The Christmas I Learned about My Heavenly Father

Here is an excerpt from the new book I 'm writing, Following in Footsteps of Faith--a true event that happened one Christmas that still impacts my life. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas!

In the early 1950s in Juneau, Alaska, when I was 5 or 6 years old, most families did their gift shopping by mail in the Territory. The arrival of the Sears and Roebuck Christmas catalog signaled the beginning of the holiday season. We kids spent hours poring over the Christmas catalog, studying page after page of toys and dolls, looking for the exact gift we wanted.

As I turned a page, my eyes fell upon the most beautiful doll I’d ever seen—a bride doll dressed in lace and tulle, with a veil over long, blond curls that could be combed and styled.

I ran to show my mother. “This is what I want for Christmas!”

With sadness tingeing her voice, she said, “Oh, honey, you’ll have to pray and ask Jesus for that doll. We don’t have enough money to buy presents this year.”

By faith, my parents operated the Bethel Beach Children’s Home in a big house on the beach just outside of town. They received little income for caring for the children—as many as thirteen children, nine of them under five and two babies in cribs—orphaned, neglected, or abandoned. Others had only one parent and no one to care for them while the parent worked.

Bethel Beach Children’s Home in Juneau, Alaska, c. 1950

I am the girl in the back row second from left

My dad worked full time to support our family and the home. My mother cared for all the children as well as doing the cooking, the laundry, and the cleaning. We children did our assigned chores, but Mother was usually without other adult help. Both parents provided us with a lot of love and Christian training.

That year, every night until December 24, when I knelt to say my bedtime prayers, I asked Jesus to give me that beautiful bride doll for Christmas. My request wasn’t very significant to anyone but me. You might even say it was selfish. It certainly would not change the course of history if I didn’t receive that doll.

Christmas morning, when we children, wide-eyed with expectation, tripped down the stairs and peeked into the large living room, we discovered gaily wrapped presents under the tree for each of us. The tags all read, “From Jesus.” When I unwrapped my gift, the beautiful doll I’d prayed for lay inside.

Years later, my mother told me the rest of the story. That Christmas Eve, Behrends, the only department store in Juneau at that time, had invited my parents to come down to the store to pick out gifts for all the children—free of charge. Among the unsold toys, she found the bride doll for me.

That Christmas, this young girl learned that the God who created the Universe cares about every detail of her life, including what she wanted for Christmas. And to this day, that sense of my Heavenly Father’s love has never left me.

Other books by AnnaLeeConti available at www.AnnaLeeConti.com/books.html

Significance of the Swaddling Cloths

I just realized it's been more than a month since I wrote a blog post. In addition to doctors' visits, preparations for Christmas, and several snowstorms, I've been working hard on my new writing project--a book which I'm titling Following in Footsteps of Faith. It is a sequel to Frontiers of Faith,  the story of my grandparents, Charles & Florence Personeus, pioneer missionaries to Alaska, 1917-1982. The new book tells the faith-building true stories of my adventures in following in their footsteps even from early childhood.

Courtesy Google.com

Before I continue work on my new book, I want to pause and wish you all a blessed Christmas and  God's best in the New Year.

From the first Christmas I can remember until now, my family has always read the Christmas story from Matthew and Luke on Christmas Eve. We've sung the carols and reenacted the precious story every year in church. This year, however, I gained insight into the wondrous story that I had never known previously: the significance of the swaddling cloths to the shepherds.

Bethlehem, meaning "House of Bread," is only 5 miles from Jerusalem. King David watched his father's sheep on the hillsides around Bethlehem, the town designated in Micah 5:1 as the birthplace of the coming Messiah, who would be called "The Bread of Life."

Mary and Joseph lived in Nazareth, near the Sea of Galilee, about 80 miles north of Bethlehem. We all know the Bible story of the taxation census ordered by Caesar Augustus that required all men to return to their hometowns to register. Joseph, as well as Mary, were both of the lineage of King David. In spite of Mary's advanced pregnancy, she accompanied Joseph on the journey. As they arrived in Bethlehem, she went into labor.

Bethlehem at that time was overwhelmed with travelers who had come to register. Frantically, Joseph searched for a room. All he could find was a shepherd's cave. At least it was clean and provided shelter. Mary gave birth and wrapped the Babe in swaddling cloths and laid Him in a manger, a feeding trough for animals. This fact is mentioned three times within 20 verses in Luke 2, calling attention to its importance.

Out on the hillside, shepherds were watching their sheep that night. Suddenly, the angel of the Lord appeared to them and announced the birth of "Christ the Lord," saying,

Courtesy Pinterest.com

And this will be the sign to you: you will find the Babe wrapped in 

swaddling cloth, lying in a manger.

  

The message was punctuated by the singing of a radiant angelic choir:

Glory to God in the highest,

And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!

Now, these were not ordinary shepherds. The shepherds of Bethlehem were "Levitical Shepherds," chosen and trained to take care of the sheep that were to be used as sacrificial lambs in the Temple in nearby Jerusalem.

