Walking a Message

    Born in Buffalo, New York in the mid 1950’s, but raised in Northwest Arkansas after my dad took a company transfer when I was nine, I grew up pretty much the way most children did during the 60’s and 70’s in small town America.  My dad worked, my mom stayed home, I attended school during the week, swam, fished, rode my bike, and took family vacations during the summer, and most of all I was in church whenever the doors were open.  Like most kids I was full of hopes and dreams for the future, but even then I was keenly aware that I had a special purpose in life.

    After high school I did my undergraduate studies at Bethany Nazarene College in Bethany, Oklahoma and the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, Arkansas.  When those were completed I attended Multnomah School of the Bible in Portland, Oregon.  From there I had plans to attend a graduate school in Southern California specializing in Christian Apologetics.  Unfortunately a family illness back home created a distraction from my goals and before I realized it work and “life” had taken me a long way from both my goals and my beliefs.

    In the fall of 1990, after a series of disappointing events I left work early on a Friday afternoon, packed my motorcycle and headed out to spend a few days clearing my head.  The reality was that I was only running away and that weekend I came face to face with the truth that you don’t run away from God or yourself.  The next day I took a ride to a scenic overlook, parked my bike, and sat down on a picnic table.  The air was crisp and clean, the fall foliage was breathtaking, and best of all the area was deserted.  It was the perfect place to relax or so I thought.  In a few minutes someone pulled into the area, parked his car, and began walking around.  All I could think was that I wanted this guy to leave.  Unfortunately leaving was not his intention.  In a few moments he was standing in front of me talking about the weather and then out of the blue he dropped a bomb.  “God sent me here today to tell you that it is not too late.”   And with that he left.  I spent the next few days trying to shake off his words, but it wasn’t until I came face to face with yet another man a week later that the reality of the condition of my life became crystal clear.  

    I spent the following Saturday evening catching up with an old friend.  The last time I saw him he too was full of hopes and dreams.  In fact he was realizing many of them.  He had started a chain of Christian Bookstores, married, and owned a nice home.  He was the epitome of what I would have called success.  Unfortunately work and “life” had also taken a toll on him.  That night I came face to face with a man who was nothing like the man I once knew.  Over the course of the evening I learned that he had lost his business, his home, and his wife.  At the end of the evening as I turned to leave I heard the words I will never forget from a man who literally laid down in the gutter.  “You’re not like me though.  You’ve always had it together.”

    That next morning I got out of bed, cleaned myself up, flipped a coin, and headed to a church I had visited many years before.  I arrived early enough to get a “good back seat” and blended into the scenery.  Everything moved along just as it had for many of the church services I had been in during my life, but then something happened that was unusual.  In the middle of the pastor’s sermon he suddenly stopped, looked out over the congregation, and said these words.  “There is someone here that is down on his luck.  Over the past thirty-five years you have lived your life your way and it has left you empty.  Right now God wants you to know that if you will surrender your life to him the next thirty-five will be the best.”  The whole thing was quite unusual, to be sure, but what stopped my heart was the fact that I just happened to be thirty-five at the time.  In an instant I knew that it was time to stop running.  I bowed my head there as I sat in my seat and surrendered my life to God.

    It has been over 18 years now since that day.  I can’t say that life has been easy.  I often tell people that the fish spit Jonah up on the shore and made him walk back over the steps he took that got him there.  God does truly forgive, but we still reap what we sow and we pay the consequences for the decisions we make.  Still I wouldn’t trade my life over the past 18 years for any moment of the first thirty-five.  The truth is that I have faced the greatest challenges of my life since then because of the commitment I have made, yet those struggles mean nothing when compared to the joys I’ve experienced, the wonders I’ve seen, and the eternal rewards that await me in heaven.  

    For many years I spent my summer months touring the highways and byways of this country on a motorcycle.  I’ve watched a space launch as I cruised through central Florida, crested the heights of the Rocky Mountains, and fought every kind of weather you can imagine.  During that time I racked up over 300,000 miles and I was looking forward to yet another season and even more miles, but it wasn’t to be.  Major engine trouble dashed for the first time my cabin fever dreams of seeing new things and places.  As I covered up my bike in the garage it seemed to me more like a cocoon than a protector from the elements.  In my creative mind I knew a metamorphosis was soon to come and come it did, just not in the way I would have thought.

