I passed him once, there by the stoplight with his thumb out.  There was a small pang of guilt having once been a hitchhiker.  He probably wouldn't get a ride for a while.  Unshaven, dirty, male.  Another former hitchhiker was probably his only chance.  Another former hitchhiker who wasn't in a hurry.  Not me though.  I'm a woman with children.  I can't take risks, I reasoned.

That would have been the last I thought about him, the unkempt hitchhiker, except that he was there as I pulled out of the fuel station.  I pushed the button and rolled down my window.  While still on my cell and without thinking, I motioned him with my hand.  He pointed to himself with a question, and I assured the hitchhiker that I intended to give him a ride.

After settling where he wanted me to take him, he said "I'm a minister.  My truck just broke down at the mission.  I was bringing them some frozen fish."  He must have seen me look, "I know I don't look like one, but I am."

Surely a lie, I thought.  He had the smell of an alcoholic, which went well with his ensemble.  I listened.

"When my truck broke down, I knew the Lord would get me back."  Probably said for affect, I thought.  

There were no silences, no time for him to evaluate me evaluating him.  Still, I tried not to be transparent in my appraisal.

"After my wife died I started ministering from my boat.  I've been all over, went to Kodiak last month.  It's really been amazing how much people are willing to donate.  The other fishermen give me a lot of fuel, anything I need really." 

Things are coming together, this fisherman minister.  This disheveled, drinking, talkative, fisherman, minister.

I stopped for a McMuffin.  He offered to buy in exchange for the ride.  "No thanks," I said.  "How kind," I thought.  The fish aren't running yet. Even if it weren't outwardly obvious, I know that no fisherman has extra money in April.  They haven't had income since September.

"Are you just going to continue on from the store, or did you want to go inside?"  He had a long way to go, an hour and a half if you're in your own car.  More for a hitchhiker.

"Actually, I'm going in.  I need to buy a stove for a guy.  He lives on a boat, has no way to cook."  He continued, "They gave me $100 for the fish.  When I brought it, they asked if I could use anything.  I said 'I'd like $100 to buy a stove,' they didn't want to give it to me.  But I've been wanting to get this old fisherman a stove.  He lives on his boat, you know, with no way to cook."

At that moment, the alcoholic fisherman made me realize how insignificant I am.  What have I done recently for someone else?  I haven't hithhiked with a stove on my back.  I haven't bartered my goods for someone else's interest. 

I delivered him to the front door of the store.  There was small talk, names exchanged, and I said "It was nice meeting you, Red.  I have to go, my husband is waiting for me."  He replied, "Oh, a jealous husband somewhere.  I better get out."  Then said "Jealousy isn't in the Lord,"  before he disappeared to look for a Coleman.

If there was a way to describe where that moment left me, I don't know if I would.  I hope I see Red again.  I hope I can do something as meaningful as he's done today.  Not just for the people at the mission, or the man with no stove, but as meaningful as he's done for me.