I found comfort in the knowledge that I was not alone in my suffering. Unfortunately, the note also reminded me that I had eaten my last food several hours ago and was beginning to grow weary with hunger. Regardless, I trudged onward.

 

 

 

The creek bed only mocked my thirst. I staggered on through the debris-choked gravel in search of the “preacher’s house.”

 

 

 

The valley walls were becoming increasingly steep. I wondered if the parsonage was tucked into a crevice among the rocks.

 

 

 

Leading up a thankfully gentler embankment, I spotted scattered stone steps. Grateful to be leaving the barren gravel bed behind, I stumbled up the steps, which were slippery with wet and decaying leaves. At the top of the hill I saw a teetering shack.