I was an urban legend

Life isn't fair sometimes. Make that most of the time. Take when the national speed limit was reduced to 55mph. To save gas we were told. But after the gas crisis, it stayed down, it was safer we were told. But truly it was a way for state and local authorities to line their coffers with our speeding violation money. And living in Jersey at the time, they were experts at it.

I lost my license in 1974, due to too many points. Speeding, and never got one on my motorcycle. Now before you say "what took him so long?" realize most of my speeds were less than 60mph in a 55mph zone. With cops hiding behind every tree, and even out in the open on I-78 west just where it meets I-287-a blue van that was permanently parked, that everyone knew about and still always had at least one car pulled over, I got ticketed for 56, 57, and 58 in 55 zones. I even got a ticket for 56mph coming back from my girlfriend's prom! Truly a sense of revenue enhancement, but strangely never caught when on my bike at much higher rates. Go figure.

One day Lance and I were going to pick up Merlin at the hospital she worked at. I had a BMW 1600, and we wanted to see if it would do 100mph. Which it did-on 287, just before we got off at her exit. Pulled over by a Dodge with the old 440 Magnum, it was a plain gray car with no markings. Doesn't seem fair does it? The guy who stepped out asked for license and registration and I thought my car would be towed right then and there. He even seemed unamused when he asked, "where you going so fast, the hospital?" And when I answered "yes," I figured I was done. But he didn't even break a smile, and wrote my info in a notebook, explaining he was out of tickets, and would bring it by my job that night.

At work that night I was still freaked out. And for a few nights after, as the man or the ticket never arrived. I even was scared that he would mail it, then my mother would know how fast I went, and add that to my list of punishments. No statute of limitations when it comes to mothers. Lance and I were still spooked, Merlin had said "I told you so," and now I was faced with losing my license, and having to pay a huge fine. And...the wrath of my parents. I was bummed. But something happened, or didn't happen. No ticket ever came. I was spared-my first taste of mercy. But, looking back, Lance and I thought we may have it figured out. When the car pulled up next to us, he held up a card saying "State Police Vehicle." And the driver was in overalls, like a mechanic. We had been stopped by a mechanic on a joy ride with a cop car! Probably not the first time he got his jollies, and probably explained why no ticket book, and no uniform. But just the fact he said he was a cop, and acted official was enough. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or seek this guy out, but figured revenge would only expose us, being the punch line of a joke and with a bruised ego was punishment enough for me. And somewhere out there in the New Jersey State Police garage the story is told over and over. I was part of an urban legend-and Lance was there to prove that it really happened. "I can just see that kid's look of horror when I stopped him. But I almost lost it when he really was going to a hospital..." And the legend lives on.

Urban legends, old wives' tales, or anecdotal events that may or may not have really happened. Some sounding so true that they are more believable than some real events. No age group, or no peer group is without them. Some based on fact, some based on here say. The seven sons of Skeva were like that. They were told of this man Jesus who had healed the sick, had the blind see, and the lame walk. How He even could rebuke demons and have them flee. So they approached a man known to have demons, and rebuked them. Only they didn't know that it took the power of the Holy Spirit to do that, and they turned on them. Beating them, and sending them away naked. With one question, "we know of Jesus, we have heard of Paul, who the heck are you?" They were smart enough to not stay and give an answer.

"Rejoice, the scriptures tell us, not that we have power over demons, but that your names are written in the book of life." And not written in a ticket book that day with Lance. I was shown mercy even though the butt of a joke, and even though my sin found me out. The Skeva brothers had no power, only words. Real power comes from Jesus, and His dad even tells us "not by might, not by power, but by my spirit, says the Lord of Hosts." And so once again I am reminded how it is better to trust God, and walk in the spirit than live under the law. I can guarantee that somehow today you will break one.

Grace, God calls it. Sometimes dressed as mercy when we are in sin. Either way, I rather walk in it than ride in a police car. Ask the Skevas, words mean something. And names mean something, too. Absolute mercy. Proving that angels can fly 100mph, even when in sin.

