Nov. 18 God’s People

Sunday, Nov. 17th

                When the dark night sky began to glow with its promise of morning I felt exposed and conspicuous. Even though I had my sleeping bag laid out in the woods, I was visible in the morning light from several nearby homes, so I quickly rolled up my sleeping bag before anyone woke up and saw me. It was still early morning, but the McDonalds was open, so I get myself a breakfast sandwich and a hot cup of coffee to enjoy until church starts.

                At 8:00 I head across the street for their early service. I ask a doorman if I can leave my cart and pack out by the side of the front entrance, but he invites me to bring them into the foyer and helps me tuck them into a corner out of the way. I know my red hair is wildly disheveled and I’m still in the jeans and flannel shirt I slept in. I’m the only white person in sight and everyone else is in suits and ties. It’s not that I couldn’t have straightened up a little, but I’m genuinely curious how this church will treat a homeless, unkempt, outsider off the street. One lady greets me with a generous hug and introduces herself to me. Many other’s come over to shake my hand warmly and welcome me. I’m impressed! It’s just a few minutes late so I wait with several other’s outside the sanctuary while the choir finishes a special number. The music is beautiful and full of spirit. When we’re let into the sanctuary I find an empty spot and settle in. I continue getting warm smiles, random hugs, and introductions. The music continues and I’m definitely in a black church! These people know how to rock a kickin’ choir! Wow!

I’ve always been very hesitant to express myself physically during worship in church because I always feel like I’m defeating the purpose by drawing attention to myself, but in this environment many people are clapping, raising their hands, expressing their worship openly, but without the air of performance that I often see in other churches that try this. I find myself raising my hands without a hint of self-consciousness. In this atmosphere it feels natural and genuine. After a solid message from the Word, we file out and everyone begins making their way to the Sunday School classes. A greying mulatto man greets me with a hearty handshake and invites me to join his men’s Sunday School group. There’s about 15 men in the group ranging in age from a college student to several men who might keel over any minute. My new friend introduces me to everyone around the room and they listen with fascination as I give a quick explanation of what I’m doing. I’m touched by how kind and gracious they are to me. Too soon the Sunday School hour is over. I’d like to stay for the second service just to spend more time with these people; I almost do, but I’ve got a long ways to go and time is running short if I’m going to get to York in time to meet my cousins for Thanksgiving. I really need to cover a lot of distance today.

Randallstown fades from urban to rural until I’m lost in the wilderness with the sound of that choir still ringing in my head. I breathe a prayer of thanksgiving for that church, and also pray that my route and timing might bring me across another good church in time for a Sunday evening service. Preferably someplace with good Bible doctrine. I’m all about exploring the variety of denominations, but at this point I’m lonely and hungry for the familiar. Few churches in this area seem to have evening services though. But hey, it doesn’t hurt to pray. After several hours I come across a rotting stump that makes a good place to sit and rest my feet while I dig some food out of my bag. On my way out of Randallstown I stopped at a FoodLion and restocked on trail-mix, granola bars, and pop-tarts. These are becoming staples for me since they’re relatively cheap and ready to eat without preparation. Within 20 minutes I’m walking again. Eventually I come to Hanover Pike a long, straight road with a wide paved breakdown lane. “Yes!!!” This makes for safe, stress-free, easy walking and the map says I can stay on this road for at least 15 miles! I’m going to enjoy this stretch. The hours pass quicker from here on. I try to haul the cart behind me for a while, but I still haven’t been able to figure out a system that works, so I give up and keep pushing.

The winter sun has been riding the horizon for an hour before it finally falls out of sight and the sky begins to darken. With this wide shoulder to walk on and my late start in the day I still plan on walking well into the night, at least until this long straight stretch ends. As I come up over a ridge I see an expansive level valley ahead of me and I can see for miles ahead but in the trees just ahead of me there is a large building with a familiar type of modern/minimal architecture. I had forgotten completely about my earlier prayer this morning, but it comes immediately to mind. I don’t even have to see the sign.

