the sojourner has not lodged in the street; I have opened my doors to the traveler  
Job 31:32

Traveling through space and time interacting with other travelers in their journeys varied and unknown whether for a minute or a lifetime, changes the course of history with every traveler’s path we cross. We, every moment, have a fork in the road when these weary travelers in this world of holy and harm intersect our own journey.

All us travelers act and react either in mercy or malice.

Even in seemingly inconsequential intersections.

The first hotel had a room for nearly $200 per night. I was sure I could do better. The second had no rooms available. The third had a room for tonight, but not tomorrow night. The fourth had no room. The fifth had a room for tomorrow, but not tonight. The sixth was $350 per night for tomorrow night. The woman tried to find another room while a wedding party was milling around the large entry way and $700 swirling in my mind. I thanked her for her kindness. The seventh had no room.

Most people were kind and tried to offer another hotel that might have rooms. Some were impatient, curt, and, quite honestly, merciless. The reactions were not based on the value of the room or hotel. At the most expensive and the cheapest hotel, the women tried to find a way to make it work and offered other hotels that might have rooms. There was one nice hotel with several men working the desk trying to find another hotel for us weary ones. Then there was a high end hotel with a woman who couldn’t be bothered to answer any of my questions. Another cheap hotel had a woman who just gave me a “no room” and no compassion. No help. No desire to understand this weary traveler.

After nearly 2 hours, the eighth had a room for both nights for $100 per night. I’ll take it!

My son and I drove to the door, unlocked it and began to bring our things in. The smell was strong, but I thought: it’ll be fine. Perhaps I was just overly tired from our 13 hour day of driving across middle farmland America. My husband heard me over the phone saying, “It smells like cigarette smoke and cheap air fresheners.”

“Go and get another room. You can not stay there. You deserve better.” His kindness to me after over two decades together still stops me. And makes me smile.

“But it took so long to get this. I’m sure a shower and dinner are all I need.” Even as the words fell out, a headache was entering in.

I got a refund. The woman was kind and understanding. Clearly, she was disappointed. She mumbled, “I know who did this. And I will charge them for the room cleaning.” But she smiled at me and hoped I would get a place that served me. She was truly hospitable.

The ninth hotel had no room. The tenth had no room. The eleventh had rooms, but a queen sized bed. My son said no. The twelfth had no room. I was near tears. The thirteenth had rooms for two nights for $90 per night.

“I have a strange request. Can I smell the room before I get it?” The looks the lady and the gentleman sitting near her gave me required that I continue. “I just left a hotel that was strong of cheap air fresheners and cigarettes. I tend to have sever sinus reactions to fake smells and nicotine.”

She smiled and explained that you really can’t get rid of cigarette smells and every hotel uses cheap air fresheners. I suppose using expensive essential oils will make even the cheap hotel too expensive for two weary travelers in this world of holy and harm.

Up the stairs to the second floor, we walk making small talk. She opens the door, thinking I won’t take the room. The original two rooms were remodeled to one. A king size bed. A separate room with a couch. It smelled like a hotel. No cigarettes. No overwhelming cheap air fresheners.

“I’ll take it. Where is a good restaurant?”

After taking our stuff up the stairs, and taking a moment to be still, we went to the restaurant. The Houlihan restaurant was near the $350 per night hotel. We watched our clocks and our server lady fly from table to table. She finally settled near us to take drink orders and our dinner. I was afraid she’d fly away if we didn’t force her to take both. She never smiled, never spent longer than needed. Looking around, the room was fairly empty, but I think she was the only server in that area. Her negligence pointed directly to her being over worked.

We slept well in our cheap room with a king sized bed and couch even with our neighbor sharing his rap music till the early hours. The lazy morning was what we needed after a day of driving through middle farmland America. We decided the Waffle House by our cheap hotel was the perfect place to break our fast. The place was small, yet full of life and activity. The servers and cooks were singing and dancing to the juke box sounds coming from the corner of the room. We sat at the breakfast bar. They smiled, served us water, juice, coffee and a breakfast fit for kings. All while singing songs popular from days gone by. We exchanged words while they filled our bellies. And we left full in body, mind, soul.

This was the day my son and I had three goals – explore a cave in the Ozarks, check out antique shops, and see a lake. The day was overcast with a few falling wonders of water.

