It’s a long hike from the center of space.
I hike, nevertheless, towards Des Moines. . . .
It’s a long swim from the shore of time.
Still, I swim, towards Omaha. . . .
My blue jeans are baggy,
Hair’s a little shaggy,
I ride my bike on sunny streets,
drive my truck when ice makes slick.
This ordinary life, so far from fame,
From riches, notoriety, importance,
So far from the center of space
The shore of time, yet so
real, here in Des Moines, in Omaha,
I taste God’s beautifully simple truths
every day in my sack lunch.
Comments on Friendsjournal.org may be used in the Forum of the print magazine and may be edited for length and clarity.