News of an impending hurricane in North Myrtle Beach takes Faith and Todd by surprise, and they hesitate for a moment as they talk about whether or not to head south out of Shallotte and risk the storm. The couple is on their way to Texas via a southern route, to spread the gospel and to find a place to camp for awhile. For now, Wal-Mart parking lots are home to their Shasta travel trailer and their seven Chihuahuas. August nights in North and South Carolina are hot, muggy, humid. Tonight is no different. The air in my van is stifling and even Koko has give up her sprawl on the bed in the back and moved up to her spot in the passenger seat where she can catch a breeze and growl at shoppers who pass too close to the van.

“When is it supposed to hit?” Todd asks. I shrug.
“Friday? Saturday? I’m not sure. Friends called to warn me it was on the way,” I explain.
“Should we go anyway?” Todd turns to Faith.
They debate the pros and cons. A small trailer in a high wind is not a risk anyone wants to take.

“Maybe it won’t become a hurricane,” I say as I keep snapping pictures.

Faith is a minister, a bearer of the word of God, a Moses with her “rolling tract” - Bible verses emblazoned in careful hand painted lettering on their trailer. There many Christians hesitate to share their faith with a friend or co-worker, Faith is anxious to single-handedly fulfill God’s admonition to share the gospel with the world. Being a “rolling Bible tract,” is how she has chosen to do that. And it works.

“Except for the verse where I misspelled staff and wrote shaft for “Thy rod and thy staff comfort me…” it’s all the word of God,” she laughs.
“We got some comments on that one.” She steps back, waving one hand at the corner of the trailer where the corrected verse is now scrawled. We walk around the trailer. The familiar verses are there….and Rev. 3:20, ‘”Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, (then) I will enter his house and dine with him, and he with me,” is, appropriately enough, written on the trailer door. They have a sense of humor and even laugh at the reactions they get.

“People see us coming, they either run away or run towards us,” she explains.
“That’s the spirit of God. It draws those who want to hear His word to us.”

The verse covered trailer draws Christians, but it also draws the curious.

“Lots of people want to take our picture, or a picture of the trailer,” she nods.
“Cell phones, video cameras, still cameras. We get our picture taken a lot. Some people say they don’t have time to read the whole trailer and want a picture so they can read it later. Some people don’t believe we’ve done this and some, I don’t know. They just want a picture.”

They’re used to the attention - mostly positive. No one hassles them, although they’re concerned that they might run into problems in Myrtle Beach. Tourist towns, as a rule, don’t allow overnight parking in store lots. It’s not that the stores mind so much, parkers do tend to spend money - about $150 per person in Wal-Mart for instance. It’s that the hotels, campgrounds and other merchants prefer to see those through campers paying for a stay and paying them.

The couple relies on God to provide. He does, usually through “love offerings, gifts and the kindness of strangers.” They’re not a 5013c non-profit and any money, food or gifts they receive only bless them and the giver, not anyone’s tax return.

I’m struck by their passion for preaching, and of course their lifestyle. Living and traveling with seven dogs in a small trailer - it takes passion. We talk for about an hour, until the Benedryl I’m taking for a bad case of hives kicks in and I can barely stay awake. I wonder at what I’m so passionate about that I’d be moved enough to cover my van with it all. I tape my interview with them and I know I’ll come back to it later. For now - I’m impressed that they have a tribe, a group of followers and like minds. There’s a tribe for everyone - it’s true. And I feel better about my own journey. We heretics, the crazy ones, the ones who will change the world? We’re out there. Faith and Todd are proof of that.

Then I crawl back into my van, they head into the Wal-Mart, and another night passes - hot and muggy with no promise of rain. I drive by their rig on my way out of the parking lot at 7 a.m. There is no movement and the dogs aren’t visible. But the car and trailer are pointed south. They’ve made their decision and it’s not a surprise. They didn’t seem like the threat of a storm was a big deal.