The Crystal Cave was simple, but the people working there were happy to show off their cave. Our tour guide enlightened us all the neat and interesting segments of rock and water – growing mushrooms and celery, the graffiti from ages past, the growth and formations of stalactites and stalagmites, the temperature, the rooms where natives and fugitives and families lived, the place where the workers go spelunking, the salamanders, and so on. He was excited and made us excited. He kindly took our picture and all our questions.

Our first antique shop, the rain started falling steady. I found a prayer book like the one early Americans used. It was small, but thick. There’s this story about a man in the Civil War that kept a book like this close to his heart. Literally, in his breast pocket. Once, a bullet raced towards him. The prayer book took the bullet and the man lived for a time in this land of holy and harm. I put the $45 book back and wondered what prayers the man prayed most.

The next stop, Freakin’ Antiquing, was a warehouse of treasures. My son found an object from days gone by whose note stated, “If you know what this is, please tell us.” I found vintage Pyrex for my daughter, a few hats for my red one, a couple of old books and a game for the youngest. For me, I found the treasure of four antique math books written in the late 1800s. I love math and I love old math books. An ever reminder that truth is true throughout all the ages. While we rummaged through time, the space outside rained in sheets. Our desert hearts stopped and listened to thunder ring and water sing. I’m sure the natives of Springfield are used to that sound, but we are not. They must have thought us strange to stop and listen to the music, sweet music, of rain, wind, thunder. I wanted nothing more than for this storm to follow me to our land on fire. The courteous ladies who checked us out with our treasures took time to listen to us talk about our desert land and help us find a lake on this dreary, wonderfully dark day.

“There is one in town, but it isn’t worth looking at. You want to go south towards Branson. That lake is beautiful.” Any water is beautiful when you are from a land overgrown with dust and thorns.

We opted for the lake in town and it was fine. A nice walk and time with just mother and son. Our conversation tended towards home. Don’t all conversations crave belonging to a space in time? Don’t all words seek to soothe weary souls in this journey through holy and harm? After our walk, we desired stillness and headed back to the hotel.

Our neighbor in the hotel shared his rap music while we played video games, scrolled the social medias, and looked for our last meal in Springfield. We opted for Jimm’s Steakhouse & Pub. The hostess mentioned a 45 minute wait. “However, there are a few seats at the bar available now.”

“Can my 17 year old sit in the bar?”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“We’ll sit at the bar, thank you!” The theme of our meals this day seemed to be bars. The morning was filled with kindness and this was no different.

David clicked his painted nails at the seat for my son to sit, smiled and took our drinks. The room was small and the bar sat about 7 of us with a few seats open. The couple next to my son took note of us and smiled. I wonder if they were also traveling through the city. Certainly, we are all weary travelers in this world full of holy and harm. A seat separated us sat a gorgeous single woman of 72 drinking her favourite cocktail while talking to an elderly gentleman of 92 like they were old friends. They just met.

David took our order. No pen, no iPad, just memory. He smiled and conversed easily with us, like an old friend. Perhaps everyone at that bar felt like friends, because his kindness and easy going nature made everyone feel like they belonged. Belonging, the desire of the human heart. We desire to live, to be in community, to be home.

I reminded David about my wine which he had forgot to bring. His hospitable nature chided him in this neglect. He gave me a little extra for my wait. The couple next to us exchanged words with us over the food and time. The 92 year old man left leaving the 72 year old woman amazed at how well he got on. David smiled that smile that reflects back over years and memories. He told of how the elderly gentleman would come with his wife, but she had passed several years ago. Now he comes alone always sitting at the bar with David. Our hospitable bartender understood the holy nature of his job.

My son and I enjoyed our meal. We exchanged words about the golf championship happening on the corner tv and planned our drive back to our land on fire. We will rise before the sun. Find I-40 and coffee in Tulsa. An hour will find its way into our life, like time can come and go at will. We will see Cadillac’s sticking up in the ground in Texas. And smoke coming off a distant mountain in New Mexico.

This simple stop in the middle of farmland America for us weary travelers in this world of holy and harm reminded me that traveling through space and time interacting with other travelers in their journeys varied and unknown whether for a minute or a lifetime, changes the course of history with every traveler’s path we cross. We, every moment, have a fork in the road when these weary travelers intersect our own journey. These strangers we met in Springfield extended to us either mercy or malice in the few short words we shared.

And I extended these fellow weary travelers in this world of holy and harm either mercy or malice in the few short words we shared. 

May I ever be mindful of the power of life and death my words hold.

May I ever seek that merciful path.

And when I don’t, may grace be stronger than ignorance.