The Law of Moses required that the sacrificial lambs be "spotless and without blemish." To assure that, special treatment was required. When an ewe was ready to give birth, she was taken to a special birthplace, a cave designated for the birth of the sacrificial lambs. The newborn lamb was carefully wrapped in swaddling cloths, bandage-like strips of cloth to protect it from blemish, and laid in the manger there.

When the shepherds heard the angel's news, they knew immediately where they could go to see the Baby--to their cave where the sacrificial lambs were born.

As soon as the angels went back into heaven, the shepherds hurried to see the newborn Babe, the One of whom John the Baptist later called "The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29).

Today, amid all the tinsel, lights, sounds, and gifts, let's not forget "the Reason for the Season"!

The Sacrificial Lamb is now our Shepherd.

He is Emanuel, God with us!

He is the the Lamb without spot or blemish--the One who was in all points tempted as we are yet without sin,  the One who can sympathize with our weaknesses and give us help in our time of need. Praise His wonderful Name!

Consider giving a book for Christmas. See http://annaleeconti.com/books.html

Beauty for Ashes

On that clear Sunday morning of May 18, 1980, my mother walked the two blocks from their house to the church they pastored in Kittitas, Washington. When she stepped out the door, she noticed a small cloud on the southwest horizon. By the time she arrived at the church, billows of dark ash clouds boiled overhead, blocking out the sun, turning the day to night in just a few minutes.

That was the day Mt. St. Helens, a volcano in the Cascade Mountains of Washington, blew its top. The eruption was witnessed by vulcanologist David Johnston, who was camped on a ridge 6 miles from the volcano, and Keith and Dorothy Stoffel, who were making an aerial survey of the volcano that morning. Miraculously, they lived to tell their stories.

At 8:32 a.m., a local magnitude 5.1 earthquake set off a landslide on the lip of the crater. Within seconds, the whole north face of the mountain began to move and collapsed, releasing super-heated gases and trapped magma in a massive cloud. Hot gases and rock debris were blown out of the mountain face at nearly supersonic speeds, wiping out everything within 8 miles almost instantly.

The shock wave rolled over the forest for another 19 miles, leveling century-old trees, leaving all the trunks neatly aligned to the north. Beyond this downed-tree zone, the forest remained standing but was seared lifeless. The area devastated by the direct force covered nearly 230 square miles.

Shortly after the lateral blast, a second vertical explosion occurred at the summit of the volcano, sending a mushroom cloud of ash and hot gases more than 12 miles into the atmosphere.

During the next 9 hours, about 540 million tons of ash from Mt. St. Helens fell like rain over an area of more than 22,000 square miles. The total volume of the ash before its compaction by rainfall was about 0.3 cubic mile, equivalent to an area the size of a football field piled about 150 miles high with fluffy ash. My sister lived in Yakima, about 85 miles northeast of the volcano. She measured 7 inches of ash on her porch. In the next valley north, ash accumulated to 4 inches on my parents' porch--like snow, but it didn't melt. When I visited my family 2 months later, it was just blowing around in the wind and making everything gritty, even my teeth!

Heat from the initial eruption melted and eroded the glacial ice and snow around the remaining part of the mountain. The water mixed with dirt and debris to create mud flows, which reached speeds of 90 mph and demolished everything in their path.

The 1980 Mt. St. Helens eruption was the most destructive in U.S. history. Fifty-seven people died, and thousands of animals were killed, according to the U. S. Geologic Survey. More than 200 homes were destroyed, and more than 185 miles of roads and 15 miles of railways were damaged. 

Ash clogged sewage systems, damaged cars and buildings, and temporarily shut down air traffic over the Northwest. The International Trade Commission estimated damages to timber, civil works, fisheries, and agriculture to be $1.1 billion. Hot ash caused forest fires, and snow melt from the top of the mountain caused floods. Volcanic ash spread across the Northwest. More than 900,000 tons of ash were cleaned up from areas around Washington.

Mt. St. Helens ash

Today, scientists keep a close watch on Mount St. Helens and other volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest. The volcano's location on the Cascadian Subduction Zone means another eruption is inevitable.

Yet, out of the ashes and destruction has come beauty. The ash has made the farmlands of Washington even more fertile. 

While Mt. St. Helens lost over 1,300 feet in height (previously, the mountain was 9,677 feet; it is now 8,365 feet) and scenic Spirit Lake was severely impacted, over time, the landscape is recovering. Different but still beautiful, it still attracts tourists.

Helenite also comes in shades of blue and red.

Unexpected and even more surprising, while cleaning up after the eruption, it was accidentally discovered that, when heated, the elements in the volcanic rock and ashes would fuse to form a rich, green gem similar to an emerald. The process was later perfected in strict lab conditions to create the magnificent deep green Helenite gemstone. Called Helenite or Mt. St. Helens Emerald, it has earned the title "America's Emerald." With its sparkle, color, and cut, it delivers the beauty of precious emeralds without the big price tag.





Isn't that just like our God? In Isaiah 61:3, He promised to comfort all who mourn:

To give them beauty for ashes, 

the oil of joy for mourning, 

the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; 

that they may be called trees of righteousness, 

the planting of the Lord, 

that He may be glorified.

