Freedom’s Tree

Within bruised and flawed, without modest, now slender, and refreshingly wholesome, Karen Gustafson softly sang “Greater is He that is in me! Greater is He that is in me! Greater is He that is in me, than He that is in the world.” Again, Karen soloed, eyes closed while visualizing the church choir back home joining her with vigor. No other passenger heard her, and tears swelled in her pale blue eyes. Soft facial features flushed with color like a ripening peach. From Karen’s Bible again she softly mouthed, as she read I John 4:4, “Greater is He that is in you, than He that is in the world.” Briefly, calm returned within Karen displayed outwardly by a knowing smile. The message renewed her strength and resolve. With Karen’s right hand she brushed back once long, blond tresses recently given way to an ear length bob fashioned by her own hands. Like an arrow from a quiver, Karen shot an arrow of prayer when she uttered, “Help me, Jesus!”

The scale of Karen’s inner struggle tipped toward trusting the Lord. Reassured, Karen changed her tune and softly sang over and over again, “You are my rock, my firm foundation. Whom shall I fear, whom shall I fear?” Comforted Karen closed her Thompson Chain Reference Bible and placed it on the seat beside her. Picking up her new crossword puzzle book, Karen tilted her head to the left and gazed out the window at the canyon wall with creek rushing below. With confidence yet not in herself, Karen meditated, praying in her mind, “Father, please hold me. I know you love me, but I’m afraid. I want to trust you, rest in you, but I am afraid. I try to let go of my fear, the past. Had the child really killed herself? Oh, Lord, set me free.” Karen’s heart ached and her inner scale shifted in the opposite direction.

Later, Karen read clues to her puzzle. Four down: another name for Phoenician. Canaanites, Karen wrote. The next clue Karen read: Led God’s people into the promised land. “Moses!” No, Moses doesn’t fit, she thought. Let’s see what intersects: a primary battle in the promised land. “Oh,” she concluded, “that’s got to be Jericho. So, the other answer is Joshua.” Karen read twelve-across: large fortified room behind the city gate. Karen remembered the answer from Sunday school. The Canaanites, enemies of God’s chosen people, built a large room behind their city gate. When attacked, the Canaanites could control an enemy breeching the gate. While troops fought invaders below, reinforcements waited on a wide ledge above. If invaders began to win the battle, reinforcements dropped down from above to turn the tide.

Humming aloud, Karen’s attention shifted outside the window to the steep river canyon below, past the driver in front, and across the aisle to the imposing rock wall near the bus windows. At first oblivious of other passengers, the scene held Karen’s gaze. “Totally awesome!” Karen spoke aloud, and then thought, “How could such a small creek carve such magnificence? What persistence, what long-suffering effort, what resolve would it take for man to create such beauty, such ruggedness? This beautiful canyon with a grand mesa high to the west could symbolize real life,” Karen reflected, “Circumstances and relationships carve into us, erode away parts, and lay bare often what we preferred not be exposed. How rude! How life like!”

Next looking at the passengers before Karen then back across the aisle to the rock wall, she wondered, “How many fellow passengers hurt? Are we all wounded? How many know where to go for healing?”

Interrupting Karen’s gaze, white letters on a green highway sign flashed before her eyes, “Rock Creek 3 miles, Jericho Springs 8 miles, and Ridge View 17 miles.” Taking the cue, Karen looked center aisle over the driver’s shoulder and observed the highway. She saw only rock wall barrier, front and right, and treacherous canyon below and left. Around another curve, the bus dipped then climbed a resistant incline. A quarter mile stretch of straight and level road offered yet a different perspective. The narrowness of the canyon imposed the illusion of a box where both sides merged and differences appeared non-existent. Above and left water flowed from a forested mesa, and wind blew the precipitation against bus windows clouding Karen’s view. To the right of the bus, a ridge without trees gave way to a clear vista of plains beyond. Karen’s stomach churned with the bends and curves as the bus swayed right then left, down a slope, across a bridge, past the waterfall, slowing then, through the narrows, and around one last curve.

“Here we are Friday, August 1, 1980 in beautiful downtown Rock Creek, a naturally moistened garden spot!” the driver shouted, “Entrance to the valley, historical landmarks, Rock Creek Valley Museum, the Stage Stop Hotel, our destination for lunch at Rock Creek’s finest and only restaurant.”

Karen connected the scene with the clue, she recorded vestibule in twelve across, and then closed her puzzle book. Vestibule: where the Canaanites encountered the enemy. Slowing to a near halt, the driver made a hard right into an unpaved parking lot, and then forced the wheel left so the bus came parallel to hitching posts in front of the Stage Stop Hotel. Braking to a halt, the driver depressed the air brake, pulled down the emergency brake, switched off ignition key, and stood before his passengers to open the by-fold door next to him. Tongue in cheek, with exact enunciation the driver shouted, “Hold on!”

Passengers rising and already in the aisle hesitated at the driver’s admonition, as he said, “Hear me now, little lambs, I don’t want you to go astray; I can’t go looking for you! You have a thirty-minute lunch break. It’s 11:30 a.m. We beat the noon rush. I have a standing order at the Stage Stop for the Rocky Mountain Cheeseburger Deluxe. The cook usually makes extras ready to go. Ask the waitress, Sarah, about cold sandwiches, too! She usually has shaved ham and turkey, and roast beef, and all kinds of breads. But if you don’t want to sit in the restaurant, the gas station across the highway has some of those ‘God-awful’ packaged sandwiches. Their steamer oven doesn’t work too well, but they also sell packaged lunchmeat too. So, you have some choices. Make your selection but be back on the porch at the Stage Stop by twelve o’clock noon. Meanwhile, I’ll take care of this little lady getting off here, and then I’ll get some diesel across the street. Enjoy yourselves, little lambs!”

Having had his say, the driver opened the by-fold door. Those in line exited and paused at the fragrance of fresh baked bread wafted toward them, while a few gathered themselves together in the aisle and moseyed to the front. Following the driver’s good humor, remaining passengers vacated the bus in seconds. Some competed with others by bounding up porch steps into the hotel. Six crossed the highway and headed directly toward the gas station and its convenience store, barely checking for oncoming traffic on US Highway 85/87 business loop. One woman and a man walked straight for exterior bathrooms on the north side of the building without checking to see if a door key was needed to enter. Both needed keys. Apparently not wanting to wait, a man with a full beard sprinted to the trees beyond the store parking lot to a creek south of the crossroad and under a bridge. His tan trench coat flapped behind him. The driver’s watch kept ticking.