Greetings, dear brethren. It has been almost 3 weeks since I lasted posted about our long walk across the USA. I left you with tales of the Great Smoky Mountains and our long slog across that national park over into Madison County, a place that the LORD had put upon my heart many miles back. I left you at 1,466 total miles where Eric, Bethany, and I tried to keep walking until the “you know what” sickness drove us all home and into the bed for some time. I asked you to pray for us as we finally readied to go back out and continue this work, this time with that good ole natural immunity. Thank you for your prayers. The LORD heard, and though we had to take it slow the first few days, He strengthened us to log another 150 miles: across Madison County, over Roan Mountain, along the NC/TN border, and to the Virginia line way up in Ashe County, North Carolina. Along this leg, we enjoyed over a hundred Gospel encounters, many of which brightly reflected the sovereign Hand of Providence behind everything that had transpired, even those two weeks of sickness that brought this walk to a grinding halt. We can truly praise the LORD for even that! I cannot help but think of those powerful words in Isaiah:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts (Isaiah 55:8-9).”

And therefore, I must keep walking and preaching the truth of verse 7:

“Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the LORD, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon (Isaiah 55:7).”

These past three weeks, I have said to many folks along the road, possibly even to Brian Laundrie who may have crossed paths with us on the Appalachian Trail (at least the strange-acting disheveled hiker we met out there looked like him):

“I’m just a middle-aged preacher who God directed to stop what he was doing and walk across this country so I can warn some folks, so I can sound an alarm. Judgment is coming to this wicked nation. It’s time to humble ourselves, it’s time to repent, and it’s past time to call upon the LORD.”

Even the Brian Laundrie look-alike, who seemed in a hurry and was very evasive when I tried to ask him about his route or where he camped, paused to listen to these words, received a Gospel tract, and expressed his gratitude while affirming he would read it. So did many others.

I can only recall one instance of prideful rejection these past three weeks, and it was the very last of those more than encounters. It was the last one and perhaps the strangest. And ironically, that rejection was also paired with a kind hospitality that we would be hard-pressed to find even amongst American Christians.

After a long day’s walk that finally brought us to the Virginia line, we packed up near dark and went looking for some food. In the middle of nowhere and very hungry, the chances of getting somewhere with an open cafe at that hour were slim to none. We did, however, stumble upon a small gas station at a lonely crossroads that advertised Hunts Brother Pizza. We love Hunts Brothers and regularly visit a fuel station near our house to get good pizza for $10.99 with no charge for added toppings. You can put whatever you want on that thing, and it’s the same price. Anyway, an Indian man was working alone and preparing to close, but he happily agreed to prepare his last three pizzas for us after closing time. He serve them up piping hot and delicious and then closed up after giving us permission to use the benches on his porch as long as we needed. Before he left to go home, Eric simply offered him a Gospel tract and explained what we were doing and why we were in that place so late. He immediately got very loud and excited and pulled down a book off the shelf while asking Eric if he could read. He then tried to hand him a Quran while loudly declaring how the “last revelation of God” came to Mohammed in that book and that if we Christians would open our minds, we would see that there is only one God and that He has no Son. What followed was a very loud late-night interaction with this Bengali Muslim in the parking lot of that gas station. He was loud, and boy was he prideful; but he was not hostile. At one point, he demanded: “Show me in your Bible where Jesus says He is God.” I replied, I’ll show you, but you won’t believe. I grabbed my Bible out of the car and opened to John 10:30 (“I and my Father are one”) and then to John 14:9 (“He that hath seen me hath seen the Father”). He cried, “No, no, no, no, no.” It went on for awhile, and I made sure to declare the truth of the Gospel (quite loudly myself) and warn him that he was without excuse before the God he thinks wrongly is distant and unknowable (just as Mohammed thought). The Creator God is knowable because He has revealed Himself in the Bible and through the Messiah. And it is only by the shed blood of the Son of God that a man can escape hellfire. Before departing, he said “You must be a preacher because you can talk so loud.” Amen, that’s great. I told him I loved him enough to tell him the Truth and also thanked him for showing us kindness and making those pizzas. I asked if it would still be ok for a group of Christians to hang out a while longer and finish eating. He laughed and replied, “Of course!” Please pray for Sajib. I never expected that long day would end debating with a Muslim at a backwoods Virginia crossroads. Sheer profundity!