As I look back over my life, I remember times when I felt my life was in ashes. But God has made something beautiful out of the devastation. Can you think of a time when God turned your ashes into something beautiful?

Note: I'm still struggling to get my blood pressure down to normal. Still getting many tests and trying new meds. Significant deterioration in my cervical and lumbar spine has been discovered, and physical therapy is recommended. That will be time consuming. I will still make my new book a priority. I'm making good progress. And I will try to write a blog post from time to time. Thank you for your continued prayers. 

 

It's Time to Pray!

We have a collection of old Ideals books I inherited from my Personeus grandparents. Every fall, my husband gets them off the shelf to browse through them. Full of colorful pictures, poems, and short stories, they bring to our remembrance days or yore. We especially enjoy the fall scenes.

In our 1956 Old Fashioned Issue of Ideals, I came across a letter that is so apropos it could have been written about America today:

We have been the recipients of the 

choicest bounties of Heaven; 

we have grown in numbers, wealth, and power

 as no other nation has grown. 

But we have forgotten God. 

We have forgotten the gracious hand 

which preserved us in peace 

and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us, 

and we have vainly imagined, 

in the deceitfulness of our hearts, 

that all these blessings were produced 

by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, 

we have become too self-sufficient 

to feel the necessity of 

redeeming and preserving grace,

too proud to pray to 

the God that made us.
                                  --Abraham Lincoln

My heart breaks when I hear the attacks on our Judeo-Christian heritage. I'm reminded of a song I used to sing as a teenager, "It's time to Pray." 

It's time to pray to the God who watches o'er us;

It's time to seek His help without delay;

The world is dark for the clouds of war still threaten;

It's time for all America to pray.

If we would keep the flag of freedom flying,

Secure the peace for which we all are crying,

It's time to pray--our sin and wrong confessing,

It's time for all America to pray!

It's up to us as people of God!

If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land (2 Chronicles 7:14, NKJV).


Update on my health: I've been kept busy with doctors' appointments and all kinds of test trying to get to the cause of my uncontrolled blood pressure. Continuing to try new medications to find ones that help. More tests scheduled. But I continue to look to the Lord, my Healer. Appreciate your continued prayers for me. Thank you!

In Sickness and In Health

It's been nearly a month since I've written a blog. I've been working hard on another book, Following in the Footsteps of Faith, a sequel to Frontiers of Faith, which tells the story of my grandparents, Charles and Florence Personeus and their miraculous faith journey as pioneer missionaries in Alaska, 1917-1982.

The sequel describes the faith journeys of my parents and myself as we too stepped out by faith into a life of ministry in Alaska and beyond.

Last week, a health crisis interrupted everything. Wednesday morning, I went in for cataract surgery. It would be more complicated than most because of my hereditary Fuchs Corneal Dystrophy, and I was a bit anxious about all the possible complications. Recalling God's promises and hymns I'd memorized many years ago, I tried to calm myself.

That morning, as I was being prepared for the procedure, my blood pressure skyrocketed to a life-threatening level. The surgery was canceled, and I was sent immediately to the ER by ambulance. Scary!

The ER was packed with sick people in the cubicles as well as lining the halls. I was taken right into a cubicle where a multitude of medical personnel began tests that ruled out heart attack, but they said I was in danger of stroke and kidney failure.

After many hours in the ER, many tests, and new medications, the pressure was not coming down. My left arm was swollen and red from the painful tightening of the BP cuff every few minutes.

In spite of meditating on God's Word and silently humming my favorite hymns, my anxiety level rose even higher. Of course, that didn't help my blood pressure.

As I lay on the extremely uncomfortable gurney, which aggravated my already chronically painful back and neck, my head was now aching too. It was a catch-22 situation. I felt hopeless. Tears flooded my eyes.

I tried to hide my distress over the situation, but my husband, Bob, who had been with me from the moment I arrived, noticed. Alarmed, he rose from his chair and and handed me a tissue. "What's the matter? Why are you crying?"


I shrugged, but I didn't need to explain. He held my hand.

"I love you," I was finally able to say.

"Why are you saying that now?" he asked.

"Because you're here." And his eyes filled with tears too.

It was a special moment. In our marriage vows more than 52 years ago, he had promised to love me "in sickness and in health." And he was again keeping that promise.

After 30 hours in the ER and a trial and error of medicines and much prayer, my blood pressure finally lowered sufficiently that I could be moved to a regular room late Thursday afternoon. But it was still high.

By Friday afternoon, my systolic blood pressure had lowered to the mid one hundred fifties, and I was cleared to go home with a handful of new medications and a low sodium diet.

I do not tolerate medications very well. I was instructed to take the meds before breakfast. The next morning, I threw them all up. And I felt weak, shaky, and lightheaded all day every day until I saw my cardiologist yesterday (Thursday). She now has me taking them with food and spread throughout the day. So far, so good. I hope I'll be able to function normally again.

Through it all, Bob has been my nurse, chef, and constant companion "in sickness and in health." He does it all without a complaint. He is an example of love in action. When God gave me my husband, He gave me a good gift!

