Inuvik is in Nunavut…but back then, it was called the Northwest Territories. If you drove fifty kilometers higher on the ice road – when the Beaufort Sea froze over – you would reach Tuktoyuktuk!
Other than having paid for his one-way flight out of “peach country” in southern British Columbia, Harry only had about twenty-five bucks to live on, crinkled up in his pocket. He didn’t know that rooms at the hotel would cost over one hundred dollars per night. He didn’t care: he was excited to go. He had already worked up north, years earlier, on the rigs. Adventure didn’t scare him. He knew what he could and couldn’t do, and he had faith – faith that things would work out all right.
They did work out…because of the kindness of one man.
On his flight, Harry started talking to a business man: a construction contractor, to be exact. Before their conversation was over, this man not only gave him a job, he offered to let him stay in one of his trailers along with some of the other men he had working for him.
This man never regretted hiring Harry, who proved to be a hard and capable worker. Harry proved so capable, in fact, that he took on even more responsibility over time.
Eventually, Harry became a business owner himself. He secured his journeyman floor layers papers and opened up a carpet and flooring shop. He did business throughout the entire Inuvik region!
Before long, a trail of other family members started arriving up north – including me! Harry and another brother of ours even found their future wives there, while a third brother brought his own new bride up from the south!
Harry loved Inuvik and, since he loved the people and community, he won himself a place on city council and did everything he could to help the town to prosper.
All this happened because Harry had faith…and met a man with enough kindness in his heart to change – not only Harry’s destiny – but the destiny of many people who know him.
I don’t know this man’s name…but Harry does.
Author Bio: Having experienced the Mountain Top of 50 (years of age), momentum on the way down is increasing. At 55, my jowls have to be folded and clipped with laundry pegs to keep them from flapping, and my blazing red hair (that wasn’t fooling anyone any more) was replaced by shades of grey and white.
Ironically, people seem kinder to me now.
I’m hoping that my two teenagers will eventually, successfully “fly the coop” so that my husband and I can finally start dating again. By the time we get to be alone, we’ll probably just look at each other and mutter in unison, “Whatever…”
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