Epic Train Ride

Almost 60 hours on a train.  Well, 60 hours of traveling… I had two layovers totaling about eight hours.  Do the math and you learn that from Saturday morning to Monday evening I was on the train for over 50 hours.  Whoopee. 

There are a number of reasons why trains are the best form of travel.  The reason why I first started traveling by train is that trains are the most environmentally friendly mode of transport.  Then I realized how awesome it is to have to stay awake while traveling, versus the anxiety-ridden hours of driving that always put me to sleep.  Trains are also quite safe.  Think about it: you’re not going to crash, and if something goes wrong with the train the conductors can stop and fix it or, at the very least, you won’t be falling thousands of feet out of the sky.

The romantic reasons why everyone should love train travel are also numerous.  Sight-seeing is rather magnificent.  Of course, you can see the same things in a car, but on a train you just simply have more time to look out the window.  Also, the people you can meet makes any length of train travel worth it, from the crew to fellow passengers.  More on that in a bit.  And lastly, this particular leg of my trip I have discovered a new reason to love trains: private rooms.  “Room” may be an overstatement, so I’ve been using the word “compartment.”  Bottom line is that its private and far more comfortable than coach, especially when you’re trying to sleep.  You can actually lie down in a room.  Who knew.  They may be more expensive than a coach seat but if you’re on the train for as long as I am it’s totally worth it, mostly because all your meals, as well as coffee and snacks from your car, are already included in the price.

Now let me talk about the people.  On my way to Chicago from D.C. (the first layover was in D.C., from Richmond, and the second was in Chicago) I had the opportunity to sit next to a Pentecostal pastor.  The really cool part about that is that he was supposed to sit somewhere else, but traded with an elderly woman because she clearly had misgivings about sitting next to a young male for hours upon hours.  God at work?  For me, it’s hard to believe otherwise.  It’s especially hard to believe otherwise when I consider that my car to Chicago also included a group of about ten mission workers around my age and a separate group of Catholic Workers.  Of the 60 folks in the car, almost half could profess some form of a religious vocation.  With the various struggles that I’ve been going through spiritually the past few years, there’s no question that God is trying to tell me that I am not alone, even when I try to run away to Arizona and California.

I didn’t get much of a chance to introduce myself to the other vocationally religious travelers because the pastor, Ed, and I talked for almost the entire time we were awake.  The rest of the time I was reading, which is of the utmost importance.  Ed and I talked about a whole range of things but what most touched me were the conversations about my life, what I’m doing traveling out West, and why I decided not to be a pastor.  Almost immediately Ed asked if I planned on being a pastor.  This isn’t the first time a total stranger, without much of a tip-off or sometimes no knowledge of me whatsoever, has asked if I’m going to be a minister.  But it has been a few years, so forgive me if I had thought those days were over.  A few hours of conversation and Ed stated forthrightly, “You are called to be a minister.  Don’t run away.  Don’t run away from your convictions.”  That last part he threw in because we talked about some of my theological struggles—he, apparently, as a young man was much like me, wanting to experience the world, if you know what I mean, and trying to stretch faith and belief to match desire rather than God’s being.  His words couldn’t have been more timely, either, since I had just come from spending a bit more than a week with my licensed pastor friend Rob.  Maybe ordination isn’t for me, but what’s stopping me from being a licensed pastor…?

Really, in the span of a few hours I felt like I had gained some serious clarity on where I’m heading in life and where God is in the midst of that life.  I can’t say that I’ve already internalized all that Ed and I discussed nor can I say that I’m going to instantly jump into applying to licensing school.  In fact, I can’t even say that I suddenly believe or trust in God any more than I did before.  All I can say right now is that God is clearly trying to push me to be who I am most content and gifted to be.  Indeed, if I trace God’s fingerprints I can go back to my time with Rob and see that when he asked me to give a testimony to a Bible study class, God was essentially saying, “Look back and see that I have been here throughout your life, even if you have chosen to doubt.”