As I continue to prepare my new book for publication, I may not be able to write my blog as often. A lot depends on my health too. But I'll keep you informed. And I appreciate your prayers.

Look to the End!

Diogenes

Diogenes, a renowned pagan thinker of ancient Greece, set up a tent in the marketplace of Athens with a sign which read, "Wisdom sold here."

One of the citizens laughed at the idea and sent a servant with twelve cents in Greek coins, saying, "Go and ask that braggart how much wisdom he will let you have for twelve cents."

When the servant delivered the money and the message to Diogenes, the latter answered, "Tell this to  your master: 'In all your actions look to the end.'"

When the servant brought this message home, his master was so pleased with it that he had the words painted in gold over the entrance of his house so that he and everyone else entering his home might be reminded of the end of life. Even the mere natural virtue seemed to him very valuable.

This message should speak to us as Christians today. The Apostle Paul reminds us that "we will all stand before the judgment seat of God. Yes, each of us will give a personal account to God" (Romans 14:10, 12, NLT).

With the death of my 97-year-old father a few weeks ago, I've been reminded that even a long life is short. This life is our preparation for eternity.

The psalmist says that our life on this earth is like the flowers of the field that flourish briefly and then are blown away by the wind and remembered no more (103:15, 16).

If we live our lives with the end in mind and make our choices in the light of eternity, God will be able to say to us, "Well done, good and faithful servant!"

A plaque that always hung on my Personeus grandparents' wall pointed out,

Only one life, twill soon be past;

Only what's done for Christ will last.

And a chorus I learned as a child has influenced my daily choices throughout my life:

With eternity's values in view, Lord,

With eternity's values in view;

May I do each day's work for Jesus,

With eternity's values in view.

Are you living your life in the light of eternity? Or, do temporal values rule your life? What choices do you need to make today in the light of the fact that you will one day stand before God and give account of your life to Him?

The Dash

1. It's been two weeks since my dad went to his eternal home. Today, I've been reading through papers I brought home from his file cabinet. I came across an unmarked folder containing several poems I recognized as ones he had mentioned often in his last few years.

One poem by Linda Ellis is titled, "The Dash." It refers to the dates of our birth and death separated by a dash on our tombstone. We have no control over those dates. What really matters is the dash--what we did with our lives between those dates. By making a conscious choice to live our lives with passion and purpose, we can make our mark on the world and leave it a better place than we found it.

My dad lived his dash serving God and others. His dash was well spent. While he accomplished many things in his life, he will be remembered most for the person he was. As a Christian, loving husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, pastor, leader, he lived what he preached. He walked his talk. He set an example of honesty and integrity. We cherish the memory of his love, his encouragement, and his friendly smile.

1. 
   
2. Another paper I found is a song sheet of the bluegrass gospel song, "Angel Band," written by Jefferson Hascall, in 1860, and sung by several popular singers, including Johnny Cash.
3. 
   
4. My latest sun is sinking fast,
   My race is nearly run;
   My strongest trials now are past,
   My triumph is begun.
   • Refrain:
     Oh, come, angel band,
     Come and around me stand;
     Oh, bear me away on your snowy wings
     To my eternal home;
     Oh, bear me away on your snowy wings
     To my eternal home.
5. I know I’m near the holy ranks
   Of friends and kindred dear—
   I hear the waves on Jordan’s banks,
   The crossing must be near.
6. I’ve almost reached my heav’nly home,
   My spirit loudly sings;
   Thy holy ones, behold, they come!
   I hear the noise of wings.
7. Oh, bear my longing heart to Him,
   Who bled and died for me;
   Whose blood now cleanses from all sin,
   And gives me victory.
8. In the past few years in our nightly phone calls, my dad often told me he was longing for heaven and sang this song. His singing is now silenced in this life, but I'm sure he has joined heaven's choir. While I miss him, and a day no longer feels complete without my phone call to him, I know he is together again with my mother, and above all, with the Savior he loved and served so faithfully. I would not wish him back.

As David of old said at the death of his son, "He cannot return to me, but I can go to him." (I paraphrase 2 Samuel 12:23.)

I want to live my dash as my father did until the day God calls me home.

 

Here, There, or in the Air

My dad, Robert E. "Bob" Cousart

This week since my father's death, many memories have washed over me. For the past seven years since my mother's death, I have called him every day. This week, at the end of each day, I've had a nagging feeling that there was something I still needed to do. Then I'd realize that I miss that phone call to my dad. The day seems incomplete.

This week, I've talked with many friends and family members by phone and internet, notifying them of his passing. They often shared their memories of him with me.

One longtime pastor friend from the Kittitas Valley Ministerial Association told me that even though they disagreed on minor points of theology, my dad never let that stand in the way of cooperation and friendship with the other pastors. He said in the forty years they knew each other, he always felt encouraged after being with my dad.

After my mother died, that pastor would pick my dad up from his residence at Hearthstone Cottage and take him to the church service that pastor conducted every Wednesday afternoon at Dry Creek Assisted Living, where Daddy had lived with my mother. When he dropped my dad back at Hearthstone, he'd say, "God bless you!" And my dad would always respond, "He does!"

