Hitchhiking on Father's Day

I am catching up on a few days, so bear with me...

I arrived in Tours, France after a long day of travel. I am sunburned from WAITING: For the many modes of transportation that say they are coming when they aren't; for random buses that miss your train times because nothing lines up; waiting. But somehow, the waiting is pleasant--maybe cuz it's Father's Day and my heart has been so broken lately that it is now at rest.

This morning I woke up and made my way through the crowds for the marathon at Le Mont St. Michel. Of all the weekends--a marathon weekend! I am so glad I went last night when no one was there. I made my way up the incline to the Abbey (this is what makes the Mont St. Michel a ''Mont'') for Sunday mass. As I took my place and the monks started chanting, my eyes filled with tears. Maybe it was the haunting singing, maybe the longing for my Father to have known Jesus, maybe wondering if Jesus FELT glorified in all the ''religion'' taking place. My tears fell and my eyes were empty--no more to give. I cut out of mass early to see the abbey and catch my bus. I accidentally took a ''tour'' of the abbey (which saved me 8 Euros!) but I was almost late getting back to the bus stop, although the bus never came. I re-routed and arrived in Tours by 9:45 at night. There were no taxis to be found, so I waited some more.

A nice couple asked if I wanted to share a taxi with them, because my hostel was on the way out of town to their house. 20 minutes passed--no taxis and there were 5 people ahead of us. My feet were practically bleeding, the blisters pinching against my shoes. The couple decided to call a friend and they took me to my hostel. Is it hitchiking when you've met and talked with the people?

My desperation and God's grace made it all possible.