Friday, July 19, 2013

one night in Canada






Those of us who ride have a special relationship with our motorcycles.  When we go out to eat, we like to keep an eye on them, so we are careful where we park.  Like an over protective parent, we like to know where our child is at all times, which can create a problem before one exists.  Add to that riding into an unknown area, and we are reminded that we never ride alone, even when by ourselves, for we have our bike along as our partner.  You go figure, I have given up trying, I just rather ride.  When on my first ride into Canada over 24 years ago, the guy I rode with, Bruce, was a world traveller.  But came to find out it was in tour groups, never alone, and in these pre-internet times, was lost without a guide.  It was also his first long motorcycle trip, and he believed all the urban legends about riding away from home, even carrying Harley oil and a special first aid kit in one saddle bag just in case these things weren’t available in Canada.  I had made all the reservations, with Bruce making the first one, and his only one, in Victoria.  We had just survived two days of rain after a week in over 100 in California, it seemed no one had told the Northwest it was summer, and the temps were chilly.  But arriving at the hotel he booked us in, we found it cold, rainy, and having to park a block away in a high rise parking lot.  Which freaked Bruce out.  We had paid for our room, and I just wanted a shower and dinner and a comfortable bed, but Bruce was fretting, which meant he wouldn’t sleep, which meant Christopher, my 9 year old son with me wouldn’t sleep, which meant I wouldn’t sleep.  So I went down to talk with the desk clerk, who was cool, and understood our situation, and refunded our money.  But while still light out at 10 pm, where would we find a room?  So we started hitting every motel in sight, with no success.  Until we pulled into high end motel, one we would have passed over based on our budget. The lady at the desk was so cool, but explained she only had a suite, way beyond our means, but gave it to us a the price of a normal room.  Still hungry, where do we eat?  She explained the restaurant had just closed, but called over to the manager, who said “send them over,” and she did, and we did.  The staff was filling salt shakers and cleaning up getting ready for the next day’s breakfast, but they let us order off the menu, and then fussed over us while we ate.  Even the cooks came out to talk to these foreign motorcycle tourers, giving us insight into the next day’s ride.  We felt so welcome, and had a good room, at a bargain price, we were full, and then the lady from the desk showed up to see how we were doing.  Words cannot describe how blessed we were, and then she stuck the key to the spa and indoor pool in my hand.  “It’s closed, so be quiet.  You can have it all to yourself.”  Which we were, and which we did.  Finally getting my shower two hours later than when we had gotten our first room.  Even Bruce, the world traveller was happy, as we parked right in front of our room, with the bikes plainly in sight.  A good night’s sleep and all the rest, as they say.
Now one of the names for Jesus is Immanuel, which means God with us.  When things are going right, we forget He is with us, and when bad wonder where He is.  But He is always with us, and what was plan B for us, was Plan A for Him.  From both cool desk clerks, to the restaurant, to the pool, He was there.  Even to the parking space, He had it all planned, we just had to get there.  Such is the story of Joseph, another traveller into a foreign land, except he was sold there as a slave.  You know the rest of the story, how God finally elevated him to second in command in Egypt, and despite the famine, was able to rescue his family, the same brothers that had sold him into slavery.  Not what Joseph wanted, or they had planned, but what God wanted.  Pointing out that ALL things work out for good for those who love God, and that what the devil meant for evil, God meant for good. 
Good Friday seemed hopeless for the disciples, and Jesus’ mother.  But three days later, when He rose and conquered death, they rejoiced.  As we do now.  You cannot have Easter without a Good Friday, and it seems in the darkest times, when farthest from home, God’s miracles seem greater.  Which only makes me want to travel more, and farther.  More distance, more miracles.  But also more problems, for the bigger the miracle, the bigger obstacle to overcome.  But this works at home too, so don’t despair.  All things work out for good, and God is good.  And He wants to bless you, so let Him.  I have found that when He gets the glory, you get the blessings.  With or without the internet, Jesus is always with you, just as His name implies. So you never travel alone, and you never ride alone.
Some choose Google the answer for their problems, and right click for the solution.  Jesus is easier.  You can go right to Him, no passwords, delay, or advertisements to scroll through.  He is right there, on the ride, with the desk clerk, supervising dinner, and getting you special passage to the pool.  Even has a place to park your bike, just so you can sleep better.  Keeping an eye on it.  If only we would keep our eyes on Jesus the same way?  He promised to take us through the problems, not necessarily around them.  Blessing all who are in the situations.  Just one night in Canada for us, but a reminder that His love has no borders, except for our lack of trust.  Next time you push your starter button, expecting it to start, and it does, extend the same trust in Jesus.  The three basic needs-food, shelter, and protection are already there, just ask.  But if you really trust, just follow.  Ask Joseph, you never know what the desk clerk has gone through, maybe she too was held captive, and has a testimony to share.  A lot of Josephs out there, all it takes is one Jesus.  While some choose to place their hope in horses and chariots, I rather trust in Him.  So many roads, and such little time.  Let’s ride.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com