South Coast Rock Tour
~ Day 2 ~
~ Day 2 ~
Memphis…Beale Street...New Street Brothers.
Salutations!!! There is such a wide smile on my face and I don’t foresee it leaving. The somewhat restraint I had of my emotions on day 1 is slowly being loosed. It’s important to be aware of feelings and potential responses to experiences. Boy did I have some rad experiences on day 2.
I woke up in the backseat of Tumbler at the Missouri rest stop. Sleeping was challenging due to the temperature, but the cocoon of a sleeping bag and blankets was soft. Brushed my teeth in the steel bathroom and with sleep lines still etched on my face, took off driving. At the fork in the road to either go west or continue south, there was a huge (seriously, HUGE) white cross on the left side of the road that went south, so I cranked up the music and veered left. It wasn’t long before the faint outline of skyscraper buildings was seen… Memphis was to be the main mission field today.
When entering a new city/town, whether big or small, I typically drive around the area to get a feeling of the place and mentally gain perspective of the lay of the town. Sensing my time here wouldn’t be long, I started to pray for the people God already knew I would merge paths with. For being so cold outside, a surprising amount of people were out perusing the streets. Admittedly not a huge blues music follower, my naivety of the huge landmark Memphis is to such avid Elvis and B.B. King enthusiasts was made known very quickly. Driving by Beale St. flicked my antennas and I looked at my rock-filled backpack on the passenger street with the same smile I wear at this moment. A parking tower was seen a block away and I pulled behind a black, souped up car that many people have on their dream vehicle list. I waited for the person to grab a ticket… and waited… and waited. Not one to be impatient at small inconveniences, my foot was busy tapping to the song being played not at the lack of movement. When I saw the reverse lights, instead of backing up to give room to exit, I put Tumbler in park and ambled over to the driver’s window. Inside were 2 guys and after asking if they were ok, the driver said, “This place only takes cash and I don’t have any on me.” Without thinking twice, I said, “Hold on, buddy, I got you.” He said something with his head out the window, but I was already sprawled out in my truck reaching for my backpack. When I returned and handed him a $10 bill, his eyebrows were elevated and he kept saying, “You don’t have to do this. No really, I can’t take this.” With an “It’s only money, bro. Have a purpose-full day”, I walked back to my truck and waited again for the sweet car, but this time the red and white gate opened for him. I went through the same gate after getting my ticket and went up to a deck that had only a few cars. Wanting to put on some long johns and extra layers all around, the privacy was needed. I hung out around the edges of the deck for a while, taking in the different viewpoints of Memphis. Left some rocks in visible places.
I could write a 5-page entry of the things seen while walking as well as the people whom were met along the path, but will try to keep it rolling as to not keep ya’ll too long. Knowing Beale Street was surely to be explored, I first walked around the surrounding blocks… acclimating and praying. This was the first hour downtown. Not intentionally being “undercover homeless”, my attire was not shabby though it was far from chique… basically I did look like I lived on the streets especially with my oversized backpack. This was made known after Beale St. was reached and I met Ovell. If any of you have been to Memphis, then you have been to Beale St. for it’s a tourist destination with all the blues shops and classic restaurants. Though I was not here for the sites, food, and music… the people were who I came to see and their stories would be my treasured souvenirs. Even though it was bitingly cold, the street was buzzing and music flowed from each place. Ovell was sitting on a cement edge in front of a BBQ joint. We locked eyes 20ft away… we recognized each other, not because we knew each other, but because we share a commonality of doing life on the street. I’ll write more about this later. I gave him a nod and he returned the welcoming nod. Sitting down next to him, we exchanged names. Sat there for 20min and learned that Ovell had been on the streets for 51 years. I guessed him to be in his mid 70’s, though his face looked like it was closer to mid 90’s. But Ovell had a heart that was still in his 40’s. His story is amazing and I would hear more chapters from it later in the afternoon. Ovell and I talked about the weather, Memphis’ shelters, where to sleep outside, his (lack of) family, and his view on God. After listening, a “Joy” rock was pulled from my backpack and handed to Ovell with my other hand resting on top of his cracked, calloused hand. He then put his other hand on top of mine and said, “I lose a lot of things, but I’m not gonna to lose this here rock. Going to carry it with me everywhere. I sure do needs me some Joy too.” I don’t remember what I then said to him as I pulled Ovell into a big hug and whispered words into his ear under his hat, but I trust God knew exactly what Ovell needed to hear at that very moment.
