The Purgatory from Pittsburgh to Paris

“You are exceeding the speed limit.” The English-accented GPS voice, Lorna affectionately called him Bob, was continuously correcting her driving performance and filling her head with obvious bits of instruction. She was well-accustomed to being told what to do, having endured the control of a boatload of peons since she was five years old. Not once in all that time had she been blessed with helpful guidance; instead she’d been manipulated, used, mistreated, and forgotten. Now finally in control of herself, she would likely end up a Google statistic. She had a 40% chance of ending up homeless or suffering from drug addiction within two to four years.

“Merge onto I-70 West ahead.” Bob again. He was telling her how to get to Paris. Like most other 18 year-old girls she knew, her dream from a child had been to enjoy delicious buttery croissants at an elegant bistro near the Eiffel Tower with outdoor seating arranged to give patrons glorious views of the city. Now that she’d aged out of the foster care system, she was in control of her destiny and had chosen to leave Pittsburgh for Paris. She shoved down the mocking hilarity bubbling in her throat at the recognition that her “Paris” was in Kentucky, not France.

Lorna imagined the people who settled Kentucky must have longed for far-away places just like she did. She’d also briefly considered London, Kentucky. A crooked smile played across her face. At least Bob with his English accent would have been more at home. But, she felt certain he would understand her desire to be in Paris and hadn’t seemed to mind at all when she’d asked him to show her how to get there. Bob was very obliging that way. Unfortunately, he made mistakes, and Lorna’d ended up in a couple places she’d rather have steered clear of. No, Bob wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. Perhaps some day she’d find someone who would provide the “right” direction each and every time she needed help.

Several miles and thoughts into her journey, her eyes briefly fell on the black leather book on the car’s passenger seat, and Lorna thought of the words the lady from the nonprofit had offered that morning when she’d handed her the book, keys and paperwork. “You’re never alone, Lorna. God knows where you are, and He’s there when you’re ready for Him.” The lady took Lorna’s hands and said a prayer for her safety. She’d ended the prayer with a reading from the book. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

They were beautiful words. Nurturing a passion for exquisite literature, the sheer beauty of the script brought tears to Lorna’s eyes.

“You are exceeding the speed limit.”

“Yes, Bob. I know I’m speeding. Must you say the same thing over and over again? Why don’t you ever say something nice, like “Good job, Lorna or You look pretty today, Lorna or I love you, Lorna.” A tear rolled silently down her cheek, but she quickly brushed it away. Someday, she would find someone to give her those words. For now, she was thankful for Bob’s presence and guidance. She knew many would mock her familial acceptance of him, but she simply didn’t care.

The lady from the nonprofit said a kind couple donated the car and requested they be allowed to choose the person to whom it would be gifted. They’d chosen Lorna. Having been given very little in her life, Lorna could barely move or speak when the lady from the nonprofit handed her the explanation, the paperwork, the keys, and the book. She said the couple were praying for her and asked if she would be kind enough to periodically let the nonprofit know how things were going. She’d mumbled agreement, but she had no intention of keeping any ties to Pittsburgh. Her new life was in Paris, and she and Bob were going to carve out a new path there.

“When possible, make a U-turn.”

“What??? Bob, what have you done? Lorna looked around frantically, trying to determine her location and needed direction. She’d placed too much trust in Bob’s guidance. Although well-intentioned, he was fallible. Lorna took the next exit and pulled over in a Wendy’s parking lot. The greasy smells made her stomach growl with yearning, but she had very little expendable cash. She’d been working after school since she was 16, but the piece of crap foster “parents” she’d been with had stolen most of her earnings. Shortly after being placed with them, she’d appropriately dubbed them “the blood suckers”. She’d finally wisened up and had lately been storing her earnings in a lock box her employer allowed her to use. Last night, she’d slept with the money in an envelope triple taped to her upper thigh.

Adjusting the position of her sore thighs on the car seat, Lorna breathed deeply and tried to formulate a more acceptable plan for reaching Paris. She needed a physical road map but had no idea where to find one. If she could talk to old Mr. Allen, he could tell her what she needed to know. She’d been placed with him and his wife for a short time when she was 13. An intelligent and extremely resourceful old man, Mr. Allen was a fanatical luddite. He refused to allow computers, cell phones, or anything with a possible technological “eye” into his home. The Allens had taken Lorna on a trip, and she’d been fascinated with Mr. Allen’s use of a road map. He smugly touted the superiority of the tried-and-true paper product over the modern “computer contraptions” people trusted to guide them. He’d often say, “Lorna, you have to be in control of your own destiny. Don’t put your trust in anyone or anything else.” As she looked at Bob with discouragement, Lorna thought Mr. Allen was probably right.

