haven't you had enough religion?

While watching Jeopardy last night, I learned that January 17th is a holiday. No, nobody's birthday, it is National Break Your New Year's Resolution Day. A day that by name sounds pessimistic, the fact that it is 17 days into the new year, gives hope-at least for two weeks. For to those of you who make these resolutions that you cannot fulfill, they only bring more stress for that time period, with so many not making it until the 17th. And they seem like altruistic goals-lose weight, stop smoking, watch less Jeopardy, but they all end in an appointment with disappointment. AKA-failure. Like I don't have enough problems already.

And a popular theme this year among the church is to read through the Bible in a year. Spend 30 minutes each day reading, and then check off what you read. Theresa even brought home a book so you can follow it. And although this seems like a Godly thing to do, it is cloaked in a false spirituality-one it is all about you, not God, one that puts you in control-not God, and ends with an appointment with disappointment. And it brings more laws into your life-and a potential quenching of the spirit. For instance-

The first three days you are hot, then the weekend comes. Life interferes with your plans. And the excuses fly, so you try again on Monday-two days behind. Soon this task to know God better takes on the burden of a late homework assignment, and pretty soon it is forgotten. And the memory is only made worse by someone holding out longer than you. They may have gotten to the Mount of Transfiguration, but you're still stuck in the valley of the shadow of death. And ask yourself, what does this have to do with Jesus being in control of my life, like I pray?

Remember this life is about relationships, starting with our one with God. Consider the following, and see my point. You buy a new bike, and call some friends to ride with you. You're excited, and you want to ride. And here are the rules. For the first ten miles we ride no faster than 40mph. Then rest. Then we ride 50mph for an hour, then rest. Then 60 mph, but not for long-and we are still home by noon. Can't wear out that new engine. Are you the only one disappointed when after you announce this find you are riding alone? And get no return calls for next week?

When dating, you tell your new date, I need to be in by 9pm. But our next date we can stay out until 10. Still looking for that elusive second date?

Imagine life with your spouse. Tonight you can talk 20 minutes, then it is my turn. Then you can have ten, then I'll finish up with ten. Then it's back to watching Jeopardy-alone! Won't that be fun? NO-for you see relationships take time to develop, and if they are to be intimate, take one on one personal contact. So why do we bring a set of rules to our relationship with God-when this foolish set of rules doesn't work in any other relationship?

When you first met your spouse to be, you thought of her constantly. Would call many times a day, and look forward to spending time together. Without time frames-spontaneity showed love. Same with your new bike-I bought my R90S in the morning and took it back that afternoon for the 600 mile service. For a relationship to work, it must be intimate-time must be invested, and it can only be done one on one. You have to spend time with that person. Just like with God.

So it is OK to think of Him during the day, and not wait until your 30 minute appointment is here. And hey, what if 30 minutes isn't enough, can I get extra? Will it cut into tomorrow's time? Sad, but true, beneath the veneer of spirituality, lies legalism, just ready to ruin the spirit. But it doesn't have to be that way.

We say we trust God with our lives. We tell Him we have given them over to Him, and we call Him Lord. Then let's let Him be Lord, and let Him lead. No co-pilot, but full charge. He knows what's best, knows and orders our footsteps, and promises joy to those who are obedient-rather than sacrificial of their time, or money. He wants a personal relationship with you, and good times or bad, knows what you can handle, so schedules accordingly. No-everyday isn't 85 degrees with low humidity and a tailwind, but He is with you in the storm-or the valley of the shadow of death. And then is with you on the mount, and all steps in between. And as you go-remember those words He gave to His disciples-as you go preach the word by showing your relationship with God. And instead of a religion, have a relation. A friend who knows your name, and you can get to know His. No laws, just His spirit leading. And enjoy the true freedom you can only find in Jesus Christ.

For joy doesn't come from learning about God, memorizing scripture, or opening your wallet to give your 10%. It comes from a personal relationship with God via His son, Jesus Christ. No booklets, no lists, no appointments with disappointment. Time with a friend, who just happens to be the one who created the universe. Spend time with Him today-what will your answer be when He asks why do you call me Lord, but don't do the things I say? But, God-sorry He seeks a relationship, not an adherence to laws. He wants you!