Walked a couple blocks and saw a guy sitting on a cement structure that had metal beams rising from it, like it would have held up a large building at some point. This guy had a sweet perch spot and if I were to set up handkerchief with rocks on it, this would have been the place. Today was about walking through and not stopping in a specific spot. There are many times where I will walk all day and there will be other days I’m to sit in one spot for long periods of time. I did stop in front of this dude to look at his sketches he had spread out on the cement perch. The name of this street artist was Brandon. He was all bundled up and I knew he was homeless. Thinking the same thing of me, he didn’t give me the normal “want to buy a sketch” intro, rather he said, “You are a new face here… where you rolling in from?” My reply, “Chicago” (as most don’t know where Woodstock, IL is). “Your sketches are cool, Brandon… want to do a trade for a small commissioned piece?” Most of his drawings were either this bulked up comic book type of guy who wore shades (wondered if this is who Brandon sees himself to be if he were in another state of mind) or of different lions. The lions drew me in. My niece, Dani Joy, loves lions, especially a tiny stuffed animal lion I have in my truck who is named Leo. I asked Brandon to sketch me the face of a lion with “Leo” under the mane. “I got you, Katie. Do you think I could get a “Hope” rock?” Nodding and smiling, told him I’d come back through later.
Walked for another 40min and left rocks in random places. The smell of food was everywhere. I had been living off of a few granola bars and my mom’s awesome peanut butter/chocolate oatmeal balls since I left the farm, and my stomach was growling at the smells of hot and hearty food. Went back to Brandon and he had finished the sketch… it was really beautiful. Told him that it was for my niece, Dani Joy, and the mention of family changed the look in his eyes. Instead of asking about his family (surely there was much pain attached), I pulled out the “Hope” rock that had been gone over twice more to make the blue more pronounced. Brandon smiled and he nodded to an empty spot next to his sketches… this was an invitation to sit with him. And so that I did… for the next 20min. We talked about a variety of topics and I learned more of the what is behind Brandon’s eyes that would ebb from happy to sad. Gave him an extra long and strong hug as the time to move on was pressed upon my feet that dangle from the cement ledge.
My eyes had been looking into Brandon’s eyes the whole time and when I backed away from the hug and took 2 steps diagonally away from him, I bumped into someone… Of all people, it was Ovell. I about knocked the old man down and he grabbed my shoulders as I was grabbing his to apologize, but upon seeing it was Ovell, a “Fancy bumping into you, buddy” was what was said. He smiled and asked where I was going. “No place in particular. Where you going? Want some company?” I asked as I threw an arm around his frail should padded with layers of jackets. “Gonna get some chicken. Been awhile since I ate. If you can be patient with my slow pace, I would love to hang with you.” Perfect timing, for my stomach was still rumbling and I’m no power walker myself, so the slower pace would be fine… but dang, tiny Ovell was a few gears slower than slow. He explained that all the years on the street had done a number on his feet. Now picture your own grandpa: being mid 70’s, but having lived on the streets for 51 of those years. It amps up the already existing compassion when you trade new faces for faces you know well. This wasn’t my own grandpa I was walking next to, but that image came to mind as I walked with Ovell. We had only gone one block when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder which almost made me turn around with a flying swing (still have times when things trigger such responses). Fortunately, the swing was stifled when I recognized the face of the strong hand… it was the guy from the parking lot gate. “Hey! I wanted to find you and give you this ‘cause what you did back there for me was really cool.” He handed me a $20 bill and I tried to resist his hand shoving it in my own, but he persisted and then walked away with a “Thank you for doing that.” So Ovell is standing next to me and as the guy is walking away, he outstretches both of his arms and says, “Hey, what about me?” It wasn’t funny… but it was kind of funny! I told Ovell that the chicken was already going to be on me, but that I would toss him some of the change from the $20. This chicken joint wasn’t right around the corner as he had said, it was about 6-7 long blocks away that zig zagged. This is about 20 blocks at a normal pace. We talked the whole way, and I had to catch him from stumbling a few times when the sidewalks were raised with cracks. His older, lethargic legs were struggling to navigate the cracks and curbs, but Ovell was persistent and he would keep talking through the near falls. Was grateful to be walking with him, and especially when we would cross a street and the cars would have to slow down, change lanes, or even come to complete stops so as to allow Ovell to s-l-o-w-l-y shuffle