For some time I have contemplated putting my testimony in writing, but things higher on the priority list have always prevented me. But during this Covid-19 experience with time on my hands, quarantining at Lake Mayfield on a wet and windy day, having maté primed and ready, I will begin. The setting is perfect: the weather acting very ‘Kodiakish,’ in a home that reminds me of a modern version of the cabin I had in Onion Bay on Raspberry Island….
I was born in Green Bay, Wisconsin in September of 1955 to Cal and Loretta Skalitzky. Shortly afterwards my parents and I moved in with my grandmother, who was living in Shawano (population 6,000 more or less), about thirty-five miles northwest of Green Bay. My grandfather had already passed away; we lived with Grandma Helen for thirteen more years before she died. I have many fond childhood memories of her.
Following me in birth order are my sister Ellen, brothers Matt, Cal, Bob, another sister Peg, and lastly my brother Bill – seven of us born within nine years. Three of my married uncles and one married aunt lived in the same city, so there were lots of cousins; I can’t recall how many. Needless to say, our household was very busy. Years later while I was helping out with Dad’s cancer care, I asked Mom how she ever managed. She just shrugged her shoulders and said, “I had a lot more energy in those days.”
Mom never worked outside the home until long after my youngest brother had graduated from high school. For many years Dad worked at the Badger Breeders milk processing plant located kitty-corner across the intersection from us. He also had a small private garbage collection business serving some local merchants, which amounted to about two hours of work every workday evening. When I was in eighth grade he bought a route around the resort area of Shawano Lake (6,215 acres), and shortly after that he added yet another route just west of town. He quit his job at Badger Breeders, working those routes around what he lived to do: hunt, trap and fish. Many of you have heard me say that Dad hunted, trapped, and fished for a living, and to pay the bills he had his own private garbage collection business.
After Grandma died, Dad and Mom inherited the house and property free and clear. So ‘all’ Dad did was raise seven children, put five through university, one through tech school, bailed another out of jail more than once, owned 80 acres a few miles north of town, and retired at 52.5 years old. Hmmm… and we kids were going to do better than that!
We were a Catholic family; the church was three blocks away, with the parochial school attached that we all attended through the eighth grade. I remember well the catechism classes and daily mass.
I have extremely poor eyesight. My first pair of glasses came when I was in kindergarten. In those days, no kids wore glasses. It was about the fifth grade before another classmate had glasses. I hated them. My prescription was changing every eight months or so, and they seemed to be breaking every couple months, neither of which made my parents very happy, as money was tight. Along about third grade I got it in my head that God could do anything, so… I made a deal with God. I knew he could fix my eyes so I would not have to wear glasses all the time. I gave him plenty of advance notice, something like six weeks, as I had a feeling this was a major deal even for God. I promised to be good and all that went with that. I never said anything to anyone, and when the evening before the appointed day arrived, I knew I had done my part. That evening, with full confidence I took off my glasses and looked at them for a moment, knowing I would never have to put them on again. I’m not sure why I didn’t toss them across the room instead of putting them on my little nightstand – force of habit, I guess.
I remember waking up and holding my eyes closed for a few moments, savoring the anticipation of seeing clearly when I opened them. And when I did, I was very glad I hadn’t just tossed my glasses away the night before!
As disappointing as that was, I know that was the beginning of my walk with God and his Son. He heard that prayer. In hindsight I now understand that God began maneuvering the events of my life so as to keep me, and to lead me to be commercially fishing salmon out of Kodiak, Alaska during the summer of 1980. I was crewing on the Lisa Dawn, a forty-nine foot salmon seiner/crab boat.
By then I was a practicing atheist. In those days the anti-God sentiment ran high in the university scene and by the time I graduated from college, I could hold my own with anyone regarding the subject. Which was a good thing, because one of my crew members that summer was a born-again Christian who was an ‘in your face’ type person. He would do things like sit down at the galley table while we were drinking and playing cards, open his Bible, and read out loud, saying, “I have just as much right to be here as you.” So another crew member named Bunky and I teamed up. Our goal was to see if we could get Carl to fight us. I could argue scripture and philosophy all day long, and Bunky knew just what to say at just the right time to finish pushing Carl’s buttons. It never ended in a scrap, though it came close a couple times.