Have I made you my enemy by telling you the truth? Seek Jesus, and find the way, the truth, and the life. At the cross. No more appointments of disappointment-He even let's you make the choice. So get to know Him-you can only trust someone you know-not know about! Know the one who never left you during your appoints with disappointment-truly there is joy in the morning with Jesus! And all the other times of the day, too!

Reading it more and enjoying it less? Walk in the spirit-and all other things will be added.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

and you thought it was just a car

Theresa and I went to what might be the perfect old car show last Saturday. In Vista at the Peppertree Drive In, over 585 cars showed up and jammed the streets and surrounding parking lots. Restricted to nothing newer than a 1972, my year of high school graduation, this made it perfect for my trip down memory lane, as anything newer has much different memories than anything older. You tend to have hallmarks in your life, and one is getting your license-June of 1971 for me. And being able to drive made me look at cars in a different light-unfortunately.

All my dreams of SS396 Chevelles, and Boss Mustangs faded to black as the stone cold reality of a 1966 Rambler Classic sedan was my first set of wheels. And things like filling the tank took on a new meaning. We never thought gas would ever go over 30 cents/gallon, and when we got to 1/4 tank, drove in and told the attendant two dollars worth. Or in the case of many of our first cars, fill the oil, and check the gas. But this car show was different than many I attend, and that made the memories flow. Judging based on the car, and the emotions it raised, not the restoration, or how much money you spent to make it perfect. Talking with owners, and listening to their stories, and reminding Theresa in 15 years we can take her Mustang, as it will be 25 years old then. That is if we ever stop riding. But it is the unrestored, but daily driven, or often driven cars I am attracted to. The ones with wear on the seats, and thin paint from years of waxing. The ones that tell a story of their lives, and places they've been and who they were with. These are the ones that I stop and look at.

I found myself stopping and looking at the AMX line-almost a dozen of them-and a 1971 with a 360, much like my friend Barry Adams' 1972 with a 401. I spent time looking at the 1950 Buick Super, the same color as my Special sedan-the one Debbie Gallagher wanted to go to the drive in in, so we could neck. Just so she could see what it was like for her parents in the 50's. Ah, some romances never die. Stopping to laugh at the Pinto, with a sign that read FLAMMABLE in front of it, reminded me of the car that replaced the Rambler, a 1971 Pinto. And my first job as an assistant service manager and the recall for the fuel tank repair that kept them from exploding.

Even stopping and explaining how the 55-56-57 Chevies were different, yet so similar to Theresa, who commented she knew because she had been going to car shows with me for 30 years. My favorite, the 56, but I was always enamored by the dash on the 55's, the ones with the Chevy bowtie emblems cut out of the metal. I was too young to get one new, and too broke to get one when I was older. Which only makes some dreams seem farther away as you get closer.

But I found myself in thought as I considered where I was when these cars were new, and where I am now. And how far both cars and I have come. For over 70% of my life I have been a Christian, and I thought of how that influenced my decisions. And how those decisions influenced my life. From my first car when moving to Albuquerque, a Rabbit that was totaled, and replaced with a 1973 El Camino, and then replaced by a 1972 MG Midget, I could follow my story of my walk in Christ. When I traded my El Camino for the MG, and later a friend of Eric Villanueva bought it, it had a rattle. So I put a Christian magazine between the spare and jack to stop the rattle. Which Eric thought was cool, because his friend became a Christian. I never told him it was not a witness tool, the noise was making me crazy-but God had a better idea. And Eric used to tell anyone who would listen the story.

Watching TV one night with Theresa, and Crime stoppers re-enacted a crime-on the trunk of our 1967 Sedan De Ville! She used to run over curbs while driving it-her last car being a VW Bug. And it always got 6 miles per gallon, no matter how you drove it-so we drove it fast, a Trans Am killer, when they gave up all their horsepower in lieu of graphics in the late 70's. I remember our next MG, I bought a 1980 B model and surprised Theresa when I picked her up at the hospital after a miscarriage. And how Christopher used to sit in his car seat with the top down when he was three years old. How cool was that? All memories courtesy of a car show.

