Gordon Lightfoot Forums - View Single Post

The Rez · 04-09-2005, 11:12 PM

If I may, please . . .

I've re-written the account for Readers Digest. They plan to use it, but don't know when. Or, perhaps Guideposts, where it is under consideration.

Thy Will Be Done

One Resurrection Morning

Sunrise-Resurrection Morning:
My loved ones had all fled for their lives, unable to remain and watch me
sure-as-your-born kill myself w/ single-malt Scotch Whisky.

Ol' Sol came a-streamin', as best he could, thru the dirty windshield of my equally dirty cargo van - slapping me rudely across my face - bringing me to unwelcomed wake-up. Where was I? Bleary eyes and mind refused to focus
. . . at first.

The ribbed bare-metal cargo-van floor had deep-dug into my bones throughout what there was of the rough, short night. Where was I?

Focus began - eyes first, then mind - as I came-to. Blinding Temecula, CA hammered on my van from outside, determined to enter. Where was I? A Golf Course Parking Lot? Rainbow Golf Course and Country Club?

"Ah, yes," mumbled my first coherent inside thought, "I played music here
last night. Good you didn't drive this time, Rex."

Having dressed "cowboy" for the gig the night before (compete with Mountain Man feathered hat.) I'd been a hit with the Rainbow Golf and Country Clubbers. I'd also managed to upchuck at least a liter and a half of stale Scotch all over myself during the painful metal-ribbed-van-floor night.

But God, unbeknownst to me, had plans.

"Resurrection Day," He quietly reminded. Despite my unyielding, aching bones, I stretched cat-long to reach my Bible. The unmistakable sound of
Bible pages turning turned to the Scripture - the Life - I needed to breathe in at just that moment.

The Lord's chosen words. I read.

A strong pull urged me to take Communion. I had no cup. I had no bread. In the presence of God, I took Air-Communion (like the guy playing
pretend-guitar when he has no guitar.) Giving it my best Marcel Marceu, I received the Lord's Air-Communion, as surely as if I'd held the cup and
bread. My Private Resurrection Service was blessed.

Somehow, pulling myself together, I drove into town to find some flapjacks. I looked and smelled the part of the Lost Hobo - but with a credit card.

After paying for my tall-stack and moseying "out" the local breakfast house
"in" door (folks giving me wide berth,) I spied me a little, hand-lettered two-foot square sign (black on white.) "Temecula Bible Church," it read, with an arrow pointing left to a one-lane dirt road.

Left it was. A couple short blocks and there she stood: a small, wood-frame building, displaying a rough-hewn cross mounted on the roof.
Another familiar hand-lettered sign gracing the front walk simply beckoned, "Welcome."

Entering, I removed my Mountain Man hat and just stood, as the pews were filled with Temecula Bible Church-folk.

The TBC-folk turned to see me standing there, hat in hand. A rushing-wind of "Welcome" embraced me as the hugs of Christian Love overpowered me.

I began the day lost, as "gol-durn lost" as the man who Called the Wind Mariah. But, unlike the song, God had not "lost" me. I was found all
along. Sobriety began that morn and continues to this morn.

Lost Hobo or no, I was home.

One Resurrection Morning . . .

The Rez

PS: Thank you once again for the freedom to enter here.

[ April 09, 2005, 23:20: Message edited by: The Rez ]

04-09-2005, 11:12 PM	#5
The Rez Senior Member Join Date: Feb 2005 Location: Balboa, CA, US of A Posts: 598	If I may, please . . . I've re-written the account for Readers Digest. They plan to use it, but don't know when. Or, perhaps Guideposts, where it is under consideration. Thy Will Be Done One Resurrection Morning Sunrise-Resurrection Morning: My loved ones had all fled for their lives, unable to remain and watch me sure-as-your-born kill myself w/ single-malt Scotch Whisky. Ol' Sol came a-streamin', as best he could, thru the dirty windshield of my equally dirty cargo van - slapping me rudely across my face - bringing me to unwelcomed wake-up. Where was I? Bleary eyes and mind refused to focus . . . at first. The ribbed bare-metal cargo-van floor had deep-dug into my bones throughout what there was of the rough, short night. Where was I? Focus began - eyes first, then mind - as I came-to. Blinding Temecula, CA hammered on my van from outside, determined to enter. Where was I? A Golf Course Parking Lot? Rainbow Golf Course and Country Club? "Ah, yes," mumbled my first coherent inside thought, "I played music here last night. Good you didn't drive this time, Rex." Having dressed "cowboy" for the gig the night before (compete with Mountain Man feathered hat.) I'd been a hit with the Rainbow Golf and Country Clubbers. I'd also managed to upchuck at least a liter and a half of stale Scotch all over myself during the painful metal-ribbed-van-floor night. But God, unbeknownst to me, had plans. "Resurrection Day," He quietly reminded. Despite my unyielding, aching bones, I stretched cat-long to reach my Bible. The unmistakable sound of Bible pages turning turned to the Scripture - the Life - I needed to breathe in at just that moment. The Lord's chosen words. I read. A strong pull urged me to take Communion. I had no cup. I had no bread. In the presence of God, I took Air-Communion (like the guy playing pretend-guitar when he has no guitar.) Giving it my best Marcel Marceu, I received the Lord's Air-Communion, as surely as if I'd held the cup and bread. My Private Resurrection Service was blessed. Somehow, pulling myself together, I drove into town to find some flapjacks. I looked and smelled the part of the Lost Hobo - but with a credit card. After paying for my tall-stack and moseying "out" the local breakfast house "in" door (folks giving me wide berth,) I spied me a little, hand-lettered two-foot square sign (black on white.) "Temecula Bible Church," it read, with an arrow pointing left to a one-lane dirt road. Left it was. A couple short blocks and there she stood: a small, wood-frame building, displaying a rough-hewn cross mounted on the roof. Another familiar hand-lettered sign gracing the front walk simply beckoned, "Welcome." Entering, I removed my Mountain Man hat and just stood, as the pews were filled with Temecula Bible Church-folk. The TBC-folk turned to see me standing there, hat in hand. A rushing-wind of "Welcome" embraced me as the hugs of Christian Love overpowered me. I began the day lost, as "gol-durn lost" as the man who Called the Wind Mariah. But, unlike the song, God had not "lost" me. I was found all along. Sobriety began that morn and continues to this morn. Lost Hobo or no, I was home. One Resurrection Morning . . . The Rez PS: Thank you once again for the freedom to enter here. [ April 09, 2005, 23:20: Message edited by: The Rez ] __________________ I came to Love the Music Before I came to Be [Psalm 139:13]