30. A Valley of Decision

© 2020 Daniel Yordy

December 1997 – August 1998

A Dark and Cold Winter 
I added up the nights we spent not at Blair Valley from the time we arrived in mid-April, until we returned as landed immigrants in December. One-third of all nights were spent elsewhere, and only two-thirds at home. After our return on December 3, we no longer went out except for trips to town. There would be (almost) no trips afar for the rest of our time at Blair. 

This was good. 

Only now, as I am laboring inside of God over all these memories, placing myself back into a time that has held the biggest unanswered questions in my life, I see everything lining up into the goodness of the Lord Jesus Christ. But I must divide carefully between the clarity with which I now see and the complete absence of understanding through which I lived in these months.

These next eight months at Blair Valley would be a time of even greater peace outwardly. I now know that God made it so in order to take me through the process of changing my mind without pushing me into insanity. I did know at that time that a complete mental breakdown was just a nudge away.

It has been observed in Christian history that a pursuit of the knowledge of God over many years can lead to a mental breakdown. I know now this is only because of the evil definitions we Christians have given to God, to salvation, and against ourselves.

I was aware of this “Christian” experience of seeking a God who always seems to be “against us” at this time; indeed, I was living in it. Yet I knew no way out.

The winter of 1997-1998 was dark and cold. The nights were long; the days were short and dim. Snow covered the ground for six months solid, with the promise of mud following after.

When we arrived back from the border, I had hardly any physical strength. I had only a few chores, however. One was to walk over to the cowshed once a day to check on and water and feed the animals. One was to fill up the water tanks around once a week. And a third was to keep the fire going in our stove and in the Tabernacle. I also carried out our potty bucket to the outhouse once a day. Then, anytime it snowed, I traded off with Kars to spend a day driving the tractor and snowplow all the way down our winter road, several miles to the gas-field road, and then back again, plowing snow all the way. This was actually quite a beautiful task, through the wooded winter landscape, making our road smooth and clear.

Beyond that, I had no strength of mind or body to do anything else. So I sat in the downstairs of our house behind my desk, and wrote. I did not know God, but I wanted to, and the only way I knew how to know God was to write my way into knowing Him, and so I have continued until now, over twenty-two years later. I love to know God so much and His Word is so very beautiful to me, that I doubt I will ever stop, not for a few trillion years, at least.

I must describe the setting to you. I had the decent large teacher’s desk with my electronic typewriter on it. I know it was powered, and we did have a small inverter for it, but I also remember some difficulties with adequate power. My “office” was divided by a “wall” of blank studs with nothing on them. The firewood stack was just behind me. The wood stove just in front. It was warm in our home and easy to keep heated. Although I did have to come down the outside stairs regularly to stoke the stove, having dry firewood right there at hand was an incredible blessing. Plus, because the entire floor of our living area was heated from beneath, we had no cold corners whatsoever. 

The open studs and the walls all around were rough and bare. I did have a nice window facing south towards the old tabernacle, which was my view across the snow-covered way. But January and February are long, cold, and dim months. I grew up in Oregon; I love green and growing things. I was becoming weary of so many long months without any garden greenery.

I had the teaching I had given in Oregon and then again at Blueberry on tapes. I transcribed those tapes and typed out a rough version of a booklet I called “The Two Gospels.” Then I worked and worked on it, to make it succinct and well-written. When I look back now, I see two things. First, I see that I was writing then so very much of what I am writing now, even bringing into view a relationship of union with God. And second, I see that I had the “two gospels” switched. I was calling “another gospel,” the “true,” and what I now know as Paul’s gospel I called the false.

The terrible line in my book was this – “when we come into union with God.” That is something no human will ever do. Salvation begins when we accept a Jesus who first comes into union with us, taking into Himself all that we are, including our sin and our shame. But I had zero knowledge then of such a thing. What I did know was that, in teaching a word that was in line with what Brother Buddy Cobb taught, I was deliberately and knowingly twisting verses, especially Paul’s verses, to make them fit this view of “the gospel.” I knew I was doing it, and I hated it. I just had no idea what I was missing.
And that’s the point. Over these months, I became fully aware that I was missing something HUGE, right at the center of the gospel. But I had no idea what that “something” was.

On a different note, besides occasional hunters coming over from the other farms to our moose-filled valley, our only visitors through this time were Russel and Marina Stendhal. They were missionaries in Columbia, but had been somewhat connected with the move for several years now. They shared in a service and visited with Maureen and me a bit in our home.

And yes, we did have moose, lots of them, coming in close to eat from the few large round bales of hay still sitting in the fields. (Our neighbor paid us to allow him to process and take the hay for his own cattle operation.) Some moose would come right into our back yard.

