Bus Ride to Memphis

I met a young man on the way to Memphis;

he told me quite plainly, though he didn’t say in words,

“I’m looking for something I’ve not yet found,

I’m looking for someone who won’t let me down.”

He said “I’m a cynic” with a kind-hearted sneer;

“I’ve known your religion for the past twenty years.

I was taught all those stories in Sunday school

but I just don’t believe in those brainwashing rules.”

Our conversation led us to God’s word—

some verses he’d learned, and some he had heard.

“You know,” he said, “I never saw them in just that light

and maybe, just maybe you’re right.”

Well, we talked and reasoned for a good long while;

he cast his eyes down, and then looked up and smiled.

“I guess I’ll give that Bible just one more try.

Perhaps I’ll find it isn’t a lie.”

The Lord, he watches the Greyhound line,

the ticketholders who stand in line;

he knows who gets on and he knows who gets off

and he knows the heart that is searching.

“You know,” he said, “It’s kinda strange,

I didn’t plan to ride this line;

I was going to New Orleans with these friends of mine.

But they got thrown in jail,

so I got on this grey hound—

it was good to know you,

I’ll see you around.”

I didn’t ask his name and he didn’t know mine

but I prayed through the night

that my Lord he would find.

The Lord, he watches the Greyhound line,

the ticketholders who stand in line;

he knows who gets on and he knows who gets off

and he knows the heart that is searching.

Ginny Neal

Published by Intentional Faith

Devoted to a Faith that Thinks

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