And I thought of two friends who went home to the Lord too soon for me-Brett and his little Honda, which his pastor and friends set up on a curb at his wedding, so they couldn't get to the motel, and Terry Garcia and his 1978 Saab. Both guys who liked road trips, and loved Jesus. Brothers who were there for me when I needed them. And then my memories took me back to the Tuesday night Bible studies and how my life was centered around Jesus. And then realized how blessed I have been for the past 35 years. Remembering all the times with brothers and sisters in the Lord-just from looking at some old cars.

So next time I get blurry eyed while looking inside an old car, use caution-and courtesy, for I am going back and remembering special times. Times spent with Jesus, and the friends I shared them with. Just one of the things I remember during communion when He says do this in remembrance of me.

And don't let the religious people take anything away from you for doing that-for any time spent with Jesus is the best time. For I remember Him even without taking communion, as He is always part of my life, riding or driving. Just remember-don't spill anything on the seats, and make sure the oil and gas are full. And take off into the sunset with new memories to come-and enjoy the ones in the past. A scrapbook from Jesus- a journey not found in the Twilight Zone.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogpsot.com

lou's garage

I first met Lou Martinez when I was pumping gas in Durango at a Phillips 66 station. He was renting the two bays in the back of the building, and was open virtually 24/7, seems someone's old car was always needing repairs. When it got too much for the neighbors, he was asked to leave, and found a place about six miles out of town on the way to Bayfield. Belonging to a friend, it was an old cinder block building, on some acreage, about a quarter mile off the highway. It was adjacent to an old house trailer, where he lived with Anna Lee, and her three kids. More out of convenience than out of sin. The driveway had been gravel at one time, and during rain or snow was almost impassable. But it worked for Lou, and his customer's, so that was all that mattered.

Lou was from Chicago, I think, and had been a medical illustrator. His shop was always busy, and when no one else in town could fix your car, they sent them to Lou. Lou did business on a handshake-only needed when you first met, then after that all was done on a friendship agreement. Lou would fix many cars, knowing he would never get paid, but that this person needed it to get to work, since they had a family. No estimates, or invoices, just a fair deal-the way business should be done. And I had seen him take things in trade that he knew he would never use, just so the person could ease his guilty conscience about not being able to pay.

The sink in the kitchen of the trailer served as the parts washer, so they ate fast food and the occasional pizza. And when the pizza delivery boy would ask "hey Lou, while I'm here can you take a look at my car?" he would, after fixing the pizza guy's car, often eating cold pizza hours later just before falling into bed exhausted. And he was always busy, and never refused anyone-except for the rare times when he went out of town, and there would be a line of cars waiting when he got back.

Lou helped me out too, and would get you back on the road. "I just straightened the linkage, pay me when I fix it by replacing the bushings." And it ran so well you forgot about the bushings. Clyde, the young guy who worked with him actually sold me my 1963 Corvair Greenbriar van. And then bought it back when he got married, he needed a vehicle that would run, and he felt he could make that old Corvair roadworthy. The whole time the van never leaving Lou's while in-between owners. Most of Lou's deals were ended with the question, "how much can you give me now?" Letting the person take the car, knowing he would get paid someday. And somehow, always did. And not overcharging the ones who could take their car to the dealer, but chose Lou because he was fair. Even Anna Lee's kids helped out, the oldest not yet a teenager, and they knew which tool or part Lou needed when he asked. Everyone helping out.

Lou was a true caregiver for cars. A true servant to us with broken machines. And as a caregiver, usually ended up being abused somehow, as most caregivers are as a group. A true bond servant, who like Jesus voluntarily served-not asking when, how, why, where,or who, just doing what was needed. Fill the need, the rewards will come later. And the world needs more Lou's, for like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life, he never got rich, but was a rich man. His assets were based in people, not things, and it seems everyone owed him something. I heard a lot of Lou stories in my time. A successful man-doing what he loved to do. Giving more than he took, and everybody's friend.