A Very Quiet Word from God 
I can describe for you the setting and the state of my mind, but I could not cause you to know that setting truly unless I could take you  back there again to see and to understand. You would be stunned by the miles of impassible wilderness to get there and the isolation amidst the grandeur surrounding our home at Blair Valley. The Kiers’s house was not in view of ours, and thus we seemed quite alone.

I want to add an experience that happened during this time that contributes to the sense I hope to convey. As I said, Rick and Shirley came out faithfully every weekend, usually arriving Friday evening and returning to town on Sunday evening. This might have been in late December before our winter road was accessible. Anyhow, they came out from town one Friday evening and attempted to cross the high ridge from the Gundy valley. They had chains on a four-wheel drive for the task. They called in from Wonowon to let us know they were on their way, but a few hours later they had not arrived.

It was nearly fifty below zero. After I visited with Kars, I bundled up into the pickup and drove up over the ridge. I had to put on chains, but I made it over the top and down the other side. Understand that at these temperatures, a difficulty on the way meant certain death. We had to know that Rick and Shirley were okay. On the shallow slope up, just before the road climbs steeply and then turns abruptly at a 45 degrees to climb up the steeper slope above, I saw their tire tracks coming in. I saw where they had turned around and driven back out, choosing not to risk that steep climb that night. I knew that they were safe.

I turned the pickup around and headed back up the slope. I made it around the bend and halfway up before one of my tire chains broke apart. I stopped and carefully eased my way back down a bit. The chain was in pieces. I would not make it up the hill with only one chain, indeed, to try meant a high risk of getting stuck and thus stranded at fifty below. It was just three miles to home where my wife and children were anxiously waiting for me, but it might well have been a thousand. I thought carefully. We were just opening the winter road and I might have been able to come in by driving maybe fifty miles around, but I had not been on it before. I was not familiar with the way and at fifty below and at night that seemed to me a senseless risk.

So, I had only one recourse. I turned around and left my wife and children there alone in that cold valley with only an elderly couple as their help, and I drove the two-hour drive into Fort St. John. I did stop at Wonowon to call and let them know what had happened and that I and the Annett’s were safe. In Fort St. John, I stayed again with Peter and Barbara Bell, our good friends. I would not be able to purchase new chains until Monday, however.

Peter and Barbara always had a room for us in their downstairs. There was a family room down there as well. To pass the time, I put on the movie, Dr. Zhivago. In this movie, a man abandons a wonderful wife and two children, just as the Communists are taking over, in order to adhere to a prostitute. His decision was so wrong to me; indeed, I do not see it as a “love story,” but as the worst form of betrayal. Then, he was taken away from St. Petersburg for a while. The point came in the movie when the man was wading through deep snow in cold winter, trying to get back to his “family.” At that point, I shut the thing off and have never looked at Dr. Zhivago again. I cannot express the horror I felt, with my dear wife and children, one hundred impassible miles away through bitter cold, and I could not get to them.

I did get chains on Monday and drove safely back to Blair Valley. Everything was fine, of course. Kars and Minnie expressed strong disapproval over my decision, but their alternative, of daring the risk by being a faith-filled MAN of God, or something, was so silly to me that I gave it no mind.

It was in this setting, then, that I was sitting at my desk one wintry day, feeling all through my heart and soul NO HOPE AT ALL. I did not know God; I did not know His Salvation. I believed that with all my lacks and inabilities, I was incapable of being part of that vision to which I had committed my heart years before. 

And in that emptiness, I heard four words inside my spirit. They were so quiet, so incongruous, that I almost missed them. Nonetheless, those four words remained in my memory and I knew that it was God who had spoken them.

He said to me, “Give My people hope.”

I had no idea what that might mean, for not only did I not know what hope was, not only did I know no hope at all, but the idea of me giving God’s people anything was simply inconceivable. And so I left those words there in my memory, not understood, but knowing God had said them.

Brother Buddy and Brother John 
February convention would be held at Blueberry this year. Kars and Minnie volunteered to stay at Blair so that Maureen and I could go out with the children. 

Because Kars did not have a good relationship with Brother John Clarke, he turned us as a community to Brother Buddy’s counsel, and so Maureen and I also now looked to Brother Buddy as our primary “covering."

I had sent an email to Brother Buddy the summer before concerning my idea of our earning an income at Blair through creating a magazine. (And yes, we did have email capacity over the wireless phone at that time. Minnie would print out all the emails and bring us ours.) My purpose in sending the email was just to visit with him about it; I was not yet ready to present it to the Father ministry for a decision. Nonetheless, I received a quick reply back in which Brother Buddy stated that he had mentioned it to Brother Joe and Brother Joe had said it would not work. At the same time, I visited with a brother while we were in Lubbock who had run a print shop. He expressed immediate contempt for my idea and refused even to discuss it. This is something I have never understood, for I have always treated other people’s personal leadings and sharing of the vision of their hearts with utmost respect.