across, with myself shielding him from the traffic and throwing up a peace sign to the (non-patient) steer wheel-tapping drivers who had less miles on their car than Ovell had on his walking the streets. The further we walked, the neighborhood quickly became sketchy. I wasn’t fearful, for the darker places of towns are more familiar to me, though I mentally tightened my armor, and continued to listen to Ovell talk while being very aware of my surroundings. Guys occupied the corners, men were sitting against abandoned buildings, some talked to themselves or mind-binding demons that disguised themselves as a mental illness, one was hitting himself in the head trying to swat the invisible bugs. I nodded to all of them and said hey to a few. We finally made it to the fried chicken coop, went inside, both sighing in relief at the warmth inside as well as finally making it through the short, but long, journey. Two guys who were standing outside followed us in, tagging them as dealers as we approached the little building. Their eyes tracing my head to my feet around 3 times and I gave them a “Sup guys, you want some chicken?” to break the awkward atmosphere. One guy morphed his pouted-out lips into a sly smile and said, “Naw baby girl, I’m good. You lookin’ to get anything other than chicken?” Ovell then put his hand on my arm while looking at the guy and said, “This here is my new friend. We is getting some chicken and she is just traveling through.” The guy stepped aside and said, “Right on, Black.” This was Ovell’s street name. We all get one or more when we live on the streets for a length of time. I’ve had my own street names over the years.
We each got 2 hot chicken legs and then walked outside around the corner of the building. As we embraced, Ovell pulled out his “Joy” rock. “Thanks for the rock and thanks for spending time with me, Katie.” He let me take his picture and I handed him the promised change. He pointed me to a park where others gathered, but as I walked away, knew it was time to go back to Tumbler. Met another cool guy named “Little Memphis” on the way back. Could write much about this talkative, welcoming brother who wanted to show me around the city and give me the in’s and out’s of shelters or places to sleep if outside. He too had been on the street for most of his life. We chatted for a while on the sidewalk and kept deflecting my urge to move, but in a kind way. Gave him a hug and he goes, “Wow, that was a real hug…Don’t get many of those ‘round here!” We parted with peace signs in the air. Little Memphis was thriving on the streets, rather than merely surviving on the streets.
Went to a Sprint store to address my hotspot that wasn’t working. This store was such a trip! There were about 7 staff attendants, all in their young 20’s, R&B music was blaring through the sound system, and it felt more like a collage party than a phone store. A girl named Jessica helped me and although we didn’t get the hotspot to work, she and I had quite a lengthy conversation. She was tearing up at the end, and I ran back to my truck to give her a “Love” rock. Through tears, she apologized for not being able to help me, but I told Jessica that God had me come here for her, not the hotspot.
It was early evening when Tumbler got on the road headed away from Memphis. Blasted worship music and processed the day’s experiences all the way to Little Rock, Arkansas. Drove through the heart of downtown to get a feel for the city. Chose a random road and it took me through some gnarly little mountainous hills. Was praying for guidance as to what to do regarding my internet difficulty and sensed this would be addressed tomorrow, and my focus now should be on finding a Starbucks (bathroom and internet access). Found one a few miles away and stayed there for 1 ½ hrs. Left a rock on the chair and it was 9:30pm when I hopped back in Tumbler to find a place to park and sleep. A Walmart was a town away. Just before pulling into the Wally World, an IHOP was passed. The chicken legs were long digested, so I turned around and pulled in. A young waitress girl was outside tending to the trash can, and said that they closed in 20min, but I could still come in. This girl tugged at my heart the whole 20min. She took my order of a loaded meat and cheese omelet and I asked her what word she needed. After the confused and intrigued look that I’m familiar with getting after that question, she said “Love”. Inhaled the hash browns and ¾ of the omelet (wanted to save some for breakfast in the morning) and when I gave her the cash for the food, also have her a “You are so LOVED” rock. She was shy. Didn’t get her name. She was fragile. She was broken. Didn’t get to listen to her story, but felt we shared similar chapters.
Back in the Walmart parking lot, went inside to use a real bathroom for the night and bought some jugs of water and 2 pillowcases (shout out to my mom… advice taken). Made my cocoon bed in the backseat, but laid there for 2 hours for my mind was spinning and my heart was still with Ovell, the IHOP waitress, and the others God had allowed me to merged paths with today. It was around 2am when I drifted into sleep that would produce vivid dreams throughout the night.
