Time is Rolling Along

  As time is rolling along, the countryside is passing my windshield. Two hundred fifty-six miles and I stand looking as far into the past as I go.  A mother left me 72 years ago and a father that left thirty-two years. Memory is as fresh as dew on the grass. We talk a while; I beg forgiveness of my shortcomings and remind them I will be joining them soon. I tell them I’m on my way to see their Amarillo grandson and take in a country music concert. They remind me I know very little more of this grandson than they do. I promise to engage him, look him in the eye and talk about you.

   On down the road I run across some apostles, we talk from wisdom past, and chuckle at our age. Aches, pains, and mirrors tell us we are older than we think as we speak of younger days. They bid me good day and tear as we may not see each other again on this side. I leave as my iron horse is telling me a story of A Time for Mercy from her speakers.

  Long afternoon bar hopping, reacquainting our kinship as I figure out, we live in different worlds and his is good, and different from mine. Music is loud and entertains the 5000+ crowd of young tanned beautiful people. It is good to see so many smiles, hugs, kisses, and handshakes and not the violence or disharmony portrayed on the flat screen. My 78 years watches, and tires quicker than I would like, so a hard walk to distant motel and sleep.

   If you know what a big breakfast is, it was awesome. A goodbye to son who is much older than I thought he might be. The unknown time factor plays tricks on my mind as I head south to home and revisit the past as familiar countryside drifts by my windshield. Down off the caprock just south of Quitaque, as I cross the Los Lingos Creek, I see Jesus. Not really surprised as I have seen him before. One time in Mexico he was riding a horse on a rock road to Morelia. His name was pronounced a little different, but he is the same guy, standing on the bridge. I pull off the road and walk back to the bridge.

  As I approach Jesus says, “Good to see you it’s been a long time.” as he leans on his walking stick.

  “Oh yes it has been a while. Do you need a ride?”

  “No, I have just left the falls and pond back up the creek. I knew you would be along and figured you would recognize me and pull over.”

   “So, you remember, and I must ask. Have you seen me in your travels?”

   “Oh yes I see you making dust” Jesus replied and added, “you are doing a pitiful job of it.”

   “I know,” I reply, look down, and add, “I have a problem with my missteps.”

    Jesus reminds me,” It is my job the handle your missteps, and your job not to make them, you must remember I am here for you.”

   “So, you’re going to show up no matter what, on my journey?”

   “As long as you look out the windshield, or lift your eye to a stranger, I will see you makin’ dust.”

   “Thank you for the visit, keep a watch on my dust, help me to make worthy dust.”

   “Once again as back in Mexico Jesus says, “Come back this way one more time.”

    I ask about his caballo and he responds, “He has gone to the beyond, but I visit him often.”

    “Thank you for the visit and watch for my dust, I will do better.” I say as I pullback on the road and remember the time he rode on my shoulder in my old Jimmy truck.

     Down the road past the Fairmont Baptist Church, Flomot, Matador, on to Jacksboro to pick up fried chicken. I approach home and feel blessed for my safe trip. The wife is patient and glad I brought chicken and gravy as we enjoy what is left of this fine Easter Sunday. I will tell her of my day later, she will not be surprised.