Stranded Hippies

My lovely bride made me run out late last night to try to find some food service gloves for a Girl Scout project she has in the works. I'm always happy to help her in these ideas she comes up for the Brownies. (Even when these ideas come up Thursday at 9PM and she starts fixating on them despite the meeting not happening till Monday afternoon. But, hey, you know I love you, gorgeous.)

On the way back, I noticed that my truck's tank was low, so I went to the gas station to fill up. As I entered the station, I noticed a small RV parked to the side with four or five people milling about. They were wearing baggy woven clothes, most of them had unkempt hair in dreadlocks. Some were skateboarding and smoking. Others were shuttling back and forth between some of the pumps with portable gas canisters in hand. They reminded me of some stoner kids on my floor back in my dorm in college.

After I paid for my gas and topped off my tank, I went over to chat with them. They were a group of modern-day hippies coming down from Wyoming and headed to Pueblo to engage in some Native American sweatlodge spirituality. They were asking people for a few gallons to fill up and get on their way. When I busted out some million dollar bill tracts to share, they all came out, nine in total. I was amazed how many of them were in there, because I know how cramped my RV can get with even four or five people in it.

As I started talking about matters of faith with them in a jovial, lighthearted way, it was clear that they did not like Jesus or Christians in general. They were mocking ideas like Heaven and Hell, repentance and faith, and using the Lord's name in vain. They instead were big on things like consciousness, spirituality, vibrations, energy, and feeling good. When one of them said that he didn't understand how someone could simply be forgiven for their sins, I started talking about justice with them and sharing the Gospel.

The moment they could tell I was a Christian and started getting serious with asking them about their souls, most of them scattered, retreating to inside the RV. While I continued talking with a few of them who were interested in the subject of faith, I could hear the others laughing and could smell marijuana coming from inside. They kept peeking out the back blinds to see what was going on, while others would ride around the nearby parking lot on their boards.

After trying to explain why they, like me, were not good people, in light of the Ten Commandments, one woman came out from the RV with a bunch of sage in her hand and a lit fireworks punk in the other. She proceeded to clumsily dance around me and the group, bumping into a few of her friends who were laughing, lighting the sage on fire. She started doing circles around me, while the smoke of the sage went everywhere, in some sort of pseudo-pagan dance to cleanse the air and spirits. Aside from making sure my hair didn't catch on fire when she came a little too close for comfort, I didn't budge. It soon became clear to her that I wasn't going anywhere, and she went back inside.

I continued talking with two of the men for a few more minutes, trying to explain who Jesus Christ was and why they needed to be made right with God. They kept trying to turn the subject left and right, from discussing quantum physics to why one man's Catholic upbringing that taught about Purgatory was wrong. I did my best to stay on topic and explain to them the difference between right and wrong, since their postmodern views were not compatible with absolutes.

But when both work and my bride called, needing my help and wondering where I was, respectively, I thanked the group for taking the time to listen to me, and gave them a few bucks for fuel for listening to me and to show that I cared about their needs, too. And I hope and pray that some of them will read those tracts and get saved.