This journey has just begun, and it’s already been joy-full and challenging. I pray the next 3 months unfold at an Ovell pace… unrushed, persistent, purpose-full.
I woke up in the backseat of Tumbler at the Missouri rest stop. Sleeping was challenging due to the temperature, but the cocoon of a sleeping bag and blankets was soft. Brushed my teeth in the steel bathroom and with sleep lines still etched on my face, took off driving. At the fork in the road to either go west or continue south, there was a huge (seriously, HUGE) white cross on the left side of the road that went south, so I cranked up the music and veered left. It wasn’t long before the faint outline of skyscraper buildings was seen… Memphis was to be the main mission field today.
When entering a new city/town, whether big or small, I typically drive around the area to get a feeling of the place and mentally gain perspective of the lay of the town. Sensing my time here wouldn’t be long, I started to pray for the people God already knew I would merge paths with. For being so cold outside, a surprising amount of people were out perusing the streets. Admittedly not a huge blues music follower, my naivety of the huge landmark Memphis is to such avid Elvis and B.B. King enthusiasts was made known very quickly. Driving by Beale St. flicked my antennas and I looked at my rock-filled backpack on the passenger street with the same smile I wear at this moment. A parking tower was seen a block away and I pulled behind a black, souped up car that many people have on their dream vehicle list. I waited for the person to grab a ticket… and waited… and waited. Not one to be impatient at small inconveniences, my foot was busy tapping to the song being played not at the lack of movement. When I saw the reverse lights, instead of backing up to give room to exit, I put Tumbler in park and ambled over to the driver’s window. Inside were 2 guys and after asking if they were ok, the driver said, “This place only takes cash and I don’t have any on me.” Without thinking twice, I said, “Hold on, buddy, I got you.” He said something with his head out the window, but I was already sprawled out in my truck reaching for my backpack. When I returned and handed him a $10 bill, his eyebrows were elevated and he kept saying, “You don’t have to do this. No really, I can’t take this.” With an “It’s only money, bro. Have a purpose-full day”, I walked back to my truck and waited again for the sweet car, but this time the red and white gate opened for him. I went through the same gate after getting my ticket and went up to a deck that had only a few cars. Wanting to put on some long johns and extra layers all around, the privacy was needed. I hung out around the edges of the deck for a while, taking in the different viewpoints of Memphis. Left some rocks in visible places.
I could write a 5-page entry of the things seen while walking as well as the people whom were met along the path, but will try to keep it rolling as to not keep ya’ll too long. Knowing Beale Street was surely to be explored, I first walked around the surrounding blocks… acclimating and praying. This was the first hour downtown. Not intentionally being “undercover homeless”, my attire was not shabby though it was far from chique… basically I did look like I lived on the streets especially with my oversized backpack. This was made known after Beale St. was reached and I met Ovell. If any of you have been to Memphis, then you have been to Beale St. for it’s a tourist destination with all the blues shops and classic restaurants. Though I was not here for the sites, food, and music… the people were who I came to see and their stories would be my treasured souvenirs. Even though it was bitingly cold, the street was buzzing and music flowed from each place. Ovell was sitting on a cement edge in front of a BBQ joint. We locked eyes 20ft away… we recognized each other, not because we knew each other, but because we share a commonality of doing life on the street. I’ll write more about this later. I gave him a nod and he returned the welcoming nod. Sitting down next to him, we exchanged names. Sat there for 20min and learned that Ovell had been on the streets for 51 years. I guessed him to be in his mid 70’s, though his face looked like it was closer to mid 90’s. But Ovell had a heart that was still in his 40’s. His story is amazing and I would hear more chapters from it later in the afternoon. Ovell and I talked about the weather, Memphis’ shelters, where to sleep outside, his (lack of) family, and his view on God. After listening, a “Joy” rock was pulled from my backpack and handed to Ovell with my other hand resting on top of his cracked, calloused hand. He then put his other hand on top of mine and said, “I lose a lot of things, but I’m not gonna to lose this here rock. Going to carry it with me everywhere. I sure do needs me some Joy too.” I don’t remember what I then said to him as I pulled Ovell into a big hug and whispered words into his ear under his hat, but I trust God knew exactly what Ovell needed to hear at that very moment.