Father Al tells me the story of a young priest who came to the chapel. When he found out that Father Al was looking for someone to help him run it, he approached Father Al, explaining how God had put this on his heart. Sadly his mind changed when told there was no salary or benefits-being told where God guides He provides, and is His time, miraculously, but always on time. At that point either his dream or vision changed, maybe just got cloudy a little, as he moved on.

I watched a woman one time complain about paying $20 to have her air conditioning on her Mercedes Benz repaired. "You only replaced a fuse," she cried. The tech replying "but I knew which one." You see he had wisdom, and direction-and a little experience. Just like we have in our relationship with God. We know Him and trust Him because He never let's us down. So don't be like the Bible study leader who opens in prayer "God have your way with us," and then follows it up with a timetable and rules. You see the law will quench the spirit, but the spirit gives life. And wisdom, just like Lou fixing cars. I don't know where he was with Jesus, but many lessons can still be learned from him.

As you go today, trust God in your situations. He will provide, but you must let Him. It's been almost 30 years since I saw Lou, but God is eternal,and like Lou, never rests until the job is done. His prices are fair-if you consider the cost-His own son, they are too cheap, and He is always open. Ask Him into your life today-and drive away rested and refreshed.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

coverage no cell can offer

One of the benefits of being out riding all the time is I meet a lot cool people. But one of the problems is I can't remember all their names. So rather than cop an attitude, it seemed the more they knew about me, the more I couldn't remember, so I decided to quit trying, and just fellowship with each one as I was with them. And enjoy myself more. But I use two questions to help me remember. What do you ride, and where do you go to church? As most of my peer group falls into one or both of these criteria, it makes it easier to remember. I still miss a few, but I'm getting better.

And with being the only Triumphs in a mostly Harley world, I am an easy mark for people looking at and admiring our bikes. And listening to the stories of when they had one, and it opens up doors to share the Lord. One on one, personal, to a person with a face and a name. In today's society, we get burdened with numbers. 40,000 more troops to war, and forget that that is 40,000 families lives changed. Only 450,000 lost their jobs last week, that is 450,000 families lives changed. We don't see the faces, only the crowd. We have become a poll percentage, losing our identity, being categorized by what we believe, ride, or where we live. A per cent instead of a person. But names, and people still count.

When I was in high school, the Lynch brothers, Eddie and Brian, aka Brains, were my buddies. Eddie was the more down to earth one, and Brains, well his name advertised more than his actions delivered. We had a friend Mike Just, who was having a party-his parents were going out of town, and after being stupid all night we were going to crash there. So Eddie and Brains told their mom we are spending the night at Mike's. And she said OK.

The next morning she called my house and thanked my mother for having her sons over. To her surprise, my mother answered, "they're not here, they spent the night at Mike's." She just assumed Mike was me, and the brothers knowing that she would have said no, let her believe it. Not quite a lie, they were at Mike's, just not the Mike she had given them permission to stay with. Surprisingly they never asked her to stay at Mike's house again. Big surprise!

I met a man recently, about my parents age, who had fought in Korea. And as he shared his war stories, started to tell me how his only prayer was for forgiveness, and how he never he heard from God. He wanted to, but was engulfed in religion. And I marveled, because I hear from Him all the time. Jesus is very personable, and friendly. I can see Him when feeding the 5000, not sitting in a place of favor, but walking amongst the crowd. "Peter, how are doing? Dwight, how is your new bike? Wayne, glad you met Kathy. Stu, glad to see you got the Wing running. How was your trip to Vegas? Dick, it's good to see you packing double with Sherry. How's the new trike Fred?" You see, He knows you and He cares for you. You are not lost in the sea of faces, He knows your name. And all about you. And that makes the miracle of His love for us more amazing. The world has this misconception that religion is a set of rules to follow-and they are right. But with Jesus it is personal. A relationship, that grows forever. We want to be like Him as we know Him more, it's a choice and is not forced on us. A friend who is always there, and loves to spend time with you.

