The Violent Ways of the Barren Lands

Oh, What a crazy night. It’s about 235 miles from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho to Yakima, Washington. I left on Friday, biking 80 miles. Then, I did 115 yesterday. That’s right, 115. I ended at the intersection of two small state highways, with only 40 left to go.

I wanted to go to a church in Yakima called Mountain Top International, which has “prophecies.” For example, its preacher predicts that supernatural athletes will enter into the arena of sports, as in this prophecy:

“On the other side of that God is rising up new competitors, very gifted, talented people that will border into the supernatural because of the gifting in their lives. They are going to enter into the competitive fields. As they do, they are not going to be trying to prove to someone that they are better than someone else, but that they are there for the sole purpose of influencing that kingdom for The Kingdom of God! They will be of a whole different mind! They will not be torn by all the pleasures and different things that have gone on in lives of others.”

Or that God is infiltrating our government:

“A couple years ago the Lord revealed to me that He was moving His people into governmental positions through stealth mode. Like the Trojan horse, some will think they are receiving an enormous gift, only to discover later, that out of its belly will flow an unusual righteousness that will destroy the works of darkness. When Jesus appeared on the scene, He appeared below the radar of visibility. Even as he neared the crossed, outside the few that knew Him, His full intentions remained undetected.”

Oh, there were so many reasons I wanted to see this tiny church in the blue-collar town of Yakima. I was sleeping in the thorny, dusty, desolate hills of eastern Washington, and planned to get up at 4 a.m. and make the service. But I never did.

I woke up at 4:00, and there was a car parked just outside my tent. I thought it was the cops, and just waited for them to come to me. But they didn’t, and just drove away.

Then, another car drove up. “B****,” a man yelled. It was followed by a lot more asterisk-laden profanities.

Obviously, I didn’t get up and bike to Yakima. I decided to just stay put and try my hand at hitchhiking (legal on some Washington highways), and still make the church. Only no one picked me up.

Then, a mile down the road, I saw this:

Someone was unhappy. On this car, every window had been smashed, along with the back taillights. But it was no car crash. And it looked fresh.

Coincidence? I think not.

So, I missed a spot on my trip. I got into Yakima way too late for anything, had some bland Chinese food, and curled up in a dingy motel bed. All while thinking of this poor little monkey: