Hitchhiking On Purpose

Hitchhiking On Purpose by George Watmough

Preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ while hitchhiking the United States.  A book by George Watmough.

Acts 8:29:  "Then the Spirit said unto Philip, Go near, and join thyself to this chariot."

The Hitchhiking Evangelist - Dutch Sheets

Hitchhiking in Wyoming

A Conversation about High Plains Drifter

This is an exchange of comments between Belinda Thorne, formerly from Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, and Tim Shey, author of High Plains Drifter:  A Hitchhiking Journey Across America.  These comments were taken from Belinda's post "Remember Lot's Wife" on her blog Grace and Truth:

September/October 2020

Belinda:  Tim, why is your book called High Plains Drifter?

Tim:  Now THAT is a very good question. I think that in all of my years of hitchhiking around the United States and in all of the years that High Plains Drifter has been available via manuscript, book, Internet Archive or blog, no one has ever asked that question.

I named my book High Plains Drifter after Clint Eastwood’s film High Plains Drifter (1973). I don’t know how many times I have seen that film. I absolutely identify with the main character played by Eastwood (the Stranger) who rides into town and kills some bad guys and then burns the town to the ground.

The Stranger in the film at one time was the town marshal: he was whipped to death by some bad guys who were paid by the owners of the local mining operation. To me, it reminds me of the death of Jesus Christ. There is a scene in the film where the townspeople are having a meeting at the local church and you see this Bible verse on the bulletin board: Isaiah 53: 3-4. The town marshal was rejected by the townspeople and then killed; I have been rejected by family, friends and church people because of my testimony, so I have been alone most of my life (that’s why I identify with the Stranger in the film).

I have a film review on my High Plains Drifter blog that you might like to read: “Clint Eastwood’s film High Plains Drifter (1973)”.

[Here I posted some links pertaining to my book High Plains Drifter.]

I hope these links aren’t overkill to your question, but as far as I can remember, no one has ever asked why I titled my book High Plains Drifter, so I am pleasantly surprised and a little bit flattered.

Belinda:  No, not overkill at all, thank you for answering my question.

Two things have stood out to me. One where you said in your short story that you like wide open spaces. And two, hitchhiking you are on the fringes of society.

I’ll tell you why I asked you that question. Last night I was praying. Praying about what to do. It’s so hard here now. Can you imagine, you who like open spaces, that we are in home prison now for 23 hours a day. Allowed out for one hour of exercise or one of us is allowed to go get essentials. And our Premier has extended this lockdown for an indefinite period till we get to less than 5 cases. I am now convinced he is a madman, full of demons.

Of course I am not sticking to these ridiculous rules. I’m doing what God leads me to. My husband and I have been running an underground church in our home for months, because church is now banned. We have mainly men come, those who’ve just left rehab and prison and we sing and praise and read the Word. They park up the road and walk to our house in the dark and sneak in one by one. It’s the only thing that’s kept me going during this dark time.

So I’m praying last night and the Lord takes me to a cliff top and we look down together over a dusty plain where there is dirty, tattooed, fighting people. He has shown me this before. A few weeks ago He showed me it and said “this is the land I am giving you”.

But last night He just showed me it again and I thought how we were on a high plain looking out over.
Then your book title from nowhere came into my head “High Plains Drifter”.
And I felt to ask you why.

The fringes of society, the outcasts who God has called us to. It has always been them. We can never fit in a church. We fit with the homeless and mentally ill and drug addicts. No one else I know is doing anything at the moment. All the churches are quiet and obediently closed and it makes me sick and angry.

I love your Shiloh poem, wow. The line about Cain bludgeoning Abel to death….

Anyway I am going to buy your book, it’s on Amazon yes?

Thank you for reading this, I don’t know what’s happening to me at the moment, it’s all very strange but I know my Lord and I trust Him.

Bless you Tim

Tim:  I think it is VERY interesting that you asked about the title of my book on a post that has the title “Remember Lot’s Wife”. If you watch Clint Eastwood’s High Plains Drifter, at the end of the film, the Stranger burns the town of Lago to the ground (God’s Wrath). The Scripture “remember Lot’s wife” is alluding to the destruction of Sodom & Gomorrah by fire and brimstone (God’s Wrath). So maybe eventually the Lord will lead you out of Melbourne into the wide open spaces (the Outback?) before God’s Wrath hits Melbourne?  You are led by the Holy Ghost; the Lord will reveal to you what you need to do.

About my book on Amazon. I think there is one copy left, but Amazon is charging an exorbitant price for it (probably because it is the last copy). You can read High Plains Drifter for free on my blog.

Yes, I am definitely on the fringes of society. The Lord led me out of the church back in 1991. The Lord has had me alone for most of my life. The Lord’s thoughts are higher than my thoughts. I know that the Lord has you and your family in the palm of His hand (I am thinking of Psalm 91).

Belinda:  You make a very good connection there . . .I had not connected that! I am going to watch that Clint Eastwood movie.

Yes I believe the Lord is leading us out of Melbourne. I am praying for His specific guidance as to where, but we are quite sure we are going.

Thank you for your link to your book. I look forward to reading it.

I have a scripture for you Tim:

Micah 4:6-8 ["In that day, saith the LORD, will I assemble her that halteth, and I will gather her that is driven out, and her that I have afflicted;  And I will make her that halted a remnant, and her that was cast far off a strong nation: and the LORD shall reign over them in mount Zion from henceforth, even for ever.  And thou, O tower of the flock, the strong hold of the daughter of Zion, unto thee shall it come, even the first dominion; the kingdom shall come to the daughter of Jerusalem."]

Jesus was an outcast. If we follow Him we also will be. You have to be an outcast to intercede for the outcasts.
You have blessed me greatly and I pray God will bless you greatly in return.