And He uses His friends, us as Christians, to show others His love. When we gather at church, or a rally, or stand in line at IN-N-OUT, He is there with us. Greeting others through us-never thought of Him that way did you, but we are His representatives on earth. Personally, I'm not sure how some of us got through the system, but He does, and allows us to be used-in His love. A lot of us are still a good before picture, while others are a work in process. But all who call on Him and believe are saved.

I may only remember you as the black Street Glide with flames, and you may only know me as the Triumph guy. But Jesus knows our names, and all about us. Spend some time with Him today, and become the individual the world promises but can never deliver. In a world where are all the same, only different, isn't it nice to be a somebody instead of a something? Only in Christ will you ever be all you can be.

And when it comes to Mikes, He knows us all individually. I like that. I don't have to remind Him who I am, come to a point in your walk that He doesn't need to remind you of who He is. What you ride, or where you go to church are temporal-this life is just a training ground for you to decide where you will spend eternity. I'm going to heaven, where they know my name. It's written in the books-I belong there. And no matter whose house I spend the night at, that gives me rest. Now if I can remember where I parked my bike-I'll ask that guy over there, he looks familiar....

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

father and son moments

After chewing out his players, a coach asked "just how stupid do you think I am?" To which one of the brighter ones replied, " gee coach, I never gave it much thought." This is probably the same guy who when asked what he was going to do when he got his varsity letter for football, was advised to have someone read it to him. We would never be that dumb, and although we make fun of people like this, and their answers, they seem to always end up as senators, lawyers, talk show hosts, or in this case advertisers. I laugh now, but the first 100 times I saw this commercial I got upset, I don't anymore because my audience is tired of me doing it. Once again for the very first time.

This commercial is sponsored by one of these make life better by getting along foundations. In it a son is telling how his dad was always helping others, fixing cars, etc. It shows Dad changing the tire on a 56' Chevy, and the son watching. Then tells how good it is to get along, as the son sits in the front seat of an early 50's Chevy pickup that won't start. As the son explains how sometimes he got to help his dad, he cranks the motor, with the headlights on, they blink and then the truck starts. Mission accomplished, a father and son moment. And then the son turns off the truck, gets out, and hugs his dad. As they are seen walking away talking, they cue to the truck-sitting parked with the headlights on. And I wonder, how smart was this dad, and his kid? No wonder it wouldn't start-he left the headlights on! And I wondered, if in this family, maybe brains are like diarrhea. They're hereditary, as they run in your genes/jeans.

And this really bothers me, as the message is good, but what moron leaves the lights on, in front of his dad, the mechanic? "Dad, the truck won't start again." And I can see dear old dad, with son in tow, under the hood-the makings of another precious family moment. "Gee Joey, I thought we had it fixed, turn the lights off and let's see what the problem is." How stupid do they think we are?

When working for Coke, I sat at a meeting between the owner and his son. Looking down, I noticed the old man had on a blue and black sock. And looking at his son's feet, he had on the other pair! Now in fairness to the old man, he had been talking about Bill Cosby, the new Coke spokesman, and also told how he loved to listen to him sing in the forties, and didn't remember him being black. Crosby, not Cosby. Black and blue-not the colors I wish to wear. Wonder if he ever left his lights on, does he drive a pickup? I have also watched a group of talented race mechanics, perplexed because the bike will start and stall. The race is about to start, when his son, the racer, reaches over and turns the gas on. And heads off to the starting grid. V room, vroom!

Of course nothing like this has happened to me, or you. Be careful, as you lose points for credibility here. For we have all done or said things we wish we hadn't, at least when we said them. These are things that make life, well life. And life is what interferes with our plans, sometimes. And gives another opportunity to go to God. Where we find forgiveness and guidance-and love.

