Initially, I was thrilled with the idea of moving to the village of reindeer herders living at the end of the road on the Kamchatka peninsula. The journey to the village was an adventure in itself, requiring a 10-hour drive over a winding, bumpy gravel road. We'd live on a camp property and direct summer camps for the local children.

I struggled with feeling isolated and alone at the camp. We were up the hill from the village in a one-room cabin with no immediate neighbors. The villagers were wary of us, and I knew building relationships would take time.

As romantic and idyllic as a one-room cabin sounds, it certainly had downsides like unreliable internet and phone access. One day, I tried to check our email. A hit-or-miss proposition that required a long-distance call to connect to the server, I was pleased to see an email pop up on the screen. Finally – communication with the outside world!

With my heart beating excitedly, I clicked on the email from a friend. Opening it, I read, "Dear Robin, I'm so sorry to hear about your father's death."

My hands trembled as I dialed my mom's phone number. After several attempts, I finally connected, and Mom's tearful voice confirmed the news of my dad's passing.

I'd never felt so isolated in my little cabin at the end of the road. My husband and I were alone in our sorrow and ten hours away from our nearest friends.

We threw clothes in a suitcase, jumped into our jeep, and raced down that long gravel road. I arrived in time for my 9-hour flight to Moscow and then my flight to Arizona.

As my flight took off on the wings of the dawn and across the sea, I sensed God's arms surrounding me, comforting my mourning heart. God was with me. I wasn't alone.

In my heart, I released my fear of loneliness and isolation. I claimed the words of Psalm 139 that no matter where I went, God's hand would guide and hold me. He'd been with me all along, even at the end of the road.