[A few weeks later . . .]

Belinda:  Hi Tim. I am reading your book. I’ve just finished chapter 7. I love this chapter.

I felt to share with you this:

“The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit.” John 3:8

Tim:  I am glad that you liked that chapter. I remember that time back in 1998 when I was in San Luis Obispo, California. I stayed in a motel one night and then I slept outside on the side of this hill the next night. I was in this Burger King having a meal and for some reason I began to think of northern New Mexico (I worked on an apple farm in New Mexico back in 1986). Then all of a sudden the Holy Ghost fell on me very heavy, so I knew that the Lord wanted me to go to New Mexico.

So I was hitchhiking in New Mexico and that guy named Israel gave me a ride. Then the next day, that pastor preached about Jacob wrestling with the angel and then the angel named him Israel. It was quite a trip. When you are led by the Holy Ghost, your life is never boring, let me tell you.

When you are led by the Holy Ghost, your life looks a bit crazy. I thought at times that all of that hitchhiking was crazy. But usually some God-thing or something profound would happen virtually every day, so I knew that the Lord was in the hitchhiking. I knew that the Lord protected me and provided for me in my travels.

So why did the Lord have me hitchhike all those years? I talked to a lot of people about my Christian faith. Intercession was a big part. I was taking up my cross and following the Lord which helped to break curses off of my life and I was delivered of many demons (I am still being delivered of demons). The devil hates a life that is dead to self. Also, hitchhiking was simply obedience to the Lord: when we enter the Kingdom of Heaven, our life is obedience unto the Lord: “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven”.

Thank you for the Scripture above (John 3:8).

Belinda:  Amen the devil does hate a life that is dead to self. But the Lord loves it, because He can use that one. And that one has power to prevail with Him.

[Twelve days later . . .]

Belinda:  Hi Tim, I have just finished reading chapter 9 of your book. It struck me that God was training you to be led by the Spirit. That your life was /is a literal representation (like Ezekiel's was) of how God wants to lead us and how we are to respond. We think to go east but we don’t get a ride so we go west and immediately God sends a ride. The children of Israel had to get their feet wet before the Jordan River parted.

You will hear a voice behind you say this is the way, walk ye in it.
To be so trained by the Spirit, to be sensitive to Him, this is it. This is everything. Just some thoughts that have struck me reading your book.
Blessings.

Tim:  Amen. I was definitely led by the Holy Ghost as I hitchhiked the United States.

Hitchhiking, also, was fasting and prayer. A lot of people think of fasting as fasting from food. Fasting can also mean fasting from a former lifestyle: I used to work at a lumber yard back in Iowa before I started to hitchhike. I would get odd jobs here and there on the road, but most of the time, I really had to put my trust in the Lord for Him to provide for me, protect me and find a place for me to sleep. Working at the lumber yard or working for that construction company was a vacation compared to hitchhiking.

Remember when Jesus said that these (demons) can only come out through fasting and prayer?(Mark 9:29)  So many curses were broken off of me while I was hitchhiking around the country; I was delivered of so many demons while hitchhiking. Why? Hitchhiking was fasting and prayer and hitchhiking was taking up my cross and following the Lord. The cross is death to self-will. Demons hate a selfless body; demons love a selfish, sinful body.

In hitchhiking, I met many people on the road and talked to many people about my faith in Jesus Christ. My hitchhiking also reminded me of when the Lord told Isaiah to walk naked and barefoot in Egypt as a witness against them (Isaiah 20:3). Even if I was not able to talk to people on the road, my hitchhiking was a powerful witness of my obedience to the Lord. Obedience is an end in itself. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done.

Thank you for reading my book. I greatly appreciate your response.

Romans 8:14: “For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God.”

Sent Ones

What God is trying to tell us

Book Review:  High Plains Drifter

The Representation of Justice in High Plains Drifter

South of Stanley, Idaho

Sawtooth Mountains near Stanley, Idaho

Last night I camped out near Lower Stanley, Idaho.  This morning I was walking south of Stanley on Highway 75 and got a ride to this bridge just south of Redfish Lake.  I then walked around two miles and this guy pulled over to give me a ride.  His name was Mark and he and his son-in-law and grandson had been out backpacking in the Sawtooth Mountains and were heading back to Hailey.

Mark said he used to hitchhike quite a bit back in the 1970s.  I told Mark that I had been hitchhiking the United States for a number of years.  He then told me that he used to live in Ellensburg, Washington back in 1985.  I told Mark that I lived in Ellensburg back in 1986 and 1987.  We discovered that we knew some of the same people.  I mentioned a guy named Jude Doty who used to have a Christian Hostel on South Pearl Street; Mark knew Jude.  Then I told Mark that I used to do some ranch work for Arvin Marchel; Mark knew Arvin.  I said that I used to go to the Bethel Gospel Church while I was in Ellensburg and asked Mark if he knew Pastor Coussart; Mark knew Pastor Coussart.

It's a Small World
A Short Hitchhiking Trip
The American Flag:  A Christian Symbol

Hitchhiking South of Grangeville, Idaho
The Spirit Driveth Him into the Wilderness
A Ride in Nebraska, Blue Highways and William Least Heat-Moon

Hiking the Summit Creek Trail, Salmon-Challis National Forest, Idaho, June 2021

Book Review: The First Time I Rode a Freight Train & other hitchhiking stories

This is an email I received today from someone who gave me a ride a couple of times in Montana:

Hi Tim,

I picked up a copy of The First Time I Rode a Freight Train & Other Hitchhiking Stories at the Bitterroot Library [Hamilton, Montana] and just finished reading it. I feel like I know you quite well now, just from this account of what a few years on the road looked like for you.

