Not my wheel
I stand on the train. My reflection shouts at me out of the pane of window on the last car. The city runs by me in its fervor. People hustle. Bustle. Stop moving. Run to the door. Up the hole they go out into this world. Radio360 rings in my ear. I love this music. It creates a picture in my mind that makes sense. It guides my thoughts among the stops. Dinner with pastor. My friend. My confidant. My witness. Jesus rides with me. But sometimes I grab the wheel. He doesn't like me when I choose to drive. My girlfriend holds up her torch of freedom and shouts at me all the more. Free choice. It's yours. Why don't you make the right one? Satan fools me. More people rush by. In an instant I wonder who this man is reflecting off the glass. I don't recognize the face. It seems to thin to be me. I don't recognize the wrinkles. Is there wisdom in this face? Is there a heart that leads these thought patterns? He doesn't like it when I grab t...