a surrender - 21

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

I was grateful that many of my encounters with people during the months I had been on the road hadn’t been like that one. When I got off the Appalachian Trail, I walked on roads for about 300 miles before I got to the monastery where I had planned to stop. Since I had gotten rid of my tent and big backpack the walking was easier, and I still had money with me. It was a different way of life than on the trail. It was easier to get food, and there were places to rest, such as parks and libraries. But it was a little more tricky finding places to sleep. I ended up sleeping in a number of unusual places, like picnic shelters and cemeteries, even in front of a volunteer fire station once (and was suddenly awakened in the middle of the night by many running boots and blaring sirens). Sometimes the police stopped me and questioned me. But people didn’t drive me away very often, and I was grateful for any opportunity to meet someone and explain what I was doing. When there were church services at a church I came to, I usually joined them, and I often met people who were friendly and welcoming and curious. 

When I had almost reached the monastery, I was leaving a town and noticed a Catholic church that was having its daily service. An older woman was going in and invited me to join them. So I went in, but sat in the back, in the separate “cry room” (for noisy kids), because I was pretty sweaty and dirty from walking. I decided not to stay, though, as I was feeling very tired. So I left the church, and walked until I found a quiet place to take a nap. At the same time, there was another woman, Colette, on her way to that church, running late. Just before she arrived, she noticed me walking along the road, and wondered about me. Then she slipped into the cry room, where I had just been. After the service, the older woman came in. “Where is he?” she said. Colette didn’t know who she was talking about, but then she remembered seeing me walking. So she was thinking about me as she did her errands in town. And on her way home she saw me again. Because of my nap, I hadn’t gotten far. Then Colette took a chance: she stopped her car and invited me to lunch at her house. We had a long, deep conversation, and she introduced me to five of her children (out of eight). She knew the monastery I was going to. And after consulting with her husband, they asked me to spend the night at their house. It was a wonderful experience for me. It felt like family, though I had never met them before. And they seemed happy and energized by the experience, not just because of our good conversations but, I think, because of the good outcome of their risky generosity. It seemed to me clearly an act of faith on their part, opening their home because they felt it was the right thing to do, even though they couldn’t be sure it was safe. The experience seemed so good for everyone involved that it felt like a gift from God.

Leaving Colette’s house, I was greatly encouraged. That was the kind of encounter I had hoped might happen as I walked through cities and towns. So when I arrived at the monastery a few days later, I was ready to take a much-needed break, then continue the walk.

Continued...