The Field Manual

After writing some letters home, the author
has decided to pack his bags, whatever
writing materials he can find floating around
the house & he will soon start up
his car; exactly where he is going
& how long he'll stay gone is beyond us.
To tell you the truth, he isn't that avid
about wanting to tell us where he's going
or when he'll return home & never was
in the first place, as some of us
have found out for ourselves.

A light rain falls...It is late morning
when he sets out for wherever on earth
he's going. The road is slick & wet
but with the confidence & poise
of someone who has mastered
every weather condition handed to him,
he is unperturbed; an unshaken discipline,
a commanding sense of purpose
confirm their presence in his eyes' fixed gaze.
One look at the man tells you
everything about his life's work:
when he says he's getting into a car
& won't tell you where he's going
or much less how long he'll be away
from here, each word that he says
is meant, complete in sincerity.

No need to make a call unless the need
should arise: the lines he is on
are already busy enough. For the author,
there is work waiting to be done
elsewhere & it needs to be
completed without the slightest hesitation.
He knows this as much as anyone else:
that his writing is like a task for him,
not just a livelihood, a simple hobby
which he delves into from time to time.
His writing is his life & vice versa.
Where others get all flowery & speak
a language which defies sound categorization
or comprehension, this author
speaks from the heart, from his very soul;
every work he has done through today
has been heartfelt & from the looks
of things - yes, even during this trip he's on -
he's not about to cease delivering
messages with impact & power anytime soon.

So he goes on, a traveler among many:
The road seems endless as his horizons,
his visions & goals; in his heart of hearts,
you can almost hear him say,
"No one can keep me from doing
what I have always enjoyed the most."
His ink never runs out of hope
or courage. But neither does
the man himself, hands planted
on the wheel, eyes directed
to the road ahead of him:
he knows why he's out here
on the road on a dreary day
such as this one. You don't have
to ask: you just know why
without having to say a word.
He's finding something more to
speak about, some more rays
of hope for us to cling to boldly
through these changing times.

Soon he'll settle down, his journey all over
& done, get himself some grub,
well, who knows, even a drink or two...
But the singleness of purpose
which brought him here to begin with
still remains unaffected: there is no
turning back until his work is finished,
until he gets the last word in his notebook.
For the author of our days, nothing
ever remains incomplete for long:
He's always at work, it seems, even when
common sense tries to get the upper hand
& say, "Time off. Once & for all."

But why is that? you ask.
His life is a work in progress & the same
could easily be said of our own lives as well.
That's what makes writing for him
such an adventure: it was never
meant to be a simple chore, a hobby.
His writing is his life captured in
full detail on page after page,
thought after thought which races
down the highway leading to who knows where.
It is his task & his task alone,
something which (with God's help)
he truly takes lots of pride in.