Then one fine day Carl caught me alone. He admitted what I was saying was true, that it is impossible to prove the Bible is true — it is a book of faith, not logic. However, he pointed out what I was saying regarding science could not be proven either. “They are theories which from time to time change, Fred. And you know that!” Yes, I knew that. Then he reasoned as follows: “Let’s suppose what you are saying is true and there is no God. So we part ways and live our lives and finally die. Then what happens? According to you, nothing. So what have I missed? A few things you feel are pleasurable, that’s all. But now let’s suppose there is a God and we part from here and then die. Then what?” There was a long silence which seemed about five minutes but likely wasn’t more than thirty seconds. “Do you think it is worth the chance? I don’t. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing!”
That visit was a real turning point for me. There was nothing to reply. His simple reasoning that day never left me; I knew he was right….if there was any chance of God’s existence, it was not worth the risk of spending eternity in hell. All my arguments for doing just what I wanted to do were based on what other people had said or written; I had never searched it out for myself.
At that time my old college roomie Tim and I were partners in ten acres of land with a cabin in Onion Bay on Raspberry Island, located about fifty miles by water from the city of Kodiak. I decided to forgo crab fishing that fall, go to the cabin, trap fox and otter, hunt deer, watch the elk, avoid accidentally running into a brown bear, catch a halibut or two, and read the Bible. I took along some other religious material, but I could not make heads or tails out of that stuff. And it wasn’t like I gleaned a lot out of the Bible, but it did refresh my knowledge of the scripture.
During those three months, I tried to think of anyone I knew who might be serving God. I could only come up with one person, who happened to live near my home town of Shawano. So early December of 1980 I flew back home under the pretense of going beaver trapping with Dad, but the real reason was to see my friend Bob. I called him and he was thrilled, immediately inviting me to one of his church services. When he came to get me, Mom asked which church we were going to. When he said the Lutheran church just north of town, Mom clouded over like a thunderstorm. I went with him, but it was nothing more than a different twist on Catholicism, which I was absolutely convinced was not right! He dropped me off back home and Mom didn’t talk to me for two days. I realized this was never going to work, so after New Year’s I returned to Kodiak, saying the price of fur just wasn’t worth it. Which was true, but it was far from the real reason.
Rather than go crab fishing, I found a little apartment, stayed in the city, and worked odd cannery jobs, with the intent to check out the churches. Those were the heydays of crab fishing. A lot of money flowed through town, which meant lots of bars….and even more churches! All the major denominations were represented. I didn’t visit them all, but I did check out a good many of them; however, it wasn’t getting me anywhere. Nothing felt right, and I began to wonder…
The more I became convinced that I wasn’t going to find God in the church world, my feeling that God did exist became stronger. And I felt more and more pressed about it with every passing day. It became a monkey on my back, screeching in my ear and refusing to let go despite all my efforts to shake it off. Though I never contemplated it, I realized why people commit suicide: they have ‘a monkey on their back’ and cannot live with the thought that this is how it will be for the rest of their lives. Outwardly I was a typical cannery rat, but inside all was turmoil.
One day it came to me that maybe I was going about this all wrong. I was looking for God under my own terms, and perhaps that is not how it works. I don’t remember how many days I contemplated this, but finally one night I lay prostrate on my mattress (I didn’t have a bed), and tried to imagine the throne of God. It seems to me I began like this: “I don’t even know if you exist, but I feel like you do. You know I have searched for you, but with my own set of standards, and now I am taking them off.” My conditions were mostly the who, what, when, how, and why type. I don’t remember the order in which I confessed them except for the last one, where. This part I do remember word for word, “…and even if it means I have to live in a god-forsaken place like Seattle, Washington, I’m willing even for that.” And that was when I knew there is a living God, because the monkey on my back jumped off and I felt peace like I had never known before. That night I slept like I hadn’t since my search began. The next day as I reflected on what had happened the night before, I had peace with going back to fishing. Somehow I knew God was going to open up the way.