So my question for today is this-we serve a loving God. He tells us He forgives our sin, removing it from as far as the east is west. It is forgotten, no records kept, no hard drive images-THEY ARE GONE! So why when we pray, do we remind God of things He has forgotten? "God, this is Mike-the guy who broke the window-and didn't tell anyone." And God says "what window? I have no record of your sin." And He doesn't, we're forgiven, but we love to remind Him. And I don't understand why. We bask in the glory of forgiveness, but continually ask for it all over again. I like what a noted author once wrote, "every time you ask God for forgiveness, He is hearing it for the first time." You see, He forgets, a key component to forgiving. But we don't. So tip for the day-forget it. And enjoy God's grace and mercy-in His forgiveness. Everything we couldn't do via sacrifices, He did via Jesus-He paid the price for all sins-past, present , and future. I like that. So next time, in a moment of pride, you feel the need to ask God to forgive you for being the worst sinner on earth, anticipate God's answer. You see only a loving father is truthful always with His children. You are forgiven-for always, and forever. For every sin you ever committed, or will commit. That's grace.

So maybe today, go to your heavenly father with our problem, before you enter into sin. Turn off the headlights, turn on the gas, remember Cosby ain't Crosby, and tell your kid get his own socks. And spend time just you and God. And listen as He explains things, shares things, and shows you things that only a loving, forgiving God can do-your heavenly father. And spend some time in His advertising manual-the Bible. Too bad they don't make ads like that anymore-but aren't you glad they don't have to! A father to love you, a son to forgive you, a spirit to guide you, and all written about in a book to give you life.

Right now is the perfect time for that next father/son moment. Excuse me, while I have mine. Let's pray.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogpsot.com

in defense of da fence

I've owned four houses in three states, and although all were different, they all shared a common theme, they had fences. Which is much different from where I grew up, as no one had a fence unless they had a pool, and there were no built in pools in our neighborhood, and only Joey Coleman had a fence around his above ground. And the lack of fences made it easy to cut through yards for shortcuts, only using streets when riding our bikes. We didn't ride motorcycles yet, so no one took the long way home. But we did have fences, mostly for decoration, as they were split rail fences, and wouldn't keep anything in, and even less out. Maybe four feet high, with twin rails between them, they were perfect for sitting on and eating an Italian ice in summer, sitting on at night and talking with girls as we got older, building snow forts around when it snowed, or walking on.

And we used to love to walk on them, precariously balanced all of 36" above the ground, daring to walk the length of the one at my friends Bruce and Barry's house. And if you fell off, you started over at the beginning, not where you fell, and in a few weeks we were able to walk the whole fence, then started on the next length, that separated them from Frank, of Frank is bald fame. An unhappy man, who we seemed to make more unhappy. And for some reason the fun gene was missing from him, along with the one for hair, as he was bald, and anti-fence walking. What if his son saw us, next thing you know he'd want to have fun-not on my watch buddy!

But our real nemesis was a red haired woman from across Hetfield and down a block, Mrs. Prendergast, or just Prendergast to us. She would come over and tell us to not walk on the fence, we should be "fixing it, not destroying it," in her words. We were polite, at least to her face-good thing her walls or fence didn't have ears. Barry did a perfect imitation of her-I can still hear the voice and see the face. But we continued to walk those fences, and gained balance, and a sense of achievement when we finally made it to the end. And despite the encouragement, and/or encouragement of our friends, no one broke anything, or was maimed, or even fell into Frank's yard-making it a completely safe and fun event. And mostly Prendergast free. And they only thing that seemed to deter us was when someone got a new refrigerator or other appliance, "Hey Scottie's parents got a new stove,"and we were off to play in the empty box left on their front yard. Maybe it was left there to show off to the neighbors, but to us it was a fort, a rocket ship, or an underground hideout away from the government-even then we knew Big Brother was out to get us-and its name was Prendergast. But even she never invaded our cardboard security.

And sadly Prendergasts don't go away as you get older, seems there is always one to remind you not to have fun. Or exactly how to follow God for that matter. Churches have them, yes they have brought their lack of sense of enjoyment into religion to, along with a list of thou shalt nots-and then Jesus comes along to rescue you from the law and all it doesn't have to offer-and replaces it with grace and mercy.

Imagine if you would if when a group of hippies asked Pastor Chuck years ago to lead worship, if he had said no. Or balked when they showed up with drums and guitars! Where would Christian praise and worship music be if churches still paid their organist, instead of letting the spirit flow through musicians, just like in Psalm 150? Where would the ministry of Calvary Chapel and so many other churches be if they followed the rule, and not the spirit? Would Miles be our pastor if someone told him he was to young, or hadn't gone to seminary? What if someone told Herb Shreve to stick to his pulpit, bikes and bikers are dirty and need to clean up their act before they can attend their church? What, no CMA! Explain to all the bikers saved and ministered to about the law-they will show you the spirit-in action, it's called love.

