It's two something in the morning. It’s day two, of walking from Charters (Towers; but was originally “Tors”, from the Celtic roots of its gold seeking ‘settlers’ - so, old Clemmy Archer tells me)
Tears are streaming down my face as something sinks deeply into the core of this ‘solitary’ human in a small “two person” nylon tent tucked under a few trees on the side of a lonely road twenty something kilometers North of Charters Tors in outback Queensland. My invisible walking partner has been actually present, the whole time. No “making” me understand, just a persistent, very personal, gracious, thoughtful, did I say persistent, continuous, on going, under-stated, underplayed, open for discovery, large fine-gold nugget, waiting to be tripped over. And now, as I try to write this I am bawling, yet still wanting to pen what I can of my experience. I know I will forget it, I will betray it. I don’t want to. In this few hours, days, months, years, one small life-time, I am understood. And I start to understand. Here, I try to hold or describe what is seeping into me:
I start to understand and share the stories of others: Peter, wracked, grateful, overcome, by the generosity of a wise teacher, whom he now realized that he has completely underestimated, after he has patiently explained that “he is the fisherman, and some times are just like that, you fish all night & don’t get any fish, “Yet, just because you say to, I will throw my nets on the other side of the boat, in this same spot - as we talk.” and then the catch that is so many fish that the boat threatens to sink. His response… saying to Yeshua, the incongruous (now, for me sense-able, & sensible) “Get away from me Lord. For I am a sinful man.” (Now, Peter is stuck. And Jesus is stuck with him, with his bravado, and small attempts at loyalty & friendship. And there is tears and laughter, and incredulity, and tentative determination, and a growing trust. That I am experiencing something more of, as I step out, ‘just because you say to”. With a lot of help, from oodles of people, that threatens to sink my little boat.
Last night just after the sun had set, in the hour before it was too dark to put up a tent without a torch. As I walked on the right-hand side of the bitumin road, a head popped out the window of a car slowly passing me. It looked ahead, and motioned that it would pull over ahead in an area with a flatter, wider, shoulder to the road. It did a “You-Turn”, and pulled up a bit ahead. A daughter of the driver popped out of the passenger side, grabbed something, & walked up towards me with it in her slightly extended hand. I walked into the table drain on the side of the road to meet her, and took the ice-cold can from her outstretched hand. Her Dad knew that I (like him) get gout, so they were “Zero’s” (no alcohol), but they (the two I had immediately, & I expect the three I kept for later), tasted no worse to me for that.
We talked for the full hour. He got a phone call, and promised to pop in to someone’s place on the way home, before he and his daughter cooked up their bbq dinner on the “Aussie Pig” - bbq/oven made from an old gas bottle.
We planned the road ahead and the next few nights, and some after that. I shook his big, strong, trucker’s hand. Believed his previous word to me about being inspired to make changes to his lifestyle, though he was now doing what he had only ever dreamed of doing as a kid. S-J, his daughter, glad to be with her dad, and being pushed out by him to “do more with the horses”, & then to come & be his Jillaroo when he does more caretaking of properties. We shook twice more as we parted. We both knew that we had connected. Same last name, maybe some common ancestry, maybe not. Similar personalities. Completely different lives. Sharing a few drinks on the side of the road, and SJ finds the Slim Dusty song about this road being made North of Charters. Glenn reads me Jesse’s glowing Facebook thing on me. And this brings back a precious day at the Sale Yards, with his cattle, looking at his land, and time before & since, texting, on the phone, over meals, and receiving blister-care packs.
At 4 am I recall all this, & the ABC reporter in Townsville (Bazz), who had rung Jesse, then contacted me & had dropped me at my motel after my flight, then joined me for a coffee on the following morning (two days ago, & met Shane with me there). And my reticence, & ‘fear’ of going into this new unknown, somehow being addressed by these thoughtful, unbidden acts of kindness, no - over-the-top-generosity. Following that thread (mentioned as I left Queensland last time). And finding where it has previously, unsuspectingly, by us (well, with our full involvement, but not our overseeing) been previously woven into & throughout our lives. Somehow life becomes a real sharing in the human project. And I am touched deeply, gladly, joyfully, enduringly.
I know, and share more with Nathaniel in his outburst to & with Jesus. That story could have it's missing pieces filled in with a thousand possible scenarios.
The story Jesse unwittingly reminded me of… (yet which has been very skillfully woven into my life): When Yeshua took that step out into public 1stCentury Roman-occupied Jewish society, of confessing the sins of himself & his people, and participating in John-the-Washer’s campaign to “clean up our act; because we are about to be paid a visit”. Then the apparent response from the heavens, of a vision of the royal blue curtains between Heaven & Earth being torn apart, & a dove comes fluttering down, to rest on Yeshua, along with a voice saying “You are bourn of my great eternal love, and I am very pleased with you. And his very generous, unexclusive sharing of this state with all humans who would care for his friendship.
A few birds start softly “chirping in” the immanent sunrise. Two or three cars break the silence, & join the birds. That’s what you can do on a pilgrimage. Come with me.
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