And also ask for ID when stopped. Many false teachers out there. For identification, ask to see their hands, only Jesus' will have the marks left from the nails. Accept no substitute. If only the Skevas had been so smart, but then we wouldn't have chapter 19 of Acts! Truly all things work together for those who love the Lord-and are called for His purpose!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

what is, not what if...

The more things change, the more they stay the same. As I look back on my history of riding motorcycles I find this to be true. Faster-oh yeah. Better brakes-indeed. More reliable-how about 2 year unlimited mile warrantees? So after being down sick for the past two weekends, I dug into my collection of magazines and caught up on reading from 1969 to 1989. 1000cc Sportsters that one writer questioned how anyone could hang onto so much power? Today's 400cc go faster. From 82hp Z-1's that would do run a 12.3 second quarter mile. Try 180hp. Try the Hyabusa who runs the same distance in 9.5 seconds! To top ends of over 155mph! Speed limited now by Euro laws to 186mph, or 300 kph hour if you want to seem really fast! But the more they changed, the same words described them-faster, quicker, newer! Without these three words those who design headlines would have had to search for newer words. Slower and older just don't move the merchandise. With just enough emphasis in their ads to remind you that faster, quicker, and newer is really what you wanted. The what ifs of your dreams. So you just had to have the new models. So you too could be faster and quicker. And at least newer until you had shown off to all your friends. Sad, because the one consistency that I was loyal to was the fact I could never afford them. $1995 for a Z-1? I was over my head on my 350 at $825. So I started/continued my career of what if I had the money, which is the basis of all dreams. What if. What if I had the two grand to step up to 140mph? What if I had the money to buy headers and engine kits to even increase the power? Looking back prices were low as compared to today, but it seems my income always met the same requirement-not enough. I remember passing on a GS750 because I could not afford the extra $300! Looking back my life was really a what is-and remains that way to this day.

Not that I have given up hope, but reality steps in when you wake up from your dreams. This is not necessarily a bad thing, for I have been blessed in my reality. But the words "someday" seem to end so many dreams that I still have. What if.... becoming consoling me, instead of the reality. For each of us it works at a different level. A twelve inch reach with a six inch grasp. How many times has the person who bought your old bike been as thrilled to get it as you were to get a new one? Seems we are all on the same trip, the road leading to what if, which is ridden on the road of what is. Someday being the consolation we find security in. With the only curse being that once our what if becomes a what is, a new what if will immediately appear to start the process all over again. Truly the more things change, the more they stay the same. So-let's go riding!

Perhaps the one thing, in fact the only thing that interrupts this process in life is Jesus. Once I came to Him, everything else paled by comparison. And He became the standard I judge all things by. Drugs-they wear off, and leave a trail of destruction. Like alcohol does. Women-God gave me the one He knew was best. 34 years later He is still right. Kids-if you don't have them you will never know the side of God as father. Don't try-can't be done. And save your bad advice for yourself, you don't get it. Jobs-I once made enough to buy all the toys, and found I didn't want to. For truly once you meet Jesus nothing else compares. What if? He is a who is. Where? Everywhere. When? An eternal right now. How? You must be born again. His promises-guaranteed.

Someone have a new revelation abut God? Blasphemy. A quicker way to riches? Try that one in Sudan. Name it and claim it? He already did that when He chose us. Why not pray simply like He suggests, "thy will be done." Ask Jesus, and He will give to you exceedingly abundantly-more than you could ever ask for or imagine.

Sorry-I don't mean things, so throw away the list. He ain't Santa, who doesn't come if you are naughty. Thankfully. He loves you the way you are. He brings love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, long-suffering, and self control. And when applied to the headline from the cycle magazines, you find He is faster-how about right now. Quicker-you want to see that again? Newer-His mercies are new every morning?

He tells us we will dream dreams. I like that. I still have roads to travel yet, on bikes I never heard of, but now they are now guided by the Spirit. His Spirit. Not a what if, just a when. For who is makes it all possible. What if leaves me wanting, Jesus never does.

With one final question for all who doubt, WHAT IF what they say about Jesus is true? Can you afford to be wrong for eternity? That what if is really a who is-Jesus.

