I made more than a few miles a couple of weeks ago and made them in style — the wrong style, but style. My younger brother, Jim, and I decided to take his little, old, once-red Mazda pickup on our trip to Houston to see our sister who is in the hospital there. She was hit by a Houston Metro Light Rail train weeks ago and has been in ICU ever since. We had been checking in with the Houston branch of the family since the accident and planned to go down when we could do her the most good, and this seemed like the right time.
So that Sunday we both afflicted long-suffering congregations with our preaching, and together and we headed south in his truck.
I’m pretty sure Jim’s truck still has at least three fenders that haven’t been dinged. And the plastic Wienerschnitzel hot-dog-guy wrapped around his antenna adds class. And I’m actually more proud to ride in that pickup than I would be to hop into one of those new Cadillac pickups.
What kind of self-respecting John Wayne-loving good ol’ boy drives a Cadillac pickup if he can’t throw a fence post or a hay bale or a sledgehammer into the bed without worrying that he might scratch the poor pitiful thing?
Anyway, I took my life in my hands as I strapped myself into Jim’s old truck and he took the helm as we headed down the road.
We did get to see our sis. She’s making improvement. (No one’s found a good way to get hit by a train.) But it’s going to be slow. I wish we were closer geographically where we could be more help.
The day we left Houston we got up early in order to miss rush hour traffic and get down the road. I road shotgun, typing on a computer that I figure is worth more than the truck.
But what struck me on that trip — and I assure you that anything that had actually struck the truck would have been the end of us — was not the truck, the bumps or the wind. It was something outside of the truck.
With all the rain our state has had in the past year, the wildflowers were absolutely amazing. Bright bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes had God’s hills just dripping with brilliant color.
The bluebonnets and the beauty God had spread all over those hills help bring alive the beauty of His grace and the colors of His love.
Curtis Shelburne is pastor of 16th & Ave. D. Church of Christ in Muleshoe. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org.