook / pool-boy / cashier and an out-of-the-way hot springs “resort.” I gathered that Anthony’s brother had been tragically killed a few years ago and that he was searching for some sort of hope. The Lord gave me opportunity to take him through the Law of God, and a couple of times, as the Gospel was on the tip of my tongue, there was a distraction or interruption. The Evil One was doing much to keep the message from being heard by the young man. But, the balm of Gilead could not be stayed. Christ was preached boldly, and he even eavesdropped on the entire conversation we had with Al concerning the things of the Lord. Anthony just kept hanging around as if to hear more and gave us each a cold glass of iced tea. I couldn’t help but think of Jesus’ words in Mark 9:41: “For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward.” May Anthony obtain the ultimate reward, eternal salvation in Jesus Christ. As we finally departed that place, I noticed that he was reading the Gospel tract and Mark Cahill’s book, One Heartbeat Away, that I had given him. Pray for this young man. I am certain this was a divine appointment. Wow, so much could be written.

There have been a few other highlights out here along prairie roads. We’ve hit the streets in larger towns like Rugby, Minot, and Glasgow. Scroll down to see some video footage of an encounter with teenagers in Rugby. It’s hard to hear our voices because of passing traffic, but they are discernible. In Minot, we saw a group of Christians gathered around a friend and praying outside a Denny’s. We exhorted them unto boldness, and they invited us to meet with them the next morning at 6:30am as they gathered downtown to pray for the city. I gave the lame excuse of being too tired to get up that early and later regretted this. Ricky and I did get up from our camping spot in the parking lot of the nearby Crossroads Baptist Church and go downtown at 6:30, praying that we could find these believers. We never did, but the Gospel did go out to a few passersby. Too tired to gather and pray with believers upon their request? What a lame excuse I gave. Lord, forgive me.

Of course, the headwinds have been gnarly. One day, I only averaged about 8 mph. Dropping into the Des Lac, Missouri, and Milk River Valleys have provided a few breaks from the monotonous landscape, and each day, I look forward to the sunset hues lighting up the greens and yellows of the prairie grasslands. In one town, a couple of guys warned us about truckers out here who think it’s funny to hit bicyclers with their side mirrors and make them think they are going to run them over. I didn’t really put much stock into these warnings until this actually happened to me just outside of Minot. A guy was literally inches from me, laid on the horn for an obnoxiously long time, and swerved toward me when his other lane was devoid of traffic on the four-lane highway. What would possess someone to do something like this? “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? (Jeremiah 17:9)” I must admit, I had to battle the flesh for a few moments. I felt like pulling the 9-mm Glock out of my pannier bag and firing a couple of rounds into the back of his trailer. But, that would definitely not have been Christlike, so I thanked God for sparing me from hurt instead. Crazy people.

Rugby was sort of a cool town. Right on my route through there, I noticed a stone monument marking the geographical center of North America. This was interesting, I guess, but what really caught my eye was a nearby sign that pointed in the four directions and listed distances to farthest cities at each extreme. To the east, Lubec, Maine was 1,500 miles. To the west, Neah Bay, Washington was 1,100 miles. Funny, I had pedaled a bicycle through each of these towns: Neah Bay was the terminus of my first coast-to-coast ride. And, when I pedaled from Canada to Key West in 2005, my route went through the seaside town of Lubec. I’ll never forget the candy-striped Quoddy Head Lighthouse nearby and the witnessing encounters we had on those streets. Anyway, Lubec (easternmost point in the U.S.), Neah Bay (far West Coast), Key West (southernmost point in continental U.S. and terminus of my 2005 ride), Prudhoe Bay (northernmost end of the road in the U.S. and the finish line of this journey): all stops for me on a bicycle. I suppose it was only fitting to add Rugby, ND, the geographical center of it all, to the list.

Here in Malta, we rolled up into town late, and the winds coming out of the east were so strong that the bicycle would not stand up on its on. We went into a pizza place that had been recommended to us miles ago. The calzone was ok, not that great, but I do recall an interesting incident. Stretches, of course, was a pizza place, but it had an arcade and an adjacent casino. I was told I could park my bicycle just inside the casino, so I did. The way it was positioned and the way the flag was hanging made “Prepare to Meet God” clearly visible to all who waited in line there for the slots or to get bingo cards or whatever. You could also see it across the room through the glass door. It sat there for several hours as we waited for God’s provision out of the cold. Interesting.

One final highlight: It was so great to finally get out of North Dakota and into another state. The expansive view from the state line looking west into Montana was gorgeous, but only yards away, I saw something I wish I never had--a mile-marker. Knowing that my route would follow Hwy. 2 across the entire state, I had been dreading this moment for awhile. There, I was confronted with a number--667. So, help me God.

Well, I will close for now. Again, the Lord only knows when I will find internet access that will allow me to send this update out. Please continue to pray for us. My right knee has really been bothering me lately. The first 5-10 minutes of pedaling hurt really bad, then it goes away. In the morning, when I first wake up, I can hardly walk on it. There has been a little swelling, and I know not what is wrong. I am trying to be real careful, and therefore, these couple of days of hunkering down here in the truck as a storm passes through may be a blessing. Please pray for divine healing. If something tears, the trip is over. Pray also that the Lord will continue to make financial provision for this journey. Fuel prices keep climbing. Along the way, a couple of believers have paid to fill up the truck, a real blessing. Pray for Bruce Roach. His family had us over for dinner in Minot while we were camped out at their church. He is battling cancer and had quite the testimony about some times his family experienced as missionaries in Yemen, having had to endure a terrorist attack that took the lives of some of his co-workers in the hospital there. Pray that the Lord will heal this man and bless his precious family for their hospitality toward us. Pray also for Myron Forland. A fellow cycler, he lost his wife to cancer back in 2007 and has battled real loneliness since. He must have really loved her; I cannot imagine the grief. We spent a couple of days in his home, and the fellowship was extremely sweet. Pray that this dear man will be comforted in the Lord and used of Him as a witness in these dark times. Pray that the Lord will help the believers at Crossroads Baptist Church in Minot, ND to find a solid Bible-believing pastor. Lift up also the brethren at First Baptist Church in Williston as they are seeking the Lord’s provision for a more suitable place to gather and worship. Finally, pray for the Musgrave family back in Langdon. What a tough field God has given them to plow. All these believers in all these places showed great kindness toward us and were a source of real encouragement. The least I could do is covet your prayers for them. Third John 5-7 commends Gaius for his hospitality toward traveling missionaries. In the same vein, I commend these, and others not mentioned, that the Lord has put into our path. Glory to God, glory to the Living God.

Pray for our boldness. I miss my family. We press on.

Jesse Boyd & Ricky Springer

So It Begins

Mon, 25 May 2009 17:25:44 -0400

Greetings, beloved brethren, in the name of the great God and our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. Like you, perhaps, I sit here waiting for the blessed hope of the believer (Titus 2:13). May it be today, especially considering what is ahead of me.

Current Location: Langdon, North Dakota
Total Miles Pedaled: 147

As I begin writing, Ricky and I sit here in a quaint coffee shop in a mere dot on the map somewhere in northeast North Dakota. There is nothing out here, only scattered prairie fires, ferocious winds blowing right at me, big tractors, and barren cusps of trees still waiting for the onset of Spring. This is my second day of pedaling, having begun in Badger, Minnesota yesterday morning in a cold wind. I finally had to quit after 71 miles at an abandoned weigh station where we camped for the night. I really should not have gone that far on my first day of riding, especially since such was the first time I actually mounted my bicycle in more than six months. It was just that far before we could find water, a nearby town, and an inconspicuous place to hunker down for the night. As the sun set close to 9:30 pm, I was sure thankful for the steaks a believing family had given to us back in Oklahoma. We actually had a fine meal in that empty gravel parking lot--steaks without hormones from a homegrown cow, ears of corn from my garden back home, blueberries my wife picked and froze last year, and a can of baked beans. I certainly could not complain. And, all this was prepared on a camping stove with a single pot and a small frying pan. This morning, as my body again clamored for protein, it was another T-bone steak, scrambled eggs, and instant grits. The Lord is good. Thanks, Bishnu, for some of the cooking tips you taught me when we were on the road together last year.

Today (Friday, May 22), I have only made it eight miles. The headwind is gnarly, and I am averaging a mere 8.4 mph. Hopefully, we can get to the next town--35 miles from here--and camp for the night in the city park. Oh, that the Lord would put believers in our path that would offer their home, a shower, and a hot meal for the night. His will be done. Early on, I am being tested in a variety of ways. Last night, I was discouraged to the point of having thoughts about packing up to go home. And, this was after only one day with many more to come. Please pray that we would endure. For Ricky, it’s lots of dead time between towns as well. Boredom can be a real source of discouragement out here. But, I know the Lord will never put upon us more than we can bear (I Corinthians 10:13).

As I look back, God has already proven Himself faithful. The truck, trailer, and bicycle problems all got fixed without me having to so much as leave the town of Claremore, Oklahoma. My original plan was to leave Oklahoma on Wednesday; we got out of there on Saturday morning--a delay of only two days. And, even that was more than worth it when I consider the special fellowship enjoyed with such precious believers in that place. If you are reading this, friends, thank-you.

From Oklahoma, it was a long drive up to Jon Lane’s home in Armour, South Dakota. Speaking of Jon Lane, he and Shawn Holes were recently found guilty in that matter where they were arrested last year for handing out Gospel tracts and witnessing on a public university campus in Vermillion, SD. Sentencing will be the first week of June, and it is obvious that the judge involved is trying to make an example out of these brothers. They could face jail time. Please pray for them. In my opinion, this judge needs to be impeached for such a ludicrous decision reached unilaterally apart from a jury. I am trying to obtain her office contact information. I will be asking you all to please bombard her with emails and phone calls expressing concern about this evident persecution of Christians. We need to call for this lady’s resignation and/or impeachment. Such outcry is really the only way we can battle the onslaught of a communist dictatorship that seems to swiftly be taking over this once great nation. Stay tuned for the contact information, and please help in this matter.

Enroute to South Dakota, we stopped in Topeka, Kansas and Lincoln, Nebraska to do some street fishing. Some socks went out to a few homeless in the name of Jesus; several people took Gospel tracts; and such were good opportunities for Ricky to get his feet wet. In Manhattan, we hung out with Samantha Willis for a few hours. Many of you might remember my brother and I leading her and Casey Willis to Jesus Christ on the streets of Hickory, NC several years ago. Shortly thereafter, I married them. Casey is in the U.S. Army, and they are stationed at Fort Riley in Kansas. Soon, he will be shipped off to Iraq. When we stopped in, he was engaged in training out in California. Nevertheless, the fellowship with Sam was sweet, and we were able to encourage her in the faith. Please pray for these relatively young believers. They desperately need to find a Bible-believing church and to be surrounded by Christian people; it seems not many of these are around their neck of the woods.

Up in South Dakota, the fellowship at the Lighthouse, one of FPGM’s supporting churches, was special. It was good to see Jon and Shawn Jerke again, not having seen them since we parted ways just outside of Bucharest, Romania back in January. By God’s grace, I was able to stir up the believers unto bold evangelism on Sunday morning; and for the first two days of the week, Jon, Ricky, myself, and a couple of Jon’s kids targeted the streets of Sioux Falls and made a circuitous route through six or seven small towns. The Gospel of Jesus Christ went forth, sometimes through unusual methods. Out here in rural America, the strategy has to be adjusted a bit if one wants to encounter people. So, we have started taking a block or two and going door-to-door. I usually give my testimony about pedaling to Alaska, mention that I am a Christian who believes Jesus Christ is coming back soon, share a brief Gospel message, and leave the folks with a Gospel tract containing our contact information. Surprisingly, not a few are intrigued, and most will take the tract. I trust the Lord will use these efforts. We have also occasionally employed a strategy that I saw political propagandists use in Kathmandu, Nepal all the time. They would drive around slowly up and down the streets with a large megaphone spewing forth their claptrap. You could not help but hear the message. Anyway, we have started taking the smallest of farming towns block by block, driving very slowly and preaching the Word of God with a megaphone from the window of the truck. You don’t have to scream to do this, and the Gospel message cannot but be heard. After all, Jesus said, “what ye hear in the ear, that preach ye upon the housetops” (Matthew 10:27). Besides, such a presentation will at least give folks accustomed to monotony something to remember. Perhaps the Lord will use it. Back in South Dakota, our little circuit utilizing these methods produced some good encounters, and the Word of God did go forth. In the town of Tripp, Ricky and I knocked on the front door of the Lutheran pastor who wrote that heretical local newspaper editorial that I shared with you all back in December 0f 2007--an example of the relativistic apostasy that has infested many of America’s churches (I posted this article online, and you can read it HERE). Several weeks ago, Jon had tried to witness to this man, and he got very angry at the truth of Jesus Christ being the only way to heaven. So, I had hoped to knock on his door and share the same testimony that I had been sharing at every other door, offering him a Gospel tract and proclaiming Jesus Christ as the only way. Another reminder, we thought, unrelated at least in his mind, would serve to stir him unto repentance. Unfortunately, he was not home, but we left a bold tract on his door. Please pray for this man, that the Lord would rescue him, as well as many false teachers in America’s pulpits, from their apostasy . . .

. . . Well, I am no longer in that coffee shop. It is Monday, three days later, and a cold rain is pouring outside. There will be no pedaling today. We are staying in the home of a local Baptist pastor here in Langdon, North Dakota, and I rejoice to again be experiencing the Lord’s hand of provision.

From that coffee shop in Cavalier, it was a brutal 35 miles to Langdon in a horrible headwind. I actually had to climb over a small range of hills (in North Dakota?), and the crosswinds were so bad that I had to walk the bicycle. I was discouraged, to say the least. At one point, a golden retriever left his porch and literally chased me for six or seven miles at speeds of 15 mph (this was after the winds calmed in the late evening). The owner came after him, and I was able to give him a tract. George the dog never did go home, and I finally lost him somewhere just outside of the next town. Around the same time, an old codger pulled off the road trying to peddle some “miracle cream for incurable diseases” that he supposedly invented. I told him that the “disease” he really needed to be concerned about was his sin before a holy God. For that, there is only one cure, the blood of Jesus Christ that “cleanseth us from all sin” (I John 1:7). Please pray for Wayne. He at least took one of my Blunt Truth tracts and promised to read it. There have definitely been some odd encounters up here in the northern plains.

In Langdon, we found a sweet little city park with tent camping spots. By God’s grace, there were also hot showers and electrical outlets to charge up all our stuff. It’s funny how things we normally take for granted can be seen as a real blessing when deprived for some time. That night, the only place we could find food was a 24-hour service station. A lady actually made me a pretty good sub sandwich there at 10:30 pm, and I was able to share Christ. The next day, I pedaled another 30 miles west in perfect weather. There was not a cloud in the sky, but the air was cold. Many undoubtedly saw the Christian flag with “Repent of Perish; Prepare to Meet God” emblazoned thereupon. There were not any witnessing encounters on that stretch of road except a couple of ladies who stopped to see if I needed help. I guess a guy in spandex and a bright-colored bicycle jersey, flying a Christian flag while pedaling down a desolate highway, would come across a little strange in these parts. But, curiosity is good; it creates a bridge to the Gospel. Eventually, I stopped that day at an intersection in the middle of nowhere, and we decided to go back to our sweet little camping spot for the night. I hated to say goodbye to those hot showers so soon.