One of my favorite chapters was "A Christmas Story or Junked Cars Can Be Beautiful". I actually read that just a few days before Christmas and it gave me a feeling that the Christmas story lives on in forms less obvious. In general, I really liked the meaning that you gave to roads, cars, and the people that drive them. As a car enthusiast myself, I have always loved wrenching and driving. I think I mentioned to you one of the times I picked you up that a few friends and I race an old BMW that we work on together. Likewise, searching for secluded, twisting backroads to really let our cars stretch their legs on and hug some corners has always been a special pastime with that same group of friends. Roads, cars, and the people that drive them have been important in my life, too; it was striking to see the completely different meaning that these things have in your life.

Also, in reading your book, I’ve given a lot of thought as to where God is trying to lead me. I believe that one can be led by the Spirit, even if not physically moving in a nomadic sense. I’ve had a lot of questions in my mind regarding the next step in my life - medical school. I applied to both M.D. and D.O. programs, but am struggling with a myriad of issues concerning which degree I should pursue. It wasn’t until I was nearly done with your book that I started to ask where God wants me to be. I am seeking His counsel.

--Alek Wood

Book Review:  High Plains Drifter
Stobe the Hobo

The First Time I Rode a Freight Train & other hitchhiking stories

A Scout for Colonel George Custer

Sugar City, Idaho

28 November 2015

Yesterday I was walking north of Sugar City, Idaho on U.S. 20 when this pickup pulled over to give me a ride.  The guy's name was Ted and he looked like he was in his late sixties or early seventies.  He was driving from Utah to Billings, Montana.  I told him that I was heading to Belgrade, Montana.

Ted spent 12 years in the Special Forces (Green Berets).  He did four tours in Vietnam.  Ted was from the Crow Reservation south of Billings (he was 15/16 Crow and 1/16 French).  I told Ted that I had hitchhiked across the Crow and Northern Cheyenne Reservations a number of times over the years.

Ted told me that when he saw me, something hit him in the head and told him to pick me up.  Ted is a Christian and we had great fellowship all the way to Belgrade.

I told Ted that I was involved in intercession/spiritual warfare issues.  He told me that he had been working on a project on the Crow Reservation for 20 years to help the Crow Nation become independent of federal welfare programs.  Ted has met with a lot of opposition.  I told him about the power of prayer and we talked more about the things of God.

We stopped at a gas station in Henry's Lake, Idaho.  Ted bought me some biscuits and gravy and something to drink.  We then walked back to the pickup and he handed me a plate of Thanksgiving dinner.  He told me that his friends in Utah gave him that plate of Thanksgiving dinner for him to eat on the road.  Ted knew it was for someone else.  As he drove through Utah he saw this homeless guy (maybe in Salt Lake City) and offered him that plate of food.  The homeless guy told him that he had just eaten dinner.  So Ted gave me the plate of food; I was very grateful.

Ted told me something interesting.  He said that his great grandfather was a Crow Scout for Colonel George Custer; his great grandfather had fought with Custer at Little Big Horn.  His name was Gozerhead.  We talked more on the Crow, the Sioux, the Northern Cheyenne and the Blackfoot tribes.  I told Ted that I enjoyed reading military history.

Little Big Horn Battlefield

I love it when the Lord puts someone in your path and you have a lot in common with them and you have this great conversation for hours.  When this happens, either you will say something that they were supposed to hear or else they will say something that you were supposed to hear.  It may be one word or one sentence and then the Lord engrafts it into your spirit and your grow stronger from it.  Some Christians call it a Rhema word.  You could also call it our daily bread.  Jesus is the Word of God and He is the Bread from Heaven.

Ted dropped me off just south of Belgrade and continued to Billings.  I walked to the McDonald's and got some tea to drink and sat and read the Bible till it got dark.  I then walked to this junk pickup on the far side of town and hunkered down for the night.  It got down to minus 3 degrees F that night.  My two water bottles froze solid, my loaf of bread froze solid, my sandwich that Ted bought for me froze solid, but I did not freeze solid.  It had been a very blessed day on the road.

Back in Montana
Eighteen Years in a Cuban Prison
A Hot Meal at a Campfire in Montana

Christian Exodus from California

Three Witnesses

II Corinthians 13: 1:  "In the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established."

A few days ago, I was hitchhiking out of Mountain Home, Idaho and I got a ride with a guy all the way to the intersection just south of Bellevue.  He told me that the Lord told him to move out of California ten years ago.  He now lives with his family in Idaho Falls.

The next ride going north, this guy said that the Lord told him to pick me up; he gave me a ride to Hailey.  He told me that he used to live and work in San Diego and had planned on retiring there with his wife.  But then his wife began to have these dreams.  In the dreams, she saw these Chinese soldiers attacking people in the United States (California?).  So he and his wife left California a year ago and now live in Hailey.  I asked him if the Chinese soldiers in his wife's dreams were part of an invasion force.  He said, no, that the Chinese soldiers were already here in the United States. 

Yesterday I was walking out of Stanley, Idaho when this guy with a pickup and trailer stopped to give me a ride.  His pickup and trailer were jam-packed with stuff, so it would have been hard for me to ride with him; I told him that I would get another ride.  He told me that he was leaving Burney, California permanently and moving to Salmon, Idaho.

The Lord has been moving Christians out of California for a number of years now.  I was hitchhiking in Idaho a few years ago and this guy from Winchester picked me up.  He said that he had heard of many Christians leaving California for eastern Washington, northern Idaho and western Montana.

(I hitchhiked out of northern California on the 12th of May.  I had been working for some friends for the past several months in Modoc County.  Maybe that is the last time I will be in California.) 

