Kansas Highway – Saturday, March 18, 1989
Growing up on a ranch and farm along the Solomon River in Kansas was not every boy’s dream. Jerry loved the outdoors. He loved horses, even the cows, but he hated the labor of ranching. Raising cattle was not like the movies of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood or Bonanza. It required a lot of work, sunup to sundown, doing everything from cleaning stalls, branding calves, mending fences, spreading manure on the fields, plowing, herding, feeding, watering—the job was endless.
The Ranch, as he simply referred to it, began as a small outfit on 640 acres in the early 1900’s. His great-great-grandfather, Clarence, the second generation to breed cattle was a sharp businessman and expanded the ranch to encompass 2,560 acres—four square miles. Within this area was the original 160-acre farm dating back to 1861 that now included 500 acres of farmable river bottom—rich soil fertilized by early spring flooding of the Solomon River—60 acres of forest and 2000 acres of Flint Hills pasture.
Jerry cruised down the two-lane highway, a straight black ribbon that divided the Tall Grass Prairie, a special diet for the Hereford-Angus Cross that his dad raised at The Ranch. The Flint Hills pasture was a nutritious blend of bluestem, Indian, and switchgrass dotted with purple and indigo wildflowers, unique to southern Kansas, found elsewhere only in the savannahs of Africa.
“WBBQ . . . Q99 . . . playing the songs you want to hear . . . ” A synthesizer blended into the DJ’s vocal bridge to announce the next song. Jerry felt the refreshing freedom of Spring Break with the wind caressing his face, the music dampening his caffeine-laced nerves.
After his confession to Christina, he felt relieved when she reassured him that the Voice—the Holy Spirit she had said—had not departed from him. He slept effortlessly that night, and the following morning he woke an hour earlier than usual refreshed from an uninterrupted night’s sleep. That was a change. No fits of dreams or waking from a cold sweat that soaked the sheets. He sensed a purpose in his early rise and seeing the notebook and pen resting on his simple, pinewood writing table, he sat and then opened the notebook, pen at the ready. What surprised him was that he wasn’t surprised when he heard a few words. He wrote them down knowing as he did the Voice would finish the sentence. He continued writing, interrupted only to pause and reflect on a vision in his mind. He watched, he heard, and he wrote. When the vision dissipated and his mind was silent, he glanced at the clock—one hour had passed and he had just enough time to complete his morning routine of a shower and coffee. Coffee. He hadn’t made coffee, yet his mind was sharp and fully awakened by scribing the words from the Voice. He made coffee anyway; the robust aroma of the dark roast and its fullness of earthy flavor that coated his tongue was what usually motivated him to get out of bed, but not anymore. The desire to write and the anticipation of what he might hear quickened his spirit to launch the day and continued throughout the week, waking an hour early as though it was his habit, yes, a new habit that prompted him to crash early after only one beer. That was different, he thought as the music waved on the wind rushing through the window as he cruised the open highway. But last night was even more different. Instead of cracking open a beer can, he wanted to write. He felt the fullness of thoughts camped in the back of his mind. He had to let them out, to record them as he had done the past five mornings. He wrote into the night. Craving a buzz, he looked at the refrigerator. No. If I drink a beer it’ll chill my mind, he had thought. Last night, he wanted to keep the train of thoughts rolling for as long as they would come. Instead, he made an espresso and replaced one buzz for another.
Both windows rolled down, the cool morning air kept Jerry more alert than the coffee could do alone. Last night was a sleepless and productive night. After his inspiring encounter with the Voice when his writing block had been released, all because he took the first step—one of obedience—the gift that had been kept wrapped until he was ready to receive it—scribing the words of God—rushed forth like a fountain of water tapped from the rock that encased it. He’d written the entire night, finishing the closure of his English comp paper just as the light of dawn turned the coal black window of the night to gray. Unedited and ready to word process, he had preferred to write longhand with a script of penmanship that pleased the eye. He closed his notebook, leaned back in his chair at the simple, pinewood writing desk, shut his eyes and smiled. “Es ist abgeschlossen.” With satisfaction, he’d said the German phrase for it is finished.
Jerry turned up the radio volume as the keyboard synthesizer’s deep notes soothed his nerves that had felt no rest for 24 hours. The caffeine had made him edgy, so he sank back into his seat, his hair blowing in the crosscurrent wind that filled the car with a wind tunnel roar.
The radio sang—
Yesterday is a wrinkle on your forehead,
Yesterday is a promise that you’ve broken,
Don’t close your eyes, don’t close your eyes
Jerry was fighting that as he again turned up the volume to blast the deep beat of the synthesizer.
This is your life and today is all you’ve got now
Yeah, and today is all you’ll ever have
He nodded off for just a second and the car veered to the left and crossed the yellow line, but his subconscious mind, hearing the words, snapped him back to reality. You’re driving, not sleeping in bed.
Don’t close your eyes
Don’t close your eyes
He sat up straight now, gripped the wheel with both hands, studied for a moment the view in his side mirror that moved further . . . further . . . further away—his past behind him—and then intently looked straight ahead. “I can do this, I can do this,” he said, trying to convince himself that he was capable of staying awake. His attention was full throttle for a moment as the radio blared at maximum volume.
This is your life, are you who you want to be?
This is your life, are you who you want to be?
This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be?
When the world was younger and you had everything to lose
The words of the song bounced around in his weary head. He gripped the steering wheel even tighter. Why does life have to be so hard?
Dreams. He had taken a creative slant on the comp paper, a risk he knew and not exactly the assignment of “describe your self-destiny in 5000 words.” Dreams. He wrote about his dreams that drove him during his four years at KU. He described the turning point in his life, the lightning experience that bolted his life forward into a new understanding of divine destiny. But there was confusion. This is your life, are you who you want to be? And then, his writing exploded as he scribed every word precisely as he heard them spoken to him . . . God’s destiny for his life.
The song was nearing the end as he relived those moments scribing the words of God. At least his eyes were open, and he aimed the car straight ahead. Thank God for Kansas highways that are straight as an arrow.
Yesterday is a kid in the corner
Yesterday is dead and over
“Sheesh,” he said, astonished that he had caught his misguided future before he made any other life-defining decisions. “Yesterday is the kid in the corner, yesterday is dead and over,” Jerry Meier sang.
He recalled the salient point made by Christina about leaving his past behind, his “old-self” she called it—to truly live I first must become willing to die.
In Jerry’s mind, the Voice spoke: Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it will produce even more fruit.
“Yes! Christina prayed—Alive in Christ, I am Christ’s messenger.”
Yesterday, he was the kid in the corner, living his fantasy, his “cowboy years,” off on one adventure after another without a care. Nothing wrong with adventure. Nothing wrong with not worrying about life. But my means for getting there were all about me striving to prove myself . . . proving myself to whom? He thought about this as the song closed.
This is your life, are you who you want to be?
This is your life, are you who you want to be?
This is your life, is it everything you dreamed it would be?
When the world was younger and you had everything to lose
And you had everything to lose
Jerry saw the familiar markers indicating that he was closing in on The Ranch turnoff. On autopilot, he flipped the turn signal and began to slow to make the turn onto the gravel drive. This is your life, are you who you want to be? This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be? These lyrics would rock in his mind all day long.
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Reference: Lyrics from Switchfoot, “This Is Your Life”
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Copyright 2017 © Jeff Cambridge
Excerpt from PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge, a writer of transformational fiction with real characters in real-life tell stories that change lives in the readers as the characters transform.
This is a pre-published scene.
To read the scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT: A Novel – Prologue”
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This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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