It’s Like Riding a Bike

Charles, our grandson, is in process—just as we all are.  Currently he’s learning to ride a two-wheeler with no training wheels.  Seeing a video of him wobbling along with his dad protectively trying to make that magical moment of independence happen brought back memories of my own attempts to learn this skill.  It was not a pretty or smooth process.

I think my first two-wheeler was a true-blue J. C. Higgins bike, training wheels attached.  I did just fine as long as I had the full confidence that those training wheels were firmly attached and would keep me upright.  But, at some point, my parents came to the decision that the training wheels needed to come off and I needed to learn to ride that contraption without them.  They removed the training wheels.  My solution?  I walked my bike everywhere I went, and I do mean everywhere.  I loved the bike, but without the training wheels, I didn’t trust it not to throw me to the ground.

I was right to be suspicious.  My mother and grandmother took me out, determined that we’d get this thing done.  They chose the road by our house.  It was slightly traveled, and during the day, it was almost never used.  It had a light coating of asphalt and a heavy coating of gravel.

It was a warm day, and I was wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a backless top.  I kept instructing my mom and grandma that under no circumstances were they to let go of that bike.  Under no circumstances.  They reassured me.  Ha!  They lied.

I have to give those two women this—they had an amazing amount of stamina.  Over and over again, they ran alongside me, calling encouragement, and holding on, while I pedaled furiously.  Finally they very sneakily let go of the bike and stood watching me—and I was riding it.  I rode it perfectly—until in my peripheral vision I realized there was no one holding on, huffing and puffing, telling me I could do it.  I turned my head to confirm my suspicions and crashed spectacularly.  I don’t know how I managed it or what contortions it took, but I scraped both my knees and had an impressive case of road rash on my bare back.  I wailed loudly while they picked the gravel out of it.

I didn’t much trust them after that.  But the truth was I had ridden that bike all by myself with no training wheels and no other assistance.  I had experienced that moment of balance and grace, of control and independence—and I wanted to experience all of that again.  I got back on that bike and kept at it until I’d mastered it.  I loved my bike even more then.

I think a lot of life is like this.  We want to try to acquire a new skill, but the very thought overwhelms us.  We try it anyway, hopefully with some encouragement and mentoring.  We fail.  We try again.  We make some progress.  We fail again.  Finally, we achieve it, we master it, we just do it!  Then we find something else to try.

My spiritual life has certainly followed this path.  Actions like praying out loud or leading a Bible study seemed forever out of my reach at first.  But with time, encouragement, and perseverance, I got there.  There’s always some new challenge—like seeing the growth of my self-control (an incredibly long process!).  But I see that the key to making headway lies not just in my own persistence.  Proverbs 3:5-6 points the way, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”  We look first to the Lord and watch how He works in us.  Talk about stamina!

Questions for you:  What do you remember about learning to ride your first two-wheeler bike?  Where are you looking for the Lord to work in your life right now?