We were taken in for the day by a member of the church. Sherry took us home, fed us, then let us sleep
for a few hours. She arranged for us to stay at a relative’s house, and we went there later that evening.
The highlight of our stay consisted of a African-American man who had been laid off from his job in
Charleston, and was hitchhiking back to his mother’s home some three hundred miles away in Georgia.
He told us he was a prodigal son, and that he had called his mother and asked her forgiveness for past
words spoken in anger. He could have gotten a bus, but he was traveling with his loyal canine
companion, who he refused to leave behind. We made him a bed on the sofa, and the next morning, our
host drove him to his mother’s house, five hours away in Georgia.
We left three days later, on a Thursday, and walked the eight miles back to the park where we had spent
the night two months previous. It was almost the end of February, and a little warmer than the last time
we were there. We went as far as we could opposite of where we had been before. Finding some bushes
with a lot of leaves on the ground, we settled down for the night.
The next morning, we walked the few blocks to a church that we had visited in December during a
revival. We had made the pastor’s acquaintance then, and we hoped he remembered us. The receptionist
for the