Discovering Home: Thoughts on Visiting Maui & Buying a House in Alaska

The soft glow of my light blue vintage-style “Hawaii 50^th State” lamp beckons my thoughts back to two weeks ago, when Ken and I visited my family on Maui, where natural light and warmth gently nudged me awake each morning, rather than the multi-purpose lamps I now have scattered throughout our new home. If I pause long enough from typing, I can almost hear the sound of the myna birds and coqui frogs as they bellow their morning song. My senses are suddenly overpowered once again by the fresh scent of Plumeria flowers and my heart draws me back to Maui; the tropical landscape that I’ve called home for all these long years. It’s like I’m there:

Tiny crickets chime in on key with their grand cacophony of whistle-like humming. A sweet yet sticky aroma hangs in the air and the intense moisture from Maui’s humidity clings to my skin—the dryness I experienced in Alaska is now covered in nature’s healing balm. I recognize that in this climate my skin is most comfortable.

Only a few minutes past 6 a.m. and I’m recharged and refreshed from a good night’s sleep—we had the windows open and the fresh, cool trade winds kept us at just the right temperature the whole night. Mashed overripe bananas are the “perfect” accompaniment to the oatmeal muffins I start making for breakfast. Rich, buttery bread encased in a lightly toasted crumb holds the moist banana center in a perfect balance. Ken and I sit down at our family friends’ giant marble slab table and dig in to our local farm-fresh eggs medium-fried alongside freshly-baked organic apple-banana bread, made from bananas my mom picked from trees outside the house I grew up in. This is a slice of Heaven, I think to myself, as the intoxicating blend of bananas and butter smells just like Komoda’s stick doughnuts—my all-time favorite dessert from Makawao town’s local bakery.

But alas, these comforting memories of the place where I grew up and visited recently, remind me that I am not on Maui anymore. I’m here in Alaska, specifically the main city of Anchorage, where temperatures hover above zero degrees this time of year. There are no coqui frogs outside—at least whose song I can recognize, there are instead dogs of varying breeds interspersed throughout our neighborhood, whose frustrated howls replace those friendly morning songs. And the light that now fills my vision is a rather muddled hue, not the welcome daily sun that rises along the Pacific islands.

I find myself reminiscing with joy and fascination at the romantic childhood I was blessed to experience. I am from Maui, and that is a gift. It is something I take with me wherever I go.

My sisters and I grew up in a bucolic setting, among acres of green fields home to spotted cows, Billy goats, and riding horses. Adventures abounded for us as children living in a small town on the slopes of Haleakala. My friends and I fought countless battles involving ripe guavas (and some unfortunately, not ripe enough), and would hide out in those barbed wire fenced fruit lots, climbing trees and watching cars pass. Not a care in the world, except of course how we’d love to climb the social ladder at school or be noticed by our crush. My best friend Katheryn and I would spend hours after school dreaming about our futures and how we both wanted to travel the world. Success in our careers always seemed secondary to the spirit of adventure. I suppose this love for seeing the world and immersing myself in new cultures and climates is a big part of how I am finding satisfaction in places that can feel very foreign at times.

Visiting Maui on this past trip helped me understand how very divided my heart has felt over the past 10 years. When I left for college in 2003, I felt a wave of intense joy and also grief that I carried with me throughout the past decade. It was a combination of mismatched feelings that included wanderlust, the fear of settling down, anxiety over missing out (“FOMO” as my friend Jen calls it), and the hope that there will always be something more beautiful to see in this wide expanse of world—I just need to find it. I suppose that for many people, growing up on Maui (or wherever they are from) already seems like Heaven, so why ever travel or move? That makes sense and yet, it was never my calling—to stay. I believe that God placed these desires to travel and see the splendor of His creation on my heart at a young age and tangibly provided the means to fulfill my dreams in this way.

In the past, I think I’ve shared how at age 14, I traveled to Australia on a crew team competing in the World Canoe Sprints. Then, at age 16, I was given the opportunity to be an exchange student to Okinawa, Japan. Since then, I’ve traveled throughout the United States and Canada and visited all the places in Europe previously scribbled on my Bucket List. God truly met me in allowing me to see the world and learn about people and the places they live. My overwhelming sense of curiosity was tempered through these trips although I always felt a sense of longing to be back on Maui—the only place I truly felt at home. I suppose that I never felt rooted anywhere else. Throughout my travels, the places I slept were never ‘home’, they were just a bed (or a floor) where I could rest my head at night. I always missed my family and the illusive feeling of being settled and safe.

But I think that is starting to change. This visit to Maui, I noticed something. Something small and almost indescribable.

It was something in me that had changed.

While I love Maui and find my heart at home being near my family and the sights, sounds, and tastes of island living, I have a growing awareness that I am safe and at home regardless of my present circumstances or physical location. Home is not a place that I can pinpoint on a map; rather it’s a feeling of being rooted in my faith and my marriage, coupled with the desire to press in and find community wherever God has me. Right now, home is in Alaska where God recently provided Ken and me with our first house that we officially own. Already it feels like home, even though we barely have furniture to fill the space and can find multiple things worth ‘fixing’ or ‘replacing’ or ‘updating.’ Christ is doing something in me and in us, and it’s so exciting. He’s showing me that I’m safe in Him and at home—a place I’ve longed to be my entire life.