Kim Clement Prophecy of China vs USA Fulfilled

_____

I saw this in Range Magazine:

WHAT'S YOUR CHOICE?

CALIFORNIA
The governor of California is jogging with his dog along a nature trail.  A coyote jumps out and attacks and kills the governor's dog, then bites the governor.  The governor starts to intervene, but reflects upon the movie Bambi and then realizes he should stop because the coyote is only doing what is natural.  He calls Animal Control, which captures the coyote and bills the state $200 testing it for diseases and $500 for relocating it.  He calls the veterinarian.  The vet collects the dead dog and bills the state $200 testing it for diseases.  The governor goes to the hospital and spends $3,500 getting checked for diseases from the coyote and getting his wound bandaged.  The running trail gets shut down for six months while Fish & Game conducts a $100,000 survey to make sure the area is now free of dangerous animals.  The governor spends $50,000 in state funds implementing a "coyote awareness program" for residents of the area.  The state Legislature spends $2 million to study how to better treat rabies and how to permanently eradicate the disease throughout the world.  The governor's security agent is fired for not stopping the attack.  The state spends $150,000 to hire and train a new agent with additional special training for the nature of coyotes.  PETA protests the coyote's relocation and files a $5 million suit against the state.

TEXAS
The governor of Texas is jogging with his dog along a nature trail.  A coyote jumps out and attacks his dog.  The governor shoots the coyote with his state-issued pistol and keeps jogging.  The governor spent 50 cents on a .45 ACP hollow-point cartridge.  The buzzards eat the dead coyote.  And that, my friends, is why California is broke and Texas is not.

--Range Magazine
  Fall 2017


Flee California!
God Will Draw the Wicked into Cities Marked for Destruction
It's Time For Justice
Brian's Dream about the United States and Africa
Californian's Fleeing 'Nanny State' for Texas

This is Sodom! This is Sodom!
Southern California Wildfires
Los Angeles Earthquake Dream

The Destruction of California
California:  The Great American Wasteland

Truckers leaving California and will not deliver in California again

Writings from the Road

Writings from the Road by Tim Shey. 132 pages. Non-fiction. Published in 2016. 

A Red-Letter Day
Writings from the Road

The Kurgan Report

A Navy SEAL, a Broke-down Car and Karl Malone

9 September 2015

Today I hitchhiked from Salmon, Idaho to Hamilton, Montana.  It seemed like it took a long time to get out of Idaho.  Some days are slow, some days are fast.

I got a ride from Salmon north on U.S. 93 to Tower Creek.  From there I walked for a while and then got a ride to North Fork (north fork of the Salmon River).

At North Fork, I got a hamburger at the local cafe and then started walking again.  I must have walked three or so miles when this guy in a tractor-trailer pulled over to give me a ride.  His name was Marvin and he came up from Texas a couple of days ago.

Marvin and I had a good chat.  He told me that his dad was a veteran of World War II and Korea.  After coming home from Korea, his dad and his family lived in the woods until 1974 when the U.S. Forest Service burned them out.  Marvin's dad liked being alone---that is why he spent so much time in the woods.  I told Marvin that I have met a number of veterans who suffered from PTSD and the common denominator with these guys is that they like to be alone and away from society.

Marvin told me that he was a Navy SEAL from the mid 1980s till the mid 1990s.  He was involved in an operation in Panama in 1989 where his helicopter was shot down.  He was wounded a few times and some of the SEALs were killed---the enemy knew they were coming.  They were pinned down on this beach for three days.  No help was coming, so they had to swim back to the ship.

Marvin was later sent to Lebanon.  He got out of the Navy and started hitchhiking.

Marvin was hitchhiking in Alaska when he saw this guy trying to fix his broke-down car.  Marvin walked up to him and asked him if he needed any help.  The other guy said, yeah.

So Marvin fixed his car and he got a ride to somewhere in Alaska.  The guy with the broke-down car was Karl Malone.  Malone was a power forward for the Utah Jazz; he was a two-time MVP in the NBA in 1997 and 1999.  For the next six years, Karl and Marvin would go on hunting trips in Montana.  Karl also owned two commercial fishing boats in Alaska and he took Marvin on a fishing trip.

You never know who you are going to meet on the road.

Marvin dropped me off in Hamilton and told me that he was heading into Idaho on U.S. 12.  I walked to the library and read some inspiring words by John Milton and Gerard Manley Hopkins.

At a Cafe in Merriman, Nebraska

Eighteen Years in a Cuban Prison

Translation:  "Cuba:  The Island Prison"

6 August 2015

Today I hitchhiked from Belgrade through Three Forks and Townsend to Helena, Montana.  I spent some time at the library in Helena and then started walking across town.  I was a few miles west of Helena on U.S. 12 when this tractor-trailer pulled over.

I climbed up into the cab and put my backpack on the mattress in the sleeper.  The truck driver's name was Jose and he was originally from Havana, Cuba.  It was difficult to understand him; he spoke in broken English.

We didn't talk too much.  We listened to some American music and then we listened to some Cuban music.  Jose gave me a couple of Cokes to drink.  He told me that he had been in the United States for ten years--since 2005.

Jose said that he loved being in America and that he would never go back to Cuba.  He thought that Montana and Pennsylvania were the most beautiful states that he had seen.

As we got closer to Missoula on I-90, Jose said that he had spent eighteen years in prison in Cuba.  He said that he did not like Castro's politics.  He told me that he went through electric shock torture and he showed me some scars on his head.  He showed me his hands:  his fingers were flat and swollen; I think his hands were broken while in prison.  He kept repeating, "Look at my hands!  Look at my hands!"  It was hard to understand his Cuban-accented English.  They may have broken his hands in prison, but they did not break his spirit.

