After we left the library where we'd met Van, we were offered a ride somewhere down the road. The guy drove an old Jeep and said he'd drive us a town further than where he was actually going, because he liked to drive. (I couldn't hear him real well from the back, but I thought he said "If we could spot him some gas"; seemed like a good idea anyway, but he ended up refusing when we offered.)
We rode along, chatting; we ended up telling him about the retreat ministry and he ended up telling us that he'd gotten off drugs about eight months ago.
"I support what you're doing," he said.
That night we slept outside a church near a peanut processing plant (did I mention the peanut & cotton fields around here?) and walked on into Tifton, Georgia, where we found a church called Traveler's Rest Missionary Baptist. Sounded pretty good to us! We went there earlier in the day to check out if it seemed a good place to sleep, before heading to the library for the afternoon. There were a lot of people outside on their porches, and one guy sitting on what appeared to be his air-conditioner sticking out of his front window.
When we returned after dark, the guy sitting on his air-conditioner was still there. "Y'all need a place to stay?" he called to us.
"Uh... sure," we said.
He invited us into his little efficiency apartment; after gauging the situation for a moment, we took him up on it. "My name's Gaye. I've been homeless," he said. "I know what it's like."
His two neighbors from the other apartments came over too; a guy named Bruce to offer us buns, baloney and cheese slices (in spite of our insistence that we'd eaten) and some comments about how he'd been there too; and a black lady named Popcorn to hang out and play cards. They taught us a game called Deuces. Paul, who professes not to like games, won.
He gave us crackers to pack in our packs, and as we left in the morning he tried to give us a couple cans of soup. "I know what it's like," he said.
We rode along, chatting; we ended up telling him about the retreat ministry and he ended up telling us that he'd gotten off drugs about eight months ago.
"I support what you're doing," he said.
That night we slept outside a church near a peanut processing plant (did I mention the peanut & cotton fields around here?) and walked on into Tifton, Georgia, where we found a church called Traveler's Rest Missionary Baptist. Sounded pretty good to us! We went there earlier in the day to check out if it seemed a good place to sleep, before heading to the library for the afternoon. There were a lot of people outside on their porches, and one guy sitting on what appeared to be his air-conditioner sticking out of his front window.
When we returned after dark, the guy sitting on his air-conditioner was still there. "Y'all need a place to stay?" he called to us.
"Uh... sure," we said.
He invited us into his little efficiency apartment; after gauging the situation for a moment, we took him up on it. "My name's Gaye. I've been homeless," he said. "I know what it's like."
His two neighbors from the other apartments came over too; a guy named Bruce to offer us buns, baloney and cheese slices (in spite of our insistence that we'd eaten) and some comments about how he'd been there too; and a black lady named Popcorn to hang out and play cards. They taught us a game called Deuces. Paul, who professes not to like games, won.
He gave us crackers to pack in our packs, and as we left in the morning he tried to give us a couple cans of soup. "I know what it's like," he said.
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