I’m sharing some excerpts from my in-progress manuscript about Rich’s Ride. You can check out previous posts here.
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I learned a lot during RICH’S RIDE. Some of what I learned was new, most of it was reminders of stuff I already knew. It’s interesting to learn new stuff you already knew.
Here’s a new thing we all know:
Stepping out in faith takes you to some scary places.
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I cranked along on a nameless back road in Arkansas. All I saw for miles in all directions was cotton fields and occasional collections of dilapidated shacks. When you live in America you’re aware of poverty, but this was a level of palpable hardship to which I wasn’t accustomed.
I hadn’t seen Becky for quite a while. The cotton harvest was in full swing, and aside from an occasional truck hauling a huge cotton bale to the local gin I had this road mostly to myself. It was a great time to reflect, to wonder about the stark differences that can exist within a single nation.
Finally I caught sight of the familiar white Subaru towing the RICH’S RIDE trailer. Becky drove past, made a u-turn, and eased to a stop on the shoulder in front of me. She and Monte waited as I rolled behind the trailer.
By now this was a familiar routine—stock up on food, refill water bottle, scratch Monte’s head, and chat for a few minutes, a time to re-connect and figure out next steps. As we talked, we noticed a young man walking toward us.
He’d emerged from an especially rundown, decaying shed. Tarpaper over the windows, holes in what passed for a roof, door flapping in the breeze—it was the sort of building I wouldn’t have thought someone lived in. This African-American man stopped about twenty feet away from us and drawled quietly, “I hear y’all are raisin’ money.”
He caught both of us off guard. We didn’t expect anyone to come out of that old building. We didn’t expect to be approached on an apparently deserted stretch of country road. And we certainly didn’t expect someone to know we were raising money.
Becky muttered, “Uh, yes, we are.”
And the man said, “Wait here.” Then he retreated into the shed.
We were both frightened. Neither of us said anything, but we both believed we were in danger. I remember thinking that Becky should jump in the car and get out of there. I was pretty sure we were about to be robbed, or worse. But we were both frozen, uncertain, and we waited because we weren’t sure what else to do.
A few moments later the young man reappeared and walked slowly toward us. As he approached Becky he reached out and handed her a twenty dollar bill.
“God bless y’all for what you’re doing.”
And he turned and disappeared back into the old shack.
We sat on the side of that lonely road and shook our heads. We tried to imagine what twenty dollars must have meant to someone who lived in
that sort of home.
Later we understood what must have transpired. We’d received quite a bit of television coverage in the area. The man must have seen one of those
spots and recognized our trailer as we parked on the road in front of his house.
I judged him based on his appearance and the house in which he lived.
God saw his heart.
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