    Faced with a summer and nothing to do with my spare time I decided to take my walking to a new level.  By that time I had already gotten interested in Route 66 and had traveled many miles of it.  I lived only a short distance from the old highway so the thought occurred to me one day as I was considering what to do with my upcoming three-day Memorial Weekend holiday that I could spend that time walking Route 66.  I wish that I had the words to describe what happened when I took those first steps.  It was a moment that I will never forget.  I finished my 13.3 mile walk of Route 66 across the state of Kansas that weekend and then continued coming back for weekends the rest of the summer and on into the fall.  By the time I quit for the year I walked over sixty miles of the highway, but more than that I realized that it had walked its way into my heart.

    One hot August day in Northeast Oklahoma will always stand out in my mind.  By the time I finished my miles for the day the sun was about halfway down the horizon.  The air was alive with the buzzing of crickets that seemed to be rejoicing along with me in the fact that the heat of the day was over.  As I looked out over the landscape as I faced west I thought about the infamous Joad family and how it must have felt for the Okies and Arkies during the Great Depression as they faced the same scene I did, not only rejoicing in the end of a day, but wondering what faced them over the horizon.  In that moment I knew that I was no longer someone traveling Route 66.  I knew that Route 66 was a part of me and I was a part of it.  As I watched the sun set over the horizon I too wondered what awaited me over the horizon.

    Besides my daily walking routine to work I also got into the habit of watching the sun rise over a small lake at the edge of the town I lived in.  I sat there with a laptop and Bible each morning and read and jotted notes into a journal on my computer.  I printed the pages of that journal from that time and its 1,000 + pages are all neatly tucked into binders that rest on a shelf just over my bed.  One fall day as I was watching the sun rise I came across a verse that literally leaped off the pages of my Bible.  In an instant I knew not only what it meant, but what I was supposed to do with my life. 

    After a brief time off the road I began walking again, but continued the struggle over how to approach it all, and most of all dealing my doubts.  It wasn’t long before those two issues were addressed.

    In the process of reading through my Bible I came to the passage in the Old Testament that deals with the construction of the original temple.  As I read it occurred to me that every detail of this once magnificent structure had something to do with revealing who God was.  I must have read this passage who knows how many times but all of a sudden I realized the reality of what it really was; it was a temple of truth.  And when the reality of that came to mind I realized something else.  God had appointed me the task of building a temple.  It wasn’t a physical temple, but it was a temple of truth in the form of a walk across America.  By walking Route 66, America’s premier historic highway I was physically and literally sending a message and displaying truth.  Our nation has in every sense of the word walked away from our Christian heritage and principles and we need to return to and walk in our spiritual “old paths.”

    I also saw something in this Old Testament passage that caught my eye.  From the time the construction began to the time it ended was exactly seven years.  I spent the remainder of the afternoon with pen, paper, and calculator plotting out the entire length of Route 66.  Since it was obvious that I would have to support myself I would have to work jobs along the way and walk on weekends.  When all the calculations where done figuring me working five days a week and walking two the entire journey plotted out to exactly seven years.

    Still, though the doubts lingered.  While it all looked good on paper there was much more to accomplishing this than met the eye.  I had a great deal more than logistical or financial challenges.  I injured my knees during my 20’s and even with all my special exercises I was only able to walk short distances at a time.  To add to that I developed a chronic illness in 1984 called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.  I spent a lot of time in bed and when I wasn’t in bed I was exhausted.  I struggled and argued with God for months.  One night while eating dinner with a friend I found myself arguing with God while we were eating.  While she was asking me how all this was going to work I was having an argument with God in my head.  It all came to a head though when God asked me a question.  “Do you think I made a mistake in the way I made you?”  I replied, “No sir, I don’t.”  At that point he explained it all.  “You are the physical representation of the spiritual condition of this nation and my church.  They think they are strong, but they are weak.”