Back at the city park, we cooked a spaghetti feast on our camping stove and then combed Langdon’s streets after dark. There were a few people to share with, and we saturated the storefronts with Gospel tracts. Around midnight, it was back to our “late-night 24-hour service station hangout” for coffee and mingling with the locals. One lady went on and on about her priest. I gave her the truth of I Timothy 2:5 to think about. Finally, Ricky and I walked back to the park, surprisingly passing an obscure little Baptist Church on the way. The next day was the Lord’s Day, so we decided to pay that place a visit for the morning service.

To make a long story short, this turned out to be a great blessing. It was pleasant to fellowship with a small group of believers, and ‘twas refreshing to hear a pastor preach boldly that Jesus Christ is the ONLY WAY to heaven. For lunch, we were invited into the home of a Romanian family. That precious woman fed us a Romanian feast and stocked us up with meat from their own animals that they had recently butchered. It was great to share stories about her homeland, especially considering the fact that I had just taken an evangelism team to that place back in January. Yesterday evening, after a much-needed day of rest, the pastor invited us to stay at his house for the night. I was happy with our little camping spot in the park, but he insisted, and we obliged. The Lord knew it would rain all night and get pretty cold. And, it’s supposed to rain all day today. I am so thankful for this warm home and the fellowship we have enjoyed therein. Please pray for Pastor Jeff Musgrave and his family as well as the First Baptist Church here in Langdon. Truly, this is a tough mission field darkened by the bondage of man-made religion. Again, I marvel at the Remnant Body of Jesus Christ that yet remains in these dark times. Once more, the Lord puts faithful believers and unexpected provision into our paths. Thanks for all your prayers regarding such things. Here in Langdon, they were answered.

Really, this is an interesting town. First Baptist Church was actually established back in the 1970’s by the “missile people.” During the Cold War, these areas housed missile silos and radar networks used to protect the United States from a nuclear attack. “Missile people,” as they were called, moved into the area as personnel to work these facilities, and some of these were Christians who came bearing the Gospel, and in this case, actually planted a church. In the city park where we were camped, there is an old Spartan Nuclear Missile on display (without the nuclear warhead, of course). We’ve also seen some strange edifices along my cycling route that were once part of that missile defense system, now defunct. This has me thinking that perhaps it wasn’t an abandoned weigh station where we camped the other night. Anyway, fascinating . . .

Hopefully, I can continue pedaling tomorrow. There is a lot of prairie, headwind, and monotonous stretches of road between here and the Rockies. Pray that Ricky and I will be bold and that the Lord will give us abundant opportunity to proclaim the Gospel of the Great God and our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. Pray that we would have incentive to complete this task and that the joy of the Lord would be our strength. Please also keep praying for financial provision. Fuel prices continue to skyrocket, and there are some quirks presently going on with my truck.

Well, I better sign off. Stay tuned for more tales of adventure for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ.

Jesse Boyd

P.S. To peruse a few photos from this ongoing bicycle journey, click on “Galleries” at the top of the page.

An Unfortunate Beginning

Tue, 12 May 2009 10:53:27 -0400

Greetings in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ:

I am sitting here in a coffee shop in Claremore, Oklahoma sipping an expensive cup of hot chai that is a poor mimic of the stuff you can get in India and Nepal for a nickel. My purpose at this moment--time pass.

The journey began last Friday after tearful goodbyes with my family. They left the house to go to a family function while I finished loading the car and locking up the place. As I was literally backing up the driveway, the trailer wheels got stuck in some soft ground, and the trailer jack-knifed swiftly into the side of my truck. Truck and trailer were damaged, and my bicycle was mauled. A great way to start off a trip, huh??? Because everything seemed at least operational, I prayed about it, sought some counsel, and then decided to go on. In Oklahoma, where I would be picking up Ricky, I hoped, these issues could be remedied. There is no way I could have gone through saying goodbye to my wife and daughters again. Bethany had cried and cried and cried.

So, I drove all night through periods of horrendous rain with the trailer gradually coming apart; but, by God’s grace, I finally pulled up safely to a nice refuge in a fine Christian home a bit off the beaten path in northeastern Oklahoma. Since, the Lord has manifested His goodness and provision in mighty ways, confirming that it was the right choice to move on. Amazingly, it looks like I can be out of here by the end of the week, or Monday at the latest. Please pray that this comes to pass and that everything gets repaired properly. There are long rough roads ahead, and I cannot afford to compromise safety, especially where the trailer is concerned. I am having to replace the bicycle, but at least I will now have a bunch of spare parts.

Along a long missionary journey in which we are having to rely on the Lord for financial provision, this was a more than unfortunate way to get started. Alas, the Enemy works to discourage and defeat in a variety of ways, and for a few minutes as I stood in my driveway dumbfounded, he almost won, my mind toying with the idea of calling the whole thing off. Nevertheless, “When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard against him” (Isaiah 59:19). Truly, this is so. God is making provision, and we will eventually be able to move on. Please keep praying for us in these matters. There is a time element involved, and a delay of only a week or so could prevent us from finishing before winter. Who knows though? Perhaps the Lord does not want us to finish before winter.

There was a bright spot along I-40 in Arkansas last Saturday. As I sat a bit discouraged behind the wheel, the Lord convicted me about the reason why I was out on the road--the proclamation of the Gospel. I noticed a hitchhiker along an exit ramp and decided to pick him up. I could at least use a little conversation. Anyway, over the next 70-80 miles or so, I was able to proclaim Jesus Christ and help him on his way toward Edmonton, Alberta. The interesting thing is that he knew the route I would be taking through British Columbia to Alaska very well, and I was able to glean some very helpful information. In this, the Lord confirmed that we would eventually get to Alaska. I just needed to be patient, waiting on Him according to His timing. Please pray for Mike the hitchhiker.

Well, I better sign off. Ricky and I will be hanging out here for the rest of the week. Praise God that I am surrounded by helpful, generous, and solid believers whose prolonged fellowship I would not trade for an undamaged trailer. It’s ironic, or is it? Last week, I was just telling someone that these missionary journeys never transpire like we plan. I can think of countless examples of this since this ministry began. Little did I know as I uttered such words that they would again prove true, this time from the very beginning.

Please continue to pray for us, that the Lord will make financial provision (Funny, fuel prices wait until I hit the road to start climbing), and that we will be bold to proclaim the Gospel no matter the circumstances and/or the delays.

Stay tuned for more unexpected adventures, trials, and tribulations in the which we can give bold testimony of the Lord’s providence and provision. All praise to the Most High God and our Saviour Jesus Christ.

Jesse Boyd

Time to Ride

Mon, 4 May 2009 22:52:53 -0400

Greetings, beloved brethren, in the name of the Most High God. “Grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord, according as his divine power hath given unto us all things that pertain unto life and godliness” (II Peter 1:2-3).

Well, the time to start another long and arduous journey for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ has come. Friday morning, I will be driving to Tulsa to pick up Ricky, my support partner. The next week or so, we will be speaking at a couple of churches and targeting some larger cities with the Gospel as we head north to the bicycle starting line in northwest Minnesota, a point where I was forced to change latitudes on my original Coast to Coast 2003 route. My first missionary ride, you might remember, went from the Atlantic to the Pacific (Surf City, North Carolina to Neah Bay, Washington). The second went from top to bottom (Escourt Station, Maine to Key West, Florida). In other words, FPGM has taken the Gospel across America on a bicycle both laterally and perpendicularly (generally speaking). It remains therefore to complete a route from corner to corner. The farthest corners in the United States of America with regard to ends of roads are Key West, Florida and Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. With this as the objective, the lateness of the Spring requires me to start in Badger, Minnesota and pedal all the way to Prudhoe Bay. Upon my return in the Fall, I will pedal the mitten of Michigan down to Bertrand (another area leapfrogged in 2003 when I changed latitudes). So, when all is said and done, FPGM will have continuously pedaled from Key West to Roanoke, Virginia (2005), from Roanoke northwest to Bertrand (2003), and from Bertrand, Lord willing, generally northwest to the top of Alaska (2009). You can actually see how this works by CLICKING HERE. I have decided to take the Alternate 2009 Route, tagging the mitten of Michigan at the end (Orange Line). This route will then join up with the Proposed 2009 Route (Red) in Columbia Falls, Montana.

Please keep us in your prayers over the next few months. Lord willing, my wife and daughters will be joining us in Alaska in August. In my last email update, I asked about contacts along the way and did not receive much of a response. Again, like our first missionary journeys on the bicycle, we are trusting the Lord to put believers of like faith and like mind into our path, brethren who might be willing to put us up in their homes for the night or partner with us in evangelism on the streets of their hometowns. Places to shower, sleep, and/or partake of a simple home-cooked meal will prove a great blessing all along the way, providing strength that we will need to endure and keep preaching the Gospel in dark corners of North America. If you have any Christian or Bible-believing church contacts within reasonable distance of our proposed route, please inquire if these would serve as points of refuge. Your help in this matter would be greatly appreciated. As mentioned, you can view the route (Orange & Red Lines) by CLICKING HERE.

As also mentioned in my last email update, our plans are to spend a month or more in Alaska, preaching the Gospel in cities and on college campuses as school starts back up after Labor Day. We are praying even now that the Lord will provide us a base camp up there. In other words, we will need a place to live and/or stay from which we can carry on out circuitous evangelism plans. Please join us in praying for this. If you have any Christian contacts in Alaska, these would prove most helpful. We don’t know anyone up there.

Pray also that the Lord will meet FPGM’s financial needs all along this journey. We plan on traveling light and as cheaply as possible, but still ‘twill be expensive. Homes to stay in and occasional places for a shower and home-cooked meals will of course help to keep the cost down. Our greatest expense will be gas, plain and simple. Notwithstanding, the Lord never guides where He does not provide, so we don’t plan on waiting around to “raise the funds.” We are literally stepping out in faith as FPGM’s committed monthly support has lately fallen below our monthly operating budget, a budget that does not include the expenses for this upcoming missionary journey. Join us as we pray that the Lord makes provision as He has always been faithful to do. I will keep you all updated as things progress out there on the front lines.

For informational purposes: if the Lord should lay it upon your heart to support Full Proof Gospel Ministries on a monthly basis, even if but a small sum, or to help contribute toward the expenses of this particular missionary journey, it will be most appreciated. We commit to use such for making the Gospel of Jesus Christ an unavoidable issue for as many people as possible all around the world and just around the corner. Remember, all contributions are tax-deductible. For more information, CLICK HERE.

Things have been real busy the last few weeks in making preparation for this journey. But, there have been opportunities for evangelism. We have targeted the campus of Appalachian State University in Boone, NC and an abortion clinic in Asheville on several occasions. You can check out some of our preaching at these venues on YouTube. Across the board, the Gospel was proclaimed with boldness, tracts and Scripture portions went out, and young people were confronted with the truth. Truly, college campuses and abortion clinics are two places that clearly reveal how wicked and corrupt our American society has become. Enough with this “God Bless America” stuff. Like in the days of the American Revolution, may our mantra be “God Save the United States.” Regardless of what transpires around us going forward, we, the Remnant Body of Jesus Christ in America, must be “steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord” (I Corinthians 15:58), holding “fast the profession of our faith without wavering . . . not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together as the manner of some is” (Hebrews 10:23, 25). Pray for us as we endeavor in these things out on the road this summer.

Bishnu, FPGM’s national partner in Nepal has been busy of late. Our ministry is currently able to support him directly each month, so again, thanks if you have been a part of this. Remember when I wrote of how he took an evangelism team out to the remote Far West District of Nepal back in November? Eleven people were saved and baptized, including an 80+ year old grandmother. Well, he recently went back to the area for follow up, and here’s what transpired in his words (Remember, English is his second language):

“I would like to thank God for his continuous mercy upon us, the laborers and I would like to thank you all for partnering with us in prayer and finances. I would like to share a short but amazing story of the work of Almighty Spirit in recent days in Nepal. God gave us another opportunity to serve Him again in the Far-west part of the country. Yes, I am talking about Baitadi, the mountainous district where the road has to be built on the top of high mountains. This time God provided me a plane ticket to Dhangadhi, which costs about US$ 200. However, the evangelism started from the airport. There the buses used to take the passengers to the aircraft. The bus, we're on, stopped near the runway because the aircraft was filling the fuel. Moreover, I happened to see that the loaders were trying to see what was in the apple boxes. Therefore, I got down, shared the Gospel in short, and gave them each a copy of Gospel of John. At last, I encouraged them to think about where they would be if they would die that night. Thus, God gave me the proof of His presence in this trip.

We had another opportunity to share our faith and distribute the tracts in Dhangadhi town. We handed out 360 Gospel of John and many other tracts. At last, God put one young man in my path who was desperate to know the truth. So we got in an hour long discussion. I took him through Law and he acknowledged that he would be fould guilty and would be sent to hell on the judgement day. Then I shared the Cross and he asked for some materials. He came to the hotel with us and I supplied more books for free. Please pray for him as a local friend of mine will follow him up.

The next early morning three of us left for Baitadi. Of course, the journey from Dhangadhi was dangerous and to know of a recent bus accident in that road, in which ten people were killed, adds your fear. However, we've got the spirit of power but not of fear. In addition, God kept us as we travelled by a bus, filled with people and sacks of grains in and out of it. We were so thankful to get off the bus at our station. From Shrivawar to Khadikhet, we had to hike steep down for 4 hours and God helped us with the moonlight. When we reached there, all the village teashops were closed and we decided to go to one of our believers. However, I heard some people were talking in a house and on inquiry, we came to know that there were three people whom our local friend knew well. They offered us a small room and we shared one of their food (four pieces of Chapati). We each ate a piece and gladly went to bed. Next day early morning we invited all the villagers to attend the program and there gathered more than 50 people and the old believers from our last trip. You may remember there was a grandmother of 85; actually, she is 90, whose son accepted Lord Jesus as his savior this time. Another grandmother had brought one of her friends and she believed Lord Jesus as her only way to heaven in our 3 hour long preaching. When God's law i.e., Ten Commandments rendered them guilty before the most holy God, about 30 souls forshook there centuries long false religion and practices and accepted Lord Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior. They were so much free from the bondage of Hinduism that they were ready to be baptised when we taught them about baptism. Therefore, we baptised 22 people both young and old and we were so sorry that one man was left in that ceremony because he had gone to another spot. Then we gathered other believers and partook in Lord's Supper. We encouraged them to preach the Gospel to their relatives, friends and neighbours. The next morning we had to leave early to catch the bus because there was a rumour of long strike and we would be blocked there. It took 5 hours for us to hike up back and came to know that the bus had just left. Nevertheless, we thanked God acknowledging that He had soverign plans. Then we got a truck and happily hopped into it. Then when we arrived in the town area, we came to know that there was a strike because of an accident in which a man was killed. We had to sleep inside the truck but it was so hot because of the engine that we were sweating. The next morning there was not any sign of opening the road, so we started walking in the dark through the forest. After half an hour walking, I remembered that I left my NC hat in that truck, I could not stop myself going back and got it anyway. Then we walked down about 10 km (6 miles) and got a autoriksha to Dhangadhi and to Kathmandu. Though my body was tired extremely, I was rejoicing in the Spirit because of the work of Holy Spirit in that village. Please pray for the new Chruch and also for a local leader. One uncle, Mr. Man Bahadur Dhanushe is serving as a leader right now and I've called him to Kathmandu to take some training in our church. He'll be here may be today. He's eye problem also and I've to take him to the hospital. Please pray for his eyes also. He is ready to be a full time evangelist, which he is being so far also. Please pray for him. Roshan Dhanuk, one brother among the newly baptised believers is willing to go to a Bible college in Kathmandu. Please pray for him. We'll need some believers expert in agriculture to train the villagers how to grow vegetables and fruits. Please just keep on praying for all of these things.”

