a surrender - 55

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

But stepping out onto the road again, after being in a warm, safe place, always brought back a cold shiver of vulnerability. Even more so this year. I sometimes tried to imagine how I would react if Heather and I were threatened, way out in some isolated place. The thought of her being attacked scared me badly. But God had protected me out on the road for years, and we both trusted God to protect us now.

I also tried to plan our path carefully. We could stop in libraries along the way and check maps online, and even see where there were places we could buy food and possibly find shelter for the night. But there were occasional surprises. The day after we left Tom’s house, a church that I thought we could stop at just wasn’t where the map said it would be.

So we had to keep walking. It was late, already dark. Really dark. We happened to be walking through a national forest and there was nothing around but trees and night noises and the occasional rush of a passing car. Then I heard a vehicle coming up behind us, and it sounded like it was slowing down. My heart started beating faster. It was definitely slowing down. I felt extremely isolated. The vehicle was pulling up next to us. I turned to look.

“Y’all need a ride?” The man smiled and gestured to the bed of his pickup truck. 

I was so relieved I couldn’t say anything, but Heather said yes, and we climbed into the back. After a blustery ten mile ride, we were dropped off close to the next town. And right there was a church porch we could sleep on.

A couple days later we came to a church in the evening, and hoped we could stop there for the night. But there were people there, a group just leaving a baby shower. We introduced ourselves. Sometimes we told people we were on “a pilgrimage,” sometimes “a faith walk.” These women seemed like they would understand “a faith walk” better. They invited us in, and promptly put some leftover fried chicken in front of us, potato salad, and sweet tea. Heather tasted it and grinned. “Now I know I’m in the South,” she said. One of the women called someone, to ask if we could stay at the church that night, but couldn’t get permission. Undeterred, she tried again, calling her own pastor at another church. Then she took us there. The pastor showed up to make sure we were comfortable. The next morning he took us to breakfast, and drove us to a library down the road. We talked all the way. I remember smiling at Heather when his cell phone started ringing. “When The Saints Go Marching In,” Dixieland style. 

Continued...