Beep! Beep! As a kid, my only exposure to roadrunners came by way of Saturday morning cartoons. Not until I moved to Texas did I actually share the road with these perky birds that appear to be about half the size of a chicken but resemble Corvette-style turkey in design. Physical attributes aside, it’s their inner attitude that intrigues me. When roadrunners race along dirt roads, then dart into a side ditch, their proud tails convey one blunt message: “I’M OUTTA HERE!” In place of a sissy, “beep-beep,” the cartoons creators should have used the sound of squealing tires and a cut-off muffler. Given their presumed arrogance, I was surprised at what I learned from an actual conversation with a roadrunner. It occurred after a week of noticing a roadrunner racing across my barnyard several days in a row. Soon, I began hearing plaintive sounds like the whimper of a sad-eye puppy. One morning, during Office, the whining became so persistent that I interrupted my prayers and stomped out the door to determine the source. There, perched on the roof of my house, was the roadrunner. (I didn’t know they could fly!) He tilted his head and stared doen at me and my dog. “How’d you get up there?” I asked. He shuffled two steps closer—as though I was hard-of-hearing—and repeated himself. This occurred the morning following Pentecost. After returning indoors and resuming my prayers, something loud flung itself against the door, followed by the scraping sound of scuffling feathers. A few minutes later, the same ordeal was repeated at the kitchen window. By the time I stepped out on the porch, this Texas version of the Pentecostal Dove was scurrying across the field to his next preaching assignment...perhaps a tent revival. I returned inside and reflected on the roadrunner’s unique revelation. My conclusion? When the Spirit’s whimper fails to pry open the heart, more strident efforts may be in the offing. Happy Pentecost!