Day One-Hundred-Sixty-Three, His Mysterious Ways

I woke up at seven after five hours' sleep. It would have been eight o'clock. But Daylight Savings has begun or ended. I can never remember which. So the sun was well up and it was warmish outside. The dews had dried from my tent. And I felt better rested than I really deserved. I set to work packing up.

My new friend Deepak would turn up at ten. I wanted to say goodbye. But I couldn't wait. I had walking to do. I am still racing winter south. Every mile I walk in the sun is one I don't have to walk in the rain. And I do dislike walking in the rain, and for that matter, saying goodbye.

I still have a very fine road for walking. I made my way towards Milan. My-lun, you'll recall, to most of its friends. Mah-lun may be closer still. It was an easy seven mile hike. I was a bit hungry though. Deepak had threatened me with breakfast, but I had imposed on his goodness enough.

About halfway there I passed a barking dog. She looked kind of pit-bully. But she wasn't so big and kept herself back. I did not let her worry me much. I was more concerned about the half wolf they had roped to a tree. She didn't bark at me at all. She just drooled and licked her chops.

A man came out to see what was up. I waved at him and moved on. He wasn't having any of that. "Are you hungry?" he wanted to know.

Now, how to answer. It's a trick question. I am not of The Hungry, no. But I was at that moment hungry indeed. "Come have a fried baloney sandwich."

That swung it for me. That's local cuisine. You can't get it at restaurants. Real genuwine Southern food. Served up with a jar of sweet tea. Another local specialty, and one I've quite learned to like. Ice cold tea, very strongly brewed, with a great deal of sugar in it. It's a lot better than our sissy Yankee iced tea, with its lemon wedges and its pretensions.

I met a man and his wife on their way to church. I did not want to make them late. "They'll wait," this good man assured me. They would have to. He was their pastor.

He was Pastor Robert Waddle. He was not always a good man. He wore his hair in a severe crewcut. He was some inches shorter than me. But outweighed me by a good hundred-twenty pounds. His eyes were close-set and black. There was "LOVE" tattooed across the knuckles of his left hand. I did not get a look at his right. He used to be a truck driver, and I think, beat people up.

His wife was Irene with big blue eyes, Sister Irene to her friends. She was all Love and enthusiasm. She told me about the Lake of Fire. She'd had her own troubles in the past. You'd never guess it to see her now. God saved her before he did her husband.

"I tried to stop her from going to church."

He'd remove fuses from her car. He would try to block her in with his truck. He did not want her flopping against him, to use the Dickensian phrase. But she one out, or maybe God did. Robert went on to crash his truck. And experienced Healing and Redemption. Now he is preaching the Word.

Pastor Robert must have been one Hell of a thug. I wouldn't want to mess with him. But I think he makes a fine preacher too. He is not wholly ignorant of sin. And is quite sincere. Between the two of them they made a very nice case.

I presented myself honestly, or I hinted at where I stand. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but I am not a man of faith. You might think I am experiencing doubt. Disabuse yourself of that. I have in fact no doubts at all. My mind is pretty well made up.

We joined hands and prayed before I left. We made a little circle. Well, they prayed. I just sort of stood there, but it was kind of neat. It wasn't some trim little Catholic prayer. They both pretty much let loose. Him in his words and she in hers. I tried to hear them both. They prayed for my safety and to open my eyes and to make my journey about God. Which it is to a certain extent. I do return to the theme.

They invited me to their church. I probably should have gone. There is nothing tame about their faith. They've got Healing and Speaking in Tongues. It ain't all formal; people really let loose when moved by the Holy Spirit. It all sounded rather interesting, but I had laundry to do.

And my interest was more anthropological. That may be the wrong attitude. I would have liked to watch from the balcony, but I'd be out of place on the floor. And I had some fear they'd all turn on me and try to save me then and there.

"Ask God for a sign and He'll give you one." When I left I gave it a shot. But I don't think I showed proper contrition. It was like, "Alright God, go ahead." I didn't even take my earbuds out. My radio is of course dead. But I am soothed by listening again and again to Nicholas Nickleby.

Walking in Nebraska I saw a cloud in the shape of a cross. Or it may have been an alligator, crawling up on a beach. So it was either a symbol of God's Perfect Love, or a warning not to go to Florida. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was a barium chem-trail. I think I need something less vague.

"His Sign will mean something to you but not to other people." I did just then find a sidewalk, stretching four miles to town. A proper sidewalk. In the middle of nowhere. But it appeared to have been there for some time. I followed it, appreciatively, all the way to a laundromat.

Where I finally got some washing done. And read the Book of Luke. And some Hebrews and a good many Psalms. Pastor Robert had given me a Bible. I really think I need glasses. That small print is getting sort of furry.

From there it was on to a hardy lunch. It was by then getting late in the day. But I needed a charge for my computer. It's getting very unhappy again. And, I am sad to say, my backpack is dying. I've MacGyvered a few repairs. It just needs to last another two months. Pray for it. I do.

You've heard me complain about my shoes. And my socks and my sleeping pad. And my sleeping bag and my poor old tent. Even about my hat. But I've had no unkind words about my backpack. It's about the best there is. There is no way I can afford to replace it. I'd have to settle for less.

Damn.

I stopped at a Walmart on the way out of town. Walmart is a pain in the ass. You have to walk a half a mile just to get across their parking lot. But they have goid prices on Gatorade. I got me some moist towlettes. I meant to buy some deodorant. I got Pop-Tarts instead.

And took off walking, as fast as I could. I had but two hours til dark. And I needed to get closer to Jackson, Tennessee, a very big town indeed. It is going to be a trick to get through it before dark. I don't want to get stuck indoors. I want to save my motel stays for the next time it rains.

I walked until it was almost dark. Who did I meet but Deepak. Driving home from somewhere or other with his wife and their charming daughter. Who turns fifteen today, bless her heart. Join me in wishing her well.

Deepak Chopra, that generous soul, went and forced money on me. My pride has dimmed considerably. I'm not averse to charity. But he already gave me two sandwiches, a lot of Coke and a place for my tent. I didn't want to overtax the fellow. I do try to spread my shots.

"In celebration of my daughter's birthday." I had tried to turn him down. But I could not say no to that. Not with the girl herself sitting there. She seemed like a really good kid.

"God bless you," said Deepak when he left. I think he is a Hindu. But I need all the blessings I can get. I am getting them from all sides.

THE GOOD Waddles lost their trailer in a flood, earlier this year. I saw the picture; it was awful. The road I've been on was under several feet of water. God, though, looked after them. He replaced their losses "fourfold". Now they have a doublewide. It's nice but that's only a twofold blessing. I kept that observation to myself.

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