Proof The Bible Is True

Maybe a 1986 Mercury station wagon wasn’t the best vehicle to drive across the Mojave Desert, but it was all I had. And I won’t have it for long, I thought as my engine coughed and sputtered. God, just let me make it to the next town.

 

I’d left my teaching job back in Colorado and was going to San Francisco to stay with my sister Joyce for a while. I packed my clothes, my books and my old guitar into the back of the Mercury and headed off.

 

I’d first taught myself to play folk music as a teenager in the 60s. Back then strumming a tune was all I ever needed to lift my spirits. I played bluegrass at parties, led ballads around campfires. I’d even performed in clubs and theaters and in church.

 

I hoped to find a club in the Bay Area once I got settled with Joyce, one where I could earn extra money with my music, since I barely had enough funds to get me through this road trip. Especially with my engine acting up the way it was.

 

Do I have enough cash to get the car fixed? I thought as I pulled off the highway into Barstow, California. I still had 350 miles to go.

 

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