Daddy on the phone

Then my dad would say, "Here, there, or in the air!" That was his farewell to us too whenever we left his apartment to return to our home in New York. He was always anticipating Jesus' return.

Many people have commented on what a sweet guy my dad was. He always had a friendly smile, words of encouragement, and a ready prayer for everyone, but no one ever felt he was pushy.

And he loved to sing and worship the Lord. During our last visit, he slept a lot. I did a lot of sorting through papers and greetings cards he'd received over the past 10 to 15 years. Whenever he'd wake up, he'd look over at me and give me a beatific smile. Whenever he was in pain or struggling to get out of his reclining chair, even with help from the aides, he would pray aloud, "Oh, Jesus, help me." Then he'd begin to praise the Lord.

He had arranged for a direct burial. Yesterday, we learned from the funeral director that he had even completed the paperwork for ordering his VA headstone with the phrase, "Looking for the Blessed Hope!" in the last line. That was my dad. Always prepared to go or stay. And encouraging each of us to join him "Here, there, or in the air!"

Here's a poem I wrote several years ago. I think this is what Daddy would say to us now if he could:

DON’T MOURN FOR ME

Don’t mourn for me;

I’m in a better place.

Don’t mourn for me

For I can see His face.

Don’t mourn for me;

I’m happier than I can tell.

Don’t mourn for me;

My body’s strong and well.

Don’t mourn for me;

Just plan to see me soon.

Don’t mourn for me;

Be ready—morning, night, or noon.

                            —AnnaLee Conti

My dad's story is included in my book, Frontiers of Faith, and was the inspiration for characters in my Alaskan Waters Trilogy. Find them on my website: http://annaleeconti.com/books.html

  

My Daddy Died Today

Rev. Robert E. Cousart

How blessed I have been to have my father with me for all of my 73 years!

Holley Gerth wrote, "One of the greatest blessings God can give us is a father whose faith passes on the heritage of the past, provides blessings in the present, and guides us with wisdom for the future."

That was my father. He led us in God's ways by steadfast example. He taught us his values, raised us with love, always showed us respect.

He's been my dad. He's been my friend. And even now that he's gone, I will always continue to feel the power of his unconditional love. He will always be my guiding light.

My husband and I visited him for two-and-a-half weeks this summer. The day we left, he prayed for us. His voice was not as strong, but his prayer was just as powerful.

He had been in failing health over the course of this year. Since we live clear across the country from him, I knew it would probably be the last time I'd see him in this life. A week later, he showed symptoms of a stroke, and his condition deteriorated rapidly. The doctors said the small tumors discovered in his lungs earlier this year had grown remarkably. They believed it to be lung cancer metastasized to his brain that was causing the stroke-like symptoms.

His doctor in the emergency room remarked on how his praising the Lord and singing hymns blessed the staff as they cared for him until he was unable to talk.

This morning, a longtime friend who had been a teenager in one of the churches he had pastored came into his room and found him laboring to breathe. She took his hand and said, "Pastor Bob, you're late! AnnaMae's waiting for you." He took one deep breath, breathed it out, and was gone to be with the Savior he has served so long and faithfully.

While I'm sad, I know this parting is only temporary. "We sorrow not as those who have no hope," the Apostle Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 4:13. What a day that will be when we all get to heaven never to be parted again!

Below is the eulogy I've written in celebration of my father, Robert Edward (Bob) Cousart:

Longtime valley pastor and former mayor of Kittitas, the Rev. Robert Edward (Bob) Cousart, died on August 23, 2019, after a short illness. He was 97. Rev. Cousart has pastored several churches in the Kittitas Valley since 1980 and served as mayor of Kittitas from 2005 to 2007.

Bob Cousart was born January 1, 1922, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to Roy and Laura Jensen Cousart. As a youngster, he sang soprano in a prestigious Episcopal boys choir in the Philadelphia area. In the late 1930s, under the ministry of gospel singer, George Beverly Shea, Bob received Christ as his Savior and accepted God’s call to preach. Upon completion of high school, he enrolled in pre-theological studies at Temple University and received his Local Preacher’s License from the Methodist Church.

Newlyweds

His studies were interrupted by World War II. In 1942, Bob joined the U.S. Coast Guard. Upon completing Radio School, he was sent to Ketchikan, Alaska, where on August 16, 1944, he met and married AnnaMae, daughter of the Reverend and Mrs. Charles C. Personeus, the first Assemblies of God missionaries to Alaska.

Following World War II, Bob completed his formal ministerial education at Eastern Bible Institute of the Assemblies of God (now the University at Valley Forge) in Pennsylvania. With their two toddlers, the couple moved to Pelican, Alaska, in 1948, to help the Personeuses build the church there.

That fall, the Cousarts moved to Juneau for the birth of their third child. From 1948 to 1958, Bob worked as Traffic Clerk and then Cargo Department Supervisor for Alaska Coastal Airlines to support their ministry. For five years they operated the Bethel Beach Children’s Home. Bob was also an active member of Bethel Assembly of God (now Juneau Christian Center), PTA president, and other civic affairs.

