Several years ago about this time of the summer, all alone and in my pickup, I drove plumb across Louisiana and all of Texas into Eastern New Mexico to meet my family at the Glorieta Retreat Center near Santa Fe. That was an enchanting experience that I commemmorated with the following, one of the favorite things I’ve written that brings me a lot of satisfaction, even today as I read and recall that trip, the slices of Americana, and those magnificent scenes.
I Saw the Father’s Hand
(After driving plum across Texas and Eastern New Mexico)
I saw the Father’s hand today
In lands he created.
And just like he said when he formed the Universe,
“It is good.”
I saw His finger prints on
Rugged mesas and rocky buttes—
Strange and fearsome monuments rising from the badlands’ floor,
And coursed by sandy draws and barren creeks
Etched into canyon beds over eons of ages past,
Yet those ages only fleeting seconds in the
Scope of God’s eternity;
And out on the plains, I saw His assurance of abundant provision–
Cotton fields and corn fields lush with the promise of harvest,
sprawling before the horizon;
Here and there among the passing miles,
a windmill spinning life-giving water,
a farmhouse rising like an island in the prairie sea,
a lonely tree striving to disrupt featureless fields of grain . . .
And, yes, Lord –
Your cattle grazing on a thousand hills!
From Stink Creek to Muleshoe, Texas,
From rolling green plains to rugged red mountains,
From fertile valleys to barren hillsides,
From Billy the Kid’s resting place to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains,
From Fort Worth to Santa Fe,
And miles of creation betwixt and between,
I saw the Father’s hand.
And all along the way,
The rocks cried out,
The mountains and hills rose toward heaven,
And the plains spread away toward the ends of the Earth,
Proclaiming the glory of God.