Overturn, next place, new town.Tangled up, formed together in one ball.

The tumbleweed’s found tumbling past a young lady fumbling through her belongings, trying to come up with another quarter to finish one more load in the laundromat’s washing machine. She overturns her purse to find a single quarter. Be it luck, predestined or prayer, she found it and was thankful to be able to finish her last load before fumbling home.

Overturn, next place, new town. Broken up, Scorched by weather, rolling.

It found itself trapped beneath a farmers wagon. Not much to grow in a drought such as this. If it wasn’t for hope, he’d be drunk half to death, but he holds onto hope like he holds fast to the plow, and will hold on fast until Christ saves him, rains in or takes him. He cannot loose hope. 

Overturned, next place, new town. Broke free, blown by breeze into the city.

Now, near the end of free life, it blew into the the backyard of a boy. If only this boy knew everything he ever learned about his father was a lie, he might not have so much joy. In ignorance and innocence, he pictures his father bringing justice, a cowboy in the wilderness saving woman from distress. So he jumps on the weed, as if it was an enemy from his mothers stories and his own dreams, praying to some day see his daddy who, indeed, he didn’t know he’d never meet. Be it answered prayer or divine destiny, he’d find joy through God the father, trading his dreams for redemption.

Overturned, no new places, three towns. Six feet under, different decades, one with the ground.

Like the tumble weed, these lives ended just the same. Different places, different cultures, different days, but as each passed on, with hope still seeping from their bones, they joined in one hope. Unified on the other side, they would reach the joy found only through their only hope, Jesus Christ.

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