Pastoring in Pelican

In 1958, Bob accepted the pastorate of the church in Pelican. Since Pelican had no high school, he also supervised the high school students’ correspondence courses.

In 1960, the Cousarts were called to pastor in Seward, Alaska, where Bob also served as PTA president and was elected president of the Seward School Board and clerk of the Kenai Peninsula Borough School Board, Secretary-Treasurer of the Unified Education Commission for the State of Alaska, and spiritual adviser for the Alaska State Board of the PTA. He also did longshoring at the docks several days a month.

On Good Friday, 1964, the Great Alaskan Earthquake that registered 9.2 on the Richter scale, the strongest earthquake to ever hit North America, along with three successive tsunamis, destroyed 95 percent of Seward’s industrial area as well as many homes and cut off all shipping, railway, and highway access. As president of the Seward Ministerial Association, he led the earthquake survivors in a combined church service on Easter morning.

That summer, Bob was elected Secretary-Treasurer of the newly-formed Alaska District Council of the Assemblies of God, which included serving as a member of the General Presbytery of the General Council of the Assemblies of God, posts he held until 1973.

In 1966, Bob was asked to pastor the Assembly of God in Valdez, another town hard-hit by the earthquake. Shortly after the Cousarts’ arrival, the entire town had to be moved five miles when the Coast and Geodetic Survey determined that as a result of the earthquake, the old town was sitting on a ledge that could break off into the bay at any time.

In 1972, the Cousarts moved to Fairbanks, the location of the offices of the Alaska District of the Assemblies of God at that time, to devote more time to his Secretary-Treasurer duties.

In 1973, the Cousarts returned to pastoring, accepting the call of the Assembly of God in Naches, Washington. Bob later pastored in Union Gap, Kittitas, and Ellensburg, and served as principal for a Christian school in the Kittitas Valley. He retired from active ministry in 1997.

At the age of 82, Bob was elected mayor of Kittitas, a position he held for two years, until the Cousarts moved to Dry Creek Assisted Living in Ellensburg. After his retirement, he taught the adult Sunday school class and served as secretary-treasurer of the church board at Family Christian Center until 2013. When his wife died in 2012, Bob moved to Hearthstone Cottage. In April 2019, he moved back to Pacifica Senior Living (formerly Dry Creek).

Bob was well-known for his friendly smile and his love of singing. He and his wife, AnnaMae, sang together all their married life in churches and for funerals and weddings.

His 97th birthday

Bob is survived by two daughters, Rev. AnnaLee (Robert) Conti of Beacon, New York; and Mrs. Kathleen (Thomas) McAlpine of Hoven, South Dakota; a son, Robert P. Cousart of Yakima, Washington; a foster daughter, Denia Schmidt of Anchorage, Alaska; thirteen grandchildren, and 23 great-grandchildren. He was predeceased by his wife; his parents; a brother, Jack F. Cousart of Lansdowne, Pennsylvania; and a foster daughter, Barbara Capjohn Chu, of Juneau, Alaska.

Change

Alaska Coastal Grumman Goose in Pelican

This is vacation time around America. People take to the road, to the air, or to the sea. As I look back at the Twentieth Century, I am amazed at the changes that took place in air travel and in transportation in general during that time.

Now, 19 years into the Twenty-First Century, the changes in technology, and in communications, affecting every phase of life, would shock even my grandparents, who had lived through nearly a century of change. These only represent all of the changes we encounter in life that can amaze or unsettle anyone.

Every summer as a child in the fifties, I flew on an Alaska Coastal Airlines Grumman Goose from Juneau to Pelican, Alaska, to visit my Personeus grandparents for two or three months. The eight-passenger amphibious plane took off and landed on the waters of Southeast Alaska, where no roads connected the many islands, large and small. It flew up close and personal over the tops of snow-capped mountains and blue or stormy seas.

Since 2000, my husband and I have driven across the continent from New York to Washington State almost annually to visit friends and family, six to ten days each way. Now, we jet across the continent in six hours.

Born in 1888, my grandparents had already witnessed the transition from horse and buggy to the automobile and the Wright Brothers first flight by the time they went to Alaska in 1917. To get there, they traveled by train from Rochester, New York, to Buffalo, where they caught a steamer across Lake Erie to Detroit. From there, they again boarded other trains to take them across the country to the West Coast. In Seattle, they boarded another steamship to sail up the Inside Passage to Juneau. The entire trip took two months.

Regularly scheduled air travel around Southeast Alaska didn't begin until the mid-thirties, first with Ellis Airlines out of Ketchikan, and a few years later, with Alaska Coastal Airlines out of Juneau. Most people, however, traveled by boat--steamers, mail boats, or private fishing vessels. My grandparents didn't fly. Grandma was afraid to try it.

