transition

I grew up in Chapman
when most of the streets were sandy
and tree-arched, with no curbs.
Highway 40 was the main road
between New Jersey and Sacramento.
It was a time of transition,
but I didn’t really know about that;
I was too busy racing my bicycle,
building model cars, and
playing baseball without grown-ups.

I went to school in Chapman
when it was DCCHS
and the gym was at the high school.
We had an interstate that killed
three service stations and a restaurant.
It was a time of transition,
but I didn’t really know about that;
I was too busy camping with the Boy Scouts,
learning to drive a stick shift, and
scouting for out-of-town girls.

I made my home in Chapman
when I’d traveled every road
between Cape Flattery and Key Largo.
I had Jesus in my heart
and hopes for my family’s future.
It was a time of transition,
but I didn’t really know about that;
I was too busy earning a paycheck,
sitting in the bleachers, and
being a responsible adult.

I was blown away in Chapman
when the howling storm blocked streets
with trees and broken houses.
Landmarks are now banished
to who-knows-where and memory.
It’s a time of transition,
but I don’t really know about that;
I’m too busy finding a contractor,
crying on the inside, and
praying for my hurting city.

I may grow old in Chapman
until tree-lined streets and a new school
once again seem normal.
Or I may vanish too,
leaving memories for those who knew me.
It will be a time of transition,
and the One who calmed the storm knows about that.
I mustn’t be too busy giving mind to other matters,
being concerned with what is passing, to
be watching for His appearing.