I found a seining job on the Salty, a thirty-nine foot fiberglass boat, and we journeyed four days from the port of Kodiak to the north end of Bristol Bay in the Bering Sea. We were going for the roe fishery for herring which is done by setting the seine around a school of herring about to spawn. The Salty was part of a four-boat combine that had a spotter plane to set us upon the fish. The Alaska Department of Fish and Game determined the time and duration of the fishing periods; the longest I recall was two days and the shortest was one hour.
Most of our three weeks in the Togiak area were spent waiting for these openings; I think there were three that year. So we had lots of time on our hands. One day I was on another boat of our four-boat group playing cards. I was sitting at the galley table facing the stove. Dave, the cook on that boat, was explaining in no uncertain terms to another crew member just what a sorry job he was doing cleaning up the galley. I looked up from my hand and suddenly it was as if time stood still. I saw a tunnel of light with the cook’s face on the other end. A voice said to me, “Dave has the keys. You and he will become good friends. There is nothing you can do about it.” And just like that it was gone and someone mentioned that it was my turn to play a card. I never said a word to anyone, and waited to see what would happen. After returning to Kodiak, Dave and I were fishing on two different boats in two different areas, but as the summer progressed we were running into each other more and more. We were mostly drinking buddies, as nearly everyone we knew was, and never, ever talked about religion.
When salmon season ended and king crab began, I switched back to the Lisa Dawn. About two weeks into the season my skipper fired the other crew member, and asked me if I knew where my friend lived. We jumped into his pickup and caught Dave just as he was putting on his jacket to go to the harbor to look for a fishing job. We threw his sea bag in the back of the truck and soon we were pulling out of the harbor heading for Kiliuda Bay along the east side of Kodiak.
The fishing was excellent, the weather seemed to be in our favor, and we got along royally. One fine afternoon as we were working the gear, Dave asked me if I thought there was a God. I don’t remember what I replied but when I finished, Dave stopped coiling the line, straightened up, and looking me straight in the eye said, “If you’re into checking out strange religions, you should talk to my mom. She has the strangest religion in all the earth.” End of conversation. I will add that to stop coiling the line when a crab pot is being pulled in is a cardinal sin. Line was snaking all over the deck. I was running the hydraulic controls and was so astounded Dave stopped coiling that I froze. Jimmy stepped out of the wheelhouse and screamed at us like I didn’t know he could. It took us more than a few minutes to get everything back in order. And I knew something out of the ordinary had just happened. I wasn’t quite sure what, but it was a game changer. It wasn’t so much what Dave said but how he said it, and then refused to talk about the subject anymore. I knew his parents and siblings; I’d been in their apartment several times that summer. I remember sleeping off a hangover on their couch one morning when one of their lady ministers came by. I figured them to be some sort of Pentecostal folk, a type I had already checked out and rejected.
So after the king crab season ended I went to talk to Dave’s mom. That evening Dave’s little sister was there, but quickly disappeared when I said I wanted to talk about their faith. Amerilis appeared, invited me to sit down, and I was immediately on the attack. She was very patient with me, and I was impressed that she didn’t pretend to know the answers to questions like, What about the dinosaurs? The questions I was asking had no answers and I knew that; I also knew religious folk always tried to give an answer. Amerilis would just shake her head and say, “I don’t know.” Finally, not knowing what else to do with me, she invited me to attend one of her ‘meetings.’ “Come and see” was about all I remember her telling me about it.
So that next very rainy Sunday morning I was standing in front of the Harbormaster building dressed in my rain gear, wondering what I was getting myself into. About the appointed time I saw a car turn the corner and head towards the harbor. Somehow I knew that was my ride, even though it was not Amerilis’ car. Sure enough it stopped, the lady inside cranked the window down and asked if I was Fred. She explained that Amerilis’ father had died that week and she had flown to Montana for the funeral. I was living on the Lisa Dawn in the boat harbor in the days before cell phones. Women seldom were seen in the harbor, and almost never ladies; it was man’s territory. There was no way for Amerilis to let me know someone else would meet me. I thought, well this is getting off on the wrong foot, but it can’t be any worse than what I’ve experienced anywhere else, so into the car, rain gear and all, and off we went.
