Visiting The Past And Finding A Vision

There's an old farm north and west of here that I have been meaning to visit for quite some time. It's close enough that I've had the luxury of waiting until the "right" time. Tonight it was time! The gravel secondary road that runs in the general direction of the farm has a huge sign at it's entrance, "ROAD CLOSED." The access on both sides is such that car and truck traffic is not possible without taking the sign down. Motorcycles, on the other hand, were designed to easily maneuver around such obstacles. The gravel took me a mile or so west and then I found the dirt two-track road that led back north. Having explored the area a few months ago I knew I had to get there when it was dry, as in no recent rains. It was perfect. I putted through the undergrowth and the overgrown road offered no difficulties. Sometimes there are fallen fence posts and tree limbs in the tall grass that can cause one to suddenly tump over. That along with the occasional rubbish from an abandoned farm(its amazing how far a bedspring can get from the main house once it is no longer lived in)can make it necessary to dismount and "walk" the path of approach before riding it. This evening the only impediment to my progress was swirling about my head in the air. Tucked deep behind the trees the paintless gray hulk of a home lurked in repose. Glassless eyes watched my approach and a door leaning on one hinge greeted me at the porch, beckoning me enter. I learned a long time ago to be cautious when on one of these forays into the deserted unknown. I'm not the "take a buddy along" type of person. I guess I just don't really want to take the responsibility for someone else getting injured, like falling into an abandoned well or steping 'through' a floor and winding up one level down. Even though the site is completely grown over and hasn't had a vehicle around in years one can make out the "lay" of the land according to where the remaining portions of buildings are standing. Everything was logical, the house, barn, garages, utility sheds and the outhouse. Then I saw the sun very low in the sky, streaming through the thickness of winrow secluding the north and west sides of the farmstead. It was beautiful! I lost the light for the house as I clicked off a roll of shots through the unkempt trees looking out toward the remains of the barn. It's a lonely place, except for the skeeters, they're always more than happy to keep anything with blood company. My time was lost, or so I thought. There will be another day to shoot the place. Next time I'll leave earlier and stay not quite so long. There's something about the area where the children once played, old posts still support one swing, and another remains but only in part. Almost eerie, and I could imagine the sound long ago of some mother calling from the house this time of day, "you come on in now it's gettin' too dark to play." It would have, too! Back when this place was new, alive, and painted a billiant white, there was no electricity or running water. I heard the feint whisper from a distance, "it's getting too dark to play anymore, today." The 1340 rumbled to life at the briefest of touches on the starter switch and the radio blared out music from 2005 that only my ears could hear. Headlight blazing a way back through the treelined path down the overgrown, ancient dirt tracks, I breathed easier when the wheels were back on gravel. That was a first, gravel has never made me feel better on the ultra brute of a classic HD. Soon I was once again roaring down the two lane blacktop, chiding myself for foolishly running out where no person would ever find me if anything went wrong, and giving thanks to God that nothing had!
In Christ's Love, Preacher.

If Life Were Simply Music All We'd Have To Do Is Find The "Right" Key And Join In! 

Sending Prayers On The Wings Of An Angel 

Complexities Of Life Overridden By God's Love!

People sometimes refer to this 2 am hour as the "middle of the night." I really don't know what to call these single digit numbers that are part af every twenty four. This was, at one time, the approximate hour I would be getting off work. The club's last call would have been uttered at 1:30ish and the other guys in the band and I would be wrapping up the third and final show for the night. Breakfast happened next, at about a quarter to three, followed by the remaining acitivities that went on until after dawn. What a life that was! There are certainly times I miss it, but as with all other parts of our lives there are no "do overs!" The ironies of life amaze me at times, they shouldn't, but they do! Sunday morning I listened as Gavin worked his way through the meatier, as in cutting cutting to the bone, sections of his sermon on divorce. A short time ago I got a call from my youngest daughter. She was in a tearful, fearful state in regard to her stepfather's health. His heart has not been good, and at the present time he is in a hospital an hour from here fighting for his life. I am praying for him, for my ex-wife, and for all of our children, and all of his children, and for his ex-wife and their grandchildren, as well. I was Ken's(my daughter's step dad)ex-wife's pastor for four years. If this is beginning to sound complicated, it is, but even out here on the Great American Desert we have stuff that happens that is pretty much "parr for the course" along with the rest of the world in which we reside. I asked Jazz(my youngest daughter)if I should drive down. She said, "no, that might not be a very good idea."
You see, there has never been any healing from the divorces, and the individuals involved are still filled with bitterness, resentment, and hatred(I can only say that I've never really had a 'problem' in any of those directions)that has a tendency to erode even the most caring of hearts. Ken's a really good man, we shared a passion for motorcycles 25 years ago, and still do today, but we can't talk to one another as a result of the interpersonal stuff that has occurrred. I believe that God is at work in all of this, and my most fervent prayers are offered up in hopes that he will survive, and if he does not, that he knows my Savior, personally! I suppose that if I look at things logically, that since I was baptizing his children when I referred to myself as his ex-wife's pastor, I was theoretically his, as well. I wasn't the preacher that finally got him to attend church regularly, and for that I am certain there were reasons. We always seemed to get along fairly well out west during the Sturgis rally, but when we returned to this side of the state we lived in two very separate worlds. According to God's plan(it certainly wasn't one I would have chosen)our worlds collided headlong when he married my ex, and to top it all off, my wife, Cheryl, who was my ex's best friend, sang at their wedding! Like I said, we may be in South Dakota, but life here is a lot like it is everywhere else...Lol...A little aside meant only with the greatest of irony based humor. My ex never really cared for motorcycles, or people who rode them. Something about the "lifestyle" that she thought unsavory precluded her ever enjoying the riding and the camping under the stars in a tent. Ken and I both ride ultra classic Harleys, and when we see one another on the road we wave. Tonight I pray I will be seeing him on the road again one day, if not, then at least in heaven where we will understand a whole lot better all things of this life. Like I said, he's a good man, and God only knows what can be accomplished through faith. In Christ's Love, Preacher.

Photo Taken On The Approach Road To The Flandreau Indian School Friday Evening!