Thinking of Mr. Allen reminded Lorna he kept his road map in his car’s glove compartment. Perhaps the glove compartment was the normal place for all old people to store their maps. She was delighted to find a small journal with a beautiful cover of blue and purple trees and foliage in the compartment. A delicate matching pen hung securely in a small blue tab attached to one side. When she opened the journal, her eyes fell immediately to beautifully written words at the top of the page.

“Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; And lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and He shall direct thy paths.” Great, someone else telling her which way to go. Although she desperately wanted to trust in this God to “direct her paths”, she couldn’t stop thinking about the exhaustive list of people who’d mislead her. Her biological parents, foster families, social workers, teachers, employers, friends, Bob – they’d all eventually disappointed her. No, it was time for Lorna to stop dreaming, yearning for direction and love from someone or something destined to let her down. She pulled the pen out of its slot and wrote on the journal page, “Not this time, I’ll find my own path, thank you very much.”

Under the journal was the original sales sticker for the car. She was shocked to see the car was only a year old, and the sticker price was astronomical. The people who’d donated it must be filthy rich. Lorna smiled the first real smile she’d experienced in a long time and silently thanked the nice rich couple for this incredible gift. Looking down once again, her eyes fell upon another gift – a road map. The nice rich couple must also be old. Releasing a small giggle, Lorna unrolled the direction-giver.

As far as Lorna could tell from the map, she needed to find I-71 South. She was in Ohio, not far at all from Kentucky. She was certain she’d be able to find her own way to Paris. “Don’t look at me like that, Bob. You know what you did.”

She drove in the direction of the path she’d chosen and decided after a short while to stop at a gas station to refuel and stretch her legs. Hunger pains no longer allowing her purposeful disregard, she decided to go inside and purchase a candy bar along with her gas. While perusing the assortment of delicious chocolate concoctions, she was almost knocked to the ground by a rough, foul-smelling arm protruding from what she suddenly recognized as a masked, armed assailant. Pointing a dirty, black gun at the cashier behind the counter, the masked man proffered a grimy paper bag and grunted, “Empty the register now.” The robber’s hands shook so badly, Lorna feared he’d accidently pull the trigger. It was broad daylight. What kind of person robbed a gas station in broad daylight? Unable to tear her frightened gaze from the robber, her eyes fell on the faded lettering of his dirty t-shirt. It read, “I do what the voices in my head tell me.”

“Hurry up, you’re going too slow. Fill up the bag now or you’re dead.” Suddenly, the guy listening to the voices in his head turned his eyes toward Lorna. “What are you looking at?” His scratchy voice rolled over her like the slimy green ooze with which one of her foster “brothers” had delighted in soaking her. “Get on the floor now. Put your hands over your head.” He shook the gun in her direction, nearly causing her heart to stop. She fell to the ground, once again taking direction from a peon. Flooded with relief, she heard sirens in the distance.

“You called the cops.” Lorna chanced a glance at the robber, and horror struck her heart at the sight of his eyes flitting uncontrollably in all directions. Her heart nearly stopped when she heard the booming sound of the gunshot and felt the sticky sprays of bloody ooze from the cashier hit her fingers as they rested on top of her head.

The next few hours passed in a blur of activity as sirens, lights, and people flooded the gas station. The voices in his head didn’t provide escape instructions quickly enough, and the cops arrested the robber. By the time she was able to leave, the whole situation faded into what seemed like a surreal scene from a movie she wished she hadn’t watched. As she was exiting the store, someone offered her a candy bar, but she was no longer hungry. She went back to her car and Bob and the road map.

After looking over the map, she gave Bob the destination. She briefly glanced at his directions, and it appeared he agreed with her map findings. Before she left the gas station parking lot, she once again opened the journal. The page she’d opened offered comforting words. “The LORD also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble. And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: For thou, LORD, has not forsaken them that seek thee.” A single tear flowed down Lorna’s cheek as she let the words flow over her. How many times in her life had she needed a refuge, but no refuge could be found? The words were beautiful, but they didn’t apply to her. She had to make her own path in this world. Taking in a deep breath, she turned her car to the road and once again began her journey to Paris.