Jose said that the Cuban authorities finally let him and his family go to America.  He was very happy to be in America.

Jose dropped me off at the Van Buren Exit in Missoula.  We shook hands, I climbed down from the cab and he headed to Spokane, Washington.

Escape from Cuba
On the 800th Anniversary of the Magna Carta
President McKinley's Dream
A letter to Pope Francis from a Cuban political prisoner
Everything You've Ever Seen About Cuba Is A Lie

Tenth Edition of the Patmos Award

A Vision about George Washington and America

[4 July 2015]

Earlier today I got a ride from Lewiston to Grangeville, Idaho.  I walked out of Grangeville about a half mile and this car pulled over to give me a ride.  It was an older couple.  They knew some friends of mine that lived in the Kooskia neighborhood.  They said that they could drop me off at my friends' place.

As we were driving down the road, the husband told me about a vision that an ex-Muslim had from the Lord.  He had been a dyed-in-the-wool Muslim for a number of years and then he surrendered his life to Jesus Christ.  He had been in hiding because he had a lot of death threats from his Muslim family.

Here is the ex-Muslim's vision:

He saw the Lord in all of His glory.  Then he saw George Washington kneeling before the Lord.  George Washington was pleading with the Lord and said, "Please don't let the wicked take over my country [the United States]."

The Lord replied, "I will not let the wicked [unrepentant abortionists, homosexuals, earth worshippers, etc] take over your country, but I will have to destroy it first."

Romans 1: 24-28:  "Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves:   Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen.   For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:   And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet.   And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient."

Ezekiel 21:27:  "I will overturn, overturn, overturn, it:  and it shall be no more, until he come whose right it is; and I will give it him." (King James Version)

Ezekiel 21:27:  "A ruin, a ruin, I will make it a ruin!  And it will not be restored until the arrival of Him to whom it belongs, to whom I have assigned the right of judgment." (Berean Study Bible)     

Psalm 92:7: "When the wicked spring as the grass, and when all the workers of iniquity do flourish; it is that they shall be destroyed for ever."

God Will Draw the Wicked into Cities Marked for Destruction
The Bullet Proof President
Vladimir Putin on Barack Obama
National Abortion and the Great Awakening
When I Came to Destroy the City
The Killer Angels
The Forsaken Roots Of Our Country 
George Washington's Prophecy of the Coming Invasion of America
Las Vegas Earthquake
A Dream about Donald Trump

God Reigns in America - Dr. David Mackereth

Bible Hub - Bible Translations - Ezekiel 21:27

George Washington Prophecy of America - Trey Smith

Hitchhiking in the State of Washington

Last month I was hitchhiking east on U.S. 12 near Dayton, Washington.  This guy pulled over in his pickup and gave me a ride all the way to Kooskia, Idaho.  His name was Larry and he was a Christian.  We had very good fellowship.

We were driving close to Clarkston, Washington when he asked me if I needed anything.  I told him that I could use a new pair of pants.  So we went to this store and Larry bought me a pair of paints and some other clothes.  He then took me out to eat and drove me all the way to Kooskia (which was way out of his way).  He gave me a hundred-dollar bill and I was able to get a motel room for the next two nights.  I was very grateful.

After I stayed in Kooskia, I hitchhiked into Montana.

Here is an email from Larry that I received earlier today:

"I called Gene after I saw you.  He didn't know of anyone wanting work, but we had a nice visit.  He told me I should buy your books which I was planning on it anyway.  I've read the paper back [High Plains Drifter] and my son is reading it.  I am going to read the other one soon too.  I picked up a hitch hiker today by Umatilla and took him to Biggs near The Dalles [Oregon].  I gave him $50.00.  He was pretty teary and appreciative.  When I got saved it was a week after I turned 21.  I'm 64 now.  I use to do quite a bit of soul winning back then.  I feel like I dropped the ball today and was supposed to at least explain the plan of salvation to the hiker today.  I asked God to bring some one across his path that doesn't drop the ball.  I really think after spending time with you I have a lot more compassion and maybe I am supposed to stop and smell the coffee instead of going a hundred miles per hour with my business.  I can't put my finger on it, but I think something is up.  I hope to see you again some time. Your friend in Christ.  Larry."

Book Review:  High Plains Drifter

The Wild Truth by Carine McCandless

The Wild Truth by Carine McCandless

Chris McCandless Revisited
Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer
A Critical Review of Into the Wild
A Conversation with a Vietnam Veteran

Two Nights in Fort Sumner, New Mexico

Getting a ride and helping someone haul railroad ties.

I was hitchhiking in southern New Mexico and ended up somewhere near Las Cruces. It was probably back in 1997. I headed north on I-25 and got a ride or two to a little town called Mountainair on Highway 60. I ducked into this gas station and got something to eat. As I walked east on Highway 60, I had this peace in my spirit that surpassed all understanding. I knew that something good was going to happen.

I walked for a while and this four-door pickup and trailer pulled over. I got in the back seat. In the pickup was a man, his wife and two kids.

He worked for the Santa Fe Railroad as a welder. It was his day off, so he was going to drive some place and pick up a load of railroad ties (I believe these are also called "sleepers"). He asked me if I could help him out. I said, no problem.

We drove for a while and then turned off the highway onto this gravel road. We drove close to these railroad tracks to a pile of railroad ties. He bought the used railroad ties from the Santa Fe Railroad and then resold them to people who did landscaping work. We loaded his trailer with railroad ties, strapped it down and headed out.

We got to his home in Fort Sumner that evening. We had a nice supper and then watched a movie. They had this couch that folded out into a bed; I slept there that night.

