Dusty Roads

The title given this book of poetry, ¬Dusty Roads, is significant of much more than the title poem by the same name. My life’s journey has been one of “dusty roads.” The clear, uncluttered, paved paths of others have not been my course, for each facet of my life, my being, has endured the challenges and complexities unique to myself. Clouds of dust from the commotion on my life’s paths have hindered my direction, yet strengthened my resolve to reach beyond the hindrances to grasp hold of my destiny.

My youth was spent on a dusty road, with many dusty paths like spiders’ legs, reaching across the acres of farmland, forest, and running streams; through clay banks, sandy land and rich black top soil. And in the midst of the paths was a white-washed cinder block house with a tin roof, I called home. From my home, dusty paths led to flower beds, vegetable gardens, fields of endless work, forest paths, childhood adventures, and even the outhouse. And then, there were the memories made on every path, every road; happy memories, sad memories, good times and times of sorrow. The relevance of dusty roads does not end with childhood. All roads since have been clouded with life’s uncertainties. Rather than smooth polished streets with clear sign posts, there have been tedious journeys with hidden traps, obstructions, even detours.

The poems selected for this book are fragments from seasons of my life. They represent realities from particular times. Some poems are observations from nature itself or of truth as it manifests in my soul. Some are meditations from a spiritual place or of spiritual battles within my own self. Others are revelations and still others are a cry from the heart or from a place of brokenness. As I read them, meditate on their content, some bring a smile to my face; some cause my eyes to glisten and pool with tears as I reminisce about the place from which I wrote them. Others bring a peace that is almost surreal. However they present themselves, or however they are interpreted, I am not apologetic. They come from a place where I was and for some, yet remain. Those that clearly reflect my faith in God, reveal who I have grown to become; from fledging to mature Christian (in this I glory).

Wherever I go, wherever life leads me, I foresee no grassy course but one of dry powdery dust with whiffs of dust, clouding my vision, yet with clear deep footprints to follow. I travel dusty roads, meandering from one season of life to another, bearing the dusty remnants of the journey on my face and in my soul. I travel dusty roads, toward a brilliant sunset splashed with oranges, yellows, reds and the deep royal purple of the Artist who paints the story that is my life – a life destined to travel beyond dusty roads to streets paved with gold. I would be remiss if I did not invite you to sojourn with me to that magnificent place. Amen. Come walk with me now, on this journey down “Dusty Roads.”