Walk with Me

I was spearing some brussell sprouts when the truck motor caught my attention.

I looked out the window and the blood drained from my face. The words Oregon State Police were painted on the truck door. The speed was slow; the driver looked carefully at the numbers on houses.

I walked to the screen door and stood there. My guys are out hunting. I waited to see if this officer was sent for me.

He drove past the house; I blew out the air that I’d been holding in reserve. Two doors down, he pulled into the driveway and turned around. Again, the truck idling, he tilted his head and scanned the fronts of houses.

“Walk with me, Jesus,” I prayed/commanded as the truck slowed in front of my house. In these moments—silly me—, I begin lining up pallbearers.

Then the Oregon State Police continued down the block. Breathe deep. Exhale.

It was only a rehearsal. 


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