MEXICO: Fuel, groceries, baseball, surgery, shuttle vans, mattresses, new clothes, a feast, wildfires & floods

How we've spent your paid subscription money so far

Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free, am I right?

When I opened up the possibility of paid subscriptions to this blog, I really didn’t know if anyone would do it. After all, I’d structured it in a completely illogical way—both the free and the paid subscribers get equal access to all my posts. This is not the way the paid system is supposed to work within the Substack platform. Paid subscribers are supposed to gain access to more content hidden behind the paywall.

But as a person who has always been fascinated by how social interactions work, I wanted to run an experiment. Would people pay for something they don’t need, knowing they will receive very little tangible benefit¹ in return?

As it turns out, the answer is yes.

Five percent of my subscribers have decided to do just that—pay for a subscription, even though they can get all the posts for free. They believe in what we are doing out here on the road—to the point that they will financially stand behind it. Some of my paid subscribers pay the minimum annual subscription fee of $54 (about the same price as one fancy coffee per month). The others have decided to be even more illogical and pay more than the minimum, up to twice that amount, in fact, for the exact same content as those who pay the minimum—or nothing at all.

It’s downright Kingdom of Heaven, Five o’Clock People sort of stuff, this ridiculously reversed logic. Bass-ackwards, some would say.

But we believe that human beings—all of them, from every nation, tribe, tongue, skin tone, sexual orientation, and socio-economic status, all of them—are made in the image of God. This means they are worthy of basic human dignity—the right to go about their lives with decency and safety—even when they are different from me and what my culture tells me is respectable, even when their choices in life are different from my choices, even when I disagree with them on important things.

That is the basis of the title and function of this blog—Diesel & Dignity. As I stated back in June when I first opened up the option for paid subscriptions, it works like this:

• Up to half of the proceeds from subscription dollars will be put toward diesel fuel for Walter, our big yellow truck. We have sold or given away everything else and live full time in the truck, traveling the world to learn from the people we meet. As much as possible, we travel slowly, to keep from using too much fuel in any one week or month, but diesel is what gets us places.

• The remaining money from the paid subscriptions, at least half, if not more, goes toward meeting the needs of people we encounter in one way or another—providing them with funds to further their personal dignity. As much as possible, we check to make sure the needs are valid, though it is possible we might get scammed occasionally. We will be as careful as we can, but we will not stress out over it. In our way of thinking, it’s not our money; it’s not even your money; it’s God’s money. He has entrusted us with it, and it is better to take risks and spend it in the best ways we know than to hoard it in fear.²

In the past six months since I opened up paid subscriptions, this little blog has brought in a grand total of $888.42.³

Half of that, $444.21, has covered a small portion of our diesel fuel.

The other half has gone to promoting the dignity of people who need a little boost—a hand-UP rather than a hand-OUT. Below, I will tell you the stories. Accounting, I am certain, has never been this much fun.

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Back in Bend, Oregon, in September, I overheard some phone conversations in a laundromat. I don’t believe the woman was trying to put on a show for me. She was just in a rough place, desperate, in fact, but trying to make the best of it and care for several others in even worse circumstances, simultaneously. My heart melted for her. As she was leaving, I tucked $40 into her hand and said some words of kindness. It wasn’t enough to solve her problems, but it was all I had on me at the moment, and it would at least buy a few groceries. She burst into tears and threw her arms around me. Her body shook with sobs. It was the right thing to do, and I was so glad to have been alerted to her circumstances.

More recently, I met Ronaldo, an aspiring young baseball player from Baja’s Puerto Agua Verde, a tiny, remote fishing village near where we recently beach camped for six days.

I visited Ronaldo’s village twice during our stay. When the tide is low enough, his village can be reached on foot from our campsite by hugging the rocky coastline for a half mile or so.

I walked there the first time with a few others to eat at one of the three restaurants along the beach—simple structures with a kitchen in the back and a thatched roof over a few handmade tables and chairs on the sand. No question: the delicious fish was freshly caught only hours before. The second time I went to “town” alone, on a quest to buy tortillas at the little store and take a shower. An enterprising family has erected a lovely and clean bath house behind a restaurant. The sign advertised showers for 20 pesos ($1.00). When I inquired, they said they would heat the water for 10 pesos more. A five-gallon bucket of warm water with part of a plastic jug for a ladle in a private white stucco stall with a partial thatched roof, a locking door, and a breezy view of the deep blue sky; plus, several sturdy hooks to hang up a towel, clothes, and a gym bag—all for $1.50?

TAKE. MY. MONEY.

After eight days of non-stop sun and salt and sweat, this felt like the most luxurious shower in the world.

But back to Ronaldo. He approached me at our campsite shyly, a battered manila file folder in one hand. On one side of the folder was a large photo of him in his baseball uniform, with the logo of his team and the logo of the league he plays in. On the other side, in carefully printed English letters, was his letter of introduction. He requested that I read it, but I encouraged him to do his best to read it with me. He struggled with the difficult sounds but did his best. It was a request for donations to help him travel to the upcoming All-Star game in a city some distance away. In Spanish, I asked him what position he plays, and he said he is a pitcher, pantomiming his fastball delivery.

