Every shop has one, or should. He starts out just walking through the show
room, being careful not to touch the bikes, although he is dying just to sit on
one. “Just looking,” he replies when asked if he needs help, the questioner
already knowing after one look this is no prospect today to sell a new bike to.
After a few visits, usually after school, he notices the service area, and
between the sounds, the smells of Castrol, grease, and brake cleaner, he is
attracted. Again when asked, he mutters “just looking,” and wishes he could
just get on the other side of the rope separating him from all the excitement.
And on one afternoon, pulls up to the rear door, and when asked, he mutters, “my
tire needs air,” and the tech, too busy to help, just points to the air hose,
“help yourself kid.” And he has gained entrance, and suddenly the prospect of
filling air is frightening, but after a few attempts he gets it right, thanks
the tech, who just grunts, and leaves. Bragging to his friends how they let him
in the shop, how cool. And soon he stops by everyday after school, and soon is
told, “if you ‘re gonna hang around, make yourself useful.” So he picks up
rags, empties trash, and takes abuse from the guys. He is the one who goes for
lunches, and when short on money makes up the difference, and when the order is
wrong, it is his fault. When they can’t find something, he gets blamed, even if
he wasn’t there. All for free, a job that isn’t a job, that doesn’t pay money,
but his reward cannot be measured in dollars or sense. And sometimes the
manager slips him a $5 or $10, “go have a good weekend,” and he feels like the
richest guy on earth.
And then one day he is given a shop shirt, many sizes too big, but it
doesn’t matter-he is part of the team! A shirt he wears to school, and when the
jocks and nerds make fun of it, he knows deep inside he is part of something
they can only enjoy for a moment in victory, but that he enjoys everyday. He
may be low man on the team, but he is on the team. And when the next kid needs
air in a tire, they now can come to him. He begins to take interest in a
certain model, and using money earned, he now gets paid like the other guys, not
much, but enough to buy parts at his discount, and have the techs show him how
to install them. Using their tools, and taking the abuse that goes with the
position. But he is learning, all about life, values, and teamwork. Things
that cannot be taught in school, and soon his bike runs, and the back alley is
his highway-at least until he gets his license. His helmet is used, and the
paint on the tank doesn’t match the fenders, the engine smokes a little, the
tires worn. But it is his, built with his own hands, helped out with his
friends, the guys who work in the shop, all because he stopped by, and was just
lookin’. And on the day he gets his license, and takes his first ride, they all
watch cheering him on. “Hope it stays together, you really gonna ride that
thing? Don’t go far so you won’t have too far to push it back!” And if smiles
were ears, he would hear them when he was well out of sight. He was riding, and
soon between summers, weekends, and afterschool, he had enough to buy his own
new motorcycle, at a huge discount. And was buying his own set of tools. For
he no longer was low man, he was now a mechanic. His name right there on his
shirt, and someday he will be helping the next kid who is just lookin’, and
giving someone else a hard time when he gets fries instead of the onion rings he
ordered. He will loan tools, fix things for free, and stay late, open early,
and never make a huge salary. But he has learned at an early age that if you do
what you love it isn’t a job, and if you love your job it isn’t like going to
work. At one time a rope stood between him and his dreams, now he is living
them. Something his friends, girlfriend, and parents don’t get, they had hoped
he would get an education, go to college. He got the education, something they
don’t teach at Harvard. He was part of a team. All he needed was a chance and
an invitation.
There aren’t many places a kid can hang out after school anymore. But kids
still hang out in bike shops, staying out of trouble. Building friendships,
relationships, and learning from watching. A team they don’t have to try out
for, with no awards given. Many don’t go on to success like the kid did above,
many will go to college, so get married too son, or move away. Churches like
motorcycle shops still provide a place for kids to go afterschool. To hangout,
to be part of something. In Belarus, part of the old USSR, a man started a
ministry with street kids and motorcycles, the first ones not running, donated
by the police. Just to keep the kids out of jail. And soon they got them
running, and soon formed a club. A Christian motorcycle club, for the man with
a vision for the gospel, leads these kids. Leads them to Jesus, and watches as
throw aways become valuable. He gives them purpose, a reason to live, and a
family. Three things they were missing. Built around Jesus, and using
motorcycles as the common language. And a few years ago I found I was a part
of this and didn’t know it. Somehow my stories, the ones you read, are picked
up and translated into Russian for the kids to read. And to learn about Jesus.
Some wearing M25B shirts I sent them, ministers of Christ. Kids who like the
kid in the shop were just lookin’, and someone took the time to introduce them
to Jesus. Using motorcycles. A form of the gospel some churches will never
understand, and where these kids would not be welcome. But Jesus sees them,
sees us different. He feels comfortable among bikers, street kids, hookers, and
junkies. In many cases a better class of people. Who don’t realize they want
to know Him, until introduced to Him. The smell of racing caster in the air,
just like it should be.
Fathers, when your kid watch, include them. Invite them when washing the
car. Cleaning your chain. Looking for your golf clubs. Let them help around
the house, and get them involved in the conversation. They are just lookin’,
and if you don’t show them, someone else will. Let them hold the hose, sit on
the bike. Put a helmet and gloves on them. Maybe give them an old shirt, make
them feel part of the family. Just like Jesus does us, just like He took us
in. Ministry opportunities don’t have to happen in church, spread the gospel of
love by putting it in action. And watch as it gets passed on, rather than
passed over. We were all that kid at ne time who was just lookin’, and some of
us have found what we were looking for in Jesus. The harvest in plentiful, the
workers few, some will even be riding. Every shop has one, are you that
one?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com