What if a Prendergast told Fred Z. you're to short to ride, and besides you have red hair, or used to? Explain to the BFC members and those at Biker Church what laws they have broken in serving God? And I could go on and on with friends like Josh, Dave, Father Al-just stay with Catholics, leave the non-Catholics to their own kind, forget unity in the spirit, and even Pastor Mark-you're from Jersey, nothing good comes out of there. But due to a relationship with Jesus Christ, and following the spirit, their lives have meaning, and a joy not found in happiness. The common denominator is Jesus.

There is an old saying that says good fences make good neighbors. They also make good evangelists, pastors, worship leaders, and ministers. Follow the vision that God has given you, and let the spirit guide you. And God will surpass all your expectations. And if a Prendergast crosses your path, give them what God has given you-love in the form of grace and mercy.

And if you happen to get a new refrigerator, call me-and don't throw away the box. There are a whole lot of kids in my peer group just looking for new fort-with one rule-you gotta be over 50! After all, we can't let the kids have all the fun!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

roads of future past

It was the best of road, and it was the worst of road, and sometimes you couldn't tell which was which. The road I talk of is Route 22 in New Jersey, most notably the 40 miles between Scotch Plains and Easton. A road that in the 1960's was the busiest road in the US before I-78 by passed it. Nationally referred to as the worst road in the US, it did its best to earn and keep this distinction. A road known for big trucks, potholes, big trucks, traffic jams, big trucks, and all kinds of urban blight. A testimony to poor planning, too many lights, way too many trucks, and a testimony to fast food-and good food, not just chains. It was comic fodder for anyone from Saturday Night Live to Jean Shepherd and everyone in between. And yet, it is one of my favorite roads, go figure. With only five curves in the entire 40 miles, it seems out of place in my list of favorites, but not all roads are as memorable-just prettier. And with less potholes.

Starting in Scotch Plains, and heading west to my grandparents house, I cannot say how many trips I ever made on this road in 55 years. Starting on the the intersection of Terrill Road and 22, used to be a driving range until 1969, with a windmill and a gravel parking lot. Remember when parking lots were gravel, and you think they are difficult now? Heading west you passed Two Guys From Harrison, a post WWII department store, now something else, but just as low class. Further up as you pass Home Owners Haven, since the 1950's an iconic building supply, you enter into North Plainfield, and past the high school football field where Billy Disch, the Wildman, played half back-until he got his first motorcycle, a 1972 Mach 3, then his priorities changed as he rode with Bill and me. Travel a few more miles and you can see what remains of the Steer Inn, the first 15 cent hamburger drive-in I can remember. It predated McDonalds in our area, it was 1969 until we got one in my town, and you guessed it, it was on Route 22! Passing Ebers, where my grandparents bought their patio furniture, while sitting at a light you can see the orange roof of Howard Johnson's. We didn't call it HoJo's then, but it has a lasting memory to my family. While driving past there, we saw a naked man sitting on the balcony, and every time we went by, we looked for him again. And giggled. Such things just weren't normal 40 years ago. Past Great Eastern, a Two Guys competitor, where my mother went and bought me three eight tracks when I had my tonsils out-Allman Brothers Live at the Fillmore, Who's Next?, and Hendrix Band of Gypsies, all for $10. Was your mother ever that cool, glad mine was-although we would never admit it.

