Member Poem

I sat often in the backseat
of my papa's 1953 Buick -
a beautiful machine,
always driven with precision.
It had a smooth sound
and was comfortable in the
expansive back seat, all mine.
My grandmother was a special co-pilot -
opening the garage and closing it.
I sat on driver side of the backseat
and looked at the wrinkles
in the back of his neck.
Several deep horizontal lines,
like rows and rows of grape vines.
Wrinkles created from farming -
planting, pruning and nurturing in the field.
The vines grow in the vineyard from
a wild-rooted base.
Grafted into a life of
fruitful growth.
The graft brought lineage and freedom
from disease to its host.
These memories are deeply rooted
in my life, shaping future from the past.
I long for and cherish such parts of life
where God shows Hs masterful
hand in our lives
so we will always know
He is there.