Just Pedal!

It’s good to be back in the saddle here at West End UMC, although my saddle side is rather sore from riding in the Rockies for a 23 mile stretch!  I hadn’t ridden a bicycle for 20+ years, and while it is true that you never forget, I was still rusty.

Which is why after the first few feet I pedaled right into the back of a parked pickup truck, and fell off.  Kerpluck! And that was just during the “fit the woman with a bike” portion.

The whole ride up in the van to the top of Trail Ridge Road was spent psyching myself up for the adventure.  “Come on, Halstead.  You can do this.  Don’t let Cousin Jane down on her birthday.  Don’t think about the 12,000 foot drop off….(right, like don’t visualize a pink elephant. Oops, there it is!)”  quickly turned into “What were you thinking?  Is this any way for a 57-year-old woman to spend a Monday morning?  And what’s the real meaning of ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me?’” Was Paul including soaring down a mountainside at 25 mph in that verse?  Probably not.

Pride, more than courage, got me to strap on that helmet and swing my legs over the bar of the bike, if truth be told.  Fortunately, God uses our weaknesses to a benefit, sometimes.  Had I given into my fear, I would have missed breathing in the fresh pine, whizzing past a mama deer and her fawn just three feet from the roadside, smiling wide even with bugs in my teeth at the breathtaking beauty of creation at its grandest.  And smile I did.  All the way down, all the way up the incline (walking my bike for those yards), and gliding into the alluvial fan picnic area.  Crackers and cheese never tasted so good in the victory of conquering that fear, even if my knees were wobbly.

I may not have been courageous, but I am grateful for the amazing up close and personal experience into the web of life, the vision of our forebears to protect the lands of the RMNP, and especially the imagination of The Creator for including us in the mix.  It was a great day of communion and companionship.

It reminds me of a poem whose author is unknown, but is entitled The Road of Life:

At first, I saw God as my observer,

my judge,

keeping track of the things I did wrong,

so as to know whether I merited heaven

or hell when I die.

He was out there sort of like a president.

I recognized His picture when I saw it,

but I really didn't know Him.

But later on

when I met Christ,

it seemed as though life were rather like a bike ride,

but it was a tandem bike,

and I noticed that Christ

was in the back helping me pedal.

I don't know just when it was

that He suggested we change places,

but life has not been the same since.

When I had control,

I knew the way.

It was rather boring,

but predictable . . .

It was the shortest distance between two points.

But when He took the lead,

he knew delightful long cuts,

up mountains,

and through rocky places

at breakneck speeds,

it was all I could do to hang on!

Even though it looked like madness,

He said, "Pedal."

I worried and was anxious

and asked,

"Where are you taking me?"

He laughed and didn't answer,

and I started to learn to trust.

I forgot my boring life

and entered into the adventure.

And when I'd say, "I'm scared,"

He'd lean back and touch my hand.

He took me to people with gifts that I needed,

gifts of healing,

acceptance,

and joy.

They gave me gifts to take on my journey,

my Lord's and mine.

And we were off again.

He said, "Give the gifts away,

they're extra baggage, too much weight."

So I did,

to the people we met,

and I found that in giving I received,

and still our burden was light.

I did not trust Him,

at first,

in control of my life.

I thought He'd wreck it;

but He knows bike secrets,

knows how to make it bend to take sharp corners,

knows how to jump to clear high rocks,

knows how to fly to shorten scary passages.

And I am learning to shut up

and pedal

in the strangest places,

and I'm beginning to enjoy the view

with the cool breeze on my face

with my delightful, constant companion,

Jesus Christ.

And when I'm sure I just can't do any more,

He just smiles and says . . . "Pedal."

 

The smile, sans bugs, remains in the view from my desk here in Nashville, today, even if Colorado is in my rear view mirror.  And we keep pedaling!

Grace and joy,

Julie