Praise God.

Muddy Boots: Recounting God's Faithfulness

Squish, squash, goes the sound of my rubber boots as I wade into the knee-deep mud at my grandparents’ farm, I read aloud to the 20-some classmates in my senior Advanced Placement English class on Maui, legs buckling and hands shaking, as I grip my essay with both hands. I’m nervous, obviously. It’s hard to be the center of attention when so much is at stake. My English teacher just moments before had told our class that she came across one of the best college essays she’s heard and that it beat out all other essays for the highest score. Anxious to hear whom the writer was, combined with the excitement of it being my 17th birthday that very day, I stopped chatting with my high school best friend and gave our teacher my full attention.

Maile, your writing is beautiful. Can you come up to the front of the class and read your essay to us?

My eyes shift across the room, glancing at my classmates, as I awkwardly fumble out of my chair.

Ok, I think I can do that, I replied, after what felt like a long period of silence.

I then shared the story I had lovingly crafted as a tribute to my grandparents’ taro farm and the magical childhood I experienced while working in the fields there—planting and harvesting fruits and vegetables, playing in the mud and climbing trees with my dear cousin Isaac, and learning the invaluable skills that my family ingrained in me during those times: a strong work ethic, diligence, reverence, and respect. We all worked together toward a common goal.

It was during these times that I grew in my love for adventure and exploration. I remember with fondness, the few times I snuck away from farmhouse chores with Isaac, to play hide and seek amidst the thick grass or run at full speed through the macadamia nut fields, pretending that we were being chased by robbers or some other form of evil. With a tinge of guilt, I can still hear Uncle Francis calling for us in a loud shout: “Maile! Isaac! Get back here—you have to do dishes! No running from chores!”

But his voice is hindered by the growing distance between us and him, and so Isaac and I run faster, laughing breathlessly, away from certain punishment.

It is stories that like these, which the Lord has been calling to my mind the past few days. Perhaps it’s because I turned 28 years old last Tuesday, and the life I envisioned for myself as a child has turned out to be very different than I expected. In reality, it’s so much better.

As a child, I dreamed that I would travel the world and live for God with abandon. I wanted to explore the wide, open terrain of this marvelous world and I wanted to learn about other people and hear their stories. But I wasn’t sure how that would all play out. I grew up on a small island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with very limited means. All I knew was how to work hard for the things I wanted and so I fiercely committed to my studies, in hopes of going to college on the mainland, far from home. During high school, I took as many advanced classes as I could. I also chose Japanese as my four-year language because it seemed like the most competitive option.

My work ethic carried over to other aspects of my life as well. Through rigorous training and perseverance, I won a seat on the crew team at the 2000 World Canoe Paddling Championships in Australia. This was my first time oversees and I was only 14 years old, competing in what was the Olympics of outrigger paddling.

My sophomore year of high school brought many more “God experiences” where I felt the Lord cheering me on through blessing after blessing. I can picture this moment clearly: I’m 15 years old, sitting alone with my cafeteria lunch tray, huddled in the farthest stall of the girl’s bathroom, praying for God to prove Himself faithful in my life. To help me get to college, through whatever means. Later that day, I found out that my friend and I won the title of “Best Senior Research Project” at the Maui County Science & Engineering Fair, the top prize awarded. We then won a scholarship at the Hawaii State Science Fair and were invited to compete at the International Science Fair, a top honor. At that same time, I was selected through an extensive essay and interview competition to take part in a selective exchange program to Okinawa, Japan. It was the summer of my sophomore year in high school and I was now headed to Japan for a month of total cultural immersion.

Looking back, I can see how God has been answering my prayers all along—prayers for adventure, travel, and personal growth. I have been a part of so many other stories, beautiful moments where God came through for me in abundant ways. I’ve won multiple essay contests in high school and college, where the cash prizes were just what I needed to support my college dream. But the stories I wrote were never just my own; they were glimpses into my childhood, shaped by difficult times as well as moments of rejoicing, and some stories were not even mine at all, in that they were shared experiences where I came in contact with other people who taught me something that I hadn’t known before—and I wrote it down, only to find out later that it spoke so deeply to something within us all. I was privy to others’ secrets and hidden sorrows, which formed the basis for my understanding of how to write and do it well.

I guess I’m sharing all these things because God recently put it on my heart to “Call to mind His faithfulness.” This morning I’m reminded of how God has blessed me immeasurably, through these blessings I’ve shared and also through the times of pruning and trial, which I’ve experienced in great measure lately. My cousin Isaac and his wife recently shared these verses with us: “And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us,” Romans 5:2-5.

What I’m challenged by in these verses is that we are called to ‘glory in our sufferings’ because it means that God is working on us. I think I’m surprised when I hear this, because along with our society, I’m tempted to commend those who look ‘glamorous’ and ‘perfect’ on the outside, who do so without any struggle on their part. Facebook is a clear example of this. I suppose this blog has been, in many ways, my response to that lifestyle. Rather than modeling only the ‘good things’ in my life, I’ve wanted to give an honest peek into how God is shaping me in both the good and the hard times. Nothing is wasted in His Kingdom. And yes, if I allow Him, God will gift me with suffering and the ability to truly enter in, and experience that He is enough—far better than anything else.