Fairtide II in Pelican 1948

After World War II, their son, Byron, began operating a gospel mission boat, Fairtide II, around Southeast Alaska. My grandparents joined him and his wife on the boat. When my parents returned to Alaska from Bible school in Pennsylvania, bringing me, a two-year-old, and my younger brother, Uncle Byron met us in Ketchikan with his mission boat and took us to Pelican to join the rest of the family in building the Pelican church. My earliest memory is of a big storm on that boat trip.

When my folks moved to Juneau for the birth of my sister in 1948, my dad was hired by Alaska Coastal Airlines as boss of cargo. As an employee, one of his perks was free air travel for him and our family. I began flying to Pelican when I was 3 years old. My father would put me in the seat next to the pilot. My grandparents would meet me at the float in Pelican, When it was time for me to return home, my dad would arrange for me to again sit by the pilot. My dad met me in Juneau.

Alaska Coastal Airlines Grumman Goose at the Hangar in Juneau 1953

Grandma was in her early sixties by then and had decided that flying was more than she could handle. The boat trips around the islands were bad enough, but to fly through thin air was more than she cared to experience. She thought she was too old to fly.

But one day as she put me, her eldest but still preschool-aged grandchild, on the Grumman Goose and saw me sit trustingly in the cockpit with the pilot who would deliver me to my father, she thought, "If that little child can put so much trust in her father's wishes, then I must overcome my fear of flying and trust my Heavenly Father to take care of me." After that, Grandma flew all over Alaska and the continental United States many times over the next 30 years.

PNA "Connie"

In 1961, as a teenager, I was flying home from Seattle alone on a Pacific Northern Airlines "Connie," a popular, four-engine plane. As we flew over the rugged Chugach Mountains toward Anchorage, the propeller outside my window fluttered to a stop. My heart nearly stopped too!

The pilot made no announcement so I surmised we could make it to Anchorage on three engines, but staring down into sharp, snow-covered peaks that yawned like an open shark's jaw below, I shivered to think of crashing.

Then a still, small voice reminded me that "underneath are the Everlasting Arms." Since then, whenever I fly, I remind myself of that verse and sit back and enjoy the flight.

In 1968, Alaska Airlines bought up Alaska Coastal and Ellis Airlines, built runways in the towns along the Inside Passage, and began flying cargo and passenger jets into towns on islands with no road connections. Private and tourist float planes still land on the water in tiny villages such as Pelican and on beautiful inlets and coves to see glaciers and waterfalls, but jets now land on runways built out into the sea in the larger towns..

In 2017, Bob and I flew back to Juneau for the 100th anniversary celebration of the church my grandparents founded in 1917. We flew the evening Alaska Airlines Boeing 737 "milk run." Our flight stopped at Ketchikan and Sitka before landing in Juneau.

When we emerged from the fog at sea level at Sitka, all we could see was whitecaps beneath us until the wheels hit the runway. Surrounded by mountains and sea, with frequent stormy weather conditions, and waves crashing against it even on clear days, the runway at Sitka is considered one of the scariest in the US.

Sitka Airport

I've been flying since 1948. When I think of all the changes, both good and bad, in my lifetime and add that to the changes in my grandparents' lifetime, I can't help but think of a line in that old hymn, Abide With Me:

"Change and decay in all around I see; O Thou who changest not, abide with me." 

And I am comforted that in all of life's changes, the Lord has been walking with me all the way. One day, He'll lead me safely Home.



If you'd like to read more about Alaska from gold rush to statehood and beyond, you may enjoy my historical books set in that time period. You can find them at my website (click here).

Free To Be

Painting by John Trumbull of Signing of the
Declaration of Independence

Two hundred forty-three years ago, 56 patriots signed the Declaration of Independence which gave us an independent nation--the United States of America.

The Declaration states, "All men are... are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

Today, there is so much incendiary debate about just what rights we are entitled to that Congress gets nothing done. Everyone focuses on what is right for me instead of what is best for all of us. Politicians remind me of the old idiom, "Don't cut off your nose to spite your face." They are so against helping the other party get anything done that we all, including them, suffer.

The truth is that while it's fine to want and seek life and liberty and to pursue happiness, we are not entitled to those things.

The Bible teaches that what we all really deserve is eternal punishment in hell because of our sin. But Ephesians 2:4 announces,

The good news of the gospel is that God doesn't give us what we deserve! Instead, because of His great love for humankind, He gives us His grace through the death and resurrection of His Son! What is grace? It is bestowing upon us all the good things we don't deserve--such as forgiveness and eternal life.

How does that great truth apply in our human relationships?

First, we need to recognize that we are not entitled to anything from anybody. Yet, American society is based on "entitlement," the attitude that we are owed only the good things in life.

• Advertisements bombard us with the message, "You deserve a break today," or "You owe it to yourself to buy_______."
• College graduates think they are owed a higher salary.
• Parents feel their children owe them good behavior for all the things they do for them.
• Senior citizens think younger people owe them respect.
• People believe the government owes them everything--free health care, free college, and so on.
• Illegal aliens deserve all the rights of citizens.
• The rich owe the poor.

And the list goes on.

Christians seem to think God owes them a life free of trouble and suffering. But God doesn't owe us anything! He's already paid a debt we owed for sin that we could never repay.

