A minister sandwich, or: how a good day turned ugly and then got good again...

Well, this was one of those days that make a writer feel good, because it was a day full of events and people. By day’s end, I’d be dressed, stressed, and blessed.
Your intrepid walker/blogger/reporter awoke at dawn in a field behind some storage sheds that were amassed in a field on the outskirts of Moulton, Alabama. Small, armadillo shaped bugs were crawling everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Harmless enough but the “ewww” factor is very very high. I slept on only my air mattress and with the sleeping bag as a cover, so I was exposed to every crawler that came along. All part of the experience, I say. Nuts, you say. Both answers are right.
Off I headed to McDonald’s, just down the street, for some breakfast and wifi. While there, I struck up a conversation with a nice young lady of 94 named Irene Layman, who was having breakfast with her son Don. Don is a retired science and English teacher, and minister who lives just down the road a piece from the McDonalds. After a very nice chat he invited me to come to his house for a shower, and considering my small sleeping companions, I accepted happily. He gave me the address and we parted.
I finished up at McDonald’s and headed towards his house, just down the road. I noticed a Walmart so decided to make a detour, where I picked up a bag of apples, some Vienna sausages (a very easy item to bring on a trip like this---full of protein, and probably even containing some of the little armadillo-like bugs I woke up with) and a few other items.
I arrived at the Layman’s house a few minutes later. Don’s wife Donna, a charming and friendly woman, greeted me at the door and invited me into their home. They made me feel comfortable and after some chit chat I went to take my shower.
Taking a shower in a stranger’s house is a very strange experience for the uninitiated. It’s a very personal act in a very UN-personal place, and you want to be very careful to not draw attention to yourself. When I finished my shower I sat down on the edge of the tub so to better examine my damaged feet. As I started to lean forward, I realized that I was sliding backwards and the next thing I knew I fell hard into the tub, before I could grab anything to stop my fall. There was a metal bar in the tub that is for washcloths to hang on and the back of my head hit it very, very hard, to the point where I saw stars and the world went fuzzy for a minute. I must have been quite a sight, a tanned, still somewhat chunky naked man bottoms up in a stranger’s bathtub, feet waving in the air, and for a moment I feared that the Laymans would come rushing in to that sight, after hearing the loud bang that I made. But they heard nothing. I extricated myself from my trap and dried and dressed myself and went back out. Don Layman had asked me if I wanted any media coverage for my walk and when I answered in the affirmative, he made a call to the local paper, and within minutes a reporter arrived at the house to do an interview and take a photo. A brief interview later, and with plenty of food and supplies supplied by the wonder Laymans, I headed back out on the road, posing for one last picture for the newspaper with the ball and chain that is my cart.
I don’t think I made it more than three miles when I realized that something was not right. I was getting very dizzy, my head was hurting and I began to feel nauseous. And to top it off my feet began to develop bad blisters in places where none had been before. Really bad, and painful. The combination of all of the above factors made walking so difficult that by days end I had covered less than 9 miles, and was in the middle of nowhere, almost literally, with a bad storm system coming.
At some point during the middle of the day, in the hot Alabama sun, I began to flag badly and needed to lie down. I was almost literally out of it, and was in bad shape. I had neglected to get Don Layman’s phone number, and really felt alone for the first time in a while. I saw a shady spot next to a driveway and put my small tarp on the ground. I laid down on it and curled up there, by the side of the road. I was aware of cars passing by occasionally. At some point I heard a vehicle stop in the driveway of the house I was near and I looked up to see the rural mailman in his SUV looking at me. I gave a feeble “Im ok” wave and he pulled into the driveway, out of sight. I heard him again a moment later and looked up again, and he was just sitting there, looking at me. No words were exchanged but I knew he wanted to talk to me, and I staggered up and limped barefoot to his window. He told me that he had thought that I wanted to talk to him. Since I had his attention I told him a quick version of my story and the charity, and gave him a card. He mentioned a town a few miles down the road and said that maybe he would see me later.
Little did I know…
I trudged onward. In severe pain, I was only able to go very slowly, and with the knowledge that a bad storm system was coming I was worried about shelter for the night. I knew that a small town awaited me where there was a Dollar General and a gas station, so I figured that I would be able to rest up there and maybe find an empty house to set up my tent near. I finally got to the town, Hatton by name, and sure enough there were a Dollar General and a gas station. And nothing else. I rested awhile, asked a few people where there might be a safe place to spend the night due to the storm, which had tornado implications, but no one would or could help me.
I had pretty much given up on Hatton as a place to sleep for the night, and started up on my way to Moulton, another 20 miles. I figured I would just take my chances with the weather. One thing that happens to a person as you get more and more fatigued is that your safety sometimes seems less logical or important. Its crap, I know, but that is what I have observed.
I had only gotten about 1000 feet when a nicely dressed young man emerged from a small church, walking towards me. It was beginning to get dark and I Wasn’t sure what he wanted. He introduced me to himself as Dustin Warren, pastor of the small church, and that he had heard from a relative that I was looking for a safe place to stay. He offered me the back of the church property as a refuge for the night, which I gladly accepted. He also invited me in for the prayer meeting that he and a few parishioners were having, and after a quick tent set-up and shirt change, I went in. Who should I see there but…the mailman. And several other men and women, and a small boy named James, wearing a handmade Spongebob shirt. He was the son of Dustin Warren and his wife Laura. I introduced yself and at the invitation of Pastor Warren, gave a short speech to the group about my walk and its mission, and then they offered to have a group prayer for me, if I wanted it. I accepted and listened with head bowed as they all simultaneously prayed for my success and safety. It was a lovely moment I wont soon forget.
Afterward, another parishioner, Don Deitz, txook me to the store downthe road in his vehicle and bought me dinner, and wouldnt take no for an answer. I told him that I was walking FOR charity, and was not THE charity. He laughed and said, “We all need help sometimes.”
He drove me back, I said my thank yous and good nights, and they left me alone in the trust and care of their church and property.
It was a day that started with the help and concern froma minister, Don Layman and his wife Donna,and ended with the help and care of a minister , Dustin Warren and his wife Laura.
Im not religious, but I do believe in the grace and good deeds that human beings with hearts and souls do on this earth. These people are living proof of that, for me. And that is all I need to know.