Into the Fire

I grew up in the city. Blocks and blocks of houses, small businesses, small apartment buildings, an occasional duplex, alleys, and a couple of busy streets a block to the west and east of our house. To the north about six blocks there was a good-size zoo and professional gardens. About six blocks south there was a high bridge over one of the many big lakes. I walked to grade school three blocks to the south and to seventh grade junior high which was a considerable distance.

We were the second house from the corner and had a basement and a single car garage. One set of stairs led up to our front lawn which meshed with our neighbor's on the corner, no fence between us. A second set of stairs led to the porch and front door after a short walkway between the two sections of front lawn. I remember jumping off the side of the front porch a few times for fun. It was probably five feet up from the ground, maybe six.

Next door to us on the east side was a brick duplex. When I was in grade school, an older couple lived there. "Bud" was the lady's name, and I'm sure it referred to a rosebud. I think she got cancer and endured a great deal of pain before she passed away because from my mom and dad's bedroom, we could hear her groan, and it made us sad.

As I've told you many times, I loved horses from the time I could talk so when I finally made it to the racetrack, it felt like I'd found myself. Regardless of the tumultuous times on the track, it was my little piece of "country" instead of city even though it – and every other track I'd seen – were located right in the city (with the exception of Santa Rosa).

When we moved to our current home, it had just enough country in spite of being close to small cities. Rural defined it.

Now our home is surrounded by development. Homes everywhere. Voices of unknown neighbors on tiny balconies of two-story houses clear as if they lived right next door. It looks as though you could reach out from a side window and touch your neighbor's house. Cars travel the road in front of us regularly and several times over the years have plowed into our fence. One evening a few years ago, we heard a terrible crash around midnight. Two young men hot-rodding around the turn in front of our acreage lost control, hit a truck heading down the slight hill, landed and died on our property, the top sheered off their Honda. And it all reminds me: I am not a city girl.

I don't want to hear what's happening at your house or for you to know what's happening at mine. I want the stillness of the countryside, the whooshing of our horse sneezing. The quiet except for an occasional vehicle passing on a country road.

Hopefully, we will find the country again. It's where I belong.

Father, you know. You are the answer. We wait. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.