It wasn’t far, about three blocks; a little house on the hillside overlooking the harbor and most of the city of Kodiak. There was a long stairway leading to the front door, and once inside I was seated in the living room. That room was 20’x16’, maybe. It did have a wonderful view facing the city. June and her teenage son were seated with their backs to the window. On the couch were Eunice and her husband Henry; she was 75, he was 85. Henry was not professing and soon fell asleep. I recalled Amerilis saying there weren’t too many of them, but only four?! Suddenly Eunice asked if anyone had a hymn to sing and the meeting began.
Today I know the order of the meeting because I’ve been in thousands of meetings since, but all I remember of that first one was how it started. However, when it was over and I was going down the steps back to June’s car, I had this feeling – and about halfway down it hit me that I had felt like this the night I had prayed to God about taking off my conditions and the monkey jumped off my back. This was it!!
The next Sunday found me back in that same room, but quite a few more were gathered. No one was saying a word. As we sat there in silence before the meeting began, I suddenly remembered I was no longer wearing glasses. The day before, the optometrist from Anchorage had his clinic in town, and I was now wearing contact lenses. My childhood prayer came to mind and I thought, this cannot be pure coincidence. After the meeting someone explained to me that the Sunday before they had been in Anchorage attending something called special meeting, whatever that was.
So I began to attend Sunday morning fellowship meetings on a regular basis. Well, sort of. It was mid-November, and I had plans to go fox trapping on the west side of Kodiak that winter. So I went out to my cabin for two weeks to make preparations. During that time I came down with a cold that left me weak as a kitten and unable to care for myself. A howling northwest wind was blowing through Onion Bay that dark, rainy night. I had neighbors living about a mile away, but no way to contact them, or anyone else for that matter. And I knew I needed help now. As I lay in my bunk shaking like a leaf, cold as ice, I understood this could very possibly be it, and there was no doubt in my mind where I was going afterwards. If there ever was a time to pray to God for a second chance, it was now.
So I did, and totally unplanned as I finished my petition, I promised I would be honest in my efforts this time. No sooner had that prayer passed through my mind and the horrible shaking stopped and I began to feel warm. Truthfully, the first thought through my mind was, What have I just done??!! And then there was a loud, audible voice, “Fred, no more dope.” Soon afterwards I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until late the following afternoon. I was still sick, but no longer in danger. I had a week to study on all this until the float plane came to return me to Kodiak. I knew nothing else to do except attend that little Sunday morning meeting.
That Sunday I sensed the dynamics had changed. There were even more people in meeting, including that woman minister I had met before. And sitting next to her was this other older lady who somehow seemed to be connected with her. Moreover, the older of the two led the meeting. Afterwards they were all smiles and friendly-like, inviting me to this gospel meeting, whatever that was, that they were having in a room at the junior high school on Sunday and Wednesday evenings. The older one, Helen, made quite a point of letting me know she thought it would a very, very good idea if I attended those meetings as well as the Sunday morning fellowship meetings.
There wasn’t a whole lot else to do in Kodiak if a person wasn’t doing the bar scene, so I made it a point to go. Except about a week afterwards, 7.5” king crab season opened and the Lisa Dawn was again fishing out of Kiliuda Bay, about an eight-hour run from Kodiak. Dave and I were the crew, so off we went. The amazing thing is, as far as I or anyone else remembers, I never missed one of those gospel meetings, despite the eight-hour run, December weather in the North Pacific Ocean, and the uncertainties of crab fishing. The combination of those three things puts my attendance at those meetings in the category of the children of Israel crossing the Red Sea; in other words, a true miracle that could only be performed by God’s hand.
