I just returned home from a weekend in the Hill Country. I drove my big ass car all by myself. And I got lost all by myself. Coming and going.
What should've been a six and a half
hour drive ended up taking seven hours. Coming and going.
I will admit that my sense of direction
is not much better than Stevie Wonder's sight. Still, I'm
blaming my lostedness on my low-carb diet.
Carbs give me clairity. And hope. And happiness.
Nothing happy about This Diet. I can
eat anything but sugar and bread and dairy and, well... food. Hardly any carbs. And I'm pretty sure my Spirit Animal is a Carbohydrate.
Whatever the reason, I missed my turn
in Abilene. Bless my heart, I was halfway to Fort Worth before I
realized my mistake. After much swearing and gnashing of teeth, I
somehow stumbled back onto the loop (AKA: The Circle Of Hell). But
then I needed to pee. At a Stage 4 level of bladder distress.
I stopped at one of those multi-purpose
stations where you can get gas and Burger King fries and a passport
and a shower and very likely, an STD.
I mowed over three burly truckers on my
way to the restroom and made it Just In Time. I promised myself I would be more disciplined about doing those blasted Kegels.
As I exited the restroom, I noticed a
huge sign hanging over the deli: “WE SELL BLUE BELL ICE CREAM”.
I immediately performed a military
precision pivot turn and headed straight for the dude behind the
counter.
“Blue Bell?” I asked in a reverent
whisper. “You have BLUE BELL?”
“Well... not exactly. I mean, we
WILL have it when the trucks make their way up to us.”
“And when will that be? Today?
Tomorrow?” I asked hopefully.
“Uh, no ma'am. It'll be at least
January.”
I tried to hide my utter disgust as I
dismissively nodded my head and headed dejectedly to my car.
Not ONLY had I gotten lost in
Abilene... my Blue Bell hopes had been crushed to smithereens.
Clearly, the universe was in cahoots to keep me carb-less.
Miraculously, by the time I arrived in
Fredericksburg I had regained my will to live.
********************************************************
On the way back home, I found myself lost again. But This Time, I found salvation
instead of frustration.
I had been on the road for less than
half an hour before I realized my mistake. Driving into a strange
town was my first clue.
I parked in a empty lot in
Harper-Freakin-Texas and pulled out my well-worn map (soiled with
shame) in an attempted to find myself.
According to my calculations (nebulous, at best), FM 634 was only a half-inch long and would get me to Mason
much quicker than backtracking.
So there I was, cluelessly traversing
the backroads of the Hill Country. No phone service. No GPS. No
carbs. No hope.
Trying to make the best of it, I put on
a James Taylor CD and began performing Kegels to the lucid tunes of
Fire and Rain.
But then... I started to notice the
spectacular scenery outside my windshield. Slowly, I found myself relaxing and actually enjoying my impromptu detour. Because really, who could possibly stay upset while passing flocks of fluffy sheep and herds of long-horned
cattle grazing on miles and miles of rolling Texas ranchland?
Apparently, not I.
Apparently, not I.
********************************************************
I saw the cross from way down the road.
It was beautiful. At least 10 feet
tall and made out of hand-carved wood.
Awed by the beauty of the cross, it took a minute before I noticed the old rancher.
He was kneeling on one knee with a hand
touching the cross and the other holding onto his cowboy hat. His
head was bowed in prayer.
I quickly took all this in as I drove down the country road. When my heart caught up to my brain, I
wanted to make a U-turn and go back to the cross. But I didn't.
I realized what I had witnessed was
holy and ordinary; precious and personal.
I imagined the rancher performing the very same ritual every single day of his life... saying his prayers
at the cross.
Completely unaware of my presence.
But I couldn't stop thinking about him.
Of his humility and vulnerability.
Of his faithfulness.
These are the days where the darkness
of the world is often overwhelming; where the hope of a brighter
tomorrow seems like a foolish dream. Where listening to the news
becomes a daily test of faith.
Yet, all it took was the sight of this
singularly righteous rancher kneeling in front of a cross to restore
hope, renew faith and to remind me that God sometimes sends us down
the road less traveled to refresh our spirit.
I was so humbled by the old rancher
that I said a special prayer just for him. I prayed that God would
deliver Blue Bell straight to his door.
On earth as it is in Heaven.
In Jesus name,