As I close today’s journal-like entry, I’m grateful for a husband who is loving and kind and cherishes the opportunity to grow together. We’ve experienced much loss and grief these past couple months, and there have been times recently when I’ve compared our lives and our marriage to the ‘beautiful people who are doing amazing things’ I see online or hear about in friend circles.

But then, as Ken reminded me a couple days ago, “They might be missing out on the opportunity to grow, and I want to grow.” He continued, adapting a Dave Ramsey quote: “I want to live as a person of discipline so that later I can be a person of maturity and strength.”

My husband wants to do the hard work now, instead of pretending that everything is just great on the surface. He’s committed to God’s best, and right now, God’s best is for us to grow into people who are more like Him, embodying love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control—the fruits of the Spirit that oftentimes grow best in the soil of adversity and suffering, through perseverance.

Transplanting ourselves in Alaska from Seattle has been an incredible opportunity to grow. As I meander through flooded trails along a nearby lake in this wide, open state, I can hear my new navy blue, rubber Bogs slosh loudly as my feet rise and fall in the deep mud patches.

Squish, squash.

I’m reminded of my childhood, and how through hard work, a desire to grow, and trust in a God who is greater than me, I’ve gotten to this place.

The Siren Song of the Marmoset & Other Adventures as of Late

“MREEAK!” A sound like that of fingernails grinding across a chalkboard deafens my hearing. “Mreeeeak-mreeak!” It comes again, this time with a howl like a child being tortured. My eyes dart across the valley, crazily scanning for the origin of the noise. Ken turns to me and we realize that the shrieking is coming from a marmoset off in the distance. He’s on a large granite boulder, perched roughly 75 feet away from us. And he’s calling to us.

Gracie, my in-laws’ black and white Border Collie, instantly leaps forward in the direction of the marmoset. She’s ready to charge the wild creature. After pouncing through the knee-high brush, she’s at its rock.

But then it’s gone.

A cacophony of screeches ensues, some 40 to 50 feet away, now from different boulders. Gracie runs after the marmoset, indifferent to their changing directions. She loves to hunt. Meanwhile, Ken and I follow, happily chasing after her in pursuit of the marmoset.

This was last Saturday, as the three of us hiked through Archangel Valley near the now nationally recognized town of Wasilla, Alaska. It was my first time venturing down the bumpy, two-mile dirt road leading to this trail, within Hatcher’s Pass. Ken excitedly planned this ‘maiden hike’ for us, in hopes of helping me train for the much more involved 8-hour hike to the crashed B-52 Bomber Plane perched atop a glacier farther along the trail. The hike was wonderful, and a great starting place for me. I enjoyed basking in the verdant mountain landscape while breathing in the crisp 50-degree weather. Likewise, the abandoned mining buildings scattered along our path intrigued me. So much history happened here, I thought to myself, as I walked through the rubble, alongside a rain-swelled creek. I imagined gold miners panning for gold in those waters and digging beneath the surface for the smallest glimmer. And then there were the marmoset, those cat-sized animals scattering across rocks and among shrubs. I felt like we were on an adventure, transported back in time, to a rugged place in history.

In pursuing the marmoset, we quickly lost sight of the main trail and eagerly climbed boulders in the direction Gracie ran. Exhausted from the chase, I sat down on a rock ledge overlooking the valley, where we unpacked our sandwiches and snacks and enjoyed a late lunch. We never made it to the first set of lakes on our journey, our original goal, because we followed the siren call of the marmoset. Although it was a delightful detour, hopefully next time we’ll evade their captivating cries.

Along with our hiking adventures, Ken and I are learning to appreciate the ‘simpler’ aspects of living in a more rural community. Ken’s parents boast a lovely vegetable and fruit garden right outside their front door where we can harvest fresh potatoes, kale, broccoli, and cauliflower for soups, stews, and side dishes. Also, their woodsy and windy street is perfect for wildlife sightings. A year ago, I spotted a moose right in their front yard. More recently, Ken and I came across a beautiful red fox perched along a bank near their property. The majestic creature held a regal stance, as she watched us pass by her early one evening. We endearingly nicknamed her, “The Guardian,” and from time to time, question where The Guardian might be as we weave up or down our road. We live in a marvelous place, ideal for imaginations such as mine.

It’s been a month now since we drove up the Alcan and settled just outside of Anchorage. I’m adjusting to the change in climate, and the heaviness I feel from missing my dear friends in Seattle and scattered throughout Washington, Oregon, and California, is slowly lifting. Honestly, it’s very difficult to now live so far from my closest friends and away from the amenities of city living, and yet, I’m finding glimpses of joy in ways that I’ve never known before. Alaska has a sort of savage splendor to it. A wildly untamed state bold in its assertion of natural beauty. A diamond in the rough, or if I may say so, a nugget of gold pulled from a rocky mountain stream.

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Here are some photos from our recent adventures!
Click on each to enlarge.