Dusty Words.

There’s something about traveling that makes me think about God.
It makes me think about creation and beauty and love.
I don’t know why, but something about long drives reminds me of a land called Georgia.
It’s something about seeing farms again, on those back country roads,
On the highways and byways that stretch through the hills and wind the fields to bring me back home.
Like spring streams overflowing with winter’s melt cutting their way through the green terrain.
There’s something about creation that inspires me to write, to create something beautiful like my Daddy did.
A shadow’s imitation of Light’s perfection because He used nothing.
And me? I’ve only got words.
But there aren’t enough. There aren’t enough words to adequately describe Him, to create something beautiful for Him.
Like a foggy mirror, my words are a distorted perception, a poor reflection of what I’m really trying to say.
Even if I could use every word from any language to reach Him, well I’d still be at sea level.
But there is something about words,
And there is something about writing that makes me want to sing.
But I don’t know if I can,
Because new things scare. me. to. death.
And I’m comfortable where I am.
But don’t wait up for me.
Cuz I’m reflecting on where I’ve been and I’m dreaming of where I want to be
And I’ve got to be trying harder than this to get there.
So in the struggle, in the wrestling out of this faith of mine, I’m praying that the distinction of my past and dreams to my present will motivate me to fly.
To propel me into my dreams in the sky.
And I can’t look back even when failure looks me dead in the eye.
Because there is something about grace that lifts my spirit high.