8 May 2013

Fomista, 25k walk

His Steady Hand

Buen Camino

We left today into a steady drizzle for the first km. This led us to a strong ascent up to the Mesata again. It was a breath-stealer of 100+m within 2km. The reward at the top was wonderful, especially because it was the reward of a long walk on the level, wide expanse of the Meseta. How I enjoy the walk along gently rolling hills with relatively even terrain. This part was covered in a gravely trail, much easier walking and less concern about footing and falling. However, once we reached the top of the summit, we headed into a strong, cold windy mist for about 7km. So unpleasant and a strain with this persistent sinus infection.

Enough of that.

A recollection was presented to me that played like that song one hears in the morning and you just can't get it out of your head. The kind that keeps repeating and repeating.

This was mine. It was a strong memory of when I was a little boy, about 2nd grade. I had just gotten out of recovery from an appendicitis that had burst. It was painful, and I remember that it took a long time to get the infection to be arrested. The reward my parents offered for my efforts to get well was a new bike. Yep, my first real bike.

It was late spring, and Dad took me down to a local bike store and told me to pick out ANY bike I wanted. I chose a candy-apple red Schwinn with polished chrome fenders and plastic streamers coming off the backs of the handlebar grips. Later my friends and I would destroy invaluable baseball cards by clothespinning the card from the frame to the spokes. Poor Lou Gerig.

My challenge was that I didn't know how to ride yet. My friends learned while I was recovering, and I was not the free spirit terror they had become as experienced bike riders.

I started with the training wheels. This was only a teaser to what thrill would be in store if I could only learn to ride myself.

This was the old, childhood movie played so vivid in my head today: it was of my dad helping me learn to ride a bike. He would put a hand on the back of the seat, wrap around my back, and place the other hand on my hand-both of us gripping the handle bar.

He would run alongside while I tried with all my will to keep the whole process working simultaneously. Watch the front wheel, keep the pedals going front to back, watch where I was going, move the handlebars in the right direction. All so many things to coordinate. All along, Dad was racing alongside.

I know this sounds weird, but for a time today I could swear I could remember the details so vividly I could recall the feel of his arm up my back, I could feel his stubbly bearded chin on the back of my neck and even the smell of his Old Spice after shave lotion. What a precious memory.

As the memory continued, I recall catching some speed and that devilish front wheel doing it's unpredictable, uncontrollable zigzag wobble. Turn one way, then too much, then the other, too much. Back and forth. Eyes bugged out, goosebumpy and scared. I'm gonna fall. Pain coming. "Daddy help meeeeeeeeee!

I recall a little chuckle and an "I got ya. I got ya." There his hand would be on the back of my seat and his arm drapped around with his other hand now clasped on my hand on the handlebar. Funny, as I recalled the story I could swear that I saw his black dress shoes clomping along just behind me all the while I pedaled along.

A few attempts and off I finally went pedaling like an Olympian and shouting, " Look mom! I'm riding. I'm riding!!!!"

Funny, either they told me and I was too intent on all the riding instructions, I soon discovered that I was clueless about how to stop this sporty Schwin beauty. I thought it was revealing how just when you think you get life rolling, and you're consumed in the joy of it all, you can't find a way to stop yourself from getting hurt. There's a metaphor in there, friends.

Of course, I fell. Probably skinned a knee. Put right back up for another running exercise for my dad and an illusion of how great I was/ would be as a a free-spirit bike rider.

My reflection led me to another time when I got to relive this same experience as the running dad behind the bike for my 5 children as they learned to ride. Same joy. Dad runs along and your little one assumes he/she did it all himself/herself. Afterwards, they get the glory, encouragement, and affirmation for their courage and new skill. "I did it all by myself!"

You can probably guess where God took me today with this memory. How often I/we have our heavenly dad who places his strong arm to brace us up and another to grasp over our hand to help us steer. In too many events, I get so excited by the new freedom I have felt with new experience, new skill, new talent, new potential with all its new opportunities. I/we don't openly say it, but the tendency is to talk about it as - "Look at me! Look at what I can do! What I know!" Just big kids still shouting "Watch me mom/dad!!!

All the while, if I'm/we're ever so observant, I/we might recognize His shoes running along side. Feel his strength holding us up, His hand firmly planted on our hand while helping us guide in His righteous directions. Not sure what His aftershave would smell like, but if the fragrance had a name I'd guess it'd be MERCY. What a sweet fragrance!

I love, loved the imagery God instilled in me today. I could even relate events in life when I got consumed in the pleasure of life's ride and lost control. It's so easy to do. God's creations are for our pleasure. When I get overly consumed by them, place too much importance on them, or worse yet, begin to let them become centerpieces of too much of my time/attention/desire-then I'm headed for an uncontrollable crash.

Fortunately for us, we share a religion where our God cares for us in a crash. No other religion worships a God of compassion for the sinful. Check it out. None do. None, but our God.

Sadly, there are some broken souls who have not been the source of a crash in life. They've done it right. Done the kind and loving thing ,and they end up in the painful tumble. I feel so deeply for them. It's not fair. It's not right. And it hurts so painfully. I am crying now for these dear ones. You know who you are.

No words of advice can salve the pain for you. All I can say with confidence is to be that little kid scared to death and cry out, "Daddy help meeeeeeee! " Our daddy hears our every cry. He cares deeply for us. He counts our every tear. He loves us. He loves you, precious one. He does. Their is no ache in your heart that He doesn't know. Keep crying out to Him, "Daddy, help meeeee!"

And He will. He will. He will. He will. Grip the handlebars with all your might. His arms are around you.

His steady hand is there.

I will try to stop my crybaby tears now, my carinos.

Upcoming:

Carrion de las Condes
A long, gentle downslope

Please pray that God would have mercy on me for this sinus infection. I drain pounds of infectious junk from my nose all day which makes it such a challenge to walk and climb.

Carinosamente,

Deacon Willie