South Coast Rock Tour
~ Day 40 ~
Church…Mission…Rain…Rephidim.
After seeing John last night, I went to the nearby Walmart
hotel. Went inside to buy bananas as well as a big backpack for John that I
stuffed with new clothes and essentials. When I went to pay for the stuff, my
debit card wasn’t in my money pouch. I paid in cash as my mind retraced my
steps yesterday… I must have left it at the surf shop. No need to worry about
it now. If it was there, cool, and if not, I would figure out a plan to get a new
one on Monday. My focus was on John this morning and we had planned on meeting
at the AA meeting building at 8:45am. I had not slept last night and was awake
and tired when my alarm went off. Isn’t it so typical that when you can’t
sleep, as soon as you need to get ready for the day, that you feel like you
could then fall asleep with no hindrances? Such was it for me as I did my
morning routine at sloth-like speed. Walking to the nearest garbage can, I took
the last sip of V8 juice that washed a handful of vitamins down and threw the
can and my floppy banana peel away. “Ok, let’s do this, God. It’s a new day.
New mercies.” I was energized with the excitement of going to church with John
and spending more quality time with my new friend. An energy drink was chugged
on the short drive. Tumbler pulled into the AA lot and we did a sweep through
to look for John. Parking in the same spot as last night, I sat there for 5min,
then got out to walk over to the building. John was nowhere in sight. Went back
to the truck and waited another 10min. It was 9am and my eyes saw no sign of
John, while my heart saw beneath, as I sensed that John was more than
physically missing.
Ocean City Church was already part way through the musical
worship when I slipped into a seat in the back. It was the message worship that
my heart craved. Pastor Derek read the rest of Ruth and pulled practical points
from the last two chapters. I listened to the sermon, but when Derek read a
cross-reference in Romans, my ears stopped listening to his words as my eyes
continued to read the meaty words of Romans. I love this small book within my
favorite large book. Romans is encouraging as well as challenging… a perfect
balance. The Truth-Full words gave comfort to my uncomfortable spirit. I was
feeling John so intensely. Though I tried not to worry nor assume that
something bad had happened, my heart knew that something was not right for John
not to keep his word. More of Romans was read and then I flipped to the book of
Psalms… which oscillates from lament to praise. What a portrayal of what most
of our days are like. Though possible to do, it is hard to stay in a constant
state of joy and worship. I wrestled with worshiping the all-powerful Prince of
Peace this morning. But as the last song was playing, my fists came out of my
pockets and my arms were outstretched before me. The fists were unclenched to
open in surrendered trust. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are
your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
(Isaiah 55:8-9) I was praising King. And then 5min later, I was back in lament.
Ann was seen in the sunlit lobby. I leaned against a wall
while watching her interact with people. She gave hugs, asked questions,
listened, looked people in their eyes, and loved with a heart that overflowed
with the love of Jesus. We made eye contact in a small clearing of the sea of
people. We greeted each other with a hug. “Something is off. You look
different. Are you okay? Did John come with you?” --- “I had a rough night.
John didn’t show up. I think it’s time for me to move on from Jacksonville.”
--- “Do you want to come over to my house to shower and then rest?” I shook my
head no, though I really wanted to say yes to Ann’s invitation. The two of us
are similar in that we love being the “helper” and struggle with being
“helped.” Knowing this, Ann did not push and press me to pull away from the
streets and be still at her house. God was also nudging me to go to Ann’s
place, but being hard-headed, I was not ready to give up on finding John. Ann
and I hugged again and not knowing if we would see each other again, we both
agreed to stay in communication.
The rest of the afternoon would continue to go downhill.
Part of this was due to my growing exhaustion and part of it was due to going
against the leading of the Holy Spirit. There are consequences to being
disobedient. I was trying to force things… like finding John. Tumbler drove to
the Mexican restaurant where John was to start work today. He was not there.
The owner did not look happy about it either. I went back to the AA building.