Glory to God! Glory to the Living God!

Well, I better sign off. There is much to be done before the long drive on Friday. Pray for Ricky, my support partner. He is stepping out of his comfort zone on this journey with a heart to learn boldness in witnessing. Petition the Lord that I would prove a faithful model and that we both shall endure to the end. In my last update, I asked you all to send him an email of encouragement. Stupid me did not link the email address correctly. So, here it is again: rb_springer89@yahoo.com. Also, please lift up my wife and daughters. I will be away from them for a couple of months until, Lord willing, we link up in Anchorage in August. Pray that the Lord will provide the plane tickets and that they can be a valuable part of the work in the Far North.

Stay tuned for tales of bold preaching, God’s provision, spiritual edification, and plain old adventure. It’s time to ride.

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

Jesse Boyd
Full Proof Gospel Ministries

Far Corners and the End of the Road

Wed, 8 Apr 2009 21:57:58 -0400

Greetings, my friends, in the name of the Triune Creator God. “For there are three that bear record in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost: and these three are one” (I John 5:7).

I guess it’s pretty ridiculous that three months after our work in Eastern Europe I still haven’t completed my recap of the events. There was a special little chapter at the end down in Istanbul, and it’s worthy of at least a few comments. I’ll get to that a bit later. First, however, there is a lot going on, and as always, we covet your faithful prayers:

Please continue to lift up Jamie’s mother. There are still some unanswered questions regarding her cancer situation, although we do have cause for great optimism. Some very critical tests have come back negative, and we were able to breathe a sigh of relief. However, the doctors did find another mass (unsure whether it is cancer yet or not), and her one remaining kidney is only functioning at about fifty percent. Please pray for complete healing from the Lord in this matter. His sovereign hand is already discernible throughout the saga.

Please pray also for Full Proof Gospel Ministries and a very difficult upcoming missionary journey. Recently, I sent out an urgent request for prayer dealing with a proposed journey that had fallen apart and a team that had literally evaporated. I requested that you all pray for God’s provision of a support partner, or we would have to return to the drawing board. Well, the Lord heard your prayers, and He has provided. The missionary journey is on, but like Paul’s journey to Rome in Acts 21-28, it is going to transpire in ways that we never had anticipated. That’s just what the Lord does (Isaiah 55:9), and His ways and means always prove better and more effectual.

To make a long story short, I will be getting back on the bicycle. The burden for my own people and my own culture is heavy, and I believe the liberty for bold proclamation on the streets of America and Canada is being lost. Still, the door remains open, and we cannot miss this opportunity: especially since gas has gone cheap, the seasonal window is upon us, and the Western World is down-spiraling into ruin at mach speed. Judgment is coming to North America. We must go out and warn them; we must exhort them to flee to Jesus Christ and His salvation. Such is the only escape (Hebrews 2:3). Thus, the plan is for me to ride my bicycle from Bertrand, Michigan (about 90 miles east of Chicago) to Prudhoe Bay at the top of Alaska, visibly proclaiming the Gospel of Jesus Christ to whomever the Lord puts into our path. Numerous bigger cities will be targeted along with countless towns and small villages, some of them mere dots on a map in remote areas of Western Canada. We believe that the remotest corners of our continent are just as important for the work of the Great Commission as the crowded city streets. Biblical evangelism is not about numbers; it’s about obedience and divine appointments (see Acts 8:26-40). The proposed route will traverse some of the least-reached pockets of the United States and Canada--least-reached perhaps because of isolation, terrain, the absence of metropolitan areas, and the bondage of religion. We’ll see. The Gospel message is just as important for the psuedo-village of ten as it is for the city of ten million.

As for the route, Prudhoe Bay has always been the goal. The original starting point was to be Neah Bay, Washington where my first bicycle missionary journey ended. However, due to various factors, not the least of which is demographics and FPGM’s ongoing quest to proclaim the Gospel on the streets of every significant city and town in America, that has changed. My first missionary ride went from coast to coast (Surf City, North Carolina to Neah Bay, Washington). The second went from top to bottom (Escourt Station, Maine to Key West, Florida). In other words, FPGM has taken the Gospel across America on a bicycle both laterally and perpendicularly (generally speaking). It remains therefore to complete a route from corner to corner. The farthest corners in the United States of America with regard to ends of roads are Key West, Florida and Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. With this as the objective, Bertrand, Michigan is the best place where I can branch off my previous routes in a way that will ultimately connect Key West with Prudhoe Bay. So, when all is said and done, FPGM will have continuously pedaled from Key West to Roanoke, Virginia (2005), from Roanoke northwest to Bertrand (2003), and from Bertrand, Lord willing, generally northwest to the top of Alaska (2009). You can actually see how this works by CLICKING HERE.

Ricky Springer, a young man from Owasso, Oklahoma will be joining me in this endeavor as a support driver and evangelism partner. He has only been saved about three years but has a strong desire to serve the Lord and be about the work of proclaiming the Gospel. He is giving up a job for the summer and has alloted the entire window until his college classes resume in September for this journey. I have never formally met this young man, but his home church has supported our work both spiritually and financially for several years. I feel very confident that all of this was ordained of the Lord and a direct answer to your prayers. When everything seemed to fall apart several weeks ago, I sent out the email and then decided to back off, doing nothing to try and make something happen. I actually wondered if God would bring things together in a way that involved a complete stranger to me. This, He did, and an ounce of my help was not needed. In a way, I came to a better understanding of the Scriptural exhortation found in Psalm 27:14. It’s always better to wait upon the Lord than to try and take matters into one’s own hands. “It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in a man”--including OURSELVES (Psalm 118:8). Really, to wait on the Lord is the essence of biblical faith. Isn’t repentance and faith really about fully trusting the Word of God and waiting upon Him patiently to fulfill His promises of ultimate redemption and deliverance from this present evil world (Galatians 1:4; Hebrews 11:6)? Please pray for Ricky in the coming weeks as he makes preparation for his first missionary journey. Like with Chad Currin years ago, I rejoice at this unique opportunity to disciple a young believer and to see how God emboldens him to share his faith. An encouraging email and/or prayerful thoughts for this brother would be most welcome in the coming weeks, I am sure. If the so Lord leads, send him a note: rbspringer_89@yahoo.com.

For the initial pedaling part of the journey from Bertrand to the Alaskan border, Jamie and the girls will not be traveling with us. Because of her mother’s health situation, Jamie feels that she needs to remain behind and be of help, at least for these first couple of months until things are more clear. Our plan, therefore, if for my wife and daughters to join up with me when I reach Alaska (sometime, Lord willing, in early August). If the Lord will provide the plane tickets, we will meet them in Fairbanks, finish the bicycle route, and then spend a month of so traveling around Alaska and preaching the Gospel in cities and on college campuses as school starts back up after Labor Day. Then, we will all return home together, targeting additional cities in Canada and the United States enroute. We are praying even now that the Lord will provide us a base camp for a month or so in Alaska. In other words, we will need a place to live and/or stay from which we can carry on our circuitous evangelism plans. Please join us in praying for this. If you have any Christian contacts in Alaska, these would prove most helpful. We don’t know anyone up there.

These plans concerning my family, though difficult, were further confirmed when I recently discovered that FPGM’s RV had suffered enough storm damage to render it unusable for this close-at-hand journey. Now, our only option is the truck and a small 5x8 enclosed trailer for support. Thus, there will be a lot of “roughing it”: cooking on the tailgate, sleeping in the back of the truck, days without showers, etc. (like it was for us in the very beginning of our ministry before Bethany was born). This would be extremely difficult for our little girls, especially in the more remote areas of British Columbia where mosquitoes and black flies will undoubtedly be a plague. It’s better for them to meet me up there in Fairbanks. and then operate out of a base. To make a long story short regarding the RV, someone came along that actually wanted to buy it as a “fixer-upper.” This was a bit of a relief and an answer to prayer. At least the ministry was able to make back a little money on it. But, the trusty Nomad is now gone. I know I am going to miss its comforts out there on the road. Oh well, the will of the Lord be done.

There is so much to pray about regarding this upcoming journey. The Lord has clearly revealed this path to us in His Word, and we are resolved to follow through. Unlike so many in ministry today who follow the error of Balaam (Jude 11)--constantly seeking and seeking until they find the “revelation” they desire, preaching the Gospel as man thinks it should be with a strategy that man deems most effective, all the while ignoring God’s clear revelation in the Scriptures (Mark 6:7-12, 16:15; II Corinthians 4:13; I Corinthians 1:21, etc.)--we must be “steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord” (I Corinthians 15:58) even when the course seems so ridiculous and harebrained. Knowing this, your prayer support over the next several months will be key. I hope to keep you informed from the road as my manner has always been.

Ricky becomes available May 12, but I very well may start the ride a week or so before this. Then, I will break to go pick him up in Oklahoma. Unlike my other rides, there is a real time element here. In order to finish the route, I will have to beat “Old Man Winter,” so every day counts. I hope to arrive in Alaska sometime in early August and there meet up with my family. Lord willing, we will stay in the Far North until mid-September and then begin heading home. I presume all will be complete by the first part of October. Then, we turn our attention again to South Asia. Wow, my head swims as I even think about all this.

Anyway, we could really use your help during this time of preparation, particularly regarding our route. I have posted a map detailing our proposed pathway (there are actually two options proceeding from Bertrand). You can view it by CLICKING HERE.

Like our first missionary journeys on the bicycle, we are trusting the Lord to put believers of like faith and like mind into our path, brethren who might be willing to put us up in their homes for the night or partner with us in evangelism on the streets of their hometowns. Places to shower, sleep, and/or partake of a simple home-cooked meal will prove a great blessing all along the way, providing strength that we will need to endure and keep preaching the Gospel in dark corners of North America. If you have any Christian or Bible-believing church contacts within reasonable distance of our proposed route, please inquire if these would serve as points of refuge. Your help in this matter would be greatly appreciated.

Our staging point for entering Canada will be Columbia Falls, Montana. Somewhere close to there, we will need to resupply, undoubtedly have some maintenance done on the truck, and get prepared for the long stretches of lonely road (some gravel) in British Columbia. A contact in that area would be key. There are also numerous bigger cities we want to target for evangelism in the vicinity of the route:

-Toledo, Ohio

-Lansing and Grand Rapids in Michigan OR Peoria, Illinois as well as Davenport, Cedar Rapids, and Des Moines in Iowa (depending upon our actual route out of Bertrand)

-Fargo, Grand Forks, and Minot in North Dakota and perhaps Winnipeg in Manitoba

-Great Falls, Montana

-Calgary and Edmonton in Alberta; Prince George and Prince Rupert in British Columbia; Whitehorse in the Yukon

-Skagway, Haines, Juneau, Anchorage, Fairbanks, Valdez, Seward, Homer in Alaska

If you have any believing contacts in these cities, please let us know. Also, join us in prayer as we even now begin to pray for divine appointments in these places.

Join us also as we pray that God will make financial provision for this long and arduous journey. We plan on traveling light and as cheaply as possible, but still ‘twill be expensive. Homes to stay in and occasional places for a shower and home-cooked meals will of course help to keep the cost down, and fuel prices are still relatively low (Pray that they will stay there). We still need to purchase some supplies and stock up on Gospel materials. Our greatest expense will probably be gas, plain and simple. Considering all this, however, you cannot put a price tag on going to far corners to preach the Gospel to those who might otherwise never hear. The Lord never guides where He does not provide, so we don’t plan on waiting around until we “raise the funds.” We plan to step out in faith, so pray that the Lord makes provision as He always has been faithful to do. I will keep you all updated as the day of departure approaches and, of course, straight from the front lines. Again, your help with contacts will be greatly appreciated.

I never did finish my recap of our work in Eastern Europe back in January. A final chapter transpired in Istanbul, Turkey. A brief testimony of this is more than warranted, but I will have to be brief. To see some photos from Istanbul, CLICK HERE.

Anyway, in my first update about Eastern Europe (Reaping the Whirlwind Part 1), I made this statement in conclusion:

“During my last day in Moldova with Paul Langford, I met a leader from a Russian-speaking church in Istanbul, Turkey. Little did I know, but this rendezvous would ultimately result in me preaching at his church and would forever tie Jamie and me to a sixteen-hundred-year-old city, Hezbollah, and Iran. But, this fascinating story will have to wait for another day.”

Well, Jamie and I decided we could best utilize our last four or five days in Europe by following up on that lead from the Moldovan church leader. He was away from his church in Istanbul but had given us an address. We were supposed to have a place to stay in the basement of the church and an opportunity to preach at a Russian-speaking service. So, Jamie and I hopped on a plane from Bucharest and made the short jaunt over to the sixteen-hundred-year-old city of Istanbul, formerly the Byzantine port of Constantinople. As we flew in, the hillsides were an urban sprawl and a sea of mosques reared their ugly heads. With only a street address, we navigated the subway, hired a taxi, and eventually found the aged church building in the old part of the city down near the Hagia Sofia. The man left in charge of the Russian-speaking congregation was nowhere to be found, and no one seemed to know about our coming. The basement room where we were supposed to stay was flooded and out-of-order, to say the least. For a few brief moments, we wondered what was going on. In the end, however, the Lord worked everything out in a way much more glorious than we had anticipated. In that same church building, several different bodies of believers meet for service: Russian, Turkish, African, and Iranian congregations. Fortunately, some of the Iranian brothers were there at that time and spoke relatively good English. To make a long story short, three precious brothers from Iran took us into their nearby apartment and gave up one of their bedrooms for Jamie and me. This provided a nice base for us right in the heart of Istanbul for the next few days.