Once again for the very first time the answer is still the same-Jesus. Quit fighting and start living. Your what ifs could be your what is right now! Is that quick enough for you?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

this time it's personal

Sometimes it is best not to say anything when trying to comfort someone in distress. I have seen in too many instances where someone who was very well meaning, shift the attention to themselves by opening their mouth. Perhaps the most common words I hear at funerals, in hospitals, or after a tragedy are "I understand how you feel." When I got hit two years ago, twice in one year, some very well meaning people, who I know care about me, tried to console me. One man in particular, told me "I know just how you are feeling. I understand just what you are going through." To which I replied, "really. Well I sure don't. Maybe you can explain it to me." His silence revealed he really didn't, but cared so much he wanted to.

I avoid saying things like that in any situation. Emotions are a very personal thing, and based on relationships. When people try to impress me with their knowledge, I'll ask "what does that mean?" Often times they don't know, or go into damage control. I guess you're not supposed to ask, just go along with the show. "Been there, done that." I hear this when I talk of the Hollister Rally. Oh, you were with me when Sonny and I talked about trademarks. And later when we passed crossing the street, he made it a point to stop and shake my hand, acknowledging me as a friend. With a smile. "We just got back from a trip, too. 1500 miles in two weeks." Mine was 11,000 miles in 37 days. Only 9500 miles and 22 days apart. We mean well, but we really don't understand.

Since I get to ride so many new Triumphs, sometimes I spend more time with them than the ride test editors. I know how they feel, and what they can do over 1000-1500 miles, not just a wild weekend ride. I can relate to what they say, and I know how they will behave in day to day riding. But I don't understand how they feel under full on, let's ride it like it's stolen conditions. Same bike, different riders. Different attitude. It's that personal.

I mourn for Angela and Olivia over the death of Josh. But I never could, or would want to go through what they are going through. It's that personal. I have sat and cried with Lynsay over Gavin, but never could know the pain in her heart for her husband. Or his pain for her, and how much he loves his family. There are certain things we are not allowed to understand, God has made it that personal. For without Him, they are just emotions. With Him, it's personal.

Religion tries, but tries to control also. It tries to take something intimate and bring it to a commonality. To make it impersonal so that we all can get along, so we can understand. Jesus never promised understanding, but a peace that surpasses it. And perhaps the best example of this is His mother Mary. When she became pregnant by the Holy Spirit, you could say that she was truly the only person in the history of the world to truly have the word in her-Jesus. No one else could make that claim. Something so intimate that no one could ever relate to it. So she trusted God, very simply the scripture tells us that "Mary pondered these things in her heart." It's that personal. Joseph would never know how personal, although the Holy Spirit comforted him also. But to give her a special place in Christianity takes away from Jesus. God wants nothing to come between us and Him. It's that personal. Ponder that in your heart.

That is why living in the spirit is the only way. All else is just a foolish exercise based on your own understanding, which Proverbs warns us not to do. Based on my experiences, the outcome to many problems would have only been worse. So in all your ways-includes everything and excludes nothing, acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths. No need to strike out on your own across unknown territory, He has provided the path. He has things under control, do you? Only in the spirit.

Take the time to ponder God in your heart today. Trust Him. Avoid opinions. Pray, listen to the spirit, then confirm it in His word. You will never have the word in you like Mary did, but God will make it so personal you will never care to compare. You will never understand how she felt, but God did. And He does about you too.

I have been in 48 states. You too? On a motorcycle? Coast to coast in under 70 hours? On a motorcycle? Eaten at Primonti Bros? No but had one like it. Been to Times Square on New Years Eve? No but watched it on TV. Maybe you get it now.