John was not there either. Tumbler and I drove to the ocean and we sat there
for a while. My mind was a pinball machine. “Where is John right now?”… “Where
is Savannah Shaggy right now?”… “How is Milton doing?”… “Does Spider feel
alone?”… “Does Mark Anthony know he is loved?” … “I love this journey, but I
miss my family.” … Oh, how feelings and emotions expound exponentially when we
are not taking care of ourselves physically.
This would have been another good time to take Ann up on her
invitation to clean up and rest, but nope, I pushed against the pull of the
Spirit and put my backpack on to hit the streets. A block away, a guy riding a
motorized bicycle rode up next to me and said, “Hey, go to the mission to eat
at 3pm.” He zoomed off and I decided to head towards the mission to hang out
before the meal was served. It was 1:30pm and the sky was turning to a dark
grey. Rain was coming. I walked back to the surf shop to see if my debit card
was there. Logan greeted me once inside and told me that he had hopped on his
skateboard yesterday to chase me down, but I was out of sight. He handed me the
card and gave me a hug, thanking me again for the small rock that had had a big
effect on him. Pauline wasn’t working today, and I wished we had exchanged
phone numbers so we could have merged paths in St. Augustine. She had such a
cool vibe about her and I wanted to know more about her multi-coast story.
After a short walkabout, I went back to Tumbler and drove
closer to where the mission was located. It was drizzling when we parked. My
eyes were already drooping from tiredness, so I chugged another energy drink
and matched the ounces in water. By the time I walked a few blocks to reach the
mission, my clothes were damp. There were two guys standing outside the small
building, smoking cigarettes. I pulled one out of my tin canister and one of
the guys came over to light it for me. His name was Red. “I prefer Red to being
called Ginger.” The other guy piped in, “Yea, and why do they call redheads
Ginger anyway… ginger isn’t red, it’s more of a fleshy color.” He had a point.
Red and I talked while we smoked in the drizzle that was turning into larger
raindrops. “You can get a blanket inside. They hand out clothes too, and you
can even take a shower before we eat in an hour.” Red was friendly, talkative,
and considerate. He held the door open for me when we went inside. The other
guy who had made the ginger comment was sitting at one of the 5 large tables.
“Come sit with me, Daisy.” His name was Billy. “Are you a staff member here?” I
asked. “No, I’m a traveler who has stayed in this town too long. I volunteer to
help with cooking and cleaning sometimes, but mostly I just use the shower and
eat here. It’s nice to have a place to go, especially on days like today.” I
drew on rocks while Billy and I talked. More people were coming inside to get
out of the cold rain. A guy named Tony sat down across from me and rested on
the table. He fell asleep in minutes. I debated doing the same. A “Press
Through” rock was quietly placed next to his folded arms that cradled his head.
A lady named Amy came out of the shower area and sat down next to me while
combing her black hair. She had put on ample makeup and I commented on the
color of her lipstick. When she smiled, I saw the 7-year-old girl in Amy. She
was in her 40’s, but from traumas she didn’t voice, she was still a young girl.
Amy didn’t speak to others and she jerked at every sound in the room. She wrote
on small index cards, front and back. I slid her a small “Faith” rock. She
smiled at me, but didn’t touch it as her eyes went back to rectangle shaped
paper. I held out the bag of pebbles and whispered, “Pick one, sweet Amy.” She
pulled “Endurance” and she clutched the rock to her chest. I picked up the
“Faith” rock and said, “Have faith to endure all things.” The 40-year-old year-old
smiled.
At 4pm, I stood in line with 30 other hungry, damply clothed
people. We were fed by a local church who served us plates of chili hot dogs,
macaroni salad, coleslaw, and potato chips. The room grew quiet as we inhaled
the food, leaving chili stains on our mouths and clothes. Billy leaned over to
me and said, “Not the best nor clean first date meal, huh? ” --- “Yeah, but if
your date isn’t cool with you having chili all over your face, then there
probably won’t be a second date.” He about spit the chili and onions out of his
mouth as he laughed. Amy and I laughed with him. Billy went up for his 3rd
and 4th hot dog. Amy went back to writing on index cards. I went
outside for a smoke. Red was outside and I handed him a “Warrior” rock. “Dang girl.