I eventually hooked up with a pastor from the Russian-speaking church. He spoke no English but had been made aware of our coming by that brother in Moldova. He did, however, think it would not be until weeks later. One of the young ladies in the church spoke English very well, so she ultimately translated for me as I preached to that sweet body of Russian believers on a Sunday morning. I was humbled and overjoyed at how the Lord had worked all of this out. It was a time to challenge those believers to be bold in a city where openly sharing one’s Christian faith is illegal. I had been told to be careful when Jamie and I when out to distribute Gospel tracts. “The police will stop you, especially if it draws a crowd. Be bold, but be smart.” This was good advice, and we actually had a number of witnessing encounters. Regardless of man’s law and the risk, the Great Commission is clear, and God will always honor boldness. I shared these thoughts with the Russian believers and was able to tell about signs of persecution manifesting themselves in America. Again, the Hickory Police Department got a little publicity, and believers were stunned to hear that this could happen in America. In the end, I challenged these brothers and sisters to pray that persecution would strengthen the churches in America as it undoubtedly had done for them in the Soviet Union and in the Muslim nation of Turkey. You can actually view some segments of this message on YouTube by scrolling to the bottom of this page. Luda, the young lady translating for me did an excellent job. If you are reading this, sister, THANK-YOU. I was greatly humbled by the occasion.

I was supposed to also preach to the Turkish-speaking congregation in that church, but we never could find a suitable translator. Oh well, the will of the Lord was done. Jamie and I nevertheless attended the Turkish service and later the Iranian service. We couldn’t understand anything, but we were so blessed to see genuine believers from these cultures worshipping the Lord in Spirit and in truth. The Word was preached, a sweet spirit was evident, and the fellowship was special. There was much in those moments that made me ashamed concerning the culture of the American church, for it has strayed so far from the New Testament.

The time Jamie and I spent with the Iranian believers in their home is to be cherished for a lifetime. These young men cooked for us, gave up one of their beds, and even went out on the streets with us at times to share the Gospel. More than anything, this encounter was ordained of the Lord because I had been praying about possibly getting into Iran and/or Central Asia one day as I travel to Nepal by land. I had been praying about taking Bibles in there and being a witness for the Lord in such places. These few days of fellowship with the Iranians provided us with much vital information and possible partnership in bringing this to pass. Pray for us as we continually seek a way to make this happen. All three of the young men who we stayed with had fled Iran, as have many Iranian Christians who now live in Istanbul. The testimonies were ones that involved ostracism from family and real persecution. I realized in those moments that I know nothing of real sacrifice for the Lord. I’ll never forget when we first came into the apartment. We had not met one of the brothers, and he was there to greet us. I looked him in the eye and said, “I think you must know my best friend.” He immediately caught my drift, and with tear-filled eyes embraced me and spoke in broken English: “Oh, God bless you brother. God bless you. Yes, Jesus Christ is my best friend.” In comparison, I thought of all the so-called “Christians” who have responded with hostility on the streets of America after I had offered a Gospel tract. Again, I was ashamed of my culture. My Iranian brothers. if you are reading this: THANK YOU. I look forward to working with you again one day. The rest of you: please pray for the Iranian believers in both Turkey and Iran. All we hear in America is terrible things about Iran, but remember that there is a big difference between Iran’s government run by a modern-day Hitler and its people that are truly oppressed under such a dictatorship. There are persecuted believers in that land and many that have fled to other places of lesser persecution. The Persian culture is so laid-back and full of genuine hospitality. Remember, this people was a real friend to Israel, God’s chosen, during the days of the dispersion following the fall of Babylon (See Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther). May the Lord soon deliver the precious people of Iran from its wicked government and its fascist leaders. Friends, also specifically pray for the three Iranian missionaries we worked with in Istanbul. I hesitate to mention there names for security reasons. I just received news of some work one of them is doing in another Turkish city, and he requested our prayers. God knows the details, so let’s just lift them up.

As mentioned, Jamie and I had a few days to labor in Istanbul. Aside from working with the believers and preaching at the Russian church, we targeted the streets and handed out not a few Gospel tracts. Like in Bangladesh, another Muslim country where FPGM has labored, you have to be a bit careful. It’s real easy to draw a crowd, and before you know it, you can be surrounded by a bunch of angry Muslims. It seemed like every time we would speak with someone, others would inevitably stop to listen. Once the Bible and Jesus Christ as the Son of God came up, it was like WHOOSH, we were surrounded and people were asking questions, some with anger in their voice. Thankfully, the Lord protected us in numerous scenarios, and the police never came around. One night, one of the Iranian brothers went out with us. It was amazing how he could spot Iranian people and then boldly share with them, offering a Gospel tract. I recall witnessing to a young Turkish Coffee vendor (I love coffee, and the Turkish form was great--more like syrup than anything else), and a bearded man hanging around outside the massive Blue Mosque. I approached the latter and offered him a Gospel tract, proclaiming salvation in Jesus Christ. He humbly accepted and thanked me. As I returned to Jamie and our Iranian friend, he said, “Jesse, that man is with the Hezbollah terrorist organization.” Praise the Lord, I thought. What an opportunity!

So, Jamie and I scattered seeds down around the old Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, in some marketplaces, and on a couple of ferries going back and forth across the Bosphorus Straights from the European side of Istanbul to the Asian side. With our last pairs of socks, the Lord allowed us to bless a few elderly folks and proclaim the Gospel; and we gave out some Gospels of John. Inside a huge mosque, Jamie and I observed spiritual oppression and bondage as thick as any we had previously experienced in Hindu temples or Buddhist monasteries--the manmade bondage of religion at its strongest. It was sad, as deceived Muslims bowed down in ritualistic prayer to a god that doesn’t even exist. Hopefully, some of the Gospel tracts we strategically placed around inside that edifice will not return void. All in all, the work yielded cause for rejoicing. No real trouble, no real problems, numerous opportunity: what more could one ask for when street fishing in a Muslim country?

I wish I could take the time to speak more of the culinary delights (Turkish street food is some of the best) we encountered as well as other aspects of the culture in Istanbul. I have always been fascinated with the old Byzantine Empire and the ancient city of Constantinople (The Byzantine city was conquered by the Ottomon Turks in 1453 after a long siege; the name of the place was later changed to Istanbul). It was amazing to see ruins and portions of the old city wall still standing as well as places where Armenian Bible-believers were once tortured and fed to the lions for their bold Bible-believing faith. So much ancient history transpired in that place--Persian armies and the Greeks under Alexander the Great going back and forth across the Bosphorus; Constantine establishing the seat of the Eastern Roman Empire; the Byzantine Empire and God’s using of it to perfectly preserve his pure Word down through the ages; the coming of the Turks and the overthrow of Constantinople; etc. I was humbled to be able to proclaim the Gospel in such a place. The Apostle Paul may have even come through here on one of his missionary journeys.

I never would have thought that a seemingly happen-chance encounter with a Russian-speaking church leader in Cahul, Moldova would have brought Jamie and me to Istanbul in a way that would in ways link us to an ancient city, a terrorist organization, and precious believers from Iran. Truly, the sovereign hand of the Lord is an amazing thing.

So, we left Istanbul in tears as we bade farewell to our Iranian brothers in Christ. It was a quick return to Bucharest, an overnight with the precious Tomaz family (faithful missionaries to Romania from Brazil), and a blur of a flight back to our homeland. In the beginning, I went to Eastern Europe sowing the wind. In the end, we had reaped a whirlwind (Hosea 8:7); and I do mean this in a glorious sense. Thanks for all your prayers during this time. For all of you who support this ministry with your prayers and financial sacrifices, this is your fruit. Glory to God!

Since returning from this missionary journey, things have been quite busy around here trying to discern and prepare regarding the upcoming work. There have also been a few opportunities for local outreach. Recently, Shawn Holes and his family came through and parked their RV on our property for a few days. Shawn is a bold street preacher that travels around America with his family, preaching the Gospel on college campuses. He was the one that got arrested with Jon Lane in South Dakota last year. Anyway, the presence of this brother and his family was a real encouragement to us and a bit of a rallying cry concerning the work that lies ahead. Last Friday, Shawn, myself, and his two teenage kids went up to Appalachian State University in Boone and preached the Gospel on the campus around the Stanford Mall area. We encountered no real opposition, and the preaching was bold. There were some inquisitive students and a few good conversations. More than anything else, however, it hit me that our universities have become little more than corrals full of sheeple (i.e. people that are like sheep). University students, by and large, no longer know how to think critically or investigate something honestly. All they know how to do is dramatically regurgitate what some professor said without even investigating such claims. This became especially apparent when the topic of evolution came up. University students actually believe that evolution is an established fact and that transitional species are found in the fossil record. They actually believe that the Bible is full of contradictions and that science has proved the non-existence of God. Shame on our institutions of higher learning in this nation. Education is no longer about truth, learning to research and think critically, and amassing practical tools for life. It is all about INDOCTRINATION and creating a society of sheeple that will mindlessly succumb to totalitarian control of a one-world government of the end-times. America is in big trouble, my friends (Psalm 9:17). The college campuses of this nation are a real mission field; the Gospel, the only real hope, must be proclaimed there. Where are the Christian witnesses? Anyway, we had a fruitful time up at App State, and I hope to be going up there again next week. Please pray for us.

Last Saturday morning, we also went to a murder mill (i.e. abortion clinic) up in Asheville. The venue proved perfect for preaching the Gospel, and the way the clinic works actually gives us a guaranteed audience for a couple of hours in the morning. We stood out on the public sidewalk and preached the Gospel and begged the young ladies going in there to let us help them. There were at least five babies put to death that morning. It was really sad. There were some Catholics out there on the sidewalk with signs as well, and there presence was a voice for life. I’m glad of that, but a cause in and of itself apart from the Jesus Christ of the Holy Scriptures is ultimately vanity. We used the opportunity to preach repentance and faith to these as well. Some teenagers from a Catholic youth group were shaken up a bit and asked some questions. I believe the Lord will use it. I hope to start frequenting this place as well. It really is a great opportunity to proclaim the Gospel in these dark times. Pray for us this Saturday morning.

Last weekend, we also hit the streets of Hickory again, and this time, Shawn joined us. There were a lot of good conversations with young people, and the Gospel was proclaimed. Numerous tracts went out, and the police never bothered us. Surprisingly, we had very little opposition and encountered not a few polite teenagers. I pray the Lord used the preaching for His glory.

Please continue to pray for the Holes family. They left here a couple of days ago and are now in Tennessee. There are numerous more college campuses between there and the end of the school semester for him and his family. Take a moment, and check out their ministry at luketentwo.com. Warning, the footage from his recent preaching outings at Spring Break in Panama City is disturbing. If you want to know how wicked our nation has really become, just watch some of the videos on his site. Where are the Christian witnesses? Thankfully, the Lord still has a faithful remnant, and this brother is definitely a part of it.

Well, I will fully and finally sign-off. Thanks for your interest, your prayers, and your support. Please keep in mind our upcoming missionary journey to Alaska on a bicycle. More than anything, pray that the Lord will give me boldness after the manner that the Apostle Paul requested prayer of the believers in Ephesians 6:19-20. Again, if you can help with contacts along our proposed route, please contact me. See the map HERE. I will keep you all updated as the time for departure gets closer.

In case you have not noticed, our nation is crashing down all around us. Go out there and be a bold witness for the Gospel of Jesus Christ! Nothing else matters in these dark days. Peace be with you all.
Far Corners and the End of the Road in Alaska, or Bust!

Jesse Boyd

P.S. Forget about silly Easter eggs this weekend. We serve a RISEN LORD & SAVIOUR!

Reaping the Whirlwind Part II

Sat, 28 Feb 2009 08:29:41 -0500

Greetings, my friends, in the name of the One who gives us life: “The LORD, The LORD God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth” (Exodus 34:6).

I am very sorry that it has taken me so long to get out Part II of my recap from our recent labors in Eastern Europe. The past couple of weeks have been rough for us and for Jamie’s family. Several days after her mother initially found herself staring at kidney cancer, her dad’s brother drowned in a freak accident. Most likely, he died without the Lord, so this has been tough. Since my last update, Jamie’s mom had surgery to remove one of her kidneys, some lymph nodes, and the large cancerous mass that had been causing problems. She is still recovering from this but is now at home. By God’s grace, the surgery was a major success, and she only had to spend four days in the hospital. This past Thursday, test results showed the mass to have been malignant and cancer to have spread into a few of the removed lymph nodes. However, the doctor seemed pretty optimistic that it had spread no further and that all the cancer had been removed. Vickie returns for more testing in another month. Please pray for continued and complete healing in this matter, and we are very grateful for your prayers heretofore. All signs point to this having been caught in time. The Lord knoweth.

In the same vein, please pray for us here at Full Proof Gospel Ministries as well. Everything is sort of on hold for the moment as we follow this situation. Concerning our next step in the labor of the Gospel, pray that the Lord leads us in a plain path and that we will not be “unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is” (Ephesians 5:17). I have to make a final decision about an upcoming missionary endeavor very soon.

I also want to exhort you all to pray for each other, that is, the Remnant Body of genuine believers that yet remains in this wicked and adulterous American generation. I believe real persecution is coming, and we must stick together and be faithful to the Gospel, faithful, if need be, even unto death. I find comfort in the words of Jesus Christ to the church at Smyrna: “Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life (Revelation 2:10).”

