A Road Worth Taking: A PSAM Winter Journey into the North

There are some roads you take because they are efficient. Others you take because they are necessary.

This was the latter.

Four men set out on a long journey north, travelling nearly nineteen hours one way along the ice road to visit three PSAM churches: Fort Simpson, Tulita, and, at the very end of the road, Fort Good Hope. It was not an easy journey, nor was it meant to be. Temperatures plunged well below what most of us can imagine enduring, and the road tested both our patience and our vehicles. Mechanical issues slowed us down, required quick problem-solving, and even forced a truck swap along the way. By the time we reached the final destination, the cold was intense enough that even reliable equipment struggled to function.

Still, we pressed on.

The obvious question is: why? Why endure the cold, the risk, the exhaustion, and the uncertainty?

The answer is simple, though not easy: because people matter. Every person. Every community. Every faithful believer who has remained when leaving would have been far easier.

We are deeply convinced that no place is too remote, no population too small, and no road too difficult if even one person is reminded that they are seen, known, and loved by God. The gospel has always moved forward on roads like these—long, uncomfortable, inconvenient ones—because love does not calculate cost the way comfort does.

As we arrived in each community, we encountered what Scripture often refers to as the remnant: faithful men and women who have stood firm across generations, holding onto Jesus in places where doing so requires extraordinary resilience. These are believers who pray when the church doors are closed, who worship without fanfare, and who carry the weight of their communities with quiet courage.

In Wrigley, in Tulita, in Norman Wells, and in Fort Good Hope, we met people whose faith is neither flashy nor fragile. Mary. Benny. Tish. Helen. Alison. Joanne. Rose. Robinson. These names may not be known widely, but heaven knows them well.

They are faithfully following Jesus while navigating unimaginably heavy realities. In these communities, trauma is not abstract; it is lived. We heard stories and witnessed situations marked by generational pain, violence, abuse, and profound loss. In some places, sexual abuse has been tragically normalized. Lives have been lost to violence and despair. Church buildings, once places of refuge, sit shuttered or in disrepair. The cold itself is relentless, shaping daily life in ways most of us will never experience. Even basic necessities come at a staggering cost; something as simple as a small bottle of pop can feel almost unattainable.

And yet—and yet—faith remains.

What struck us most was not hopelessness, but perseverance. Not bitterness, but trust. Not resignation, but expectation.

These believers are tired, yes, but they are not faithless. They are wounded, but they are not without hope. They are carrying burdens that would crush many, and still they choose to worship, to pray, to gather when they can, and to believe that God has not forgotten them.

As we spent time in these communities, we sensed a deep need, not for programs or plans, but for presence. For what could only be described as Holy Spirit TLC. Faithful people still need encouragement. Strong believers still need to be reminded that they are loved. Shepherds still need shepherding.

Our goal was simple: to show up, to listen, to pray, and to communicate a clear message—you are not alone. We came to strengthen the remnant and to reach those who feel far from God. By God’s grace, we were able to do both.

New relationships were formed. Old ones were strengthened. Conversations happened that could only happen face-to-face, over shared meals, prayers, and silence. Bridges were built, not with grand gestures, but with steady presence and sincere care.

Ironically, while we came to encourage others, we found ourselves deeply encouraged.

There is something profoundly humbling about encountering faith that has endured without recognition or resources. There is something holy about worship offered in places where the cost of following Jesus is high, and the reward is not immediate. These communities reminded us that buildings or budgets do not sustain the church, but by faithful people who believe God is still at work even when evidence is hard to see.

As we prayed and reflected, certain Scriptures resonated deeply. Ezekiel 37: the vision of dry bones coming to life—felt like a prophetic whisper over the region, not a critique but a promise. God is not finished. What looks lifeless is not beyond His breath. What has been scattered can be restored.

Romans 5:3–5 also echoed in our hearts: suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope—and hope does not disappoint. This is not theoretical theology in the North. It is a lived reality. Hope here is not naïve optimism; it is hard-won confidence in God’s faithfulness.

We left with a deep sense that something is stirring. Quietly. Faithfully. Inevitably.

The few, in Jesus’ name, are becoming the many, not through force or spectacle, but through partnership, prayer, and obedience. As the PSAM and ABNWT family comes alongside what God is already doing, we believe renewal will continue to take shape in ways both seen and unseen.

This journey reaffirmed something we must never forget: the North is not a mission field to be fixed; it is a place where God is already present and active. Our role is to join Him. To listen, to serve, and to walk faithfully alongside those He loves.

Thank you to everyone who prays, gives, supports, and believes. Your partnership matters more than you know. Together, we are witnessing the North being re-minted, not by human effort alone, but by the faithful, life-giving work of God.

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