Requesting a moment to think about it, I went to our truck, then I returned with a baseball in hand. He and his mother had already begun their walk back to their village, so I called out for them to wait. At first, Ronaldo thought I was giving him the ball, but I handed him a Sharpie marker and motioned for him to sign it then pose for a photo. I explained that I wanted to keep the ball, waiting for when he is famous. His eyes sparkled with pride. I handed his mother 100 pesos and specified it is for his travels. They both thanked me. Ronaldo adjusted the jaunty angle of his flat-brimmed baseball cap and walked away with a spring in his step.

Might I have gotten scammed by this family? I suppose it’s possible. I was hesitant to donate a large amount. But I have walked the length and breadth of their simple village—with its three restaurants, two churches, two small stores, a tire shop, schools, a fishing co-op, a few dozen houses, and a new bathhouse. It appears most people there are truly struggling to get by. I hope your $5.00 donation to Ronaldo’s family goes toward his baseball travel expenses, but I am not too worried about it.

I do look forward to being in a place long enough to be able to vet situations better and make more significant donations. Up until this week, though, we have been traveling at the whim of a large caravan. Our group is much smaller now, and we can be more personal in our approach to life as we move forward.

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One destination for your funds that has been thoroughly-vetted is Sauti Hope Orphanage in Uganda, to which we have a personal connection. A very good friend of ours is frequently on the ground there and regularly creates giving campaigns to cover specific needs they have. We have been supporting them for some time now, but since June we’ve contributed a total of $300 from the Diesel & Dignity Fund toward four specific projects:

• $100 toward medical expenses for a 14-year-old girl who has had a very difficult life and needed surgery on one of her legs due to a severe infection

  

• $40 toward the purchase of two vans to shuttle the children to and from school, which will save the orphanage $20,000 per year in transportation costs. This money is now freed up to go toward tuition fees instead.

  

• $80 to provide ten new mattresses with new blankets and bed sheets

  

• $80 toward the Christmas celebration in which they were able to purchase new shoes, new clothes, and a huge feast for all 155 kids

  

For more photos of the orphanage, its staff and resident children, as well as several shots including our friend, Robb, check out their Instagram page.

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That left $99.21 remaining in the Diesel & Dignity fund

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With the wildfires currently burning down entire communities in Southern California, the place I called home from age 12 to age 24; and with the recent flooding that has caused so much horrific devastation in several small towns in eastern North Carolina, I decided to give the remaining funds to an organization I believe in:

Habitat for Humanity has consistently impressed me with their integrity and independently verified financial practices, as well as their ability to get literal boots on the ground to help rebuild after the initial disaster clean-up has made way for recovery.

Two of their stated purposes, shown in the screenshot of the About page of their website below, are to love like Jesus did and promote dignity. If you know this blog and me at all, you know those two things are my deepest desires.

There is a reason the late Jimmy Carter was so dedicated to this organization. It does good work. The current CEO makes $49,000 per year. This is not an organization that believes in lining the pockets of its leaders, but rather, it humbly sticks to its principles, vision, and mission—and does it all with excellence. In honor of former President Carter’s passing, and in anticipation of hopefully donating our own time on an upcoming build project with this stellar organization, we have donated the remaining $99.21 to their Disaster Relief Fund.

Habitat for Humanity is a great cause, and the orphanage in Uganda we support will be an ongoing place for us to contribute, but we are most excited about finding other needs we can assist with along our journey, so we have more first-hand stories—like Ronaldo’s, and the woman at the laundromat’s—to tell.

I doubt I will want to go another six months before updating you again, but at this point our fund is officially depleted of 2024’s contributions, as well as the few that have come in thus far in January. We are starting from scratch now, fully believing that more donations—in the form of paid subscriptions to this publication—will come in. If you have been thinking of upgrading your subscription from free to paid, this would be a great time to do it.

Our current travels in the southern tip of the Baja peninsula continue to be rich and fulfilling. Last week’s little scare has continued to be an anomaly. Since then, we have beach camped some more, explored the big cities of La Paz and Cabo San Lucas, and met up with my parents who were on a cruise and happened to have a day in port that matched up with our timing. Then, just today (as I write this), we had a little adventure—Walter the Truck got stuck in soft, deep sand on a gorgeous beach. With lots of digging and good traction boards, we were able to eventually get unstuck and find firmer sand, where we are now camped. Our Nomadic MidLife Instagram has the video, if you’d like to see Andy and me in adrenaline-laced mini-crisis mode. It’s actually pretty funny.

We love our life.

We wish everyone could love theirs, too.

Please consider donating to our Diesel & Dignity Fund by becoming a paid subscriber. Help us fill the tank again. We can’t help the whole world, but we can help those who cross our paths.

Until next week,

Sherry

1. Actually, the paid subscribers do get an occasional travel postcard and a random small gift, like a beat-up and worn-out seashell I found on a Mexican beach.

2. Jesus told a parable about just this sort of thing. It was written down by one of his friends, a former corrupt tax collector named Matthew, who knew a thing or two about finances and accounting. You can read the story here: Matthew 25:14-28. It’s not long. Check it out.

3. This dollar amount is the net total, after the minimal taxes and fees taken out by Substack and Stripe (the trusted interface between Substack and our financial institution).