My reply to Brother Buddy was not entirely respectful and so I felt bad about that.
At the Blueberry convention, Brother Buddy preached at least twice. Regardless of which Scriptures he used or which angle he took, however, it was always the same hopeless Calvinist rendition of “salvation is up to you hearing and obeying and generally proving to God that you are getting it right.” (And when I say, “salvation,” I do not mean “heaven after death,” but rather being like the Lord Jesus Christ inwardly and outwardly.)

This time, Brother Buddy, using Jesus’ words about “God alone is good,” began to say, that, in fact, Jesus Himself was e–. Except he did not quite finish his line because Brother Eli Miller, sitting right behind him, said very loudly, “Careful now.” That was the only time such a correction happened like that. It was very much on point.

I shared my booklet, “The Two Gospels,” with Brother Buddy at the beginning of the convention. At the end, I visited with him again about it. He said to me, “This is right on.” He meant it to be an encouragement to me, but it did feel a bit hollow.

They had scheduled a general elder’s meeting to be held at Shepherd’s Inn right after the convention. Maureen and the children returned to Blair Valley, while I stayed for that gathering. I must admit that I took great pleasure in seeing the shock on Brother Gary Rehmeier’s face when he came in and saw me sitting there. I suspect he had believed me to be completely washed out. But, as I have said, he never really knew me. 

Brother John Clarke stood to share in this all-community elder’s meeting. This was 1998. The outpouring of the Holy Spirit that was known as “The Toronto Blessing” had occurred a few years before. I knew and had visited with brethren in Oregon, including Pastor Dennis Cline, who had gone to Toronto as soon as they had heard that God was moving among His people. They came back mightily blessed, with renewed vigor and that same anointing now flowing in their churches. It was clear to me that this experience had brought them much closer to the Lord Jesus and into a life of holiness and earnestly seeking after God.

Brother John started talking about the “Toronto Blessing.” He called it “an outpouring of devils.” This was absolutely overwhelming to me. Jesus said, “Listen, you can say anything you want against the Father or against Me, but do not call the Holy Spirit ‘a demon.’” I have read stories of people doing just that, in speaking against an outpouring of the Spirit, and then falling over dead. (And it’s only those who hold to the serpent’s gospel that imagine that laughing out loud in the joy of our Glorious Salvation – and in “church” no less – is “of the devil.”)

My distress included the fact that I knew that precious brethren were walking more closely with the Lord Jesus as a result of that experience. This was sectarianism at its very worst.

I drove back to Blair by myself. Most of the way back, I churned over Brother John’s accusation. I was very angry, but I did not know God’s answer. I felt that my anger was “wrong” however, especially after what God had taken me through the year before. Even though I was very bent out of shape inside, I did surrender my anger to the Lord before I arrived home. I know now that Jesus was sharing His anger with me. When I feel the same way now, I hear Him say to me, “Your anger is just and right, for it is My own feelings that I share with you. Nonetheless, can we take our shared frustration and place it inside Father’s love?” And every time I hear Him say that to me, I know such joy and peace.

But I did not know that then. And so, from then on, Blair Valley became a valley of decision for me.

A Long and Slow Process
The next few months became a long and slow process of coming to terms inside with my commitment to the move of God versus my commitment to knowing God, two commitments that were becoming irreconcilable inside of me.

In a chapter coming up, I hope to set out the reasons for leaving the move as I understand those reasons now. Here, I hope to convey a bit of what and how I knew things then, which was NOT knowing any part of Father with me; that is, I lived in a very Christian hades.

Let me share my mental state first. I had no idea then of “Asperger’s.” All I knew was that in certain areas of life and expression where other “anointed” people excelled, I short-circuited inside. I could not function in social interaction in the strong ways needed to be a “successful elder.” And actually, my fragile mental state continued even after we moved to Fort St. John and did not begin to dissipate until the end of the year. 

I did NOT understand my life, not at all. It was a confusing mess of good things surrounded by awful things, of ability surrounded by failure. Yet my sharp memory, still retaining all the pain from all the years, also remembered the good. And so through these months, I brought to the forefront of my mind my time with Abel Ramirez and with Don Howat, and now, even, with Rick Annett (and far more so after we moved to town in August). I remembered that I experienced continual success in the anointing and in my creative work while I walked daily with them, but only loss and failure through the years in-between.