Later that summer I learned why our skipper was so insistent on being back at those times. He was having a new boat built in Seattle and the company was calling him every Monday and Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. (In those days there was a two-hour time difference between Alaska and Seattle.) It was very important that progress be made as quickly as possible on the boat. Even with incentive like that, the weather in the North Pacific Ocean in December makes keeping such a schedule an impossibility that only an experienced crab fisherman can fully grasp. But it happened.
The season ended about the first of the year and it was a month or so before tanner crab season was to start. By that time I was a regular. I don’t remember anything that was said in any of those meetings, but my heart was drawing closer every day. I would meet Helen and Judy for visits from time to time in Dairy Queen. All I knew was my heart was getting warmer and warmer with each meeting.
I will add that in that first meeting with the workers, there were some other folks I hadn’t seen before, including a young lady about my age. It wasn’t long and we were seeing each other quite regularly. She had told me she was divorced, but I just put that out of my mind. Up to this point my only conviction, if you could call it that, about divorce and remarriage came from something that happened when I was about 12 years old. My parents were going through a rough stretch. My sister Ellen, a year younger than me, quite innocently said to Mom, “Why don’t you just divorce Dad and marry someone else? Uncle Ben does it all the time.” Mom hauled off and slapped Ellen across the face (which was totally out of character for Mom), knocking her to the floor. Standing over her, Mom yelled, “You don’t ever talk like that again. People who do that go to hell!” That made quite an impression.
My friend was living with her folks, and one evening I went to see her and lo and behold, the workers were staying there. Well, I had been wondering how the workers got around, and for a while that dominated the conversation. But when the subject died out, her folks excused themselves, and suddenly it was just us and them. There was a bit of an awkward silence and then I very innocently told them I really liked the meetings and wondered what I could do to draw closer.
The conversation that followed was one I will never forget. About halfway through, my friend got up and went into the kitchen where I could hear her sobbing. Finally the workers said about all they could say and went to their room. I think they were waiting for me to leave, but there was no way I was going without seeing my friend. When I went into the kitchen she was still sobbing. I hugged her and asked what she thought of it all. She told me everything they said was true. She said she knew she could go elsewhere in the USA and marry again and ‘take part.’ “I know it isn’t right, but I’m going to do it anyway, and if it isn’t you, it is going to be someone else.” So obviously I had some things to think about. I continued to attend the meetings, but as far as I know my friend never came again. But somehow I felt much freer in my spirit.
The visits at the Dairy Queen continued until finally I asked the workers if I could make my choice. They felt I was ready and said they would give me an opportunity that coming Sunday. Sunday arrived, and as I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes on the Lisa Dawn, I looked out the galley window and saw my old college roomie Tim walking the dock headed my way. I remember thinking, I wonder what he wants. It’s not hunting, fishing or trapping season. Hmmm… Sure enough, he hopped on board and was delighted to see me up and dressed. “Come on, let’s head for the Office Bar. Sue is holding a table and drinks are on me. I have $500 on the game.” It was Super Bowl Sunday and I didn’t even know it! I hesitated, and suddenly I knew he was the one person in the entire world I would not be able to brush off. If I refused I would have to tell him why, and I wasn’t quite ready for that yet. So instead of going to Sunday morning meeting, I went and sat in front of the bar’s big screen and watched my friend’s team lose the game. It was one of the most miserable experiences of my life to that date.
When it was all over, I went back down to the boat and thought, if this is how Judas felt, no wonder he hung himself. However, since the game was played in the afternoon somewhere on the east coast, there was yet time to make the gospel meeting. When I entered the room, I called the workers out and let them know I wasn’t ready. Afterwards we went down to the boat and I explained what happened. I was totally undone and told them they held my spiritual life in their hands. They were very understanding and assuring. They gave me an opportunity the following Wednesday, and I made it during the last stanza of the last chorus of the hymn. I never dreamed that raising my hand could be so difficult, but then I could have never imagined the peace and comfort that followed.
