Waning Gibbous Moon
Every day on this trip someone, at least one person, performs an act of kindness for or towards me that floors me. It has gotten to the point that I feel like I am being led from place to place just to meet these people. By whom or by what? I don’t pretend to know.
I am not a member of any particular religious sect. I was raised Catholic and I retain the values modeled for me by my loving parents. But I don’t attend Mass or pray the Rosary or any of those things. I experience life through a religious lens, I think. I couldn’t help it if I tried. But that’s about as deep as I get.
When I repeatedly meet friendly, kind, generous people who either overtly by their statements or covertly by their good works, practice their faith on me, it shakes me up. I am humbled. I am inspired. I am honored to have met each of them.
On this trip through the Midwest, most, but not all, of them happen to have been Christians. They are so devout and rooted and blessed and willing to share their peacefulness with me. They give water and Gatorade and prayers and food and money and rides and simple good tidings. I am awash in the baptismal waters of the Potomac, the Ohio, the Mississippi, and soon the Missouri River.
Man, this is some powerful kung fu!
Just in the last week, Tony and Eva and Sondra and Tom and David and Caroline and a host of others whose names I did not learn, but whose favors I cannot forget, have stunned me with their charity. Faith. Hope. Charity.
I love this place. This path. This life.
Peace and Love from Des Moines,