I did not know what that meant. But I held to those memories, that maybe I was not insane. And it was that memory of my time with these true brothers, and especially Rick’s ongoing friendship towards me, that held me on an even keel through this entire year of weaving through confused murkiness on the edge of the precipice.

And because our life at Blair Valley was generally good, I faced no present difficulties that would overwhelm me as I worked my way through this conflict of commitments.

I was coming to realize that I could walk with God or I could walk with the move, but I could not walk with both. Yet I did not know God, not really, neither did I know of any answer for the vast hole I perceived at the center of my knowledge of the gospel. I knew the Bible, and I knew that it says many things that my theology did not acknowledge and that my theology disregarded many things that God actually says.

And worst of all, I KNEW that to say, “God loves me,” was “evil deception.” The “true word” was, “God loves me – BUT…,” with some version of “I MUST” following the BUT, which always stood far larger than God ever could be.

One day, on a weekend, we were all gathered in the dining room for the day. I was playing a game on the floor with the children, the ladies were in the kitchen visiting merrily, and Kars and Rick were sitting on the couch in conversation. It was this conversation that opened me to understand a significant part of my dilemma. They were talking about “those brethren out there,” and how “fleshy they are,” and how “far from God they live,” and how “they need to come under the covering and die to their flesh to be righteous (like we are).” The problem was not Kars saying these things, but Rick agreeing with him. 

Now, I do not say that Rick was doing any-thing more than being agreeable, for he sees that issue now as I do. Nonetheless, some fifteen years later, I observed some brothers whom I know well, still in the move, chatting together on Facebook, exclaiming how those “fleshy Christians out there just don’t measure up to our righteousness in God.” (They might word it slightly differently, but that’s what their words mean.) I could not believe they were continuing to spin this so false a story. I do not know how people can lie to themselves.

And that’s a big part of my problem. I can only go so long living in what I know to be a lie about myself before I cave in before God to seek His answer. I am woefully incapable of pretending to be something I’m not.

I knew in that moment that Amos the prophet was completely right, “Two cannot walk together except they be agreed.” I was no longer in agreement with this move attitude of self-righteousness always expressed as contempt against God’s precious people whom He had chosen not to lead into the “move.” It was bunk, and I could not comprehend how people can live in such falseness. 

One day, I was out with Kars and Kyle behind the old shop. There were all kinds of metal things piled all around, including non-working tractors. Kyle had climbed up into a small tractor and was happily turning the wheel and pushing the levers. The thing had no value, and Kyle was bothering nothing. Nonetheless, Kars strongly rebuked him and ordered him to get down. The fact that I was standing there seemed to mean nothing.

This occasion touched another great disagreement inside of me, the same thing that had caused Maureen and I to open our home to Kimberley, to rescue her from such false religious treatment. I knew that there was no way I could protect Kyle from Kars through years of growing up inside his sphere. In my mind, a father protects his children from evil and from shame, end of story. Maureen and I were both in full disagreement with how most in the move treated any who were not elders, and especially the children. Most children who grew up in move community do not remember the good (which was much, actually), but count it only as a curse.

I had tried to share the vision of my heart for a community of Christ, for a place of refuge where precious people can come, if only just for a season, to be strengthened in the love of Christ and in the knowledge of God. What I shared hit only a blank wall, and I soon realized that it would not happen in that context.

I had always disagreed with the flavor of our version of “community” in the move. It seemed to me to fit neither the gospel nor what I knew to be true and real in my heart. Again, I was reckoning with the profound disagreement between myself and the move. I was realizing that the disagreement was substantial.

At the same time, however, I was not setting myself up as “the one who has it right.” I had it wrong. The difference is that I knew that I did.

It is only now, however, as I have been pondering these things the last couple of days, that I felt my Father inside showing me that the issue was commitment. I saw that God honored my commitment to the move and, in fact, gave me a safe path by which I could let go of that commitment without also losing my unassailable commitment to know Him and to walk with a people who know Him. This is one of the greatest miracles in my life.

But to “leave the move” is a BIG DEAL, with great repercussions. This was not a light or easy decision. And how would I support my family? Construction or any other kind of hard physical work was no longer possible.

During these months, through my reading of the Bible, and even through other’s preaching, a story had become vivid and real to me in the Spirit of the Lord. The story is in 1 Kings 13. A prophet had been sent by God to speak to the wicked King Jeroboam. God had told the prophet not to eat or drink nor to turn aside until he had spoken and then returned to Jerusalem. But another prophet heard of this and came out to meet him on the way. This other prophet said to him that “God” had told him that it was now okay to turn aside and to enjoy himself. But after the first prophet heeded this other word, he did not make it back to Jerusalem, but was torn to pieces by a lion on the way.