That was January of 1982. In the weeks that followed, I was so happy, and invited lots of my friends. I remember telling Helen and Judy they would need a bigger room; they just smiled. There was one person though, that never attended anymore. Kodiak isn’t a very big place and I had lots of ‘ears’ around. So one evening when my friend was babysitting for some folks who were off to Anchorage for the weekend, I went to see her. We had gotten along fabulously up to that disastrous visit, and I felt like, well I really don’t know what I felt, except I needed some sort of closure. She, however, could read between the lines. “Fred, you have just started in this thing. You have no idea where it is taking you. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I have made my choice. I don’t ever want to see you again. I have enough problems without your blood on my soul. No hard feelings, but that is the way it has to be. We can never be together anymore. Do you understand?” The message was loud and clear to me. I never did see her again.
I was able to go to Juneau convention that spring of 1982. It was a wonderful experience, especially since I was baptized there. I’m not sure what I expected when I went, but I remember being on the plane returning to Kodiak and reflecting that somehow it was everything it should be.
I was fully committed to being a commercial fisherman. I loved the life of the sea, especially around Kodiak. I had crewed on several boats, and felt the time to purchase a permit, lease a boat and skipper it myself was within my reach. I fantasized about having a ‘professing’ crew. However, that summer turned out to be the strangest summer of my commercial fishing experience. In a three-month period, the Salty only spent ten days in Kodiak, and those ten days were in a row. I realized that if I had a boat of my own, I would have to do whatever it took to meet the payments, even if it meant staying away from home port for an extended period of time. Was it worth the risk of missing so many meetings?
As it turned out, the salmon season ended early, so before the start of preparations for 7” king crab season, I was able to fly home to Wisconsin for two weeks. My family couldn’t seem to grasp what I had found, and I was sure if I spent some time with them, they would all want it, too. It didn’t turn out that way at all, and other than a few meetings attended, up to this current day my family has shown little or no interest in what I have. However, the last evening before my return flight to Kodiak, when it was just the two of us, Dad turned off the tv (which he never did while watching the late movie), took his pipe out of his mouth, and said something like the following: “I’m not sure what you’ve got yourself into. But I’ve seen some changes in your life these last two weeks that I always wanted to make in my life, but never had the strength to do. I can’t say very much, but know that I approve and am behind you in what you’re doing.” That has always been a comfort to me.
To my surprise, the Sunday morning meeting was a scant six blocks from my parents’ home. In fact, I had known these people most of my growing up life, as they were customers of my dad’s garbage collection business. The elder there, Marion, was absolutely delighted and did his best to befriend me. He was a retired butcher who had his own business. It was convention prep time in Wisconsin, and he invited me to go with him for a day of preps. On the way he told me his life story and how he wished he could have spent his days in the work. A few days later he asked me to accompany him as he transported Gilbert (an old brother worker who labored for years in Brazil and was on his home visit) from one part of the state to another. Shortly after we picked up Gilbert, Marion asked him if he thought there was anything better for a young man to do than give his life in this great work.
I didn’t need a college degree to figure out where this was all going. Up to that point, the life of the workers fascinated me, but little else. Now however, a voice in my mind said, “This could be your portion.” I screamed back, “No, not me!” However, as much as I tried to put it out of my mind, I couldn’t, and when I returned to Kodiak, the monkey was back louder than ever. Fortunately, by then I was rooming with Ben, a professing man who had spent some time in the work. One evening we went for a walk and he asked me what was eating at me, telling me I had not been the same since returning from Wisconsin. It took some prodding but before long I admitted it was the work. He advised me to go to Anchorage and see Truitt, who was working on a project at the Wasilla convention site. The coming Sunday there would be some sort of special meeting, as three workers new to Alaska were arriving, and all would be speaking.
On the way to Anchorage a question was going over and over in my mind: How ever was I going to have this visit with Truitt? I knew who he was, as I had met him at Juneau convention. But phone number to reach him? Where he would be? Suddenly it came to me that if I just happened to run into him, and couldn’t shake him in conversation, that would be my sign that I should offer for the work. I know that sounds a bit vague, and it was even to me at the time, but with that thought I had peace.