You have no idea. I am a warrior, though I feel like maybe I’m just stupid for
what I’ve put myself through to be called a warrior.” Red shared nuggets of his
story that had me listening intently. He had been set on fire by his brother
when he was a young boy. Red showed me the scars that traveled from his hands
up his arms. He had been in a bad car accident with the same brother years
later. He started using drugs and alcohol heavily and his addiction led him to
living on the streets. “I’m clean now. Still homeless, but trying to find work.
I had surgery on my neck a month ago, and it’s hard to find a job that isn’t
physically painful for me to do.” Red showed me the fresh, long scar on the
front of his neck. He certainly was a warrior. We all are in one way or
another.
The mission was about to close for the evening. I was once
again cold and wet, but definitely not hungry. There was one more thing to do
before moving on from the mission. Tumbler was a few blocks away and my
backpack and I ran awkwardly through the rain to grab a new journal from his
back bed. When I hopped overthe tailgate to dive under the rain-blocking tunnel
cover, my rock laden backpack snagged on the latch. The strap made a loud
popping sound and the backpack’s now off-kilter weight threw me to the floor. I
laid there for a few seconds while processing the sudden shift of the
situation. A sarcastic “Fantastic” was said out loud and I wormed my way out of
the single remaining backpack strap. I grabbed one of the journals from the
several I had packed. Dismounted the tailgate and hoisted my 50lb pack back over.
It was hard enough to run with both straps intact, but no way was I running
with one strap. A smart person would have just left it in the truck. My mind
wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed today. The rain was still coming down. Amy
was packing up her things when I walked in. I placed the journal next to her
stack of index cards. “Keep writing, beloved one.” She didn’t speak. But Amy
hugged me… both the 40-year-old and the 7-year-old. We all have a little girl
or little boy inside of us. For some of us, the young heart still needs love
and attention more than the adult heart.
Tumbler’s deep blue body glistened in the rain. I unlocked
the door and threw the injured backpack on the passenger floor. “Sorry little
buddy, we’ll get you stitched up later.” I was cold, wet, and exhausted. I’ve
used that descriptive word in other days, but this was a deeper exhaustion
today. Fighting back tears that were forming, I was physically, mentally, and
emotionally drained. I sent a text to my
friend who lived in Georgia two hours away. Her house was a resting place
earlier last week, and I was in need of rest now. I didn’t wait for her to
reply and started driving North. I also didn’t wait to ask God what he wanted
me to do. I had pretty much been doing my own thing today. I wasn’t giving Him
the cold shoulder, yet I found myself cold and with a broken shoulder
strap. “God, forgive me for not
listening to You today. Thank you for your unrelenting grace and love. Please
help me find a safe place to rest. I’m so tired, Lord.” I drove for a while,
still not hearing back from my friend. I could barely keep my eyes open as
Tumbler drove through the rain. “Ann” … Yes, Ann. I pulled over at a gas
station and sent her a text: “This is hard to ask, but could I come to your
abode to shower and rest?” Ann responded within 2 minutes: “For sure!” I was
30min from her beachside house and the knowingness of the safe haven ahead, gave
me a burst of energy to make the drive without falling asleep at the wheel. Her
house was a true encapsulation of the word “rephidim” … Resting Place. Ann
opened the door and opened her arms. I fell into a much-needed hug from a
friend I had only known one week, but the roots of our friendship had already
grown deep in fertile soil. I would spend the next 24 hours under this roof
that kept the rain out while letting the redemptive love in.
“There is a fine line between
Being a warrior and being stupid.”
~Quote from Red
Unshakable Peace and Purpose
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
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