God spoke to me to immigrate to Blair Valley. We had followed that leading and God had opened all the doors all the way through. God spoke to me that Blair Valley was our home, and it was. Maureen and I both loved Blair Valley in spite of its isolation.

In April, Sister Jane and Brother Dick Miller visited us at Blair where they ministered wondrous grace and blessing to us and then spent a few hours with Maureen and me in our home. We were much blessed and encouraged by Sister Jane, and, in fact, she was always on the “commitment to God” side of my life.

Then in May, Sister Barbara James came to visit us and to minister. During her time at Blair, she stepped aside with me, wanting to counsel me in particular. “You can’t stay here,” she said, “Not with just the Kiers’s. Entering another winter all by yourselves will be too much for Maureen and the children. In fact, it would be dangerous.”

She was to me as that second prophet turning me aside from what God had spoken to me. Yet I knew that her words were right and true. From her counsel, then, I formed the decision inside that we would leave, how or when I did not know. Yet at the same time, this story of the prophet who heeded someone else, claiming to be “God speaking,” haunted me for many years. I believe that the Lord Jesus will resolve that agony through this narrative.
 
Times of Refreshing 
I must add something during these late winter months. I was determined to rescue the books from the upstairs of the old tabernacle, before the snow melted and the leaks became greater. And so I selected a nice little cabin, not far from ours, cleared out all the interior walls, and built bookshelves all around and through the center. Then we carried all the books over, a couple thousand or so, and placed them in order in our new library. Kyle and Johanna enjoyed this task with me. We loved our little library, and reading lots of those books to the children continued.

Two other things began for me in March of that year, one is the first writing which I began to send out to subscribers, a printed several-page letter that I called “Times of Refreshing.” 

The second is my decades-long quest to discover and to resolve my physical difficulty. My wife and I have always inclined towards natural health. We have made use of the medical system for emergencies, but not for health. In fact, we were seeing a wonderful naturopathic doctor during these years, Dr. Pontius in Quesnel, British Columbia. 

When I first began experiencing physical weakness, I read about the teeth and how they are critical to health or to ill-health. I finally understand my difficulty fairly clearly, and it is wonderful to know now that I was right on target concerning my teeth. My teeth were filled with mercury fillings from my childhood. I knew that the mercury must be removed. 

While we were still at Blueberry, I had gone to a regular dentist in Fort St. John to have three mercury fillings removed. He did so with no protection for me or for him. I knew this was madness as the same mercury on the floor would cause a hazmat shutdown of a building. I found a dentist in southern Alberta who believed in a natural approach to dentistry and who was against mercury fillings, but his cost was beyond my reach. 

I asked the local move ministry for financial assistance. They would have helped with a local regular dentist but chose to contribute nothing to natural dentistry. Though I knew these brethren well, the masks I saw on their faces troubled me deeply. 

And so I turned to my mother, who was always willing to help. After receiving the cost for the trip and the dental work from her in March, I took the bus down to High River, Alberta, south of Calgary. This was a quiet and good time for me. I got a motel room for three nights. I went to the dentist for my appointments. He removed two teeth, one of which was the bad one destroyed by the dentist in Mississippi and replaced some of my mercury fillings. In-between, I walked the little town and spent time in their library. I could not check out books, so I sat and read Jamaica Inn by Daphne du Maurier for the first time. The dentist did not do all the work needed in one go, as it would be too much for my poor mouth, so I came back again later that summer. By the time he had finished, all mercury was safely removed from my mouth. 

Also in March I formulated an idea for a reduced version of my “magazine” which I would call “Times of Refreshing.” I wanted to write some articles and include other things written by brethren in the area communities, which I would then send out to paying subscribers throughout the move. I wrote to a sister who had been a part of the Shiloh Community and who was well off. She had expressed an interest in helping us in establishing ourselves at Blair Valley. She sent a check of $1000 for my endeavor. Kars and Minnie assumed that the check was only for Blair Valley and not my magazine idea, but I held my ground, and they conceded half of the money.

I gathered a list of addresses from all across the move and sent out a few hundred letters offering a subscription to Times of Refreshing. I received back maybe one to two dozen paid subscriptions. And so I put together my first volume. I asked Brother Ernest Watkins and Brother Dural Davison to write an article each. I included a little poem by Terry Miller as well as some of my own writing. I was not comfortable with how Brother Ernest and Brother D worded things. I wanted my newsletter to be NON-sectarian, and so I assumed editorial license and changed the wording to make what they shared receivable by anyone. I realized later that this probably contributed to some of the blank faces towards my endeavor that I began to see.