The next day we delivered and unloaded the railroad ties some place. Then we drove to another place and loaded up his trailer with some more railroad ties. I think we hauled two or three loads that day.
After we were done with the railroad ties, we picked up his wife and kids and visited a friend and his wife. This guy also worked for the Santa Fe Railroad.

As a welder, he worked on the railroad tracks. He welded "frogs" on the tracks (I am not sure how to describe what a "frog" is, but they are made out of steel and go between the two rails). He told me that it can be dangerous work because you can't hear the trains coming down the tracks. The diesel engines are built behind the cab, so the sound of the engines goes out from the sides, not from the front. Once he and his fellow welder were busy working on a "frog". This train almost ran them over because they couldn't hear it coming down the tracks. They barely had time to throw their welding equipment off the tracks.

He said he liked being a welder. He made enough money to take care of his family. I was grateful that he picked me up. He gave me a ride even though his wife and kids were in the pickup. Some guys would not like the idea of having a hitchhiker and their family in the same vehicle. Staying with that family for two nights was a pleasant memory.

My second evening there, the welder and I practised hitting a target with his bow and arrow. The next morning we had breakfast and his wife gave me some food for the road. I thanked them for their hospitality and hitchhiked to Lubbock, Texas.

The Only Time Someone Pulled a Knife on Me

Humility and the Hitchhiker

Humility and the Hitchhiker

By Shayne Sprague

So I never pick up hitch-hikers as a rule. I don't know what moved me to do so today. I was heading from North Platte to Brady and he was just outside of North Platte. He jumped in and said "thanks for stopping".  I said no problem, I'm going to Brady about 23 miles up the road, and I’ll take you that far.

      As we were conversing, I noticed he reeked of booze.  I also noticed his wrinkled, sun darkened face, his shoddy hair and clothes, unshaven face, and only the clothes on his back.

      But what I noticed most was his piercing, large blue eyes. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and I believe it, if you look closely, you can pretty much tell the kind of soul a person has through their eyes. His eyes were almost indescribable. They were so mesmerizing, not an ounce of hate in them. Looking at his very rough exterior, I could tell he'd been down a very hard road. Somehow, despite the road he had been down, there was no hate in his eyes...only love.

      I asked him if he wanted a smoke, and he said yes, so I gave him one, then I let him keep the whole pack, for which he seemed genuinely grateful for. I started asking him where he was from, where he was headed, does he have family, etc. He proceeded to tell me he had been on the road for 6 days, coming from Arizona where he had recently had a heart attack and heart surgery. He was pretty much healed up but couldn't find work. He had his bed roll and backpack stolen in Colorado. He was heading back to his birthplace of Kansas City, Mo., which is where I was born as well.  He said he lost his wife to a brain tumor 10 years ago, and she is buried in Norman, Oklahoma. He said he never had kids because his wife couldn't have any. He had no family aside from cousins, whom he'd lost, touch with over the years. We talked the rest of the way about politics, and other superficial stuff, all the while, my gut was telling me there was something about this guy that I couldn't put my finger on, but it was something special.

      The whole time I was kind of reflecting on some of my own hard times and struggles, some of which were self induced. I mean, here is a homeless man that just had heart surgery, but was smoking and drinking. I too, have had my battles with alcohol and drugs, so I understand. I found myself thinking "but for the Grace of God, there go I."  And that’s the truth. I'm lucky to have what I have after what I've been through, let alone lucky to be alive.

      So we get to Brady and I say "well, this is the end of my line."  He says, "I really appreciate the ride and the cigarettes."  To which I replied, “no problem, when we stop, I'm going to give you some money too."  (A decision I had subconsciously made miles back down the road.)  He said thank you, I can get a cup of coffee or something.

      I would like to clarify at this point, my whole reason for telling this story.  It's not that I want a pat on the back...could care a less about that.  It's not that I felt sorry for the guy, although I definitely empathized with him. I have over the years, on many occasions given food and/or money to homeless people. Again, no pat on back wanted or needed. On many of those occasions, it was quite obvious that said homeless person was going to drink the money right up. The Bible says something to the effect of   "give with your right hand, and don't tell your left hand."  To me, that means don't gloat. It means do the right things for the right reasons without expecting anything in return. That is something my parents deserve credit for.

      Lately, as I look around at the world, I find it a very ugly place.  As I've stated, I've been through some pretty hard times in my life. There were many kind people that helped me along the way. There were also many that turned away. I've always felt that even when I had nothing tangible to offer that a kind word, a gesture, or a smile was the least I could do, and to try to refrain from doing any harm.

      Some of you may be thinking, or like me, have thought, I just got duped by that dude. One time at a gas station in Colorado, a guy walked up to me and asked me for some cash for gas so he could get back home. His van was at the gas pumps. I said sorry dude, I'm all tapped out. I sat in my car feeling guilty and walked over, gave him $20 bucks, and returned to my car. As I watched him, he jumped in his van without getting gas and hit the interstate!  Duped indeed!  But that's cool. The guy I picked up today asked for nothing, other than sticking his thumb out for a ride. I never felt duped at any point.

      The reason for sharing this story is because of the look in his eyes when we parted ways. As I mentioned, I told him I was going to give him some money. I was thinking maybe $20 bucks. When I reached in my wallet, something compelled me to pull out a $50 dollar bill. I handed him the 50, and he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes surrounded by that weathered face with a look of astonishment that I can't describe, but I found myself fighting back tears. He was obviously both surprised and genuinely grateful. He struggled to say thank you, and he shook my hand. I said you’re welcome brother, best of luck to you. He got out of the vehicle and before he shut the door he looked at me with those eyes again, as if he was looking into MY soul, and said,  " thanks again, you really don't know what this means to me."  I said, “you have no idea what it means to me!"

