My patience was a yellow, rusted truck
Running low on fuel and puffing a cloud
Of smoke behind it as it rattled down
The road.

My frustration was the click click click
Of my blinker, and the flashing light
Reminding me to change my oil.

I drove circles around this town,
Following a route I had mapped out
In my head--but I failed to see how
It only enforced the anxiety of
My heart, mirrored in the clattering

Of my truck’s engine.

I fell behind in my navigating,
Missing lights as ambulances rushed
Past, disrupting the rigid routine
I liked because of its familiarity.

One day, as I reached for the handle
Of the failing trajectory of my life, yellow
Yet sad in the morning light, a man
Brighter than any paint color, walked
Up to me and extended his hand.

“This is not the plan I have for you.”
He said. “Come to me, for I will
Give you rest.”

It was too good to be true—
How could I trust a man promising
The world?

Yet, that is where I was wrong.
He was not offering the world,
But eternal life and love in the
Wholeness of His image.

I let my arm drop to my side,
Away from the smoking lump
Of my car, and felt the earnestness
Of His expression.

Forgetting the yellow frame beside me,
I took His hand, and began to walk,
The swaying of the leaves suddenly
Peaceful, and the rushing of the cars
Humming gracefully.

Everything that was a source of anxiety,
Faded into the background, and I felt only
The point of contact between me
And my Savior.