I’ve previously written about meeting Coretta Scott King during the 25 year anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery March, but I didn’t say anything about meeting Jesus.
I’d parked my RV in the parking lot in front of the state capital of the “Great State of Alabama” so marchers would have a place to come if they were sick or had sore feet. At one point there were about 12 people in the RV, all of whom were nicely dressed and happy to have a place rest. No sooner than everyone had settled in, a women came to the door of the RV and asked if she could come in. I smiled and said, “Of course. Come in.”
She looked around as she climbed the steps and said, “I’ve never been in an RV before.” She had a big smile on her face as if she’d just stepped into heaven. Unfortunately, her odor preceded her. She was a short heavy set lady of about 32 or so. Her clothes were thin and worn. Her hair was thick with dirt and her odor changed the faces of everyone in the RV.
She looked around and said, “I’m very tired. Can I sit down?” I nodded and pointed to a spot on the sofa. She sat and the others got up and stood or found other places to sit. Then they all looked at me. It was hard to read their faces.
She continued to smile and look around like my RV was a palace and this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Then she said. “I’m really tired. Do you mind if I lay down?”
My stomach twisted, but I kept my fear in check. “Yes,” I said as I grabbed a sheet. “But let me lay something down first.” She got up as I spread the sheet before laying down and balling up into a fetal position and going quickly to sleep.
Everyone gave me a sympathetic look, but no one left and they all stayed with me when I offered to give them a ride back to St. Joseph’s Catholic Church where the last day of the march began.
“You’re all welcome,” I said, “as long as you can find a place to sit.” All twelve and our lady friend made 13. None wanted to walk back. Six sat at the dining room table, one in the passenger seat, and one in each of the barrel chairs. One sat on the toilet another on the edge of the bathtub and a couple on the floor. Through all this our last guest slept quietly on the sofa.
The ride took about 20 minutes because of the traffic generated by the march. I parked the RV, got out, and waited outside the side door of the RV as everyone climbed off and gave their thanks. I climbed back into the RV through the side door and found our lady friend still sleeping. I tapped her on the shoulder and she jerked up. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Everyone has gone.”
She jumped up, looked around again as if it was all a dream, and hugged me, her odor still evident. I hugged her back.
As I think about that day now there are two things I remember. The first was the broad smile of awe this lady had when she climbed the steps into the RV and the look of respect I got from everyone in the RV when I laid a sheet out for her to sleep. It was then that I realized that like Jesus said, “Whatever you do to the least of my brethren, you do unto me.” My only regret is that I never got her name.