      As I drove off I was in tears because I was so touched. You see, I felt as though I just handed myself $50. I always pray that I can be of use to my fellow man, and I believe that God puts people in our lives for a reason. The Bible also says give and you shall receive. What I received today was a small miracle from a homeless man with blue eyes that reminded me there is still some good in this world, that I have a lot to be grateful for. Honestly, I don't think the money or the cigarettes meant nearly as much to him as receiving a smile, and a display of genuine kindness in what can be such a cold, cruel world.  As for the $50 bucks, and can I afford it? Who cares? For my $50, I too, received a smile, and a genuine display of kindness that was worth every penny. I am truly touched, I almost feel like I was looking into the eyes of my higher power. In a sense, I was, because he is out there, all I have to do is look.

Mexican Hitchhiker

Mexican Hitchhiker, 1988 ©

by

Matthew A. Nelson

                                                                                      

July, 1996

“You need to take the Bronco and go someplace. I don’t want you sitting around for three days saying, ‘Gee, I wish I had gone somewhere’.” After almost sixteen years of marriage, Karoline recognized the restlessness in my soul hated staying home on three-day weekends. The Memorial Day weekend was approaching. Why not go visit my friend Dave Honea and his wife Jean in Austin? “Matt, we are going to Nuevo Laredo. Why don’t you join us for dinner on Saturday at 7 PM at the Cadillac Bar and Grill?”

            Sounded good to me. With a couple of oranges, some graham crackers, some drinking water, beef jerky, I headed West in my nine-month old Bronco. The Houston area is too humid, too coastal, too much of East Texas. My Western heritage needed to be revitalized. Wide open spaces. Mesquite trees (or bushes). No cars for miles, on a two-lane highway. Laredo is about six hours from my house. I found a place to park the Bronco, and walked across the International Bridge, because I didn’t feel comfortable about driving into Mexico.

            Old women and dirty children and crippled men and others tugged at the heartstrings with their begging on the bridge street. I always have mixed emotions about beggars. I know that I am better off, but I wonder how many of them use the heartstrings to make a substantial living. If you give one coin, then all of a sudden you are the Pied Piper. I feel guilty when I don’t give, but I sometimes feel conned when I do. I wandered the streets of Nuevo Laredo for an hour before going to the Cadillac Bar and Grill. It is a few blocks away from the bridge, so the beggars had thinned, and I was long forgotten as the vendors of leather goods, cheap booze and cigarettes, and black velvet paintings were hustling the latest people who had just walked over the bridge.

            I met Dave on my first trip to the South Pole. We have shared meals at the galleys of the South Pole and McMurdo, Antarctica, at the Auckland, New Zealand airport, in Austin, and with this meal, in Mexico. His wife is an expert on Arctic archeology. They have Wintered-over in McMurdo, and have spent a few years in Alaska. Dave has travelled to Mexico several times to explore caves. He sent me a photograph himself on a salmon fishing trip in Alaska that could be on the cover of Field and Stream. After our meal, we listened to a Mexican Band in a park, watching young men trying to impress their girlfriends. I left Dave and Jean there about 9 PM, walked across the Bridge back to the Bronco, thinking about where to go for the next two days.

            As I recall, I headed West, but without a particular destination in mind. I drove for about three hours, until I found some cheap motel to spend the night. I almost slept in the Bronco. It wouldn’t be the first, nor will it be the last time, but when I do sleep overnight in a vehicle, I always wake up feeling grungy, and hate my own smell the rest of the day. So, I tend to find cheap motels where I can take a shower. Of course, there have been some motels that I would have been better off sleeping in the Bronco.

            Sunday at Noon, I tied the Bronco to the hitching post at Judge Roy Bean’s saloon in Langtry, half expecting the Hanging Judge to wander through with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a hanging rope in the other, as he administered justice with his Law West of the Pecos. The Western artifacts looked like those in the Ft. Caspar, Wyoming museum. One six-shooter pretty much looks the same as another. Horseshoes don’t vary in shape. Imagination takes over. Forget the Made in Taiwan genuine whatever as the cash registers ring. Close your eyes. That’s where the Judge sat. Maybe his ghost is living its eternity in West Texas with the souls of the men he hung just a few miles West of the Pecos. 

            Time to hit the trail. Buy some liquid hay for the Bronco, enough to keep it going for another five hundred miles. Ought to make Big Bend by early evening. No sleeping bags nor camping equipment, just some oranges and graham crackers and beef jerky and some water. Who knows? Maybe tonight the Bronco will be my campground, but that’s several hours away. I won’t have many hours to spend in Big Bend, but at least will have an idea what it looks like, and I always can come back later when I have more time. Eight years later, as I write this, guess I just haven’t found the time. Big Bend is still on my Gonna List.

            In West Texas, one can drive for miles without seeing anyone. I might have been out of radio range, or just wanted to serenade my horse, my faithful Bronco. Sometimes, when I am driving alone, I sing. Nobody criticizes my voice nor tells me about buckets nor tells me I don’t have the words right. I guess when I say I sing, I am using the wrong choice of words. Beller is a better choice of words. Sometimes I beller the same words and the same tune over and over. Sometimes I make up words. I am not sure that I have the correct spelling of beller, but I like the way it looks on the computer machine, so I am going to leave it that way. In West Texas, nobody cares how you spell beller. You can beller and nobody complains. You can almost drive as fast as you want if you don’t have somebody indicating to you that it would have been to your financial advantage to have slowed down before he caught you with the radar gun that operates at the speed of light. When one is bellerin’ at ninety miles an hour on an empty and lonely stretch of West Texas highway, one doesn’t expect to see a hitchhiker sneak out of the mesquite trees and wave him down. So I put the Bronco in Whoa gear, stopped the bellerin’, and decided to give the man a ride who has forever influenced my attitude of picking up hitchhikers.

