by Veronica Szczygiel
On March 3, two days before Ash Wednesday, 34 sleds lined up in Fairbanks, Alaska, for the official start to the annual Iditarod race. Steered by a mix of rookie and veteran mushers, the packs of huskies excitedly awaited the multi-day marathon that would traverse about 1,128 miles of demanding environment.
The race, officially begun in 1973, is a modern-day homage to Balto’s famous 1925 journey. The husky led a sled mission to deliver life-saving medicine during a Diphtheria outbreak in the small village of Nome. Now, a century later, the race on snow continues, covering approximately the same route as Balto’s team.
When my husband Arthur and I vacationed in Alaska, we took a helicopter from Juneau to a glacier to visit a dog sled camp. Several observations made my heart flutter.
First, the Alaskan wilderness was bar-none some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen in my life. Snow-drenched mountain ridges, turquoise glacial pools, and sharp ice sheaths captivated me.
Second, the minute our helicopter cut its engine, I heard the huskies’ eager barks. They were itching to get harnessed to the sled and hit the open road.
Third, the dogs did not resemble the pure-bred Siberian husky with blue eyes made famous by Hollywood. Instead, they were mutts who sported multicolor fur with dark eyes twinkling with adventure.
We had the honor of riding on a sled. Arthur and I sat together as our guide hooked up the dogs. He knew them so well that he kept quarreling ones separate and picked the one he trusted most as the lead dog. According to the website Iditarod, “It should be thoroughly understood that as dogs are not driven with reins, but by spoken commands, the [lead dog] must understand all that is said to him and guide the others accordingly… At times, it appears that there is ESP between musher and lead dog.”
Being shepherded through the silent majesty of the Last Frontier made me think of our personal journeys with the Lord. In many ways, we are the lead husky. We each have a pack in tow — our families, loved ones, and friends — who rely on our steadfastness and decision-making. We each have a heavy sled to drag, burdened with suffering. And we all have dangerous terrain to navigate: The twists and turns of everyday life.
If we are lead husky, then the Lord is our musher. He directs our lives: Where to turn (Gee! Haw!), when to brake (Whoa!), and when to continue at full speed (Hike!).
Are we hearing his commands? Are we listening for them? Are we obeying them with full trust in his plan?
This Lent, let us pull our personal crosses while trusting that the Lord will guide us safely across treacherous terrain.
If we allow the Lord to be our musher and hear his voice, then the sled we’re dragging will feel a whole lot lighter. We will cross the finish line of our personal pilgrimage. We will complete our own Iditarod.
Veronica Szczygiel, PhD. is the Director of Online Learning at the Graduate School of Education at Fordham University.