My dentist is a very good photographer. He is really good at capturing light in some of his landscape photos. He has made some stunning images of the badlands. One day he told me that he adds a minimum of 15 minutes to every trip across South Dakota so that he can make an image from the same place in the badlands. He wants to capture the scene with as many different types of lighting as possible. He hopes that one of his pictures will be just what he wants. Along the way, he has captured images in all kinds of weather at all seasons of the year.

I am not that disciplined with my photography. I sometimes grab my camera when I see something that is particularly beautiful or that stirs my soul, but sometimes I just look in amazement and hope that I can remember what I have seen. Sometimes I know that even if I take a picture, the image will be far less dramatic than the experience.

I am a child of the mountains. When I was growing up, I never believed that I would live in a place where I could not see mountains that were at least tall enough to sport snow in the summer and an area of rocks above the tree line. As such, some of my friends think I am a bit judgmental when it comes to the hills. Don’t get me wrong. I love the Black Hills. I love living in the hills. Their beauty inspires me. But I never call them mountains. The highest point in the Black Hills, while being taller than any peak east of here on this continent, including everything that is called a mountain in the eastern half of the United States, is just 7,244 feet. That elevation is less than the elevation of the church camp I attended as a youth. And that camp sits in the bottom of a mountain valley with peaks towering over it on both sides.

What I did not expect when I was growing up was the lure of the prairie. I simply love driving across the plains. There is so much to see, so much to experience. From time to time, I find that a drive across the plains renews my spirit and gives me time to think.

So I am anticipating today with great joy. In a little while I will leave my home and drive for a little over 7 hours to reach Hastings, Nebraska, where I will be teaching this evening and tomorrow. My duty is light today. I just have the drive and two hours of classroom teaching. If I leave as planned, there will be time for a short nap when I get to Hastings.

The drive is beautiful. There are several different routes that I could take, but today I plan to drive east to Murdo and from there turn south to Valentine and on through the Nebraska Sandhills. Chances are I will be too late to see the gorgeous sandhill cranes. March and April are the best crane viewing times in the spring. They won’t be back until late September or early October. But the place that gave them their name is a unique piece of geography and there will be plenty of other things to see.

Of course, if I wanted to put on my superior attitude, my comments about the Nebraska State Forest might make my occasional comments about the Black Hills seem mild by comparison, so I’ll just say I get to drive by a section of Nebraska State Forest today. I probably won’t stop.

Fort Kearney isn’t just a stopover for the cranes as they go north and south. It has also been a stopover for people since the westward migration of folks along the Oregon Trail. Just west of Fort Kearney is the site where Doby Town used to be. The historical marker speaks of horrible whiskey and notorious gatherings. It is hard to think of the spot as a place of much of a gathering these days, but I don’t drive across Nebraska for the social graces. I thrive on Nebraska’s gift of time alone.

I’ve been known to blast opera on the car stereo as I drive. I’ve been known to catch up on all of the recorded lectures that I have collected but haven’t yet digested. On my best days I sit silently and watch as I drive across the marvelous expanse of land that is appropriately lightly populated. Too many people would ruin a land like this. Fortunately, there aren’t too many people.

Some of the ones who live in the empty places are characters, of course. I guess I would be if I spent too much time alone. Living in the relatively large city of Rapid City I get to have it both ways: people when I want company and access to the empty places when I want solitude. Both Mark and Luke report that Jesus would rise early in the morning, while most of the rest of the people were sleeping, and go off to a lonely place to pray. Being a disciple of Jesus, I too appreciate early mornings and lonely places. My best prayers are not accompanied by words.

So I am really looking forward to today’s drive. It is an opportunity to clear my mind, to reconnect with what is most important, to de-clutter my thinking. Perspective is important for a pastor. We pray in public every day. Public praying is almost always talking. You can only do that if you make time to listen as well. Today and tomorrow are gifts for my ministry and for my life.

I think that the prairie calls those who take time to listen. Perhaps it is the wind as much as it is the birdsong. Perhaps it is the still small voice that requires silencing of the usual hubbub of everyday life. Perhaps it is the transcendent nature of God who is anywhere and everywhere all at the same time.

It is time to get rolling. The prairie is calling.

Copyright © 2012 by Ted Huffman. I wrote this. If you want to copy it, please ask for permission. There is a contact me button at the bottom of this page. If you want to share my blog a friend, please direct your friend to my web site.