All this is important because I am a doubter, I am a thinker.  That’s my best quality and my greatest gift from God and to anyone I may come across.  But that doesn’t mean that I need to forsake belief in God entirely.  Ultimately, despite my rather large ego, my writing will improve greatly if I can believe that there’s some greater purpose to it.  Certainly I do already believe that people will benefit from reading or hearing what I have to say, but if I can believe that God will nurture the spirit of those listening to me and that my gifts are given by God, or at least partially so, then I will not run into so many moments of total and destructive lethargy.  Though I am a melancholy spirit I write best and most productively when life has a positive flavor to it.

My trip on the train has indeed been an experience.  And I’m only halfway through the month of vacationing.

The Berkeley

I had lost hope.  Yet again friends and travel were an inspiration.  This blog began because of time spent with friends in Michigan (Joel and Megan Walther) and the persistence of one Alexandra Sherman; this blog will continue because of time spent with friends in D.C. and southeast Virginia, and the persistence of one Alexandra Sherman.

Two weeks ago I began an epic one-month trip of traveling by train from my home in the Boston region that will ultimately take me to the Pacific Ocean.  The first two weeks of the trip, up till now, have been dedicated to old friends.  First I returned to Washington, D.C. to say hello to some professors of mine and spend the night with one professor’s family, and to have dinner with one Alexandra Sherman.   Then I hit the tracks again to Mathews, Virginia, where one Rob Ulmer serves as pastor of two United Methodist Churches.  I’m basically a brother to Rob and Maggie now, and more or less an uncle to the kids.  I think.  All of that was a blast and led to plenty of reflection, life changes, good conversations, motivation and career direction stuff, and good old fun.  More on that after the trip.

For now I plan on focusing on the romantic side of things and writing about the trip itself.  Since the better half of traveling begins now I’m starting to write again now.  Plus, I had done the Boston to D.C. route at least half a dozen times already so the sights weren’t all that interesting.  From D.C. to Newport News provided some interesting window-watching, but because of my Civil War travels a number of years ago I had seen most of that, as well.  Thus we begin on the romance of being a writer/artist set on soaking up experience.

On Friday, March 8^th, Rob and Maggie dropped me off in Richmond, another city that I had been to before because of my Civil War interest, and I proceeded to write two poems before checking in to my hotel.  I guess it’s true that travel and new sights fuel the creative juices. 

In the afternoon I checked in to The Berkeley Hotel, a mostly old-fashioned, fancy hotel with an old-fashioned, fancy restaurant and lounge (The Nightingale) off of the lobby.  If you ever find yourself in Richmond I highly suggest the restaurant.  The hotel is cool, but there’s nothing terribly special about it.  The restaurant, however, offers excellent service and an incredibly diverse menu; each menu item proof of chefs’ creativity.  You might have to wait a bit to be seated, since the restaurant doesn’t seem to ever be full enough for a staff member to serve as a maitre’d.  Once you get past the seating prepare to be wowed.

My meal consisted of: Caesar Salad with crouton strips and caviar; stuffed grits (grits stuffed with mascarpone cheese) with green beans, spinach, and mushrooms cooked in a delicious, homemade sauce; Orange Crème Brulee with chamomile, topped with fresh fruit that perfectly complemented the custard; and a Roth Merlot.  The Caesar Salad was average apart from the caviar, but the other menu items were beyond description.  My entrée was presented beautifully to the point that I almost didn’t want to eat it.  Other than the salad, each item was rather expensive but worth it, as long as I ate the crème brulee with small bites.

I sat in the restaurant from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. on a Friday night and was still able to eat in near silence with dimmed lights.  It was quite romantic and perfectly located for people-watching out on the cobbled East Cary Street.  Certainly I couldn’t have asked for more.

So began the fancy extravagance of my “vision quest,” as Dr. Scott Kisker referred to it.  I’m not sure I’m questing for a vision, but many visions have certainly come already anyway.