Come Ride with Me

Come Ride with Me

(“A voice crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way for the Lord; make his paths straight.’” Luke 3:4)

I’ll tell you a secret from the mud bottom of Spring,
I’ll whisper the honesty of gravel where I’m scrambling,
I need a road trip,
a route 66 trip,
a Grand Canyon, Painted Desert, Navajo Nation
and curio stand trip.

I need a sedan without air-conditioning and keeping each
other awake
across the long stretches, whining across the deserts,
curling up the mountains with
tires
that should have been replaced thousands of miles ago.

I want to hear your mix tape,
your stories, even though you’ve told them
to me before.
I love to hear the story, morning by morning,
and at the rest stops where we pause for two hour naps.

I know your music well and hear it for the first time
every time we travel.
I’ve memorized your sagas, down to verse and dogma
that cement them too familiar to be surprised again.

But you surprise me even though I’ve know the road since a child,
you sing along with AM radio, crying and laughing before the song
is done.
We pull in stations from Mexico and wonder why FM
was ever invented. We keep it tuned until the signal sounds
just like the tires across the inky asphalt. We turn the wheel,
we tune the knob
searching for another list of night songs to take us home.

It seems I’ve always been on the road, and now I sit
in a tight rectangle, wanting the sun to burn my face,
the wind to wake me as the white lines hypnotize me,
and feel like the first time I ever ventured out alone.

I never feared a wrong turn, never wept my failures;
always watched for the screen doors that looked
on like lemonade stands operated by children. We were
the proprietors
of a season that leaves a hat blown into the desert,
a heart that watches for midnight dwellers in the
air from afternoon until night.

Come, let us ride. The highway still needs construction,
the scenic route awaits your company. Though you have
always been with me,
I ask you

Come ride with me again.

A Short Bending on a Long Path

A Short Bending on a Long Path

(“Hear this, O foolish and senseless people, who have eyes, but see not, who have ears, but hear not. Do you not fear me? says the Lord; Do you not tremble before me?” Jeremiah 5:21,22a)

Her life, now, and final, and at last,
is sadly, after all the trying, completely half-mast.
At first she sang out loud, memorized the words,
went with the crowd. She raised the roof and danced
barefoot while new bands sang ancients psalms. She was
first, and primarily, free.

But the songs passed her by, the beaches dried up while
all her barefoot friends went inside. The earned title and
wore silk ties; they were careful not to traipse around the pew
and carpets
with the sand from previous sandals. She settled in,
learned the new songs, and learned to fall at the touch of
the anointed ones who never struck the multitudes as, well,

Odd.

She tried, she did. She squeezed visions from her head, and
forced meaning to the dreams she sometimes remembered wrestling
with tangled sheets on her bed. She upped the ante, she gave more than most.
She spent her mighty mind internal; and locked her lips as she had
learned was her best beauty and wisdom.

She cried, but hid. She bought the newest music, chose the latest flavors,
and lit candles for every relative still residing outside the chosen
neighborhood. If only the world would stop careening (we know
it is time for judgment and wrath). If only they would come inside
and join the unblemished who stopped sinning ages ago.

She refused to lie, any longer. Their songs were sweet, but the singers
vied for the front seats and first class passes. Their dance was unique,
but the steps were judged and scrutinized; freedom died. Their words
were true, and deeds mostly good, but what so many misunderstood when

She pried upon her heart. Some fled in fear. Some stayed to clean up the mess.
Some could not turn away, but refused to hear. Some fainted and insisted the
Holy Ghost
had fallen right then and there.

She relied, finally, only, a little sadly, upon the Only Love she had ever known.
Let her life flutter low on the pole, let others consider her a mistake, semi-whole,
let the tongues like blades continue to touch the fading scars. Never mind every
stark star stripped of its shining.

She relied, finally, fully and surrendered to Love renewed.

He Begged God

“God had the power to save Jesus from death. And while Jesus was on earth, he begged God with loud crying and tears to save him. He truly worshiped God, and God listened to his prayers.” Hebrews 5:7

People have countless images of Jesus. We view Him as the Super-Human miracle-worker slashing demons with a single word. Or, we see Him as the compassionate Healer, touching the sick and restoring them to health. He is the Good Shepherd, tenderly leading His sheep to safety. He is the fearless Master of Creation, stilling the storm with His voice.