“God, that’s a Baptist church isn’t it? And they have an evening service starting in a few minutes don’t they?”

The sign comes into view “Living Hope Baptist Church” Perfect! There’s only a couple vehicles in the driveway though, and I don’t see any lights on. Perhaps I got my hopes up too quickly. I consider continuing by, but I did pray for this, so I should make sure before I give up. Up the winding driveway I meet two teens hanging out in the playground area.

“Good afternoon! Are you folks having an evening service today?”

“Yes,” the young lady answers, “but we’re having a Thanksgiving dinner first.” Wow, I didn’t even think to pray for a Thanksgiving dinner!

“Can I join you all for the dinner?”

“Yea! Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” I follow them to the main entrance and leave my luggage at the door. In the kitchen several ladies are already hard at work setting tables and putting out food in the gym. We exchange introductions around the room. One lady snaps to attention with a look of recognition,

“Hey, are you the person I saw walking down the road pushing a baby?” I laugh.

“Well, it’s not a baby. It’s a cart for my camping gear, but, yep, that’s me.”

“Oh! I saw you and was thinking how you looked like someone who needed to be in church this evening and I was wishing you could be here for our Thanksgiving dinner tonight!”

“Well, here I am!” We all laugh, and within a few minutes I’m scurrying around with the ladies separating dinner rolls into baskets and putting them out on the tables. People begin arriving with large smiles and crockpots steaming with aromas of sausage, turkey, potatoes, and all the other Thanksgiving delicacies. Everyone wants to hear about the young man with the disheveled red hair and the story to match. I answer questions and tell about my adventures until it’s time for the dinner to start. The pastor says a word of prayer and we line up at the buffet line to round our plates over with turkey, potatoes, and cranberry sauce. Through the entire meal the room is filled with lively conversation and good humor across and between the tables. They’re a lively, social bunch with well-developed senses of humor. I go back to heap my plate up again, but it’s not easy to finish it this time. As people begin sampling deserts, the pastor starts a devotional without dampening the warm mood of levity and celebration. I’m glad to have a full belly; it’s going to be a little harder to stay awake for the rest of my trek tonight. I’m still planning to walk well into the morning hours. After tonight I’ve only got two days to make it the rest of the way to York, PA.

As the evening winds down people begin filing back out to their cars. There’s a Raven’s game tonight and they all seem pretty excited about it. The pastor walks over to me and gives me a firm handshake,

“Aaron, my son lives in York and we visit him there often, my wife and I can take you the rest of the way there tonight.” I’m not sure I can believe my ears! It sounds too good to be true!

“Are you sure? That’s quite a drive!

“It’s no problem, we’d be glad to take you.” I can hardly believe my good fortune! A lovely Thanksgiving dinner, uplifting fellowship with a wonderful group of believers, and now a ride that will save me three days of walking! When the church is locked up for the night he helps me break down my cart and squeeze it into the back of his Prius. The miles flash by in the dark as we listen to the Ravens game on the radio.

This is it; the end of my walkabout. At least for a while. I’ll spend the next two days at my cousin’s house in York, then we’ll all ride together up to Maine for the annual Frost family Thanksgiving reunion. It’s going to be my third Thanksgiving dinner in as many weeks. This homeless gig isn’t so bad! We’ll gather around packed tables overflowing with Thanksgiving food and stuff our faces till no more can fit. Then we’ll go on a long walk around the Morison Farm Road to make more room so we can stuff our faces again with pies and then we’ll spend the rest of the night catching up with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. After that… I’m not sure what I’ll do. I have a ride back down to York with my cousins, but from there I’m not sure. I could just resume the walkabout and head south from York, but that would lead me over territory I’ve already covered, and I’d really rather wait and do the walkabout in one stretch starting next summer. The other issue is money. If I don’t get myself a job soon, I’m going to be in a real pickle when the cash runs dry.

But, I can worry about all that later. For now I’m home free. It’s Thanksgiving and I’m going to see my mom.