Walked a couple blocks and saw a guy sitting on a cement structure that had metal beams rising from it, like it would have held up a large building at some point. This guy had a sweet perch spot and if I were to set up handkerchief with rocks on it, this would have been the place. Today was about walking through and not stopping in a specific spot. There are many times where I will walk all day and there will be other days I’m to sit in one spot for long periods of time. I did stop in front of this dude to look at his sketches he had spread out on the cement perch. The name of this street artist was Brandon. He was all bundled up and I knew he was homeless. Thinking the same thing of me, he didn’t give me the normal “want to buy a sketch” intro, rather he said, “You are a new face here… where you rolling in from?” My reply, “Chicago” (as most don’t know where Woodstock, IL is). “Your sketches are cool, Brandon… want to do a trade for a small commissioned piece?” Most of his drawings were either this bulked up comic book type of guy who wore shades (wondered if this is who Brandon sees himself to be if he were in another state of mind) or of different lions. The lions drew me in. My niece, Dani Joy, loves lions, especially a tiny stuffed animal lion I have in my truck who is named Leo. I asked Brandon to sketch me the face of a lion with “Leo” under the mane. “I got you, Katie. Do you think I could get a “Hope” rock?” Nodding and smiling, told him I’d come back through later.
Walked for another 40min and left rocks in random places. The smell of food was everywhere. I had been living off of a few granola bars and my mom’s awesome peanut butter/chocolate oatmeal balls since I left the farm, and my stomach was growling at the smells of hot and hearty food. Went back to Brandon and he had finished the sketch… it was really beautiful. Told him that it was for my niece, Dani Joy, and the mention of family changed the look in his eyes. Instead of asking about his family (surely there was much pain attached), I pulled out the “Hope” rock that had been gone over twice more to make the blue more pronounced. Brandon smiled and he nodded to an empty spot next to his sketches… this was an invitation to sit with him. And so that I did… for the next 20min. We talked about a variety of topics and I learned more of the what is behind Brandon’s eyes that would ebb from happy to sad. Gave him an extra long and strong hug as the time to move on was pressed upon my feet that dangle from the cement ledge.
My eyes had been looking into Brandon’s eyes the whole time and when I backed away from the hug and took 2 steps diagonally away from him, I bumped into someone… Of all people, it was Ovell. I about knocked the old man down and he grabbed my shoulders as I was grabbing his to apologize, but upon seeing it was Ovell, a “Fancy bumping into you, buddy” was what was said. He smiled and asked where I was going. “No place in particular. Where you going? Want some company?” I asked as I threw an arm around his frail should padded with layers of jackets. “Gonna get some chicken. Been awhile since I ate. If you can be patient with my slow pace, I would love to hang with you.” Perfect timing, for my stomach was still rumbling and I’m no power walker myself, so the slower pace would be fine… but dang, tiny Ovell was a few gears slower than slow. He explained that all the years on the street had done a number on his feet. Now picture your own grandpa: being mid 70’s, but having lived on the streets for 51 of those years. It amps up the already existing compassion when you trade new faces for faces you know well. This wasn’t my own grandpa I was walking next to, but that image came to mind as I walked with Ovell. We had only gone one block when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder which almost made me turn around with a flying swing (still have times when things trigger such responses). Fortunately, the swing was stifled when I recognized the face of the strong hand… it was the guy from the parking lot gate. “Hey! I wanted to find you and give you this ‘cause what you did back there for me was really cool.” He handed me a $20 bill and I tried to resist his hand shoving it in my own, but he persisted and then walked away with a “Thank you for doing that.” So Ovell is standing next to me and as the guy is walking away, he outstretches both of his arms and says, “Hey, what about me?” It wasn’t funny… but it was kind of funny! I told Ovell that the chicken was already going to be on me, but that I would toss him some of the change from the $20. This chicken joint wasn’t right around the corner as he had said, it was about 6-7 long blocks away that zig zagged. This is about 20 blocks at a normal pace. We talked the whole way, and I had to catch him from stumbling a few times when the sidewalks were raised with cracks. His older, lethargic legs were struggling to navigate the cracks and curbs, but Ovell was persistent and he would keep talking through the near falls. Was grateful to be walking with him, and especially when we would cross a street and the cars would have to slow down, change lanes, or even come to complete stops so as to allow Ovell to