riding with the King

Where are we going?
When will we get there?
What will it be like?
Why is this road so bumpy?

My questions pester from the seat,
Always a smile and nod in answer.
"Fret not, I know", the Voice I hear,
But still I ask ....

Can't we get a nicer car?
I'm bored ... the previous place was better.

Stopping ..."Come now, we're getting down"
Where are we? There's nothing here.
Changing ...I'm not sitting on that!
What's wrong with the car??

"Just come."

So we ride ... four legs, two wheels, one frown,
I don't like this ... all the dust, all the noise.
"Hold tight now."
Hold tight ... is this why we left the car?
"Hush ... just rest."
I close my eyes, maybe this isn't so bad,
Leaning forward, arms around ... rest.

Stopping again ... are we there yet?
"Nope ... time to walk"
Walk? Why? But can't we ... ?
No use, He's started.
Why must we walk?
Isn't there some other way?
I trudge along behind,
Muttering complaints to the dust around each step.
So intent on the dirt, I didn't see ...
Oww ... He's stopped.
Finally, where's the car?
"No, not the car ... look"
Oh ....

Mountains, plains, rivers, rainbows,
Sunshine, breezes, laughter, sparrows.
And there I was,
Staring at a patch of dirt.
"I'm glad we walked ... aren't you?"
A nod ... too sheepish for words.

And on we go,
Sometimes on wheels, sometimes on soles.
Sometimes it's hot, sometimes not.
We drive, walk, run and stroll,
Even pause at times.
But always going on.

Where are we going?
When will we get there?
I sometimes ask still, less than before,
Always the same smile, "Fret not, I know."

And so I learn not to ask,
Or stare at my feet.
Not to sulk or wonder where He leads.
But enjoy every moment that comes,
Every view behind each next hill.
The warmth of the sunshine,
The wrapping of the breeze.

Where are we going?
Why, is this not the aim?
The purpose of the trip,
Not to reach, but just to ride.
Riding with the King.

sč
Prague, March 2nd, 2001