I think I'll try to be more like my dog today. She doesn't get it, but wags her tail when she sees me anyway. Love will do that. For money can buy a fine dog, but only love will make it wag its tail. Still don't get it, ask the only one who does. Just please don't tell me you understand. It's that personal.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

when there's nothing left to lose, and nothing left but the wind

60 years ago if you rode motorcycles and raced, you probably would have ridden your own bike to the track. Stripping off lights, fenders, and anything else you could to lighten it, you would have raced it, and then if it was still ridable afterwards, reassemble it and ride it home. You rode and raced for fun, and if an occasional trophy came your way, you displayed it with pride. But as the fifties brought us smaller competition bikes from Europe, many started taking them to the track in pickups, leaving the street bike for rides. Sometimes teaming up with a friend and sharing expenses. Then the Japanese invasion hit in the 60's, and their small 2-strokes were light enough to mount on a bumper rack attached to your Dad's Impala or Chrysler. Allowing many younger riders to race, and increasing competition. And allowing you to sleep on the way home while dad did the driving. Starting at a younger age, long before your dad would have. You were still having fun, and enjoying the freedom of the ride. If only life-school didn't interfere with your plans.

Then in the 70's someone discovered that the handlebars of your dirt bike would just fit inside a van's rear doors, and they became our new pit-on wheels. Sadly ruining many a racer's dream of romance, not fully understanding why some women didn't embrace the smell of racing castor, Eu de Castrol isn't for everyone. Or wish to go on a date with a headlight or handlebars looking over their shoulder. Expecting more than a dinner for two at a drive-up window, eating in the van. I even knew a guy who thought women were trying to control him when they offered to pick him up, until someone explained it to him, and also introduced him to bathing before the date. Changed his social life, but not his riding. Later in the decade trailers started appearing behind pickups, and then today we have Toy Haulers-self contained units with bathrooms, showers, kitchen, and beds-with storage space for our bikes. And instead of racing to win, now compete for points to win a championship. Counting the points so they know where they need to finish, not going out to win the race. And in between heats, watching TV with the a/c on, while eating micro waved corn dogs. Cold Gatorade and energy drinks. A long way from riding your own bike to the track, then racing it. A long way from bologna sandwiches, warm soda, and stale chips. And also a long way from the fun and freedom that enticed you about riding in the first place. Something had robbed you of your freedom, and where once it was open to everyone, now was a rich man's sport. And many leave because of it-the freedom of the ride and the fun of competition pricing them right out of the market. Too many rules, reminding us of why we started riding in the first place-the freedom. Losing their first love through no fault of their own.

Sadly I see this occur in churches. After meeting Jesus and enjoying the freedom He promises in the spirit, religion enters in. Man made rules via the church are made, and if they are not met, you are made to feel inadequate. The Pharisee taking over, telling us how by obeying their rules we are better Christians. "Read the Bible in a year, get closer to God." And true it will get you closer to God. But soon it becomes a burden, you miss a day, and then try to make it up. When asked how you are doing, the braggart asking tells how he is faithful, forcing you to lie. Robbing your freedom, and actually keeping you out of the Bible. Reminding you of how the law kills-but the spirit gives freedom. Life has interfered with your plans, and what should be freedom in the spirit, now becomes a legalistic burden. And soon they quit, and you quit seeing them in church, writing them off as having no faith, or worse yet, no Jesus. Killing the wounded, that they helped maim. The ones that Jesus died to rescue us from-the religious ones. Our decision, but maybe not our fault. When really it is the legalistic types that Jesus came to rescue us from. And just like the riders above, lose their first love. But thankfully Jesus never left us.

SOME TIME IN THE FUTURE

Three men regularly meet to ride on a Saturday morning. When one of them quits showing up, one of the others calls him the night before and leaves a message. Which he returns leaving a message the next morning. The two are discussing it while waiting for him, wondering if he will join them.

"Heard anything from Mikey?"

"Left him a message last night. And he left me one this morning. I had to listen to it twice, it almost sounded like he was drunk or high he was so happy. But you know Mikey, he never touches the stuff. He said he had hooked up with an old friend, and he was riding and hanging with him again. The name he mentioned almost sounded like Jesus, but I don't know anyone named Jesus, do you? Man he sure sounded good, I wonder who he was talking about? No one should be that happy."

