Another Parable of the Bicycle

I skinned my knees pretty badly the first time I rode a bike. Actually, I skinned my knees, the palms of my hands, my knuckles, my elbows and even my feet before I was done. Now, THAT was pain.

And my parents did nothing to keep it from happening.

Actually, come to think of it, they GAVE me that bike!

For some reason, my parents thought that a bike would give me joy, pleasure and eventually some great adventure. They spoke of bike rides through the neighborhood. They suggested that in time I could ride as far as the park. But, of course, that would only be when I got older. They told me that someday I would be riding my bike on the trails all the way to the zoo, the airport, or the swimming pool at the community center.

Then, they removed the training wheels.

Now, THERE was very real pain.

I dreamed of the adventures along the roads and pathways yet to come when I grew up. I continued to grow and the dreams began to come true. I can still see the blurry houses beside me as I flew down the street coming off of Mt. Diablo. I can remember the thrill, the rushing wind, and the delight!

But then, I spilled as I got to the bottom.

Oh no, THERE was pain again.

In Illinois, in the suburban neighborhood where we had moved, I learned to ride sitting straight up, my arms folded across my chest, "hands free", and my weight turning the wheel. Such a pose I struck. I had conquered the bike. Learning to do that wasn't easy.

It took time and I took falls. A lot.

THERE was that pain again.

Finally, I got the ten-speed bike. I learned to tighten the spokes, adjust the gears, grease the chain, polish the chrome and fix the brakes. I decked it out with a speedometer, a water bottle, and a rear view mirror. I could ride at top speed on the busy streets along with traffic. I was intent. I was so cool. The light turned red. I'd been daydreaming.

A brake, a skid, a ditch, and there was THAT pain again.

All that pain that I felt and the suffering I endured; oh, it was awful. Did it really matter that I mastered something through the falls, the scrapes, the antiseptic and the Band-Aids? Was the pain worth it?

My parents gave me that first bike. They taught me to love the long ride, the adventure, the journey, the discoveries and the growing.

My parents loved me. So they introduced pain into my life. They said it would help me grow.

God loves me. He introduced pain into my life. He says it will help me grow.

Remember, Dad? You said that I had to suffer to be beautiful.

"Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction." (Isaiah 48:10)