This is what I was thinking about last night as Chuck and I were heading toward my house, maybe five miles to go. We had a glorious tailwind, it was above 40 degrees and I was about as close to perfectly dressed as I’m going to get. We were cruising, after all those trainer miles over the winter, and the pace was fairly enjoyable – I would put it in the “barely moderate” category. I was in Chuck’s draft and I said to him, “I like to think about what it’d be like if Jesus got a chance to ride with us”.
I like to imagine the look on His face on throwing a leg over a Specialized
Venge Tarmac (I started writing this post last year before they did away with the Venge) or Trek Madone 9…. the look of trepidation, the uneasy wobble as he tried to clip in the first time (maybe we’d give him some platform pedals for his first go)…
Then, after learning to ride, would naturally come teaching Him how to ride in a group, you know, the particulars; watch the overlap of the wheels, watch up the road, no, bicycles don’t work on water because you can’t get traction on the water. You know, the basics. Then, I like to imagine the look of sheer joy on His face as He cruised around with a group of us in a pace-line. I love to think about what it would be like if Jesus could feel the joy and exhilaration of coming around the final corner on Tuesday night, full out as the pace ramps up from 25 to north of 30-mph. I’m immensely grateful that I can and feel that regularly. Then I wonder if maybe Jesus does get to sense of what that’s like through me.
This is my understanding of God in recovery. The whole “God is my co-pilot” doesn’t make any sense in recovery. Technically, if we’re doing it right, God is the pilot. Anyway, “I get it” kind of, but the whole pilot/co-pilot thing is a little foreign to me as I’m not, you know, a pilot. The thought of how much fun Jesus would have in our pace-line, though, and having the chance to lead Him out (or vice-versa, even better yet), that’s something I can connect with.
I like to think of how big smile on His face would be after we cross the Lennon City Limits sign and we’re all bumping fists and patting each other on the back, thanking each other for the hard work and effort on another fantastic ride, acknowledging each other’s part in the group… I like to think Jesus would see that and say, “You know, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s how it’s done.”
… and just like that, I was on the home-stretch to my driveway. The first, glorious ride of the new season in the books. We took the gravel bikes out as the snowmelt was gnarly and messy, but was it fabulous to be out in the fresh air, even if I ate some salty road spray a time or two. I thanked my friend for another fantastic time on the bike as he rode off toward his house. I felt a little like Kurt Warner as I walked my bike up to the front porch. I gave a little, “Thank you, Je-sus!” and smiled again as I rolled my bike into the house to tell my wife about the ride.
I haven’t slept as well as I did last night in months.