On Tuesday, we closed a long chapter of this long walk, and it was bittersweet. At day’s end, we stepped out of North Carolina for the last time, way up in its northwest corner—what they call the Tricorner in Ashe County. You might recall that we walked out of far western North Carolina back in August. I detailed this in The Old North State. But instead of continuing west, we were led of the LORD to roughly follow the state line up to Madison County. After the Great Smokies (i.e. detailed in my last update), we walked clear across Madison County and had some real good Gospel encounters up there. Then, we just kept on going, crossing several times into East Tennessee and then back into North Carolina. I lost count of how many times we crossed the high mountain range that literally forms the border between these two states. Once we came over Hughes Gap and the Roan, we thought to head northwest but instead noted how far we had come and how close we were to the utmost northeast of our own home state. You see, Catawba County is my Jerusalem (see Acts 1:8). We did a huge figure-8 loop walking around that county back in June.

North Carolina, my home state, is my Judea & Samaria (again, see Acts 1:8). We had to hit it hard through its remotest corners before we could finally say goodbye and route into other parts of the United States. By walking into Ashe County and then up to the Virginia line, we could be satisfied that we had walked clear across our own Judea & Samaria and literally from its bottom to its top. Now, we can turn west with Acts 1:8 conviction. Here is what the route looks like as of Tuesday—1,616 total miles! 859 total Gospel encounters!

Lately, when people ask where we came from, where we are ultimately headed, and how many miles we have walked, my response is met with confusion. 1600 miles? How are you still in North Carolina? I reply, “I believe we must have taken the SCENIC ROUTE.” Scenic route indeed. This past Tuesday, we walked by a spot in Ashe County that was only 58 miles on foot from a spot we walked by in Alexander County way back on May 26th. At that time, we had just passed the 600-mile mark. In other words, we walked almost 1,000 miles to get to a spot that we could have reached in less than 60 miles. You might ask: “Why would you walk so far out of the way?” I responded to this question months ago with some questions of my own in a post entitled Way Out of the Way, and I’ll ask those same questions again:

When hoofing across a continent, what is way out of the way? What does that even mean? If you have to walk thousands of miles anyway, what’s an extra 10, 100, or even 1,000? Is there really any such thing as out of the way when your purpose is to work the works of God? Why not take a scenic route?

These past three weeks, after recovering from that bout of sickness, we really did have some great encounters. I cannot possibly go into all the wonderful details. The route itself was also a lot of fun. I really love walking state lines and traversing backroads, some of them dirt, that lead through isolated and relatively unknown communities where one can find folks who would never, never, never expect to encounter a walking preacher in front of their home. We are still batting 1000 when it comes to positive responses from folks in front of homes flying Confederate flags! Just the other day, I stopped to talk to some guys doing construction at a site flying Old Dixie. They were kind and didn’t mind me interrupting their work. All took Gospel tracts. Some miles later, we walked by a run-down trailer flying Old Dixie along a gravel road. Two rough-looking men came outside to see what the dogs were making such a fuss about. I expected trouble, but what I found was kindness and ears to hear. These men were so polite to my daughter and they poured us a glass of fresh Kool-aid. It was cold, and it was refreshing. I told them about Jesus’ words concerning one who gives a cup of cold water to one of his disciples. “He shall not lose his reward” (Mark 9:41). I made sure to tell them that Kool-aid also counts! They thanked us for doing what we were doing and were very glad when I offered them a Bible. Please pray for John and Gary. I was indeed supposed to be at that spot on that road at that moment after two weeks of sickness AND a route that went 1,000 miles “out of the way.”