In this task, Maureen and I took a couple of trips out in order to get both Times of Refreshing and The Two Gospels printed and bound. I had offered my booklet for sale in the letter going out and some had ordered a copy. We took one trip to the Staples store in Grande Prairie, Alberta. That was an enjoyable family time. When we were in a print shop in Fort St. John, I noticed a picture of Abraham Lincoln with a statement supposedly his beneath. I did not yet know how dishonest the story spun about the man really is, but the words were good.

“I will prepare myself until my time comes.” – I received those words as the Lord speaking to me and was encouraged by them.

The people who sent money for Times of Refreshing had purchased a year’s subscription, and so I persisted in sending out monthly or semi-monthly issues even after our move to Lubbock, Texas in 1999. It was a limited but important step in my writing career.

I want to talk about another issue that was troubling me, what I called “the dance of faces.” I was becoming frustrated with the practice of wearing different expressions for different people. More than that, when I observed those brethren who were trying so hard to follow Brother Buddy’s teaching, I did not care for the twisting that I saw in their faces. I saw Wes Shaw in town and was again deeply troubled by the expression of his face. 

I was disturbed by the slow realization that our relationships together as believers were not through Jesus, but rather, through the “covering” and our participation in the move. I was disturbed by my own limited attempts to pretend that I was “anointed” or “in the Spirit.” In fact, putting on the face of “I’m in the Spirit, brother,” was a move practice from the start.

The Summer of 1998
In May, Kars’s brother came to visit from Holland for several days, along with his granddaughter. Afterwards, Kars and Minnie planned a trip to the Netherlands. They left by the end of May and were gone for two months. Maureen and I had Blair Valley to ourselves, through the week. Of course, Rick and Shirley continued to come out most every weekend, which was always wonderful. 

Blair Valley was so beautiful to us this summer. The flowers, the herbs, the green. 

I am determined to share with you somehow the beauty that Blair Valley was to our family, especially in the summertime. Except for the picture of Johanna sneaking a baby chick out of the chicken pen, these are all in the summer of 1998.

First is a picture of the front of our house with flowers and a nice yard. Under it is our backyard showing the view north and two empty “Shiloh” cabins.



The top picture on the next set is Johanna sneaking a baby chick out of the pen. In the distance is an unused “Shiloh” cabin, situated directly in front of the Kiers’s cabin to the left. Then, the children are playing along the path from our house to the Tabernacle. You can see the silver roof of the Blair Valley Tabernacle above Johanna’s head. To the right of it is part of the old Shiloh tabernacle.



The top picture in the next set is from the ridge slope to our east, looking down towards the community buildings area. We were enjoying a picnic from this splendid view. The other picture is our family, taken not far from our house, with the trees that stood at the top of the drop to the Blair Creek bottoms, on the west side of our house.



I was feeling stronger as warm weather and green came. I continued building the second wall along two sides of our Tabernacle. I filled it and the space between the outer wall and the original wall with insulation taken out of the old tabernacle. I tore down buildings in order to obtain the lumber and siding that I needed. 

At the same time, I took on the task of running a grader behind the tractor, making our dirt roads smooth and nice all through the camp. I even went over the ridge, making the Gundy Creek road nicer. This was an unnecessary, but enjoyable task. 

I also tended the gardens and took care of the animals. Maureen, of course, had full time work in taking care of our three wonderful children. She had taught Kyle and Johanna school all through the winter months as well.

It Is Time to Go
During this time alone in the stark and gentle beauty of the Blair Valley we worked our way to the decision that we must leave. It was not a question of leaving Blair Valley, but of leaving the move. Maureen tells me that it was very hard for her to leave Blair Valley, but it was I who could no longer bear to live inside of pretending, for that was all I could perceive regarding the vision that we held.

I believed that I had to produce something in order, somehow, to please a “God” who was very hard to please, in order for Him to decide that I could be part of His firstfruits. And I knew that I was incapable of ever accomplishing such a production.

No one is capable of pleasing God, of course, and all the vain effort of determined Christians to do so is the most difficult thing for our Father to bear, for in every moment of effort, we are refusing to know Jesus as our life. I am astonished when I witness the same brethren, now decades later, still pretending that someday they will get it right. At this point in my life, I could no longer live in that lie.

I had come to a complete end of trying to be a “son of God,” or to become as Christ myself before God. In my knowing that I was missing the key point of the gospel, I made the firm decision that what I needed was Someone Else to help me. I needed a Savior, Jesus, to be and to do what I could not. In fact, through these months, I made a firm and final decision that I would know only Jesus, though I did not then know Him well. In fact, I asked God to make Jesus as real to me as Abel Ramirez or Don Howat or Rick Annett ever were.