Stop and have a Texas wiener with chili, grilled foot long Schickhaus franks that snap when you bite into them. As the traffic starts to thin out, you go past vestiges of old bowling alleys and motels, diners and empty buildings with a strong 1950's flavor, not quite Googie, now reduced to suburban blight as the city moves west. And in Bridgewater you start to see bucolic, open areas, and once past the State Police Barracks-always sounded like a Gestapo hangout-to us it was, you see on the right-Ethicon. The home office complex of Johnson and Johnson, built much like Bell Labs, open, not up. A huge facility-campus like, a group of white buildings, with pretty blue windows, simple yet business like, what you would expect from a medical manufacturer, all surrounded by acres of green grass-purity and beauty. As you enter Hunterdon county-big bucks, you pass by what used to be the Whitehouse Inn-which to me always looked like the inn on Holiday Inn. I could see Bing Crosby singing there, and I imagined us eating by the hearth, in a snow storm. And the only time we stopped was in one, and they were closed due to the weather-a memory better of left in my dreams. As was the Polar Cub, passing it for 50 years and never stopped for a cone-next time, I promise.

Past Miller's Tavern, since the 1700's, then as you approach Clinton, and up Jugtown Mountain. Not much traffic anymore, and remains of old restaurants, and truck stops that were welcome to weary travelers. Buildings not torn down or property sold, just left fallow hoping that it would someday return to usefulness, resting and rusting like so much of the road. And as you go down on the other side, encounter the first turn in the road, one of five on our trip. Picking up the interstate-they aren't called freeways back there, you come to the intersection of SR57, and the Key Diner, where we used to meet my Grandpa, who worked across the street at Ingersoll. And then later the Turnaround Diner, where he and his carpooling friend Leo would meet us. Now a Burger King. Really miss that cool neon sign. And finally past Phillipsburg High School, and its football field. Collegiate looking, my friend Hopi was also a halfback there, how times change-and then it is decision time. New bridge, built in 1937 and used to cost a dime, or take the old bridge into Easton, built in the 1890's, and go past Jimmies'-an icon that moved across the river-and took its customers long with it. For me, four with everything-best hotdogs you'll ever eat. And at that point, say goodbye to Jersey, and our trip down memory lane.

And as I look back, I also look ahead to future memories. And find that as important as the road is, it is having Jesus with me when I travel it that makes the new memories precious. And I have found a great way to travel, and also to live when I am not travelling. It is called communion, but goes beyond the bread and cup. Jesus said "do these things in remembrance of me," and we do. But I think He wanted to take it far beyond just a monthly ritual. He wants our relationship more personal. So I find that when I live my life in remembrance of Him, the times are glorious. When riding, remembering Him keeps Him my riding partner. Thinking of Him during the day, keeps Him my friend. At work, school, riding, and sleeping-live your life with Him, as if He is there-which He is. And watch as your attitude changes, and then your actions-and then people's reactions. Greet people thinking of Him. Shop as if He is with you. Converse as if He is there, and soon you find Him the focal point of all you do-and living your life with Him-remembering Him. And He is alive, just like talking with my kids and wife, and we make new memories together. We have communion, and it is personal, intimate, fun and funny, and a great way to live. You and God. And when I do take communion, it is that much more special, a time just with Him and me, away from the world.

If your memories don't include Him, He allows U-turns. And you can also get off the road you are on at the next exit-He's everywhere. And He wants to spend time with you. And has a great future of memories ahead that He wants to share with you. You see as important as the road you are on is, it is more important who you travel with. Ride with Jesus. He knows the best places to eat, and can even take a seemingly mundane road like Route 22 and turn it into precious memories. Not enough memories, just add more Jesus. Let Him open the scrapbook of your heart and go places you never knew existed-ending in one you can't imagine-heaven.

So when you do anything-do it in remembrance of Him. Whether on Route 22, or the privacy of your den, He wants to spend time with you. Invite Him along, and watch as you see what true communion is all about-spending time with the one who loves you so much He died for you. And now wants to live with you.

Route 22 may just be another road, but to me is filled with precious memories. Don't let religion make Jesus just another Sunday affair-make Him the focus of your life, and watch as you do all things in remembrance of Him, that the blessings multiply. Live life remembering Him in all things, and you will find He remembers you too. You can never have too many friends, or time to ride, and you will never have a friend better than Jesus. A special communion that doesn't need cup or bread, just your heart and a willingness to know Him better.

Memories anyone? Your future is loaded with them, in Jesus. Live life in remembrance of Him.

love with compassion,

Mike

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