Dreams an' dusty roads

Y'ever wonder why we visit the ol' places lodged in our memories? Why we drive slow up to an abandoned field where once an ol' log cabin stood?

Do you find yourself smilin' as you drive "down home", grinnin' bigger as you get closer to the ol' homeplace?

Wonder why we sit sometimes an' just daydream of them places we once lived, where Grandma an' Grandpa toiled ever so hard?

Or ponder why sometimes in the deep darkness of night we close our eyes, squinch them real tight like and sift through them mind photos till we find that one place, pull aside the dusty curtains or memory and look, taste, smell and hear the ghosts of what used to be right there?

Oh, if I could find a spot as I wander, maybe just beyond the ol' rusty gate, in back of the abandoned barn, or up the holler where I could shift time an' space and slip through, back to them days, back to them places, back to where we all dream of bein'.

If only I could shed the weary and worn pieces of me an' be a youngin' once more, could run so fast to call out, "Looky here, here I am again!"

What if folks would look up, Grandma, Grandpa or Uncles an' Aunts, Mama an' Daddy, who would chuckle an' say, "Well, we didn't know you was gone."

Maybe run down to the creek an' walk right in, feel the cold water on dusty feet, soles callused so's that them ol rocks an' pebbles didn't even hurt a'tall. Bend over an' grab hold of a crawdad as it backed into the cover of a mossy rock, hold it high in the air an' whoop, hollerin', "Looky here what I caught!".

What if you an' I could find that hidden path back, play in the hills all day, hide an' seekin' in the hollers, an' then go a'runnin' right swift like back to the house when some of the women calls real loud, "Supper, come on y'all, its suppertime."

What if Heaven is just like that? What if closin' our eyes here on earth for the last time, what if that is the door we can slip through to find those things we dream of, where the folks we love are sittin' on the porch an' lookin' down the lane, lookin' for the dust risin' up as we come up the road?

What if the Good Lord is a'waitin' for us an' swings open a big ol' gate that creaks just a bit on the hinges an' says, "I've been wonderin' when you was gonna come on home. Go on now, just over yonder, follow them bright stars south. It ain't too far now. You're almost home. Listen close an' you'll hear folks a whoopin' an' hollerin' your name, cheerin' you on, glad you've finally come home."

Then He smiles an' says, "Well done, My Child. Go on now, youngin', they's a'waitin' supper for you.".

The King of Dawn

In the early morning hours the sky is dark, midnight blue and clear
As if God laid his royal robe over the earth for a moment.
The stars glitter brightly, they are His royal diadem
Dropped carelessly onto the majestic robe as He passed by.

The crescent of the new moon is surely the jewel
Set atop His Scepter, laid aside for just a while
As He tends to the hearts and hurts of men, women
Little ones who cry out even now to a loving God.

Royal vestments aside, the Shepherd of our lives
Searches each one out, reaches out to comfort.
He turns to see His Son and Spirit waiting, watching.
To the great Comforter he speaks softly, gently;

"Tend this one, and those over yonder, they need Our touch."
And in the early morning hours, awakened by the Son,
Warriors rise up, drop to their knees and intercede
Not knowing who or what the need is, but knowing.

In the early morning hours hurting and desperate folks
Cry out to the Omnipotent Creator, not as King of Kings
Nor as the Great Shepherd of His far flung flock
But like a little lost child, crying, "Abba, Daddy".

Remember?

Do you remember?
Where you were
Who stood by your side?
When the news came
When you first saw the horror?

It is an image
That is seared
Into the backs of my eyes
Burned into my brain.

Images that will never fade
Shock that doesn't ease
The sight of men, women
Jumping to their death
Can you imagine
A situation
When that is the best option?

This is a piece I wrote after 9/11.  I try to post it each year as I remember those lives lost, those brave souls, living and dead who sought to save others.

Celestial Shades

The morning sky was washboarded
With red and orange hued clouds
As if God was raising celestial shades
Pulling back the curtains on a glorious day.











 Stephen Hollen is an award winning storyteller, humorist and Mark Twain Impersonator living in Beavercreek, Ohio.  He performs and tells stories in Dayton, Cincinnati, Columbus and all through Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Tennessee, West Virginia, Michigan and throughout the USA. 

Awaiting the Dawn

Those who love the dawn rise up early
Quietly slipping out of bed to dress quickly
Stepping down old stairs one by one
That one spot, comfortable and warm
Waits for us, inviting us to sit and watch
The spectacle of night giving way to day.
Sometimes our hands grip mug or china cup
Full of coffee, tea, warming hands and body
As the beginning of a new day warms the earth.
It is dark just now, still a few stars in the night sky
Yet soon, very soon the eastern sky will shimmer
Just hints of pink at first, then reds, oranges will filter in
And creation will replay that first day
When God stepped out into the darkness, looked around
Threw out a multitude of suns that rolled through the Heavens
Bumping and careening through creation, finding just the spot
Settling in and beginning to spin, throwing off sparks
Warming and glowing, bringing life and waiting, waiting
Till God, that Master Painter grins, lifts hand to a canvas of nothing
And speaks soft and low, not wanting to take all the glory
Gently, He spins that big old ball of gasses we await
"Let there be light."  And it was so.

So, we sit and wait, patiently.
Warm in the darkness, content,
For the first glimpse of morning on the horizon
For the first glimpse of dawn.

His Day

Morning is red on the horizon
As if God has not yet
Opened the other tubes
Holding the colors of dawn
Nor yet filled out his palette.

It is as if He pauses
Peers at paints and brushes.
Even now and ponders:
"What sort of day
Shall I create today?"

Soon and very soon
He will reach of glorious yellows
Whites beyond my vision
Oranges and dozens of shades
Of blues, reds and royal purples.

Then He will look with satisfaction
At the day He has made
And I will know then
That is is, was and will be...
Good.