Judge Not One Man's Journey

Let me start, by saying this. I am not a religious man. I do not ever recall ever having a deep sense of faith. I rarely attended church as a child, and even now, as an adult, I occupy my time at church by hanging out in the nursery or working with the older kids. I don't go to service and I don't like to listen to sermons. I am sure there are many reasons why this is, and I am certain some of it is by choice, or perhaps, stubbornness. Still, I have always tried to keep an open mind and I admire those who have that deep sense of faith. In fact, at times I would even say I envy them.  I don't always understand it but I do try to respect it. Regardless, I don't usually seek out conversations on the topic and more often than not, I will politely dimiss myself from the conversation. Until today.

It was about 3:30 in the afternoon on a Friday. I had to drive over to a small town just west of where I live to try and get some work done.  It's a short 25 mile drive that I enjoy. The highway has some dips and curves and the speed limit changes just enough to keep you interested. About 10 miles left in the drive, as the highway dips downhill, I see a man to my right, pushing a huge cart, overflowing with bags (and I assume his possessions), uphill, on the side of the highway, and against the flow of traffic. The speed limit was about 45 mph but even at that speed, I could see that he was struggling. I did not have time to stop, but I told myself that if I saw him on the way home I would stop and buy him a cup of coffee.

So after an hour, and several unsuccessful stops, I decided to call it quits and head back home. Again, I saw him, this time, my view was from the other side of the highway. He was still pushing his huge cart against the flow of traffic, but thankfully, on flatter ground. He seemed to be struggling less but the size of the cart just seemed so much in comparison to his small stature. Having already committed myself to stopping, I looked for the nearest place to turn around and headed back toward him. I passed him by and found a place to park and ran after him trying to catch his attention. He did not hear me the first 2 times as cars were whizzing by and the wind was blowing. On my 3rd cry, he finally heard me, stopped pushing his cart, turned around, and walked towards me.

He was, as I thought, a small framed man and the cart was even bigger than I realized. He had a long greying beard that was about 6 inches long, and a dark hat pulled down over his ears and eyes. As he walked towards me, he did not seem to be struggling, and he walked casually as if he was a neighbor coming over to gossip at the mailbox. He was still not close enough that I could talk to him, so I yelled to him "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" He did not seem to hear me again. Finally, we were face to face, and I could see all the wrinkles in his weathered face. Despite his appearance, and how clearly he was struggling to push his cart along the side of the highway, he did not wear the face of a beaten or bitter man.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" I asked him again. He looked at me and before answering, asked in a warm and friendly voice, "What's your name?" At first, I was surprised and then I felt kind of silly. It had not even occurred to me to introduce myself. After all, that is the polite thing to do. I told him my name was Scott and asked him his. He told me his name was Chris and then took off his fingerless gloves (which I assume were more about protecting his palms than for warmth) and extended his hand to me. Again, I was struck by his politeness but feeling no hesitation, I extended my hand and shook hands with him as cars whizzed by us. I offered again to buy him a cup of coffee but he politely declined and said "I'd really like a hot chocolate." I asked him if there was anything else he'd like and he said maybe something sweet, "like a Krispy Kreme if they have any."

We stood there for about another 10 minutes just talking. He asked me what made me stop and I told him how I passed him as I was heading west and that I told myself I would stop if I saw him on the way back. He asked me about my work and If I go to church. I filled him on the details and he told me a bit about his travels and that he was an ordained minister. He spoke passionately about his faith and with great energy. I was captivated. I had to remind him that it was going to get dark soon and I wanted to go get him his hot chocolate before it was hard for me to find him again. As I headed back to my car, he asked me my name again, and thanked me. I told him he was welcome hopped in the car and headed back 3 miles east to the truck stop. I made him a hot chocolate but there were no Krispy Kremes to be found. I wandered the aisles looking for a suitable replacement and ended up getting him a small pack of donuts and a pack of Twinkies.

A few minutes later, heading westbound again, I saw him, a small statured man pushing this huge cart, along the side of the highway, against the flow of traffic. This time though, I knew him as Chris. I got out and gave him the hot chocolate and offered him 2 creamers in case the hot chocolate wasn't rich enough. He politely declined as he took a sip of the hot chocolate. I told him that there were no Krispy Kremes but again he did not seem to mind and set the sweets aside for later. Again, we stood there and talked. We stood there for a good 30 minutes, along side the highway, just talking. He told me about his travels and the places he has ministered. He told me about his cart, which was actually a wheelchair and a bicycle put together so that it became this 3 wheeler of sorts. It no was longer rideable so he just pushes it. I asked him if he minded having to push it and he just shrugged it off as if it was just one of those things.

Our conversation was interrupted twice. Once, by a police officer making sure everything was ok. Another time, by a man name Joe in a green pickup truck who stopped to give Chris 2 chicken sandwiches. Again, Chris was very gracious and very polite. When our conversation resumed, it always ended up coming back to Faith, God, Jesus, and the Scriptures. Now, normally, this is were I would make my polite exit, but not today. Not today, along side some highway as the sun was going down. Not today, as the air was geting colder and my jacket was in the car. Not today, as cars are whizzing by us whipping up the wind. Today, I stood and listened and watched. I listened to this man, who from all outward appearances, has nothing but his "cart" that he pushes, talk deeply and passionately about his faith. He talked with such a fever that he removed his coat, while I secretly wished for mine. He talked with such fervor that he forgot about the cup of hot chocolate in his hand so that it soon became an extension of his own body. He talked and I listened, and for once, I even heard.

I can not explain it. Nor do I understand it. I don't know that this will be some sort of awakening for me. Is this my own beginning to finding my own faith? I have no idea. What I do know is that for some reason, standing along side the highway, listening to Chris talk made more sense to me than anything has  ever before. Listening to him pour out his his heart and soul when talking about his faith felt genuine, felt real. I was enthralled and captivated. I was moved. At one point, I asked him how long he had this deep sense of faith and if it was always there. Almost immediately, he said no. It wasn't until he was about  28 that it came to him. He said that he had to realize that God was seeking him out as much as he was seeking God and that he just had to be quiet enough and still enough to let God find him.

Now, I can't say that Chris and I will walk the same path or that we will follow the same God. Maybe it will be years before I realize what the purpose of this shared moment was. Maybe there is no greater purpose than just, sharing in the moment. I do believe there are lessons to be learned from the experience. Perhaps that is why I feel so compelled to write about the experience. Maybe the writing of this piece and sharing it is the greater purpose. I may not know exactly what I have faith in, but I do know, that I believe people come into our lives for a reason. So, I will trust in that and do what feels right.

As we departed and said our goodbyes, I told Chris I really needed to go, so I did not worry my wife. He apologized and said "I hope she didn't worry too much." Just another small, but simple gesture that speaks volumes to the kind of person he is. Who knows, if our paths will ever cross again. He did tell me where he'd be camping out but it seems to me that these types of meetings are better left off to chance, or perhaps, faith.

As I drove off to make my u-turn and head back towards home, Chris gave a neighborly wave and I honked at him, just like two old friends might. And as I headed back eastward, I saw him one last time: a small statured man, pushing this huge cart, along the side of the highway, against the flow of traffic. Except this time, I did not see a man who was struggling.

Safe travels, Chris!