            The two piles of grass and alfalfa that fell out of his shoes indicated he had been sleeping in other places than Broncos or in cheap motels. My keen sense of smell detected other signs that cheap motels with working showers were out of his price range. His tour package of West Texas is not printed in the brochures found in travel offices; had it been printed, it would have said, “Meals not included”. When I asked him if he was hungry, he gave me one of his few smiles, and it was adios for most of the oranges and crackers.

            We spoke very few words. I tried to converse with him, but he spoke very little English. He was a Mexican, heading back to Mexico. That in itself is unusual, because in that part of Texas, that close to the Border, the Mexicans are travelling North. During the course of the day, I did learn that he had three children, and it had been eight months since he had seen them. As we drove along, he opened up one of those envelopes banks give out from drive-up windows that I had on the front seat, and gave a look of disgust upon finding it empty. His clothes were the typical white pullover shirt and baggy pants that Mexicans are often stereotyped as wearing. Only he wasn’t the typical Mexican just trying to make a living to feed his family.

            I have the impression that he had just been released, or had just escaped from jail. His dark eyes were cold, hard, suspicious. The tattoos on his arms and hands were homemade. On his right inside forearm a two-inch beetle had eight legs. Across the top of his right hand was a name that I couldn’t read. In the soft area of skin between his left thumb and index finger was an upside-down cross, with two dots on either side of the crossbar. If the cross had been right side up, the dots would have been above the crossbar. We were about two hundred miles from Big Ben, the only people on the highway. When I saw the upside-down cross, I had cold shivers, but I didn’t know why.

            We drove in silence. My few attempts at conversation were met with hostile resistance. I didn’t know where to leave him. Along the way, I saw some signs for some colorful rocks, or a waterfall. I don’t remember what it was. I turned in there, because I thought other people might be there. It was deserted. I took a couple of photographs of something, while he waited in the Bronco. I made a futile attempt to conceal my anguish. In hindsight, he probably would have asked me to stop and let him out if I had started bellering again. At that point I was concerned about my safety. But nothing happened. We drove to Big Bend without incident.

            He seemed agitated when I drove to the park headquarters. I paid five dollars for the entrance fee, while he waited outside. Since I planned on staying at Big Bend, I thought I would drop him off at Terlingua, the next town. But it was a desolate town, and I didn’t want to leave him in the middle of nowhere. The next town was Lajitas, which is a town right on the Rio Grande River. It is a small resort town. I knew the guy didn’t have any money, but I was hungry by that time, and figured he was too. As uncomfortable as I felt around him, I just couldn’t drop him off and then go and enjoy a good dinner. I asked him if he was hungry, and he said in broken English, “A little bit”. After three or four hours with this guy, I figured another half an hour wouldn’t make much difference.

            This was Memorial Day weekend, time for the RV crowd to visit Big Bend. The town has an old Western flavor, with only one restaurant. The hostess seated us in back, where we had to walk in front of the RV crowd. Everybody stared. In perfect English, he ordered a chicken-fried steak. I had fajitas in the town of Lajitas, which I thought sounded poetic. While we were waiting for the food to be served, he did something I shall never forget. He took a fork off the table and started combing his black bushy hair. He jerked the fork hard several times to untangle his matted hair. Everybody stared. Then very deliberately, he slithered the fork into his pants pocket. I made the most classic statement: “Put the fork back on the table. I will buy you a comb.” His eyes twisted into something dark and evil. “No.”  “Put the fork back.”  “No.” Shortly after that, the food came. We ate in silence.

            That really angered me. Earlier in the day, I had even thought of driving him further down the road. All of a sudden, that fork became a weapon. I could almost feel it in my ribs. We walked out to the cash register, where I wanted to pay a dollar extra for the fork, but he was right by my side. I fully expected to be arrested for being an accomplice to this guy stealing a fork. Once outside, I walked to the right side of the Bronco, grabbed the rest of the oranges and the crackers, and gave them to him. He said, again in very good English, “Where are you going?” I said, “I am going to Big Bend. I don’t care where you go.” He whined, “Look man, I don’t have no money.” So I gave him five or ten dollars. I just wanted to be rid of him.

            Once I left there, I kept on going. I did not stop at Big Bend. I kept checking my rear view mirror to see if some sheriff was going to arrest me for this guy stealing a fork. I drove to Alpine, passing through an Immigration checkpoint without any problems. But I just knew they had radioed ahead to the sheriff in Alpine. In Alpine, I found another cheap motel. The next day, I drove back home, without bellering, contemplating the previous day.

            At work the next day, I was laughing about it. Especially about him combing his hair with a fork. Israel Vinces, one of the guys I worked with, had been born in Mexico, and told me that I really didn’t want to know about his tattoos. When I convinced him to tell me, he said, “Matthew, there is a gang of people who go up and down the Mexican border who are devil worshippers. That is why they have the upside-down cross tattooed on their left hand. The two dots are snake eyes. They find innocent people, kill them, and mutilate their bodies. If you had driven him further, they may never have found your body. He probably all ready figured out where to sell your Bronco.”

            For a long time, the people at work teased me about this guy combing his hair with a fork. Nine months later, the local TV news told a story of a college kid on Spring Break whose mutilated body was found along the Mexican border, killed by devil worshippers who had upside-down crosses and two dots tattooed on their left hands. My blood ran cold. My Guardian Angel had protected me on Memorial Day weekend, from a man that I now realize had every intention of killing me.

What does the Bible say about tattoos/body piercings?

The Only Time Someone Pulled a Knife on Me

[Matt Nelson picked me up hitchhiking in Montana a few months ago.  He emailed me some of his short stories for me to read.  My Sheep Hear My Voice ]