Baxter Black: Sundays headed home
I have been a travelin’ man a good part of my life. Most of my speakin’ jobs are Friday and Saturday nights, so Sunday means I’m usually on the road and headed home.
For me, Sunday morning on the road is a good part of bein’ me. Nine times out of 10, I’m in a rental car, drivin’ to an airport where I board a flight to a major hub where I connect to another flight that gets me within an hour of bein’ home.
Since my territory covers the U.S. and Canada, I get to see fresh country every week. In different seasons, in all kinds of weather, day or night, it’s like a travel movie. I stop and take pictures for the office Facebook page. I always try to include photos of cows on green pasture, high desert, corn stubble, palmetto, cactus, forests, woods, swamps, the frozen north and mesquite higher than your horse — a picture that I think might interest any farmer watchin’ from another part of the country. I’m a good traveler but a poor tourist, though sometimes I can’t resist taking pictures!
On the road most Sunday mornings, my spirits are high. The folks that come to my programs are my kind of folks — country people who are involved in agriculture, its land and its animals. They invite me to their town, they make me welcome and I do my best to give them their money’s worth.
So when I head out the next morning with a cup of convenience store coffee, I am uplifted. The world is good, and I don’t have to worry about next week yet. I have time to let the camaraderie of the past night sink in, and I inevitably talk to God and thank Him for another good time, for the wonderful people in this world and the fortuitous blessing that I was born in America.
I usually have a big ol’ grin on my face. He travels with me. He’s always there — regardless of my behavior. I guess on those “coming home” Sundays I get to spend a little private time with Him. Which is pretty generous considering all the church services He’s committed to Sunday mornings. I mean, ya know He’s got to be busy. But it doesn’t stop me from rattlin’ on. Somehow He always seems to have time to listen me, and I don’t take it for granted.