At nearly 6 pm, Lorna was puzzled when Bob said her destination was 51 miles away. She’d calculated an arrival time between 5:30 and 6. She should already be in Paris. Since she’d plotted the path after the gas station incident, and Bob had been in the car the whole time without any trauma, she decided to trust his direction.

Hunger finally returning in full force, Lorna took an exit and found a grocery store. She couldn’t even look in the direction of the candy bars, so she went down the chip aisle, and a store clerk suggested a bag of Grippo’s Barbeque Potato Chips. The clerk explained they were made by a company in Ohio, and everyone in Ohio and Kentucky swore by their superiority. So, Lorna allowed the clerk as well as the people of Ohio and Kentucky to guide her. She added a Pepsi to the chips and completed her purchase.

Back in the car, Lorna opened her bag of chips, stuffing a large handful into her mouth. When the burning sensation hit her throat, she nearly spit out the mouthful of soggy fire waiting to join the other torture slowly entering her esophagus. She downed nearly half the Pepsi in an effort to ease the pain. Unfortunately, the acidic nature of the soda only seemed to intensify the burning of the chips. Coughing profusely, Lorna ran back into the store and bought a bottled milk. The clerk who’d “helped” her noticed her distress and offered with a sheepish grin, “I guess I should have warned you the chips are pretty hot.”

Having suffered the consequences of the misguided directions of two states’ worth of people, Lorna climbed back into her car. She reached for the journal, and this time, she took particular notice of the reference for the beautifully written words at the top of the page she’d opened. Correctly speculating the reference words pointed to verses in the black book, Lorna decided to go directly to the source this time. The reference was for Matthew 6:33. “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”

Wanting desperately to know what “things shall be added” to her, Lorna went back a couple verses to get a better idea of the meaning behind the beautiful words. She read verses 31 and 32. “Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat?, or What shall we drink?, or Wherewithal shall we be clothed?...for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.” Three of the words jumped off the page and came to rest in her heart – “your… heavenly… Father”. She read verse 33 again. “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”

A little fearful of hoping to finally find a Father who would take care of her, Lorna moved on down the road toward Paris. She paid no attention to the road signs or sights she passed. Her mind was consumed with the verses she’d heard from the nonprofit lady and the ones she’d read in the journal and the black book. Could it be true there was a God who would lovingly guide and provide for her, who would not foster but adopt her as His own? Her tears wouldn’t stop, but still she drove, following Bob’s directions. Finally, he said the words she’d been longing to hear since early that morning, “You have arrived at your destination.”

Suddenly alert, Lorna looked around and almost lost control of her car when she saw a sign reading, “Welcome to Pittsburg.” She wasn’t in Paris, but in a place called Pittsburg, Ky. She looked incredulously at Bob before pulling over and grabbing her road map. She laughed out loud when she saw Pittsburg, Ky was less than three miles from London, Ky. Bob had taken her to a Pittsburg very close to a London. He probably thought they could both feel at home here.

She knew Bob couldn’t actually think or feel, but it was comforting to imagine him as a real person. Lorna realized in her dazed state following the robbery, she must have typed in Pittsburg instead of Paris into the GPS. She had some decisions to make. Would she stay in Pittsburg, would she travel on to London, or would she finally make her way to Paris? No longer trusting herself, Bob, or any other person on the face of the earth, Lorna decided to do what she knew must be done if she was ever to have the love and direction she needed. She picked up the black book. A card with a picture of a road on the front fell out into her lap. At the top of the card were the words, Romans Road to Salvation. Several verses from the book of Romans were referenced. She looked them up in the black book and read them one by one beginning with Romans 3:23, “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” She lingered on Romans 10:13. “For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.” Finally, after reading several more verses, she ended with Romans 8:38-39. “For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

All this time, Lorna had been taking directions from fallible people and things and ignoring the only One who would truly love, care for, and guide her in the right direction. She called upon the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, asked his forgiveness for the wrongs she’d done, and finally asked where she should make her home. When she opened her eyes, they fell on a sheet of paper that had fallen from the journal. It was a short note with the names and address of a family. It read, “If you ever need anything, please contact us." She laughed aloud as she read the address; it was in Paris, Kentucky.