s-l-o-w-l-y shuffle across, with myself shielding him from the traffic and throwing up a peace sign to the (non-patient) steer wheel-tapping drivers who had less miles on their car than Ovell had on his walking the streets. The further we walked, the neighborhood quickly became sketchy. I wasn’t fearful, for the darker places of towns are more familiar to me, though I mentally tightened my armor, and continued to listen to Ovell talk while being very aware of my surroundings. Guys occupied the corners, men were sitting against abandoned buildings, some talked to themselves or mind-binding demons that disguised themselves as a mental illness, one was hitting himself in the head trying to swat the invisible bugs. I nodded to all of them and said hey to a few. We finally made it to the fried chicken coop, went inside, both sighing in relief at the warmth inside as well as finally making it through the short, but long, journey. Two guys who were standing outside followed us in, tagging them as dealers as we approached the little building. Their eyes tracing my head to my feet around 3 times and I gave them a “Sup guys, you want some chicken?” to break the awkward atmosphere. One guy morphed his pouted-out lips into a sly smile and said, “Naw baby girl, I’m good. You lookin’ to get anything other than chicken?” Ovell then put his hand on my arm while looking at the guy and said, “This here is my new friend. We is getting some chicken and she is just traveling through.” The guy stepped aside and said, “Right on, Black.” This was Ovell’s street name. We all get one or more when we live on the streets for a length of time. I’ve had my own street names over the years.
We each got 2 hot chicken legs and then walked outside around the corner of the building. As we embraced, Ovell pulled out his “Joy” rock. “Thanks for the rock and thanks for spending time with me, Katie.” He let me take his picture and I handed him the promised change. He pointed me to a park where others gathered, but as I walked away, knew it was time to go back to Tumbler. Met another cool guy named “Little Memphis” on the way back. Could write much about this talkative, welcoming brother who wanted to show me around the city and give me the in’s and out’s of shelters or places to sleep if outside. He too had been on the street for most of his life. We chatted for a while on the sidewalk and kept deflecting my urge to move, but in a kind way. Gave him a hug and he goes, “Wow, that was a real hug…Don’t get many of those ‘round here!” We parted with peace signs in the air. Little Memphis was thriving on the streets, rather than merely surviving on the streets.
Went to a Sprint store to address my hotspot that wasn’t working. This store was such a trip! There were about 7 staff attendants, all in their young 20’s, R&B music was blaring through the sound system, and it felt more like a collage party than a phone store. A girl named Jessica helped me and although we didn’t get the hotspot to work, she and I had quite a lengthy conversation. She was tearing up at the end, and I ran back to my truck to give her a “Love” rock. Through tears, she apologized for not being able to help me, but I told Jessica that God had me come here for her, not the hotspot.
It was early evening when Tumbler got on the road headed away from Memphis. Blasted worship music and processed the day’s experiences all the way to Little Rock, Arkansas. Drove through the heart of downtown to get a feel for the city. Chose a random road and it took me through some gnarly little mountainous hills. Was praying for guidance as to what to do regarding my internet difficulty and sensed this would be addressed tomorrow, and my focus now should be on finding a Starbucks (bathroom and internet access). Found one a few miles away and stayed there for 1 ½ hrs. Left a rock on the chair and it was 9:30pm when I hopped back in Tumbler to find a place to park and sleep. A Walmart was a town away. Just before pulling into the Wally World, an IHOP was passed. The chicken legs were long digested, so I turned around and pulled in. A young waitress girl was outside tending to the trash can, and said that they closed in 20min, but I could still come in. This girl tugged at my heart the whole 20min. She took my order of a loaded meat and cheese omelet and I asked her what word she needed. After the confused and intrigued look that I’m familiar with getting after that question, she said “Love”. Inhaled the hash browns and ¾ of the omelet (wanted to save some for breakfast in the morning) and when I gave her the cash for the food, also have her a “You are so LOVED” rock. She was shy. Didn’t get her name. She was fragile. She was broken. Didn’t get to listen to her story, but felt we shared similar chapters.
This journey has just begun, and it’s already been joy-full and challenging. I pray the next 3 months unfold at an Ovell pace… unrushed, persistent, purpose-full.
Life is a journey;
Not a destination.
Unshakeable Peace and Purpose.
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
Not a destination.
Unshakeable Peace and Purpose.
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
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