John & Gary weren’t the only folks happy to receive a Bible along this past leg. There was another Gary from Michigan who was driving a sports car down a rural Tennessee road. He saw Eric & Bethany walking with the cross and the Appeal to Heaven flag, whipped the car around, and came back to see what they were all about. They had a very interesting conversation, and it was obvious that this guy was searching for some truth in these dark days. They gave him a Bible and made it clear that Truth was to be found in those pages, infinitely more than could ever be found in the lies and fear pornography of the CDC, Washington, or the American news media. He left grateful, handing us a $20 bill and demanding that we get a coffee that afternoon on him. Some days before this encounter, we made the last-minute decision to alter the proposed route and instead cross over Roan Mountain at Hughes Gap, a steep and rough dirt road that eventually dumps you down into the community of Roan Mountain, TN. It was late afternoon, and there were only a few houses out there. Notwithstanding, we ran into Cameron, a lifelong Catholic who had walked down the dirt road to visit his neighbors. Eric had a long conversation with this man who was so distraught by the lies and hypocrisies of the Roman Catholic Church. As is typical with many Catholics, he had never read the Bible. However, he was very excited to receive a copy for himself when Eric pulled it out of his backpack and showed him where he could find the answers he was seeking. Those answers most assuredly cannot be found in the teachings of Roman Catholicism. It was a true divine appointment in the most unexpected of places. Along this leg, we also stocked three remote Appalachian Trail shelters with Bibles and some solid Gospel material. Someone will have a sleepless night in one of those bivouacs and be in need of some reading material to pass the time.

Here is what I remember about the very first day we resumed the route after all that sickness. It was up in Madison County along highway 208. Within the first mile of walking, a mother with her daughters stopped a minivan in the road to simply say “Thank you. We will be praying for you in your work for the LORD.” Then, there were encounters with a group of fishermen along Laurel Creek, an elderly man on his porch, and a Hispanic family manning a vegetable stand. On the map, a community of Allenstand, NC is noted. Funny, Allenstand is simply a vegetable stand, that’s it. Those folks gladly received some Spanish Gospel tracts. Next, there was Turtle, a truck driver parked on the side of the lonely highway. He was an interesting character, a big beard and mess of dreadlocks, but unlike many in America today, he was slow to speak and quick to listen (James 1:19). Initially Turtle refused a Gospel tract, but after a long conversation about the things of the LORD and the mess that is our country today, he said: “You know what, I’ll take one and read it.” That day’s walk ended at the state line where we met a woman in her front yard. Her son had recently surrendered to the LORD after some difficult years of rebellion. She called to him in the house to come out, desirous that we would exhort him to stay faithful to the LORD. Dalton was actually a very polite 20-year-old and listened humbly to my plainness of speech. He was grateful for a copy of Mark Cahill’s The Watchmen (a great read for new believers). We knew this was of the LORD and a fitting conclusion to our first day back. It started raining as we stood there, but I didn’t mind. Just this day alone made all that sickness and the extra 1,000 miles “out of the way” more than worthwhile. Hallelujah to the LORD!

I could go on and on, but time fails me to talk of so many others, so many places, some many instances of God’s Divine Hand of Providence along this most recent 150-mile leg. Perhaps a few more snapshots will suffice:

My friends, we don’t walk neither do we labor for the LORD out from under spiritual authority or accountability. I praise God for the elders and deacons of our local churches and the godly men who serve as trustees for Full Proof Gospel Ministries. It was great to recently catch up with Brother Mike Vaughn, my sending church pastor from Creedmoor, North Carolina. Moreover, this past Tuesday, as we made our way to the Virginia state line, two of our local church elders and one of our deacons drove up to walk those miles with us. It was a blessed time of fellowship and accountability on some real backroads in Ashe County. Those last two miles of North Carolina on Farmers Store Road were extra special because I got to walk it with my dad. And the sign at the obscure border crossing couldn’t have summed up our 1,616-mile scenic route any better.

If this walk across America and these testimonies are, or have been a blessing to you, please consider financially sowing into this difficult endeavor. We have some financial needs, gas has gotten real expensive, and anything you can give is a blessing that will be used faithfully and with account. All contributions are tax-deductible, and donating online via PayPal is very easy. Thank you in Jesus’ name. Learn more . . .

It’s time to get back to it. Virginia and Kentucky, here we come!

Jesse Boyd, just a middle-aged preacher who God told to stop what he was doing and walk across the United States