Truly, we are living in strange times, and it seems our nation, the world’s greatest super-power, is spiraling downward toward self-destruction in a manner that perhaps cannot be stanched, unless, that is, prairie fires start breaking out all across the fruited plain: prairie fires, I mean, of people waking up to take a stand against the disgusting corruption, obsessive greed, godless socialism, and rampant abomination that has become our society and our government. Such fires may never burn, maybe America is doomed to the trash heap of history (see Psalm 9:17), and perhaps the coming persecution of genuine believers is a foregone conclusion. Nevertheless, there is a God who rules in the kingdoms of men. And, there is a message to preach, a Gospel of salvation to proclaim--Jesus Christ, the ONLY ESCAPE from the white-hot wrath of a holy Creator (Hebrews 2:3). Friends, the LORD is coming back soon, and boy, is He mad (II Thessalonian 1:7-8). The signs are all around us, and the times constrain us to boldly preach repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ! Nothing else matters for the born-again believer. As the early Christians in Acts 4 did not pray for deliverance from persecution, neither do I. Instead, let us pray like them: “Lord, behold their threatenings: and grant unto thy servants, that with all boldness they may speak thy word” (Acts 4:29). I said this to the City of Hickory and its police department months ago, and I’ll say it again to the nefarious and corrupt dictatorship that now controls this country and seems bent upon promoting everything that displeases the Almighty God in which our Founding Fathers believed and trusted:

You can arrest me. You can throw me in jail. You can even one day take my life. BUT, I WILL NOT CEASE TO PREACH AND TEACH JESUS CHRIST. I WILL NOT CEASE BEING A PUBLIC WITNESS OF THE TRUTH OF THE BIBLE AND THE SALVATION THAT THE ONE TRUE GOD AND HIS SON JESUS CHRIST BROUGHT TO A WICKED WRETCH LIKE ME. I WILL NOT CEASE OBEYING THE GREAT COMMISSION AND TRYING TO POINT THE LOST TO THEIR ONLY HOPE: REPENTANCE TOWARD GOD AND FAITH TOWARD OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST. AND, I AM NOT ALONE. THERE ARE MANY MORE BELIEVERS WHO WILL STAND WITH CHRIST EVEN IF IT MEANS THEIR VERY LIVES. You people can persecute Christians as many have done in ages past. But, the message will only spread further and with more vigor. Watch out!
The “Chairman” and his cronies that have taken over our government would do well to stroll over to the Jefferson Memorial in their beloved Washington, D.C. and note the warning of our third president and the author of the Declaration of Independence inscribed there upon the stones: “I fear for my country when I reflect that God is just, and His justice does not sleep forever.”
Well, I’ll now get off this soapbox and move on. Believers, like many that we had the privilege of interacting with over in Romania and Moldova, have known real persecution, the likes of which American churches have never seen. These pray faithfully for us here in America, that we might experience real persecution. Such sounds harsh, but these know how persecution purges and strengthens the Body of Christ while causing the Gospel to go forth to the lost in ways that it would not have otherwise. In fact, this is the legacy throughout history of the true church, a trail of blood down through the centuries that eventually led to our shores and the freedoms we have enjoyed for more than two centuries. For us, our comforts, our usual, our ease: these will soon change. I say, “Bring it on, I’m ready.” Are you?
Where I last left you all, Paul Langford and I had returned to Bucharest from Moldova, rendezvousing with Jamie for some late night street fishing and a Turkish shaorma in the bitter cold. Little did I know, but our journey had only just begun. With cloudy expectations, we had come to Eastern Europe and sowed the wind. When all was said and done, it was clear that we had reaped the whirlwind (Hosea 8:7), and I do mean this in a glorious sense. The LORD was very good and made provision in so many circumstances. Your prayers were heard; THANK YOU.

The day Paul departed for the States, the evangelism team from South Dakota arrived to rendezvous with Jamie and me in Bucharest. We all then relocated to Pucioasa, a smaller town at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains about 100 km north of the capital. For the next four days, we would labor with Pastor Nicolae and the believers from Betania Baptist Church in an effort to saturate the area with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. There was much street evangelism, preaching, distribution of Gospel tracts and Bibles, sweet fellowship with believing brethren, and exhortation for the Body of Christ. Words cannot even begin to express how special these times were. And, I marvel to think how the Lord set all this up. When Paul and I arrived in Romania over a week earlier, I only knew of Nicolae as a friend of Pastor Anatol’s in Moldova. Anatol arranged for him to pick us up and bring us to Moldova. And, from that ride, the Lord ordered our future steps.
Nicolae, of course, did not know us from Adam and was more than gracious to bring us into his sphere of influence and to allow our team to partner with his church. Assuredly, he took a step of faith in this. Later, I learned that he had initially been a little suspicious, thinking that we would just come in with a paternalistic attitude, take a bunch of pictures, act in way that would primarily benefit us as opposed to the local churches, try to get a bunch of decisions, and then go back to America proclaiming, “Look how many people we led to Christ.” Knowing the reality of American churchianity, the accompanying paternalism that has plagued American missions, and the man-centered ministry that so infiltrates our churches, I am really not surprised that he was concerned about these things. Nevertheless, it was a real joy to show him otherwise and to find that these precious believers were of like faith and like mind. Like with so much else in our travels, I marvel at how the Lord has put strangers into our paths time and time again, folks who turn out to be brothers and sisters of like faith and like mind with a boldness to preach the Gospel. There was Bishnu in Nepal, K in Bhutan, Christian brothers in Dhaka, the Nomad and his circle of influence in Ladakh, solid missionaries serving in South Asia, and countless others in places like Finland, Russia, South America, and all over the United States. Now, we can add Anatol, Nicolae, Alexandros, and numerous others to this list from places I never thought I would see. Praise God for the Remnant Body of Jesus Christ! Stay tuned for Part III of this saga, for the Lord does this again in Istanbul.
At this point, I must also say a word about the evangelism team I had the great privilege of working with in Romania and Moldova. First, there was my lovely wife. We hated to be away from our children for so long, but it was good to have her there with me. She was bold. Jon Lane, of course, has shared many adventures with us, and the church he pastors has faithfully supported our ministry for a while. His value was a no-brainer from the outset. Then, there was Tony who came to Bangladesh last year, his first ever flight on an airplane. Again, he proved very bold and labored much. Shawn, from South Dakota, was overseas for the first time. A young believer, he had quite a testimony and was bold to share it countless times on the streets. This time, Jon also brought his twelve-year-old daughter, Allie. I was initially unsettled about this, but she turned out to be a wonderful sport and a real asset. I was impressed by her participation, her boldness, and the fact that she never complained. Even I complained a few times. I must therefore ask: why don’t we give our youth more opportunity to labor for the Lord on real missionary journeys (i.e. journeys that require trusting the Lord, stepping out in faith, and actually proclaiming the Gospel message) instead of the glorified tours we often call “mission trips” ? Their boldness and example might shame even ours. In total, our team was solid, and the Lord allowed us to accomplish much. I thank God for these brothers and sisters.
As for Romania, it has been known as one of the poorer nations in Eastern Europe, although this is changing since a 2007 accession into the European Union. From the end of WWII until 1989, the people of Romania lived under a Communist dictatorship that was allied with the Soviet Union but also operated independently of Mother Russia in ways that other Eastern European satellites did not--sort of like Tito’s Yugoslavia. In the late 1960‘s, governmental control passed into the hands of Nicolae Ceausescu, an enigmatic figure who practiced political nepotism, engineered a weird personality cult, and introduced policies that resulted in serious persecution against Christians. Ceausescu’s wife, Elena, was a real “you-know-what” who hated Christians and made it a personal crusade to destroy churches. During this time, believers knew bona fide suffering. Richard Wurmbrand, the founder of Voice of the Martyrs, was a Romanian pastor who was imprisoned and tortured during these days. His autobiography, Tortured for Christ, is a worthy read. Anyway, in 1989, the people finally had enough and overthrew Ceausescu’s Communist government. Many civilians were killed by the Communist Security Forces in multiple Tiananmen Square-like incidents, but eventually, large parts of the national military sided with the people. Ceausescu and his wife were forced to flee Bucharest and were arrested shortly thereafter. Hastily, a show trial was convened, these were found guilty of crimes against the state, the couple was marched outside on Christmas Day in Tirgoviste, and they were shot. You can actually see the trial and the execution on YouTube as well as Ceausescu’s speech before the masses in Bucharest that fanned the flames of revolution. The look on the mad dictator’s face when the crowd starts shouting “Down with Ceausescu” is priceless. He was forced to flee, and shortly thereafter, the security forces started mowing down civilians in the streets. You can actually still see large bullet holes in the buildings around the downtown area where this occurred. Anyway, the suffering of Romanian believers under Communism and the subsequent people’s revolution in 1989 are interesting chapters in twentieth-century history worth delving into. I was amazed by how much has changed in just under a decade and by the open door to preach the Gospel that now exists in this place. As for the Romanian people, their history goes back centuries to the days of the Roman Empire when the Dachian peoples were conquered by the Romans who then intermarried with them. Romanians, therefore, are culturally affiliated with Italians and all that is Roman but with the quiet contemplative serenity that characterized old Dachia. Unlike in Finland and the UK, these Europeans would listen as we spoke the Gospel. As in Moldova, the people did not say much, but they would attend and contemplate. Sometimes, a small group would stand around for a half hour or more as we started with Creation and preached all the way to the Cross.
There are many images from our four days in and around the vicinity of Pucioasa that are permanently etched in my mind. One evening, as we targeted the byways of an outlying village, snow began to fall--big, wet flakes. It was serene and satisfying. Our team split up so as to saturate the entire area, and in front of an Orthodox Church, I noticed a handful of teenagers hanging around. We walked up and asked if we could share something with them. I pulled out the “EvangeCube” and started with Creation and the Garden of Eden. By the time I came to Jesus Christ, I looked around and saw probably thirty kids standing about, all listening with intent. The snow was really coming down by this point, and we were engulfed in foggy darkness. I could not make out faces, only blurred figures surrounding me. All took Gospel tracts in the end and seemed pricked by our proclamation of a relationship with the Creator through Jesus Christ APART from religion. Oh, ‘twas a glorious time. That night, we also witnessed outside a few bars. Jon was very bold with one man. Some moments, he seemed open, but he never could quite grasp how salvation is free upon our repentance and faith. ‘Twas sad, but the Word of the Lord never returns void. The evening culminated as we gathered with believers at a small house church. Jon and I both preached. I remember a row of elderly ladies at the back of that small room, their heads covered with colorful kerchiefs. These faithful believers had assuredly seen much going back to the days of Soviet Communism. Perhaps it was them who should have been teaching us. Chuck, a former United States Air Force Servicemen who now lives in Romania with his Italian wife, set all this up; and these fed us an incredible meal in their home that night--dear, sweet, humble brethren. How precious was that fellowship!
While in Pucioasa, our custom was to split up into two teams and target different areas of town. Each group would go out with some Romanian believers from Pastor Nicolae’s church. These would translate for us, help distribute Gospel tracts, and boldly proclaim themselves. Some of our translators were young teenagers with a passion to share Christ. Having come from atheistic or Orthodox families, there was a real cost for these to be a part of an evangelical fellowship engaged in the work of the Great Commission. One young girl said: “My Orthodox family will not let me be baptized as a believer, and those that used to be my friends now mock me; but I don’t care. I will follow Jesus Christ, for He has given me a new family.” Another teenage Christian translated for me as I preached to a group of her peers playing soccer in the courtyard of an apartment complex. The message was forthright and bold, but most listened. One adult man even joined in to ask some questions. We gave out a few Bibles. It was good.
I was so impressed with our translators--young people with a genuine love for the Lord. Truly, these put many of the youth in America’s churches to shame. While our youth groups have “open-mike night,” play ridiculous games when they should be studying the Word of God, exist in cliques, and bring reproach on the name of Jesus Christ by diving into the world, there are those in places like Romania and Moldova who take their faith very seriously, who live above reproach, and who are bold in their witness--despite costs that American teens have never known. I was greatly encouraged, but at the same time, I was shamed with conviction.
As mentioned, our team would often split up to tackle multiple opportunity. Some of us saturated a Gypsy village on the outskirts of town. These people, often referred to as Roma, are said to have migrated from South Asia many years ago. In fact, no one knows for sure where they came from, but there have long been large concentrations of Roma across Europe. Gypsies are a simple people, often poor, and can be aggressive. They have been ostracized in many European cultures for various reasons and are known to be branded with social stigmas. Amongst the Roma, however, we found some openness to the Gospel that reminded me of many homeless on America’s streets whom I have had the privilege of sharing with. There was an old man with an Indiana Jones-style hat standing outside his village farmhouse. A horse was grazing in the front yard, attached to medieval wooden wagon. Shawn, Tony, Alexandros, and I came upon him and offered a Gospel tract and some fresh socks. He asked a lot of questions, and we proclaimed Christ to him for what seemed like more than half an hour. His son and daughter-in-law also got involved. It was a good encounter. Please pray for the salvation of these. Tracts went out in that Gypsy village, and there were more encounters. We claimed a victory.
While we were walking muddy village streets, Jon, Jamie, Allie, Nicolae, and a few others saturated downtown Pucioasa. Their tract supply, surprisingly, was exhausted very quickly. Later, Tony, Shawn, and Alexandros played soccer with a bunch of local kids and then boldly proclaimed Christ. The rest of us went over to Vulcana, a small village on the other side of nearby hills. We walked the icy roads in the frigid afternoon under a fresh blanket of woodland snow. A few people were out and about, and the Word was proclaimed. Outside one home, a group of laborers had finished their work for the day. They were brash, but Jon preached boldly. The men took Gospel tracts and thanked us in the end. Later, we would all return to Vulcana for a wonderful meal around the hearth of a precious believing family (a mother, a daughter, and a bed-ridden grandmother) in their one-room house. We were all crammed in that small space, but that fellowship was as sweet and priceless as I can remember. The traditional Romanian vittles were great, and I am sure that family made a real sacrifice to host us. The hospitality of the believers we encountered in Moldova, Romania, and later in Turkey was so convicting. Lord, help us to be like these. Truly, I caught glimpses of what the Bible describes in Acts 2:44-45 and 4:32-35. These passages don’t describe communism (forcefully taking from some and distributing to others) as some have claimed, but biblical and voluntary COMMONISM, something that should set apart the Body of Jesus Christ (John 13:35).
On Sunday of that week, Jon and I preached at Nicolae’s precious little church. Three hours of church in the morning, a couple of hours that evening, and then we were whisked off to another church in Tirgoviste where Jon and I both preached again. When we were finished there, an old lady got up and sang beautifully with an old-style accordion. Then, another preacher got up to proclaim. The believers seemed to have little care for time, program, or schedule. The worship was simple and reverent but not overdrawn so as to diminish the proclamation of the Word. Those people were there to hear the preaching of the Scriptures and would sit with intent for hours, even teenagers. Oh, I was humbled and convicted. Again, maybe it was them who should have been teaching us. I remember sitting in the back row at Betania Baptist Church in Pucioasa. I was growing restless as we had been there for hours. Then, my ears perked as Jon’s preaching began to sound like the Reformation Preachers of old, rebuking the Orthodox Church and the fruitlessness of manmade religion and religious ritual. He preached Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Oh, I have often wondered, where are the Reformation preachers of old? Where are those who will stand in the gap and speak out against lukewarm churchianity and false religion, proclaiming repentance and faith without shame. That day, I realized that one was standing before me, and I do not say this in jest. Please continue to pray for Jon Lane and Shawn Holes as they are still dealing with repercussions of their arrest in South Dakota last year. Friends, they were arrested in the United States for handing out Gospel tracts!?!
Yes, Jon’s preaching was bold that day and appropriate. You see, before church that morning, we all strolled into an Orthodox Church there in the center of town. We just wanted to observe for a moment what was transpiring. Sure, there was Christian symbolism all over the place, but it literally reeked of empty religion. As people were lined up out the door to give money to the priest and make confession, I sensed the same spirit of bondage and oppression that I have encountered countless times in Hindu temples, Buddhist monasteries, Muslim mosques, Roman Catholic cathedrals, and, sad to say, many “evangelical” church buildings. It’s all the same--MANMADE RELIGION--and it can only damn. Jesus Christ and His Gospel is not religion, THANK GOD. So many were gathered in that Orthodox edifice there that morning to light candles for the dead, kiss the icons, and receive some “blessing” from the priest. The air was heavy with incense as people scrambled to earn merit with God, something that cannot be earned (Isaiah 64:6). I became sick in my gut. Some Gospel tracts did go out to a few beggars hanging around outside. May the Word of the Lord not return void.
For three straight days, we had labored ceaselessly to proclaim Christ to the lost and exhort the local brethren. We had stamped a lot of Gospel tracts with local church information and had given out a lot of fresh socks in the name of Jesus. Our last full day was a bit of a respite: we all loaded up in a van and crossed the Carpathian mountains into Transylvania of mythical lore. Enroute, however, we first paused in Glod, a Gypsy village that straddled the highway below the pass. We wanted to distribute the last of our socks and share Christ. Unfortunately, we made the mistake of carrying some socks openly. The people mobbed us. Jamie and a couple of the girls were groped, people grabbed socks out of our hands, and the scene came very close to getting out of control. For a split second, I actually thought I was in Kathmandu’s Ratna Park. Anyway, the begging for money was real aggressive, and I was confronted with an interesting irony. Outside a home with a satellite television, a girl with a cell phone that cost more than my iphone (the cheapest cell phones we saw in Romania cost more than $200) and very expensive clothes (I browsed some stores in Romania and Moldova: no way I could afford to outfit myself there) approached us for money. I could not help but laugh, for no one on our team has satellite TV. Amazing . . . people will spend every dime they have to own a cool cell phone and the latest fashion and then cannot afford to put food on their tables. Sheer profundity! Things calmed down as we put the socks away and split up in Glod. We ended up having some good conversations and were able to target the elderly with our limited supply of socks. I recall Ramo and his family. He asked a lot of questions and was very open. We prayed over him and gave him a Bible. Please pray for his salvation. With one pair of socks remaining, we ran into a blind man and were able to bless him in the name of Jesus Christ. Ilian listened with intent as Tony shared the Gospel and Alexandros translated. We gave this man a Bible and prayed over him. Pray that someone will read aloud to Ilian those wonderful words of life. A lot of socks and Gospel tracts went out in Glod, and for that we rejoiced.
Overall, we were able to give out more than eighteen dozen pairs of fresh socks on this missionary journey. Paul and I took in nine dozen to Moldova, and the team brought in another nine dozen when they arrived. Thanks to Twin City Knitting of Conover, North Carolina for donating these. Many were blessed: taxi divers in Cahul; children, martial arts students, and poor families in Moldova; Roma peoples in Pucioasa and Glod; and some elderly on the streets in Istanbul (more about that later). What a great bridge to the Gospel these proved to be.
After Glod, we crossed the snowy mountains along winding roads that cut through erie Transylvanian woods. Our ultimate goal was Bran Castle, the former home of Vlad the Impaler, the one legend romanticizes as “Count Dracula.” A lot of ridiculous folklore, of course, surrounds this historical figure who resisted the Ottoman Turks in the 1400’s. And, the facts are not even close to Bram Stoker’s rendition. I am reminded of something a Nepali once told me: “If you speak truth to 3,000 people, 300 will listen, and 3 will believe. If you speak lies to 3 people, 300 will listen, and 3,000 will believe.” I believe it was Joseph Goebbels, the propaganda minister in Nazi Germany, who said, “If you repeat a lie often enough, it becomes the truth.” I know I am presently getting off topic, but countless examples of such lies, accepted as the truth without question, come to mind, lies that have been told often enough that the masses believe them. For example: George Bush was a fiscal conservative; Obama represents change; The American Civil War was a “civil war” over slavery; Evolution is science; I John 5:7-8 as found in the King James Bible was not in the original text; America is a Christian nation; Soviet Communism is dead; a house mortgage is an investment; Islam is a religion of peace; a great revival is breaking out all over America; you have to spend to save; there are no unreached people groups in the Western world; and the Bible is full of errors. Wow, I could go on and on. As the days get darker, my friends, truth will be harder and harder to discern. It will fall in the streets (Isaiah 59:14). You better get into the Word before they take our Bibles away from us, for “thy word is truth” (John 17:17).
Man, how in the world did I go from Vlad the Impaler to American politics to the Bible in one paragraph? It’s time to get down off the soapbox and return to Bran. Yes, we drove up and over the mountains and came all the way to Bran only to discover that the place is closed on Mondays. So, we didn’t get to saunter the dark hallways of Dracula’s Castle. Notwithstanding, however, we did scatter some seeds in the town below amidst an ambience of spiritual oppression. At one bus stop, Jon preached to some young people. We trusted the journey not to have been in vain. If anything, just spending the day with our Romanian friends was priceless as was the crisp mountain air, the crags covered in snow, the thick forests, and the majesty of that medieval castle clothed in the day’s last rays of sun. They just don’t build things like they used to. Later that evening, we drove up to Peles Castle outside of Sinaia. Again, we could not get in, but the guard let us walk up to a nice vista. An amazing edifice it was. I love old castles. This scenario allowed us to give the guard a tract, and then it was back to Pucioasa. Our last full day ended with a traditional Romanian meal around Alexandros’ table. This young man translated for us all week and drove us around everywhere. He proved to be a bold witness, an excellent English speaker, and an exemplary follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, a Romanian Bishnu, I would say. Please pray for Alexandros’ family. They are lost, but still, his mother cooked us an incredible meal and brought all of us into their humble abode. I pray our sweet fellowship with her son, believers fellowshipping with believers in the spirit of Christ, was key in ultimately pointing her and the rest of their family to the Saviour.
All week, the team had been praying that the Lord would provide a way for us to get back to Moldova. He answered our prayers as Pastor Nicolae obtained a van and drove us the six hours back to Cahul. This brother was so precious, and we could not have asked for a better partner in ministry. Please pray for him, his family, and Betania Baptist Church. May they continue to be a bright light in Pucioasa. I do not believe this was the last time Full Proof Gospel Ministries will be laboring with this body of believers. Pray for us as we seek wisdom in this.
Enroute to Cahul, we were stuffed like sardines. It is a miracle in and of itself that we all got in there with all our luggage. Along the way, we stopped in Ploiesti, a pretty big Romanian city. As old men gathered around chess boards, people rushed to and fro, and a book fair was in full swing, we distributed a lot of Gospel tracts. We also stopped in another town to do more of the same. The Lord was good. The opportunity was abundant.
All day, we had wondered if the Moldovan Border Police would allow our van into the country without a green card, something normally required that Nicolae had been unable to obtain. God heard our prayers, and they let us pass. Finally, we arrived back in Cahul and bade farewell to our Romanian friend. I cannot thank this brother enough for all that he did for us. Nicolae, if you are reading this, THANK YOU. We came to be a blessing to you and your people, but instead, you were the blessing to us. May the Lord return the blessing unto you tenfold, no, an hundredfold.
Back in Moldova, we reunited with Pastor Anatol and the brethren of Emmanuel Church for two more full days of ministry. We again hit the streets in full force. Open-air evangelism, Gospel tract and Bible distribution, Jon preaching at the church, a late-night celebration of Tony’s birthday at a local cafe, sweet fellowship with Moldovan believers, and going into the homes of lost relatives of church members: those were good times, fruitful times. As before, the depressing Soviet-era aura of that place lightened while we engaged in the work. I only wished for the cold that kept everything frozen while Paul and I were there. It had warmed a bit, and all was wet and muddy. I recall a group of Russians who listened to me start with Creation and Eden and preach to the Cross; there was a busy bus station that got saturated with tracts; and there was the high note upon which our time there fully and finally ended, a divine appointment perhaps:
Before we had to catch an all-night bus back to Bucharest that night, Jon, Allie, and Shawn visited a family and preached boldly. Tony, Jamie, and I went with a Moldovan brother into the home of a teenage young man from the church who recently got saved. His parents were Orthodox and had proved difficult to reach. Anatol’s strategy, a bold one, was to send us into homes like this as friends from America who wanted to share something. In that tiny little kitchen, we shared tea and spoke of the days of Communism and the coming persecution of Christians in America. Those folks could not believe their ears when I told them about getting arrested in Hickory last year for distributing Gospel tracts. This, of course, proved a worthy bridge to the Gospel message, a bridge erected from the undeniable corruption of man and human government. Mr. & Mrs. Golder let me speak frankly and with boldness. He questioned Scriptures I referenced concerning salvation as a free gift. I pulled my Bible out and went to Romans 3:23-26. He said, “Maybe you have different Bible.” So, this man grabbed a Romanian New Testament and looked the passage up himself. “Wow,” he exclaimed, “I never knew this.” At this point, the questionings ceased and we preached Jesus until the time forced our departure. We gave some toys to their little daughter and prayed for them before we left. The parting expressions on their faces clearly indicated that these were grateful for our coming and had much to think about. Please pray for the salvation of Mr. & Mrs. Golder. Oh, what a way to leave Moldova!
That night, it was a long ride back to Bucharest, crammed in a van far too small for all of us and our luggage. It was sad to leave Anatol and the brethren in Cahul as it had been sad to leave our believing friends in Pucioasa. I came to understand how Paul and the Ephesians felt in Acts 20 as they parted ways for the last time. Hopefully, for us, we can one day labor again in Great Commission partnership with these. The will of the Lord be done.
As the Lord brings it to your mind, please continue to pray for Pastors Anatol and Nicolae and their churches. I mentioned some problems Anatol was facing with local authorities concerning their church building in my last update. I do not know if this has been resolved. Also, I recently got word from Alexandros that the believers in Pucioasa had distributed all the Gospel tracts we left with them. I am working on trying to assimilate some more to ship over there.
Just outside of Bucharest, Jamie and I said our goodbyes to Jon and the team--two sad partings in one night. They went on to the airport and arrived back in South Dakota the next day. God bless them. As for us, we were dropped off at the home of a missionary family from Brazil. Pastor Nicolae had worked this out, and the Tomaz’s proved to be yet more precious provision from the Lord. Their son, a high-school teenager, spoke perfect English, and we enjoyed much great fellowship. This family took us all over downtown Bucharest, showing us the People’s Palace (the world’s second largest building in terms of sheer volume), the square where the Romanian Revolution broke out, and the center of the Romanian Orthodox Church. You could still see bullet holes in a lot of the buildings from the 1989 Revolution. In addition to all of this, the Tomaz’s fed us, housed us, and helped us figure out how to best spend our last four days in that part of the world. What a blessing all of this proved to me. Amazing: Brazilian evangelical churches sending missionaries to Romania to preach the Gospel, and these, in turn, taking in American missionaries to help them along their journey. The ways of the Lord again astound me, and there are no cultural barriers in the family of God.
So in Bucharest, Jamie and I bought a couple of plane tickets and decided on a game plan. Do you remember that conversation I had a couple of weeks before in Cahul with a Moldovan leader from a Russian-speaking church in Istanbul? I mentioned it in my last update. Anyway, this seeming happenstance was the first step that would ultimately lead us to Turkey. But, I will save this final chapter for the next update. We came sowing the wind. When all was said and done, we had reaped the whirlwind. Thanks for all your prayers.
For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,
Jesse Boyd
P.S. Please keep praying for Jamie’s mom.