God designed me to need two entirely different environments, however, and I do best going back and forth between these two environments through the week. I love solitude, and the isolation of Blair Valley met that need. I loved to sit along the creek and watch the beavers swim lazily through the water. I loved hiking with my wife and children, gathering medicinal herbs, which grew everywhere, for our “medicine cabinet.” I loved no sounds except the wind in the trees and the calling of the birds. There were few sights more beautiful to me than to watch the storm clouds beating against the ridge to our west. I loved the wildness, the protection, the grandeur.

Yet I am made for the classroom as well, and for the dynamic interchange of ideas with the faces of young people responding to me. I must have both, and I was not doing so well with the absence of that social interaction in which I could function – my classroom.  If I had had a classroom at Blair, even with only a few students, then I may not have chosen to leave.

I settled on the one way I thought that I could succeed in providing for my family, and that would be to become a public school teacher. The Peace River country had its own community college called Northern Lights Community College. The main campus was in Dawson Creek, but there was also a large campus in Fort St. John. Northern Lights had a program that would connect students with the teacher certification program in British Columbia. 

I made plans, then, to enroll in Northern Lights Community College in Fort St. John with the hopes of becoming certified as a teacher. Of truth, my sights were not set on teaching in the large public schools; rather, I hoped to find a teaching spot at one of the First Nations schools scattered across Canada.

Maureen’s sister, Lois, came up to Blair Valley for a week’s visit near the end of July. While she was with us, we attended the country fair outside of Fort St. John. I have loved few things in life better than doing interesting things like that with my wife and children. We also hiked up the east slope of the Blair Valley to a high bluff overlooking the community, where we had a picnic. 

The Kiers’s returned from Holland while Lois was still with us. We enjoyed hearing the stories of their visits. Then we took Lois to the airport in Fort St. John and returned to Blair Valley.

Right after we got back, something quite scary happened. You see, Maureen was pregnant again, and our hike up the eastern slopes of the valley was a bit steep in spots. Without going into details, Maureen had a miscarriage, and the hemorrhaging would not stop. The ambulance for our area was situated at Pink Mountain, an hour away, but it was run by brethren from Headwaters. Minnie got on the phone and had them coming as fast as they could. We discussed whether we should take Maureen out to meet them on the long road into Blair Valley, but Minnie felt that Maureen should not move until qualified medical help was present.

I loaded the children into the pickup and we drove out, passing the ambulance on the way. They picked up Maureen and began the two-and-a-half-hour drive into Fort St. John. At Shepherd’s Inn, they met an ambulance from the hospital and transferred Maureen. The children and I waited anxiously in the hospital emergency room. They were just in time; Maureen was still with us. They soon treated her, and then the doctor told her to get an herbal tonic to rebuild her blood. 

This, of course, is a huge difficulty in living in such isolation. Nonetheless, the Lord kept us, as He keeps us now, and without Jesus carrying us, proximity to emergency assistance avails nothing. Maureen was weak and tired, but was back to normal within three weeks. 

I visited with the counselor at Northern Lights College, and she connected me with the student loans that would support us while I went to school. This was a simple and easy process. At the same time, with Katrina’s birth, we now received around $1800 a month in child benefits from the Canadian government. Brother D and Sister Ethelwyn had an older brown and large Ford Station Wagon they were no longer using that was kept at Shepherd’s Inn. They sold it to us for a reasonable price. This car served us well over the next couple of years and, despite its age, did not give us any major problems.

In the family meeting at Blair Valley, I shared with the Kiers’s and Annett’s that we were moving to Fort St. John and that I was enrolling in the community college in order to obtain teacher certification. Kars asked, “Have you discussed this with Brother Buddy?” 

“No,” I replied. Immediately a mask came across his face and Minnie’s. With that one act, we were no longer part of the move, and we no longer had a relationship with them. We were now “in the flesh, walking against God.”

Lee and Claire Wilkerson came over from Graham River to help Maureen and me pack and load our things into the Blue Van and the station wagon. Meanwhile Kyle and Johanna went over to Graham River to spend a few days with Steve and Cindy Schneider and their children. We have a picture of little Matthew Schneider, around Jo’s age, a few feet up a spruce tree, holding on for dear life, with Johanna just beneath him hollering at him to get on up the tree. Meanwhile, Katrina was just learning to walk during these days.

Maureen went out first in the station wagon, probably driven by Rick. I would follow later with the Blue Van. We had found a townhouse in Fort St. John which we had rented, using the money from the student loan.

