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They will sing this songThursday, December 6, 2018
From Isaiah 26 I suppose there was a beautiful moon over Beaver Lake that night, but I was dead to the world. Cozy in my sleeping bag, a rock for my pillow. Felt the June air slowly cool, closed my eyes, enveloped by a prayer. I was in Gospel country, the Bible belt, snake handlers just around the corner and I rested easy ... come, Lord Jesus. Those rocks have not moved since 1976. I don't expect they'll move much in the next fifty years, either. In the morning the dreams break and I crack my eyes open. The fire's out, but the sun is just so beautiful, rising in the blue sky above the blue lake. What else is there to do but jump in, dive in, get clean? So yes, I do. And that's the best part of all. Cleanse me with hyssop and I will be clean. I had to walk out too, of course, the same way I came in. But that's the kind of thing you can do when you're hitchhiking, when you have no car and no obligations. It really didn't matter when I got to Fayetteville. No one was holding dinner. I was glad to be on the road, and I would be glad to get off the road. Just for a week or so. If we could just hear them, the rocks would tell their stories. Of Jesus and his guys, and all the miracles they've seen. Of my quick and quiet night beneath the stars. A different kind of miracle, but wonderful to me. Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand. I am tired, I am weak, I am worn. Through the storm and through the night, lead me on to the light, take my hand, precious Lord, and lead me home. |
There was a lot of walking involved, in from the road. But at last I found a deep cleft in the rock, put down my pack, and made a fire from nearby deadwood. A circle of stones. The sun setting. I ate the second half of my turkey sandwich.