Reaping the Whirlwind Part I

Sun, 8 Feb 2009 20:15:34 -0500

Greetings, beloved, in the name of the Almighty, the Ancient of Days and the Saviour of men, the Lord Jesus Christ. “Behold he cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him: and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him. Even so, Amen” (Revelation 1:7).

I begin typing as I sit here with Jamie at the Ataturk International Airport in Istanbul, Turkey, waiting for our flight back to Romania. ‘Twas a crowded and hectic subway journey just to get back here from the old city. Wow, we had quite a time in Istanbul . . . but wait, I must not get ahead of myself. Truly, much led up to this point, and the Lord has been very good. Thank you for all your prayers. Back on January 7th, Paul Langford and I left North Carolina and eventually landed in Bucharest, Romania’s capital, as fresh snow covered the ground. Early on in this missionary journey, we sowed the wind, having only a couple of contacts in Romania and Moldova that we had never formally met. We knew not exactly how all things would play out and to what extent we would have opportunity to proclaim the Gospel. Three weeks later, with Jamie and I preparing to return to the home in the morning, it is apparent that we have reaped the whirlwind (Hosea 8:7), and I do mean this in a glorious sense . . .

. . . Well, I didn’t get very far with this update back in Turkey, or afterward in Bucharest for that matter. Now, I sit here in my office, having safely returned to America more than a week ago. I apologize immensely for the lack of communication over the past month. So much happened in Eastern Europe; suitable internet access was limited; and the last thing I had time to do was pen one of my characteristic epistles. Upon returning home: unpacking, catching up on administrative headaches, getting tax-deductible receipts out to our financial contributors, and a few unforeseen circumstances have yielded little time to recap; but finally, I am getting around to it. There is so much to tell as I desire to give testimony of God’s provision, the preaching of the Gospel, and specific answers to your prayers regarding this latest missionary journey. Our labour over in Eastern Europe basically unfolded in three stages. This update, I suppose, will therefore cover the first stage--my adventures with Paul Langford in Moldova (To view some photos, click GALLERIES above; for video clips, scroll to bottom of page). The rest of the story will come out in two subsequent “issues”, so please be patient with me. As always, I write for the glory of God and for your encouragement and edification.

Before I get into the recap, I must humbly request your prayers on several fronts. First of all, Jamie’s mom (Vickie Crafton) has been having some health problems lately, and this week, we learned that she has a grapefruit-sized mass on one of her kidneys. The doctors express certainty that it is cancer and are afraid to do a biopsy for fear of causing the tumor to spread. We will be learning more in the coming days, and doctors are never the final say on the matter. Join with us as we pray that God will take away that mass before she goes in for more testing on February 16. We can already discern the sovereign hand of the Lord in this matter, and it is comforting to note so many Providences leading up to this discovery. The Lord never brings His children only part way through tribulation and certainly will not give them more than they can bear (I Corinthians 10:13). We are earnestly praying for healing and the faith to deal with this situation. Your prayers would be most appreciated.

Continue to pray for Jon Lane and Shawn Holes. There was a court hearing on January 13th regarding their arrest in South Dakota for handing out Gospel tracts. Nothing was decided that day, only court testimony and cross-examination. Thankfully, God answered our prayers, and these proceedings did not cause a problem for Jon coming to Romania. We went on to have an incredible time of ministry with the South Dakota Team in Romania and Moldova (I will write about this in the next update). Thanks for your past prayers in that matter As I understand it, the Christian attorneys representing these brothers staged their questions at the hearing in such a away that it allowed both Jon and Shawn to boldly preach the Gospel before the judge, the prosecution, and others in the courtroom. Currently, the judge is reviewing the case, and a ruling is expected in a couple of weeks. Really, if this judge finds them guilty of the ridiculous charges levied against them, she should be impeached. Keep praying.