So I found myself in the Anchorage airport that Friday evening when the plane carrying those workers arrived. I remember stepping into the waiting area and being amazed at how many people were gathered there quietly chatting amongst themselves as they waited. And there was Truitt dressed like he just walked off the project. The instant he spotted me, he came right over. Honestly, I was glad to see him and didn’t think anything about it until I noted how many people came up to say hi to him and then would politely move on to someone else. Suddenly I had this nagging suspicion, and decided I needed to make a move, so I excused myself to use the restroom. I spent way more time in there than was necessary, giving him plenty of opportunity to become engaged in conversation with someone else. When I finally walked out, there he was, leaning against the wall looking at the ceiling deep in thought, but spotted me instantly and came right over. It seemed to me the time between then and when the plane actually landed stretched on for an eternity. I knew this was the sign that had come to me and I wanted no part in offering. Finally the plane landed (it was about twenty minutes late) and I managed to lose him in the rush of the reception of the workers stepping off the plane. I lay as low as possible the next day, hardly going out of the apartment where I was staying. I suppose the fellas living there wondered about me, but I didn’t care. I had made up my mind that Truitt needed to find me, and I would take no chance of just running into him.
Sunday arrived, I went to the meeting and it was wonderful until he spoke. Of all verses, he chose 1 Cor 13:11, “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” Yikes. To make it even worse, right after the meeting he sought me out and offered to give me a ride to the airport for the flight back to Kodiak. “I really don’t need a ride, we’ll just take a cab.” “No need for that, I can do it, as there will be plenty of time before my next appointment.” “Oh thanks, but it’s not necessary at all.” “No worries, I’m glad to do it.” I’m not sure how long we went back and forth before I realized he did not understand the meaning of the word no in this matter. So I reminded him there were two of us needing to catch that plane, feeling secure it wouldn’t be right to bring up the subject with someone else present. “Lots of room,” he said.
When the final details of cleaning up the hall were done, I looked around for my traveling buddy who was nowhere to be seen. Then I looked out the door and to my horror saw my friend getting into a car with some other workers! So, Truitt and I were alone in the car when it pulled out of the parking lot heading for the airport. My heart was racing, my head pounding, and I thought I might throw up lunch. I asked him some question about what he spoke on, because I knew if I talked it was all over. So he expounded on and on and on and the traffic was crawling and suddenly I just blurted out, “I’m called to the work.”
I’ll never forget the look of surprise on his face. He pulled over to a side street and we chatted until I thought I’d miss the plane. (As it turned out, the weather was bad in Kodiak and the plane was delayed several hours.) He suggested I leave Kodiak and live somewhere else, as it would give me a much better idea of what life in the work would be like compared to the more isolated situation of Kodiak Island. I mentioned I had thought of changing careers and becoming a teacher; I already had my degree in Mathematics from the University of Wisconsin, and I could get my teaching certificate in about a year at the university in Fairbanks. When I assured him I had the finances to do that, he was sold on the idea.
He said he’d do some calling to put me in touch with some of the friends (at that time Fairbanks had four large Sunday morning meetings). Then he quoted 2 Peter 1:10, “Wherefore the rather, brethren, give diligence to make your calling and election sure: for if ye do these things, ye shall never fall.” He explained the most important thing in the coming months would not be getting my certificate, but seeking that assurance from God, which would not only affirm His will for my life, but also keep me during my days in the work when not all was going well.
That visit was the beginning of September, 1982. I went to Fairbanks, obtained my certificate, and taught for a year in Kodiak. Most importantly, I found the assurance I so badly needed. In late July of 1985 I arrived at Olympia convention as part of the prep crew. My first companion was Truitt and our field was the Kenai Peninsula which included Kodiak. I came to Washington in 1992, spent 1996-97 in Wisconsin, returned to Washington until December of 2006 when I went to Argentina for three years, and have been laboring in Washington since.
June 6, 2020
Fred Skalitzky
Truth Archive 