My latest, just wrote it this morning. Enjoy. “RUNAWAY” Luke 15:12-19…There, the runaway son, undisciplined and dissipated, had wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, there was a bad famine all through that country and he began to hurt. He signed on with a citizen there who assigned him to his fields to slop the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the corncobs in the pig slop, but no one would give him any. “That brought him to his senses. He said, ‘All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I’m going back to my father. I’ll say to him, Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand.’ He got right up and went home to his father.” It ended at the corner of North Campbell and West Calhoun. I was eight years old and full of visions of white picket fences, a red bandana with all belongings tied inside hanging at the end a long stick and dreams of sailing the high seas. I had made up my mind that the next time things didn’t go my way in the family life, I was gone. I had weighed my options and hatched my plan. My eight year old life came to a head one day when my mom told me that I couldn’t go any further than the corner of Calhoun and Campbell on my 1963 gold Schwinn Sting Ray bike, complete with a banana seat, high rise handle bars and a sissy bar. That did it, I was done with this tight leash. I played my cards close to the vest and set my plan into action. No red bandana was available so I packed all I could in a balled up white t-shirt. I don’t remember exactly what I packed, but I know two things I didn’t…money and food. I may not have had a long stick, but I had room for a seafarer’s pack that could be tied to that 30 inch piece of chrome sticking up behind my white banana seat. And that is exactly what I did. I told a few of my siblings that I was running away; I think it was something about a tall sailing ship with my name on it. Out the door I went and down Calhoun I drifted. I was a block from home when I came to the corner at North Campbell and West Calhoun, Springfield, Missouri. I stopped and pushed the crosswalk button and waited for it to change from bright red to that big white hand that would be my ticket to freedom and the big wide waves. The light changed, but I just sat there. Meanwhile, a block away, after about an hour, my mom realized that I had disappeared. Mom never had to look for anybody. I have eight brothers and sisters and if one went missing all she had to do was ask…”Where’s Stephen.” She asked and one of them answered. “He ran away. Tied a bundle of clothes to his bike and drove down the street.” My mom was worried, frantic and down right livid. She jumped in the Ford Country Squire (with wood panels on the side) and set out to find the prodigal. It didn’t take long. She went straight to the corner of Calhoun and Campbell and there I sat. By this time I was crying like a little baby too afraid to cross Calhoun and even more scared to go home. I was trapped. When my mom pulled up she was crying too. She looked me square in the eyes and said “What are you doing?” I responded through snot ball tears…”I’m running away.” She then said, “Well, if you’re running away, why are you sitting one block from the house.” To which I responded, “I’m not allowed to cross Campbell.” She then delivered the sad news. “There will BE no gold ring and there will BE no fatted calf. You can stay here as long as you want, but don’t cross Campbell and be home before the street lights come on. And by the way, when you get home you are going to get the beating of your life.” I didn’t care about the beating and I didn’t care to stay any longer. I cried for mercy at the corner of contrite and cancelled, asked if I could just put my bike in the back of the car and come home. Mom agreed that was a good idea. I took my beating, got to eat with the family and she never told Dad. He probably knew, but he never let on. I think it was well understood that the runaway was safe and he also had it on good authority that the prodigal would never again venture more than a block from home alone. Wanna run away? I still do sometimes. But at eight years old I learned that good old home cookin’ and a warm bed beat a lost hour at the corner of Calhoun and Campbell anytime! Stay home where it’s warm and safe, the high seas will take care of themselves.
Posted on: Mon, 21 Jul 2014 19:07:13 +0000
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