Finally, please pray for us and Full Proof Gospel Ministries in the coming days. I am mulling over some hard decisions regarding upcoming work, and the days to embark are fast approaching. Pray that the Lord leads us in a plain path and that we will not be “unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is” (Ephesians 5:17). I must say, things are a bit financially strained for FPGM at this time, and the failing economy has caused us to lose some committed monthly support. Please pray that the Lord makes provision. Again, we are finding our monthly operating budget to exceed our level of committed monthly support. To what extent we continue our labor in 2009 will be determined by how the Lord provides in this matter. Where the Lord seems to be leading involves financial obstacles, and I am struggling with the decision to proceed down that path. Thankfully, He has proven to us time and time again that He never guides where He does not provide (Philippians 4:19). As I have said a few times before, I will mention again with some reservation: If the Lord should lead you to support Full Proof Gospel Ministries on a monthly basis, even if but a small sum, it will be most appreciated; and we commit to use such for making the Gospel of Jesus Christ an unavoidable issue for as many people as possible all around the world and just around the corner. Remember, all contributions are tax-deductible. For more information, CLICK HERE. If you financially contributed to our work in 2008, THANK YOU. Your sacrifices are not taken for granted, and these make you fellow-helpers to the biblical truth we endeavor to proclaim and a valuable part of a Christ-centered fellowship of prayer warriors, financial supporters, missionaries, local churches, and Bible-believers. With grateful hearts, we are honored that you are a part of this fellowship, and what I will describe below regarding our latest missionary journey is YOUR spiritual fruit. I just put the 2008 tax-deductible contribution receipts into the mail before the February 2nd deadline. Those due one should have received it by now or will sometime soon. Again, I cannot thank you enough for your prayers and support.

So, back to Eastern Europe: Paul and I landed in Romania and were picked up at the airport by the family of a young Romanian pastor from Pucioasa. This would be the first of many such provisions from the Lord, and I rejoice to now call friends and fellow-laborers many that aforetime I knew not from Adam. That night, we crashed in a guesthouse, and as Paul and I went searching for food in the bitter cold of late night and early morning, we began scattering seeds, drawing from our large supply of Romanian tracts and eager to lighten our load. God gave us boldness from the beginning to witness in a completely new culture where we hadn’t the slightest clue about anything. Things were much different than the South Asian culture to which I am accustomed, and I must admit that the first few days had me homesick for Nepal. The next morning, Pastor Nicolae, with his wife and daughter, drove us the 300 km over to Cahul in Moldova. This was an incredible blessing as it saved us from a long and slow overnight bus and allowed time for sweet Christian fellowship. I had trusted the Lord to bring things together for the next week when the team from South Dakota would arrive in Bucharest. As it turned out, this team would be working with Nicolae and his church up in Pucioasa, so the ride to Moldova proved to be ordained of the Lord. The countryside was bleak and frozen, and the Dakota-like plains were dotted with ugly Soviet-style industrial monstrosities. A few seeds were scattered here and there. As we neared Moldova, I welcomed the plateaued hills and winding roads that hugged the Romanian side of the border. The border crossing with all those tracts and Bibles was surprisingly easy, and they didn’t even search our bags. The fact that so much could change in the less than twenty years since the USSR is astounding, a true testament to the grace and sovereign hand of Almighty God.

Moldova, a small landlocked country, used to be part of Romania until it was occupied by the Soviet Union during World War II. It would later become a Republic in the USSR and Soviet efforts to break the cultural ties between Romanians and Moldovans resulted in mass deportations of the population to Siberia, a forced influx of Russian and Ukrainian peoples, a push toward the use of the Russian language as opposed to native Romanian, and large-scale industrialization in a traditionally agricultural region. All of these factors, along with the breakup of the USSR in 1991 and the resulting cessation of Soviet capital and industry, have solidified Moldova as one of Eastern Europe’s poorest countries. On top of all this, the eastern strip of Moldova that lies on the far bank of the Dniester River considers itself independent, is occupied by the Russian Army against the will of the Moldovan government, and is a haven for the Russian mafia. Foreigners are warned to stay out of the Transnistria, and many Moldovans are afraid to travel there. Today, the Communist Party remains a strong force in the government, and the future of this country looks bleak. Nevertheless, after years of persecution under Soviet Communism, believers now experience much more freedom, can worship openly and establish Evangelical churches, and enjoy an open door for evangelism and the preaching of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This open door, like in Nepal, could swing shut at any time. Moldova, as we experienced it in Cahul, a decent-sized town near the Romanian border, could be very depressing. Old and drab Soviet-style architecture and high-rise apartment buildings were common, and the ghosts of Communism still hung around. Then, there was the Orthodox Religion. I want take the time to recap the history of the Orthodox Church, its formal break with Roman Catholicism in A.D. 1054, the minutiae that distinguishes Eastern Orthodoxy from Catholicism, or the shades of difference between the Greek, Russian, and Romanian Orthodox Churches. Suffice it to say that when Paul and I walked into an Orthodox Cathedral in Cahul, it stunk of man-made religion. This experience was strangely similar to being inside of a Buddhist monastery, a Hindu temple, or a Catholic Church. Man’s religion, it’s all the same: damning bondage. Jesus Christ and His Gospel is not religion, thank God. The priest in this particular church was very suspicious of us and was either disgustingly ignorant concerning the history of Eastern Orthodoxy or else willfully reserved. He basically ignored our questions. There were lots of icons for sale there, and poor Moldovans will spend lots of money for these. Icons are not three-dimensional statues like what the Catholics esteem. That, according to the Orthodox, would be idolatry. Flat renditions on paintings or mosaics, on the other hand, are OK. You can kiss them, revere them, pray to them. It’s only idolatry if the object of your reverence is 3D, or so says the Orthodox Church. The religions of man can be so ridiculous. Pope, Patriarch: What’s the difference? They are just men in need of a Saviour like you and me. Traditions of man: nonsensical garbage (Colossians 2:8). So many are deceived by the rudiments of religion. Moldova was no different. And, oh yes, there were many we saw carrying the prayer beads: just like the Catholics do, just like the Buddhists do, just like the Muslims do. Oh how badly the world is in need of the Gospel message (i.e. repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ--Acts 20:21). Thank God that He has a faithful remnant and that His message continues to go forth. We would experience that Faithful Remnant firsthand in Cahul.

There, Paul and I hooked up with Anatol Dunas, the pastor of Emmanuel Church, a local body of believers supported by one of our partnering churches in North Carolina. For the next five days, we would be extremely busy--a whirlwind of public proclamation and fellowship with genuine believers. The Lord was very good.

First, there were the marital arts demonstrations. Nicolae, Pastor Anatol’s brother, is a bold believer and a fine Tae Kwon Do instructor. He heads up several martial arts schools and brought Paul (a fifth degree black belt in Teashikido and my instructor) and me (a fourth degree black belt in Teashikido) in to teach marital arts technique and boldly preach the Gospel. Overall, we visited four separate classes. At the main school, we performed a demonstration of our style, including knife and gun defense technique. This seemed to really impress the students. That, in turn, paved the way for bold preaching later and appreciative acceptance of Gospel tracts, Bibles, and fresh socks from America. Nicolae was a superb translator and proved to be a bold witness himself. In fact, it was plainly obvious that he was motivated by sharing Christ through his martial arts teaching. Paul and I were both encouraged and convicted. Later, we would visit three more dojos, smaller classes run by some of Nicolae’s black belts. There, we also taught technique and preached the Word of God. At Newton Martial Arts, our dojo in Newton, NC, we are adamant that martial arts technique is to be an absolute last resort for the protection of oneself or for the protection of those who cannot protect themselves. Even so, the use of such is never to go beyond self-defense; and sometimes, the best type of self-defense is no defense at all. One sees this truth in Matthew 5:39, and I can sincerely say that putting this principle into practice on several occasions in my life probably saved my life. Anyway, the gist of our message to the Moldovan students was just that: Sometimes, the best type of self-defense is no defense at all. What a bridge to the Gospel this proved to be, for one who was mightier than the mightiest warrior demonstrated this for the benefit of others: Jesus Christ, the Lord of Glory and Creator of all, chose not to defend Himself when He had all the power to do so (Matthew 26:53; John 10:17-18). And, this restraint paved the way for the salvation of men (John 12:32). “Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift” (II Corinthians 9:15). To see some video of our preaching in one of the dojos, CLICK HERE.

That week, Paul and I would also meet for several hours with all of Nicolae’s black belts and a few of his highest ranking students. These were very intrigued by our self-defense technique, particularly our approaches for dealing with knife or gun attacks; so, we rejoiced to be able to pass some of this knowledge on to others. These things really caused me to reflect with gratitude concerning all that I have learned from Paul over the years and the things we both learned from our founding sensei, Larry Beal. I thank God for these men who never saw martial arts as a means to make a buck and taught solid, practical technique in a Christian context. I have truly been blessed. Back in 1991, I traveled to the Soviet Union with a United States Government ambassador program. At the time, I was a yellow belt--very early on in my martial arts training. I remember asking Sensei Beal to promote me to green belt before my trip, but he refused, knowing that I was not ready. I was angered and actually thought about quitting. At that time, I was also a false convert, lost and bound for hell. I remember that my plane flight from Moscow to Rostov on Don in the Ukraine almost crashed. The landing gear would not come down. But for the grace of God, I could have died and gone to hell. In 1991, I went to the Soviet Union unconcerned about the things of God and having no care for the souls of men. Moreover, I was bored with martial arts and on the verge of giving it up altogether. Then, I never would have dreamed that I would be back in the former Soviet Union almost eighteen years later as a fourth degree black belt teaching martial arts with Paul Langford and preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The sovereign grace and Providence of the Lord will never cease to amaze me (Isaiah 55:9).

Martial arts was not the only aspect of our labor in Moldova. This was interspersed with much street evangelism and some testimony and preaching at Emmanuel Church in Cahul. On a Saturday evening, we preached at a youth meeting where some lost were in attendance. The young people were reserved and hard to read but received us well. They actually paid attention for the duration and were not climbing up the walls and rolling their eyes like typical American spoiled brats. Truly, this was an indictment against the conventional youth of American churchianity. I shake my head in shame even now. That night, the lost heard the Gospel preached with a sharp edge, and the the saved were exhorted unto boldness and obedience. The next day, the Lord’s Day, I was honored to preach to all the believers gathered at Emmanuel Church.

On this missionary journey, I would be given opportunity to proclaim in five churches, and my message would be the same: Be a bold witness for Jesus Christ. This is what it means to be filled with the Holy Spirit (Acts 4:31). Being a bold witness is not inviting someone to church, simply being nice, chickening out with the Gospel under the guise of “building relationships, or “lifestyle evangelism.” No, to be filled with the Holy Spirit and to be a bold witness is to be unashamed of the exclusivity of the Gospel message (i.e. Jesus Christ as the only way to eternal salvation--Romans 1:16-17; Acts 4:12); to preach (the God-ordained method for carrying the Gospel throughout the world--I Corinthians 1:10,18); to go forth with intent, ever ready and willing to make the Gospel of Jesus Christ the topic of conversation (II Corinthians 4:13; I Peter 3:15); to be ready and willing to suffer (Philippians 1:29; II Timothy 3:12); and to be motivated by obedience as opposed to results (Mark 16:15-16; John 6:44; I Corinthians 3:7). The truth of the matter is this: Jesus Christ’s last commandment to his followers before ascending back to heaven was “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15). This Great Commission appears four other times in the New Testament (Matthew 28:19-20; Luke 24:46-48; John 20:21; Acts 1:8), and it was no good suggestion. It was a command that God expects believers to obey. Well, what does it look like to faithfully carry out the Great Commission? The Book of Acts shows us how the earliest disciples understood and carried out this command, and more than anything else, it is a model of how we, too, should be obedient to our Lord. From beginning to end, Acts shows the labor of the earliest disciples to be clothed in bold evangelism. This, my friends, is the foundation of the Great Commission, the evidence of the filling of the Holy Spirit (Acts 4:31); and without bold evangelism, you cannot have genuine discipleship, genuine church planting, or genuine New Testament ministry. As I preached, I spoke of the false religion of American churchianity as an example of what results when the foundation of the Great Commission is neglected and disdained. I also warned the believers to exercise great caution with so-called “Christian teachings” and “Christian teachers” that are popular in America. I implored: “Be instructed by the Word of God and the Holy Spirit, and heed the godly leaders that the Lord has put over you in your churches. The United States is not the source of truth, and much of what American churchianity has to offer will do you far more harm than good.” I went on to speak of the coming persecution in America for the genuine believers. Not a few were shocked by tales of Christians being arrested around my country simply for passing out Gospel tracts or being a witness of the Gospel. “I do not believe this,” one man said, “America is a Christian nation, it is the land of freedom.” Sadly, I had to enlighten this brother with harsh reality. Needless to say, Officers George, Nowatka, and Yoder of the Hickory Police Department got lots of publicity in three different countries. I am sure these never would have imagined such when they put me and my brother in handcuffs back in June of last year simply because we were distributing Gospel tracts in the town square. Scattered amongst the believers there in Moldova and in churches where I preached in Romania were elderly Christians who undoubtedly remembered the days of persecution under Communism, my so-called sufferings paling in comparison to what these could assuredly recount. Perhaps it was they who should have been teaching us about boldness and faithfulness to proclaim the Gospel. Anyway, I pleaded with the brethren to pray for the churches in America, not that we would be delivered from persecution necessarily, but that persecution would make us strong and bold as it did for those behind the Iron Curtain just a few decades ago. God’s will be done.

During our time in Cahul, Paul and I hit the streets and distributed many Gospel tracts. Sometimes, it was brutally cold, but people were out and about. There were many conversations, and brothers and sisters from the local church proved to be very bold translators. At first, we felt somewhat stupid--Pastor Anatol would approach small groups of people and introduce us as sportsmen from America. He would then turn to us and say, “Ok, you preach Gospel.” So implored, we spoke of the Creator, the Garden of Eden, the Law of God, the Cross, God becoming flesh, and eternal salvation upon repentance and faith. The “Evangecube,” a visual tool I sometimes use, came in very handy. ‘Twas a bit strange in Moldova: The people seemed very introverted and a bit taken aback by our greetings and initiations. Unlike Finland and the UK, however, very few refused the tracts or our message. Images of so many faces come to mind from these outings. We witnessed to the mayor of the town, some police officers, lots of taxi drivers, students from the university, the two caretakers of the town Christmas tree (Moldovans leave up their Christmas decorations far longer than Americans, partly because the Romanian Orthodox Church follows the Julian calendar, so Christmas traditionally falls on January 8th), and whoever else the Lord put into our path--rich and poor, young and old.

We also gave out a lot of socks in the name of the Lord Jesus on the streets of Cahul and in a nearby village or two. This proved a great bridge to the Gospel. Let me pause and thank Twin City Knitting of Conover, NC for donating more than nine dozen pairs of tube socks for this work. It was quite a job to strategically pack and carry over all those socks and Gospel materials, but we were sure thankful that we did. The people on the streets loved the socks, and the believers at Emmanuel Church were thrilled to receive a sizable supply of Gospel tracts, Bibles, and other Christian materials in Romanian, Russian, and English. Having seen the boldness of these believers, there is not a doubt in my mind that all these materials will go out. Obtaining solid Gospel tracts and Bibles is expensive in Moldova and getting these in quantity is more than difficult. Very few things in ministry give me more joy than being able to supply believers with stockpiles of materials for evangelism, especially when I know that these can use them in their cultures far better than I or my evangelism teams can.