As I drove the Blue Van out, Kars and Minnie followed behind me in case I had any difficulties. They also needed to go into town. I stopped on the gravel road partway out to the highway, needing to fiddle with something on the van. Kars got out to help me.

I had offered the use of the Blue Van to the community to carry the water tank around, providing the community purchase a simple connecting hose that allowed me to fill the propane tank on the Blue Van from a regular propane bottle. I think that’s what I had to do then. When I was finished, Kars insisted that the hose belonged to Blair Valley and not to me. I had been clear, in offering the Blue Van, that the hose would be my payment. 

Kars was so sharp and hard, his words to me so cutting, that I did not contend with him, but allowed him to win. I said to him, “Kars, I am still a Christian; I still believe in Jesus.” I do not remember his words, but they were savage, that since I had rebelled against God in leaving the covering, I was no longer —. 

I drove the rest of the way into Fort St. John feeling as if I had been kicked savagely in the gut with no wind left in me.

This was late August; we had left Blair Valley and the move. I was 41 years old.

Resolving the Issues 
I have carried only one disturbing “what if” through the years since. – What if we had stayed at Blair Valley? What would God have done for us in revealing Himself to us, both in provision, in healing, and in the knowledge of God?

I have never had an answer to that question, of course, and over time, the question itself has quietly subsided. I will address it again in the chapter after next, “Why Did We Leave?” Yet the question itself would remain as the haunting whisper of my heart for many years. 

Kars and Minnie, Brother John Clarke, and Brother Buddy Cobb have passed on in the years since.

I have no need to “place” Brother John Clarke and his statement that triggered in me the conflicting realization that I was no longer in agreement with the attitudes and theology of the move. Several years later, here in Houston, Brother John and Sister Nathel apologized personally to Maureen and me. They had also apologized publicly to all the brethren in the northern communities, as they themselves left Blueberry and the move. In fact, the Clarkes afterward connected with Bill Johnson in Redding, California, and others in that move of the Spirit, as did many who left the move through these years. 

Kars was never a real problem to me. The few times he spoke against me were isolated. Nonetheless, in writing this account, I have come to realize that Blair Valley really was all about Kars and Minnie. Everything else circled around them and their religious prejudice. By making it impossible for other men to express themselves equally at Blair Valley, Kars had made Blair Valley impossible. Yet I have mostly fond memories of Kars and Minnie and of our fellowship around the table. I forgive them freely with all joy and place the Lord Jesus upon their every moment and interaction with us. I receive Kars and Minnie Kiers as Jesus Himself. I receive them as my close and dear friends forever.

Before I close this letter out, however, I must place Brother Buddy Cobb and the entire move of God, with its ministry, into the Lord Jesus Christ carrying us all the way through. It was God who placed me into the move fellowship and under their covering and ministry, and God does all things well.

Prior to 1998 I would not have done well in my relationship with God separate from the support and environment of move community. I could have remained a Christian, certainly, but being a “Christian” has never interested me. I must know God and Jesus Sent into me. In the process of our leaving through these months of 1998, God weaned me, so to speak, of this dependency on the move. From that time forward I have adhered utterly inside of me to seeking the knowledge of God. Nothing since has presented the slightest distraction.

The truth is that I owe Brother Buddy a lot. He was an anointed minister of Christ and of the word and his faithfulness to the churches can be matched by few others in history. I sat under Brother Buddy’s preaching more hours than any other in my life. He pressed me into Romans 7 for years, right where God wanted me to be, right where I would come to despair in myself and any ability to get it right or to please God. Part of my knowing the word so well comes from Brother Buddy, and yes, I do oppose the majority of what he taught. Yet when I speak specifically against the false, I know its subtlety well because of Brother Buddy. At the same time, you could find good things all through what I share that also came to me through him. I even sound like him sometimes when I am reading my letters into audio.

Brother Buddy was a good man who gave his all in what he knew. The fact that he was deceived just makes him the same as every other minister of Christ in the world laboring inside of Nicene Christianity, ignorant of Paul’s gospel. 

I receive Brother Buddy as the Lord Jesus and bless him with all my heart. I draw him into the love of God poured out inside my heart and there release him into the liberty of Christ. Though he no longer has an earthly body, that means nothing, for my blessing towards him lifts him up inside of Jesus right now. Thank you, Brother Buddy, for pressing me against the wall, for without your role in my life, I would never have found the salvation that is Christ for which I have yearned, the Jesus who is the only life I am.

And having found all I ever wanted, I am able to open the same door to you and to all in the move of God fellowship who sought God with tears all the years of their life.
It was God who took me into the move of God fellowship. It was God with whom I connected through all my years in community. And it was God who led me out, for His purposes and in His timing. God is good all the time; Jesus does all things well.