Walk Across America visits Quinter CoB

It was the middle of August (2003) in Kansas. We drove west on old Highway 40—sometimes paved, sometimes dusty gravel. We knew he was somewhere along the road near Park, Kan., just eight miles west of Quinter. It was noon and the temperature had climbed to nearly 100 degrees. Philip, dressed in his floppy-brimmed hat, shirt and pants of light colors and good walking shoes, was ready to carry Don Vermilyea's backpack. But first we had to find him.

Ah, there. At the bottom of a lone cottonwood tree in the ditch. We pulled in and joined him while he ate his vegetarian lunch. His shoes and socks were off his feet—part of his foot care, he said. And he seemed beat—done for the day. But he was still determined to get to Quinter. He could see the elevators in the distance. The wind, as usual, was blowing. Don saw it as a mixed blessing. It cooled the sweat, but his 70-pound pack made a big target and the wind causes him to walk at an angle. And it was hot, and it was dry, and he'd been walking since 7:30 that morning. And sometimes it was hard to summon energy when you are lonely.

Don finally pulled his shoes and socks back on and helped Philip get the pack settled on his back. Back on the road, they continued the Walk Across America. I drove back to Quinter, leaving them in the hot sunshine with not even one cloud in the sky to walk at an average pace of two and a half miles an hour. But there were two of them now. Loneliness shattered on this day, at least.

During the afternoon, which only grew hotter, I shuttled people out to walk with him. Women joined too. Dan relieved Philip in carrying the pack. The pace was fast now (three miles an hour!), and Don arrived at his Quinter destination almost two hours early.

First was a shower, then a quick check of the web page. Looking at his journey as it was chronicled on the website somehow seemed to validate the Walk for Don. The evening moved too fast as Don made some phone calls, performed his weekly foot care, ate supper with us and our invited friends. There was good conversation. Don listened as much as he talked. On his walk, he has lots of time to cogitate and remember conversation with new friends. We knew he'd work us into a story somewhere and only hoped we were worthy of a good slant in the telling.

He slept on the floor of our best bedroom—bad back, he reported. But I knew that he didn't really want to continue on the Walk. He's like Jesus in the garden, asking God to reconsider the path he's to take. Don wants to be done with this crusade of Walking Across America. So he views sleeping in beds and riding in cars as temptation. These luxuries will lessen his dependence on God.

While Don thinks he's stubborn about admitting he needs the Lord, the rest of us are humbled by his intentional vulnerability and his faithful following of God's plan. We learn that Don is indeed homeless. And, while he's not a bum, he looks the part. As he walks during the week, he becomes dirty and smelly. His facial hair protects him from the elements and saves him from using water to shave. Over the months of his trek, he has strongly identified with being a "homeless bum."

Sunday found Don scurrying around preparing for Sunday school, doing the children's story in church and preaching to us. And, finally, he was preparing to leave... again. The Walk Across America had a schedule to keep. Don will visit all the Churches of the Brethren in the continental United States before he's done. Already he's logged nearly 7,000 miles and has well over 500 churches yet to visit.

After he left us Sunday afternoon, he would walk very long days of 20 or so miles as he headed to Eden Valley and Abilene to the Buckeye Church. His intention was to walk 10 miles Sunday afternoon after our potluck salad luncheon. The youth planned to walk a while with him.

As 21 youth and parents, clad in their best walking shoes, headed out, Don was the last to leave the church. He hollered at Roy, who is carrying his pack, to hold up. "There won't be a Walk Across America without me!" he hollered. We laughed, and the excitement of a new adventure made us light-hearted.

In the first mile, we spread out into an impressive-looking group. Groups of five or six gathered near Don to hear him share his stories of the nearly 40 cars that have nearly hit him; of the ugly, smelly, wet places where he has slept; of the beautiful, flower-filled, babbling brook places where he has slept; of the ridiculous billboards he has read. He tells of being terrified when an angry dog is preparing to lunge at him and he finally remembers to pray to God for help. He tells us he is amazed when the dogs stop the growling and the attack and trot back home. Finally, he decides to begin praying when he sees the dog in the distance "and save him the trip."

We heard about baby birds teaching him the lesson of "the least of these” and of prejudiced, hateful people throwing things at him, and of college kids befriending him on a deserted two-lane highway.

We heard about care of this earth in the form of walking instead of riding, re-using instead of throwing away, recycling instead of wasting six ounces of fuel to make the next can for my Pepsi.

We were blessed.

After three miles, Philip picked up Penny and me. I returned to the shuttle business thinking I would be bringing kids back home as they wimped out in the heat. Loaded down with water, I made repeated trips out to them. At about six miles, I took cool, red grapes, which they loved. The next trip, I took crackers, cereal bits, trail mix, granola bars. Most were hungry and eagerly accepted a sack filled to the brim. They were careful to stow the empty sacks in their pockets. Otherwise would be very disrespectful of Don—and of God's earth.

We were getting the message loud and clear.

Every trip out, I asked if anyone was ready to quit. "Nope, we're still walking." Jarad was carrying the pack now. Finally at 5:30 I realized the gang of 17 youth and some dads were going to stay the course until the walk was done for the day. Could this be? My mind was in awe of the Spirit that seemed to be resting among this group of young people. It was still 97 degrees.

Well, it was suppertime and they needed something to eat. None of us had prepared for this moving of the Spirit, but He always provides. A few phone calls and 30 minutes later, we headed out in two big vehicles with supper. We finally found them way past Collyer! Way past Collyer? Yes, they were 12 miles from the church they had left about four hours earlier.

We congregated in the long driveway of a farmstead. The vehicles made some shade in which the walkers sat. They were tired, but seemed satisfied and fulfilled. They had participated in a worthwhile afternoon of accompanying a "homeless bum" on his Walk.

Supper was cool and satisfying. The fresh fruit, cold sandwiches, cherry juice, and ice cream sandwiches were very good. Don ate some of his required four to five thousand calories that his body uses every day. He happily chose a recycled plastic sack, putting in three more homemade chocolate chip cookies for a midnight snack.

Eleven were quitting the Walk here at the end of 12 miles. It was the right time to say goodbye to Don. We gathered around, and more than 20 people laid hands on him. We prayed for God's blessing on him. We asked God to keep him safe. We asked God to give him strength. We asked God to help him resist temptation. You could feel the energy. It was almost electric.

Tyson volunteered to carry the pack again. Six would go on with Don until he was ready to stop for the night. They walked on down the road another mile or two until the sun was low in the sky and Don had found a likely place to sleep.

Don declared this spot was like a Holiday Inn. Shady, and a little way off the road, there was a windmill there that was pumping fresh water (the wind was still blowing). Don could spread his sleeping bag in the bushes, wash up in and drink fresh, cold water, pitch his tent and sleep under the stars.

I was reminded of scripture from Luke 9:23. "And He was saying to them all. If anyone wishes to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up His cross daily and follow me."' Don had figured out we're to carry Christ's cross, not our own. On this wonderful Sunday, we shared in carrying the Cross. Don was jubilant. In carrying his pack, we had lightened the load of a brother in Christ and, in effect, had "put wings on his feet."

It was time to disappear. Don doesn't like to draw attention to where he sleeps. It draws too much attention either from ne'er-do-wells or from those who think he needs help. He doesn't want either.

Goodbye, Don.

Finally, the last six climb into the big SUV and drive back west—into the sunset. And Don? He was at rest for the night, but the next day, he would pick up his pack and continue his Walk for Jesus.

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