Several incidents are worth mentioning. One afternoon, Nicolae took us out to Mantra, a village on the outskirts of town. I was again confronted with the fact that village life all over the globe is basically the same. There were are few people out and about in the frigid air--a couple of students, an old man at the well, some village women. Tracts went out. Eventually, we made our way out to a frozen lake where some kids were playing ice hockey. We walked way out there and Paul preached the Gospel with boldness. All the kids stopped playing and listened to him as Nicolae translated. We then gave them tracts and fresh socks. It was glorious. Had we so desired, we probably could have walked across the frozen water all the way to the Romanian frontier. To see some video of this preaching, CLICK HERE.

Another day, we targeted a small market. Several paused to listen as I drank tea and started sharing amongst a few vendors. One man openly rejected the truth that salvation in Jesus Christ is a free gift. He could not accept this and stormed off. ‘Twas a good thing actually--it sparked the interest of others as I explained how salvation is free (i.e. Romans 3:23-26).

Anatol took advantage of our presence, utilizing a very bold and interesting strategy. Later, when I brought my wife and the South Dakota team back to Cahul, we would again employ this tactic. Several believers in his church have unbelieving relatives who are closed to the Gospel. Because we were “visiting sportsmen from America,” we could gain entrance into these homes and speak boldly. Perhaps, Anatol thought, these would listen to us. I really admired the boldness in this. Anyway, to make a long story short, Paul and a Moldovan brother visited one such family and shared the Gospel there. Anatol took me to meet Nicolae, a former Soviet Army officer who served in Afghanistan. His son had recently become a Christian and was attending Emmanuel Church. An influential businessman, Nicolae had recently been involved in a head-on collision while driving his car. He should have been dead but escaped with only a broken femur. It was snapped in half; I saw the X-ray. Nicolae, accustomed to running around and being very busy with little time for the things of God, was now bed-ridden and humbled. In those moments, as he lay inert, he was confronted with the reality of God’s judgment and the balm of the Gospel message. The Lord gave me great boldness as I used the “Evangecube” to illustrate. To Anatol’s amazement, he actually listened and did not kick us out of his house. I gave him some socks in the end, and he allowed me to pray for his healing and salvation right there in the bedroom. This, my friends, was a divine appointment. Please pray for Nicolae. Back in 1991, when I visited the Soviet Union as a punk teenager with little care for the things of God, I met a young man who had also served in the Soviet Army in Afghanistan. In fact, he gave me his desert uniform jacket with the hammer and sickle on the gold-plated buttons. I still have it. Then, I never thought about sharing Christ and am ashamed even now as I think back. This time, however, the Lord gave me another opportunity, and again, it involved a former soldier who served in Afghanistan. I can only marvel.

Sadly, our time in Cahul eventually came to an end. Paul and I bought a couple of seats on a night van going back to Bucharest. The ride was a miserable seven hours. The driver did not want to arrive at our destination too early, so he drove a mere 35 mph on open freeway. Why couldn’t we just stop at an all-night cafe or something and kill time? The culture shock was getting to me. Something I noticed about the Romanians and Moldovans: They deal with cold outside by cranking up the heat inside their homes and vehicles to ridiculous levels. There were times when it was brutally cold outside but so hot inside (they heat their homes with natural gas), that I found myself wanting to run out into the night with nothing but my underwear and a t-shirt. The van ride to Bucharest was no different. The heat inside that vehicle was vomit-inducing, and the driver ran it at full-blast the entire journey. He spoke no English and could not comprehend “Turn the heat down” even when I started shedding layers left and right. He just sat there and drove, all bundled up and acting comfortable. I tried everything to block a vent in the front seat that wouldn’t close. Stuffing my beanie and scarf in there worked for awhile, but then these almost caught fire. Once, when we stopped for a potty break, I opened the door to gasp in the cold night air. The driver got upset with me and complained that the other passengers would get cold. This cultural idiosyncrasy had me dangerously close to a spiritual meltdown. I dealt with it by stepping outside the van and forcing myself to stand there in short-sleeves until we were ready to leave (about twenty minutes). I figured: the longer I freeze in the single-digit cold, the longer it will take me to thaw-out in that sweltering van. Maybe, just maybe, we’d be in Bucharest before the nausea returned. The other passengers and the driver looked at me like I was deranged, and Paul just snickered. As a result of these antics, I caught a cold the next day that wouldn’t leave me until I returned to the United States. Culture shock can truly lead a person to do regrettable things.

The van ride wasn’t all bad, however. Paul and I found ourselves in the midst of a unique irony when we crossed the border back into Romania. The Romanian Border Officer was visibly suspicious of us. “Get out of the vehicle, and open your bags,” he barked. The man was especially curious about a briefcase that Paul had packed inside of his larger suitcase. The briefcase was full of Gospel tracts and a few Bibles. Upon inspecting these materials, the officer remarked: “Oh, you must be working with a church. That is good. I don’t need to see anything else. You are free to continue on. Have a nice night.” In that moment, I chuckled when I considered how different that scenario would have transpired 20 years ago under Communism. Things sure have changed in that part of the world, and this in itself means there is hope yet for the godless West.

At 4:00 am, we finally arrived in Bucharest. Do you remember Nicolae from Pucioasa who initially drove us to Moldova? Well, his brother, Slavic, picked us up at the bus stop and brought Paul and me back to his apartment where we crashed for the night. Though the place was extremely small, he and his wife welcomed us in and gave up their bed to strangers. I was humbled by this show of Christian charity, something we had enjoyed often since our initial arrival. In fact, thinking back on this, I am a bit sad. The fellowship and partnership we had with the believers there and later in Romania and Turkey was notable. In these believers, I tasted true charity, a hospitality and a love for us as strangers that made even “Southern hospitality” seem to be a surface-level sham. I miss this. I have always appreciated the word “charity” in the King James Bible. When Jamie and I were married, I Corinthians 13:4-7 was read aloud during the ceremony. I refused to allow the preacher to substitute “love” for “charity” as found in the passage. The reason is because the Bible properly makes a distinction between charity and love. When one examines every New Testament reference where these words are found, it is easy to see that “charity” is a term reserved for the special love relationship that can and should exist between believers, members of the Body of Christ. Despite modern-day connotations of this word, charity is distinct from all other types of love and is far more than what we typically comprehend as American Christians. In Romania and Moldova, the believers gave me a better understanding of this. Across the board, these were so hospitable and accommodating toward us, mere strangers following the same Saviour. Sacrifices were made so that Paul and I were well fed and had comfortable places to sleep. We were forced to spend little money, and we were constantly encouraged in numerous opportunities to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I could not possibly say enough about Anatol & Nicolae Dunas, Geul, Ruslan, Nicolae & Slavic Vulpe, their families, and many others. These taught me much about Christian charity and the Body of Christ as it is supposed to be (see Acts 2:42-47; 4:32-35). Thank you, dear brethren. Know this: The Bible says that those who take care of traveling preachers on their journeys, though they be strangers, do well. May the Lord bless you all tenfold, no, an hundredfold.

Before Paul departed for home, we had a day to walk the avenues in Bucharest, sowing seeds of the Gospel. That night, Jamie arrived after a long delay in London coupled with a bout of sickness. It was late, and we were all very hungry. From the guesthouse where Paul and I stayed our first night in Eastern Europe, we strolled down a familiar sidewalk and came upon a familiar vendor, a Turkish man selling shaormas (similar to Greek gyros). His culinary creations again hit the spot, and for a second time we spoke the Gospel in our broken Romanian and his broken English. Though short and sweet, I sensed the appointment to be divine. From there, we watched young people ice skate in the park, saturated a marketplace closed for the night, and prepared to part ways a few hours later. Paul returned home safely. As for us, however, our work had only just begun.

Before I close (I know this update has been really long), please remember Pastor Anatol and his church in your prayers. The Lord provided these believers with a beautiful building in which to worship not too long ago. It is simple, yet charming, a bright yellow color that stands in stark contrast to the drab Soviet-style architecture dominating Cahul. Since I returned from Eastern Europe, Anatol was approached by a government inspector and accused of not having “official permission” to use this building. The church was fined and told to cease using the edifice until “official permission” (whatever that means) was granted. Apparently, this has something to do with the basement of the church being unfinished, and corrupt political officials see this as an opportunity to elicit bribes and stymie the ministries of this bold body of believers in Cahul. Pastor Anatol has been told that the basement must be finished before any type of official permission will be granted. Unfortunately, Emmanuel church has not the laborers or the funds for this project at the moment. This whole building was erected in faith without debt, and progress has been only as the Lord provided. Now, the Evil One is trying to extinguish this beacon of light in a spiritually dark and forlorn land. I shudder to think that these troubles are a direct result of our evangelistic boldness in Cahul or a result of the characteristic boldness of these believers as they live out Christ in their everyday lives. Pray for them.

Wow, this draft is ten pages! I must sign off, and as I do, my mind is flooded with recollections of Moldovan villages, roads full of potholes, Soviet high-rise apartment buildings, bitter cold afternoons, loads of Romanian and Russian Gospel tracts needing to be stamped, frozen lakes, pungent sheep cheese, homemade fruit juice, Orthodox shrines, lots of meat and potatoes, Christmas lights up long after Christmas, cold and depressing Soviet-era gyms used for martial arts classes, my quest for donkey sausage, warm fellowship with brothers and sisters in Christ, and a myriad of opportunities to proclaim the Gospel in a plethora of circumstances. Your prayers were answered; my prayers were answered. Glory to God. We sowed wind, but we reaped a whirlwind.

During my last day in Moldova with Paul Langford, I met a leader from a Russian-speaking church in Istanbul, Turkey. Little did I know, but this rendezvous would ultimately result in me preaching at his church and would forever tie Jamie and me to a sixteen-hundred-year-old city, Hezbollah, and Iran. But, this fascinating story will have to wait for another day. And, I still have to tell you all about Romania. The Lord is good, very good.

Stay tuned . . .

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,
Jesse Boyd

Another Eve of Departure

Tue, 6 Jan 2009 11:04:58 -0500

Greetings friends and loved ones in the matchless name of the Name that is above every other name: the Lord Jesus Christ. Before him, every knee will one day bow (Romans 14:11; Philippians 2:10). As Keith Green once wrote in a ballad: “You know you’re gonna find out that He’s the way no matter which way you choose, but I pray you find out by His love for you.”

I trust every one of you had a wonderful Christmas with family and friends, remembering most of all an important truth: What transpired in Bethlehem more than 2,000 years ago is less about a helpless baby in a manger and more about Almighty God becoming flesh (I Timothy 3:16) so that He could die, not for us, but AS us (II Corinthians 5:21; I Peter 2:24, 3:18; Zechariah 12:10). Therefore, this new year, let those of us who claim the name of Jesus Christ depart from iniquity (II Timothy 2:19) and speak the Word of God with boldness (Acts 4:31; II Corinthians 4:13).

Well, ‘tis yet another eve of departure: the destination, this time, being Eastern Europe. Please keep our evangelism team and the upcoming work in your prayers over the coming weeks. On Wednesday (January 7), Paul Langford and I will leave for Romania and Moldova where we will be witnessing on the streets and conducting several martial arts demonstrations as an avenue to preach repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ (Acts 20:21). The next week, Jamie, my wife, will be flying into Bucharest where we will also rendezvous with a team of four from South Dakota. The next two weeks will be spent in Romania, the Ukraine, Moldova, and possibly Istanbul in Turkey. Pray for the safe arrival of all luggage as we are carrying in more than 20,000 Gospel tracts, over 150 Bibles and Scripture portions, various discipleship materials, and about 250 pairs of fresh socks for distribution amongst poor believers and on the streets. Stay tuned for email updates from the front lines.

Pray also that the Lord makes provision for the financial burdens that FPGM will assume during this venture. Any time one travels to a place where the Euro is the national currency (i.e. Romania), the prices relative to the United States can seem astronomical. There will be a lot of traveling on the ground as the team targets key locations in at least three countries, and this will require hiring undoubtedly expensive transportation to carry us and all the materials around. The LORD has always been faithful to provide, and we have never lacked. Join us as we pray for such to be the case yet again.

On another note, Matthew and I ironically appeared on the front page of the Hickory Daily Record back on December 28th as some of Hickory’s “People of the Year.” I guess the paper felt that our arrest for distributing Gospel tracts was worthy of year-end remembrance. Thanks for praying about this per the request in my last email update. I believe the article was favorable overall and that Christ received glory. I had been asked to sum up the message that we preach on the streets, and the paper surprisingly quoted me exactly: “Repent and be born again. Jesus Christ is the ONLY WAY to heaven.” Also, Matthew was asked if we planned to continue taking the Gospel to the streets in Hickory. He replied, “What we do is mandated by Scripture.” On the front page, there was a huge picture of us holding forth Gospel tracts and Scripture portions with expression of resolve hanging form our brows. The heading on the front of some Gospels of John that I was holding was very clear for all to see: “Behold the Lamb of God.” May the Word of the Lord not return void according to His promise (Isaiah 55:11). If you are interested, you can still check out the article online: CLICK HERE. Scroll down a ways from the picture to find the write-up on “Jesse & Matthew Boyd.”

Well, I better wrap this up; there is much packing yet to do. For those of you accustomed to long epistles, I am sorry to let you down on this occasion. Rest assured, however, some more detailed updates will be coming shortly. Pray for Jamie next week as she travels alone to Romania, and please pray for our children as we will be away from them for a couple of weeks. Pray also for Jon Lane and Shawn Holes as their court date regarding the arrest for handing out Gospel tracts at the University of South Dakota is fast approaching. In fact, Jon will be in court the day before he leaves with his team to meet up with us in Romania. We are trusting that the failed and corrupt legal system of the United States will not prove a thorn in the side of this evangelistic venture into a part of the world where what we will be doing was recently illegal under Communist regimes and virtually guaranteed dire consequences. Now, it seems, the door is wide open. Praise be unto God.

As I think about the state of things in America today (i.e. churchianity, widespread apostasy, apathy toward the things of the Lord, loss of freedom to proclaim the Gospel, etc.) in comparison with the unforeseen freedom to publicly proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ in other places around the globe, I am reminded of Paul and Barnabas’ bold words to the Jews at Antioch of Pisidia: “It was necessary that the word of God should first have been spoken to you: but seeing ye put it from you, and judge yourselves unworthy of everlasting life, lo, we turn to the Gentiles” (Acts 13:46). Even so, thus we endeavor to do in the dead of winter at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains, in the Danube River Valley, and along the coast of the Black Sea. So, help us God.

Stay tuned.

For the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ,

Jesse Boyd

FPGM HOMEPAGE