The truth is, nobody owes anyone anything. To believe we deserve to get our needs met is arrogant. To expect special treatment as appropriate payment for what we do for someone else only invites anger, resentment, bitterness, and rebellion, which destroy relationships.

A sense of entitlement is self-serving, but focusing on how we can meet the needs of others fosters emotional well-being, cooperation, and mutual respect. Mutual giving builds relationships.

For our own well-being, we need to let go of feelings of entitlement. Instead, we need to follow God's example and practice grace!

Thank God for the freedom we have to be all we can be in Christ!

Happy Fourth of July!

How to Start Being What You'd Like to Become

When I was a freshman at Seattle Pacific College (now University) in 1963-64, our dorm mother, Mrs. Marie Hollowell, often held meetings with us girls in her apartment. I'll never forget what she said at one such meeting:

"When are you going to start being 

what you'd like to become?"

The Cousart & Personeus Family in Pelican Parsonage
(I am front right of my brother & sister. My parents are on left.
Grandma & Grandpa in center.
Uncle Byron & Aunt Marjory Personeus on right.)

As I heard those words, I thought of my Grandma Personeus. She was my role model. My brother, sister, and I had spent nearly every summer of my grade school years with her and Grandpa in Pelican, a tiny fishing village on a large island in Southeast Alaska.

Pelican in 1953

Having young children night and day for three months is not easy when you are in your sixties, yet I could not recall Grandma ever speaking harshly or impatiently to any of us. She was always up and fixing breakfast when we got up in the morning and was the last one to go to sleep at night. After we were in bed, she wrote letters until the wee hours to keep up her correspondence with hundreds of people around the world in her beautiful schoolgirl handwriting. She was the sweetest person I knew, and she loved us and all the other children in town unconditionally.

The church in Pelican built by my family in 1948

I thought about all the older women I had known. Some were sweet, and some were crotchety. Oh, they were good people, but no one was as consistently loving and kind as Grandma. I decided I'd like to become a sweet little old lady like her. 

As I recalled the stories Grandma had told us about her childhood, I realized she had not had an easy life. Her father was demanding, strict, and harsh. 

One time, she was bitten by a beetle that took a small chunk out of her nose. As children will, she kept picking at the scab so that it was not healing. Her father scolded her and promised to spank her if she did it again. 

The next morning she awoke to discover that her rough-textured nightgown had scratched the scab off. At the breakfast table her father noticed and told her to go to her room and await the promised punishment.

A very sensitive child, she was so terrified of her father that when she tried to explain what  had  happened, she trembled so hard she couldn't speak coherently. Sobbing, all she could utter was, "My gruff gright grown scratched it off!"

Her mother had to intervene and explain what she was trying to say.

As children, we thought that story was funny, and that is how she told it, laughing at her twisted words. But thinking about it as an adult, I could see that it showed how much she feared  her father.

The eighth of eleven living children (two others had died in infancy), she was allowed to only complete the first eight grades, although she loved school and longed to go to high school. When her older brothers and sisters left home to be missionaries, Their father disowned and disinherited them for not doing what he wanted them to do. Grandma was forced to leave school and take over their chores of printing and distributing the newspaper her father wrote and published.

Grandma & Grandpa Personeus in 1959

When Grandma left home at the age of 21 to study for the missionfield, she too was disowned and disinherited. She was not allowed to return to the family home again. 

By the time I  went to college, she and Grandpa had spent nearly 50 years as missionaries in Southeast Alaska, living by faith under often less than favorable living conditions, but she never complained. She had survived many serious falls on ice and snow as well as several life-threatening illnesses, but she didn't let those hardships deter her from her mission, caring for the sick and taking in orphaned children, cleaning and washing clothes on a washboard.

As I  pondered what made her different from so many others, I realized that she had allowed the trials of her life to make her better not bitter. She loved the Lord, communing with Him daily and continually putting the needs of others ahead of her own. She unselfishly served people out of love. Children and young people enjoyed being with her, listening to her stories of their early days in Alaska.  She often told us,

"The way spell true J-O-Y is to put 

Jesus first, Others second, and Yourself last."

My observations showed me that no one becomes like Grandma Personeus just by growing old. We become what we have practiced throughout our lives. Those who love and serve others in spite of their own difficulties grow sweeter, and people love to be around them. Those who think only of themselves grow even more selfish, and and people tend to avoid them.

As a freshman girl, I determined to become a sweet little old lady. That's been my life's goal. I've striven to that end. I'm old now, and I'm not completely there yet, but I'm still working on what I'd like to become--to be like Grandma, and to be like Jesus.

Are you becoming what you'd like to become? What do you need to change today?

To read more about the Personeuses, visit my website, www.annaleeconti.com, where you can order my book, Frontiers of Faith, the story of Charles C. and Florence Personeus, Pioneer Missionaries to Alaska, "The Last Frontier," 1917-1982, directly from the publisher.

The Personeuses are the inspiration for my Alaskan Waters Trilogy, a set of inspirational novels based on true stories they told. (The Penningtons in my fiction stories are based on the Personeuses.) They are also available from my website.