Do you know Jesus? If not it is not too late to return to your first love. The freedom and joy you first had when you got saved is still available. The way out of religion, and into freedom in the spirit. A break from rules and those who impose them. Offering a joy to those who respond, a joy which is unspeakable. Taking us back to a simpler time when life was fun, and freedom had been paid for via the cross. If you wish to know this Jesus, please know He also rides. And can be found right now-even while riding. No rules. No regulations. No laws. Freedom via the spirit-which drew you to Him in the first place. Your first love-all others will be compared to it. Why not return to Him today. For riding only offers you freedom-only Jesus offers you the peace and joy that goes with it-anything else is just a lie. Ride with Jesus today. The antidote for when life interferes with your plans.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

normalcy bias

Gene Patton, one of the first Honda dealers in the US once told me of how a Honda rep pulled up to his British dealership in Cortez, Colorado. In their clean, white Chevy pickup, the man told him that for only $500 in parts and bikes he could be a Honda dealer. So he took a chance and did, and for years after the Brit bike industry died, he was still selling Hondas. At the time this was a big risk, as Japanese products were considered as cheesy, poor quality imitations of real products. But Soichiro Honda evidently didn't hear that, and built high quality, small machines for the world. At a time when a 250cc was considered small, and a Harley 74 large, he sold 50cc bikes-millions of them. Hondas he called them, and never mentioned the word motorcycles in his ads. Distancing himself and his bikes from the industry standards, he rewrote them. And the trade papers thought he would fail, for the first couple of years he spent more in advertising than the company took in-but he had a vision, and within ten years in the US of A, had completely changed the motorcycle market, and how we look at motorcycles. "You meet the nicest people on a Honda" went from sales pitch to reality. Culminating in the 1969 release of a 750cc, four cylinder, disc braked motorcycle that the world had never seen the likes of. All from a humble beginning out the back of a pickup. Honda had a vision, and changed our world like no one could imagine.

There is a psychological term called normalcy bias. Simply put it states that since you have never seen it happen before, it either isn't true, or can't happen. Honda proved it wrong. Steve Jobs with Apple proved in wrong. But it is not just relegated to business.

When Hitler took over Germany in the thirties, many Jews left. But the ones who were secure in business, and had money stayed. They ignored the warnings because they had never seen anything like was warned before. And sadly became part of the 6 million who were slaughtered by Hitler. Ignoring the warnings, and losing their lives.

In 2005 Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans. The citizens were warned the levees were weak and could fail, but many stayed because they had never seen a levee fail in their lifetime. Sadly many of those aren't around to tell of when they did, they were swept away by water when the levee failed. And like the Jews who stayed behind, didn't have to die if only they had heeded the warnings.

As we watch the news today, we are able to see and hear the warnings. Social, economical, and moral collapse. And sadly men do not take the warnings of the Bible. Even though the Bible can point to over 200 prophecies fulfilled about the Bible, they trust banks, stock markets, Ouija boards, fortune tellers, and Hollywood movies. "This Jesus will never return. I've never seen Him. It's all a story. The Bible is for children and women." And men, too. They ask for a sign, but over 200 of them don't satisfy. Sadly when Jesus appeared to over 500 people after His crucifixion, they didn't believe then either. But it is not about them-it is all about Jesus.

And He is returning for His church soon. Not Baptists, Catholics, Presbyterians, or any specific denomination. He is returning for those who have faith and believe. those who have given their lives to Him-not based on what they see, but what is in their hearts. Things that are not seen that are not seen are eternal. Everything else will pass away. You may not ride a Honda. Or be related to any Jew from Germany pre-Hitler. You may not have ever been in a hurricane or to New Orleans. You may not go to church, and even make fun of Christians. You may even take God's name in vein. But the warnings are there. And Jesus is patient, waiting for you. He takes no joy in the passing of anyone, and extends His offer of salvation today.

Normalcy bias. Sadly those who fall prey to it are never around to say they were wrong. Don't be counted among the dead or missing. Read the Bible and then compare it to what is going on in the world today. Trust God. He is the only way out. And also the only way through it-if your answer is no. Today is the day of salvation. Take Jesus into your heart.

You still meet nice people on Hondas, only in Jesus will you have salvation. And it doesn't matter what you ride-or even if you ride!

The spirit of anti-Christ is alive and well. Found in those who deny Christ. Normalcy bias. He is coming back just like He said. Once again for the first time. To borrow from Honda, "from mini to might..." He is returning for all who call on His name. Is that your voice He is hearing? Do you hear His?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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no gas, no battery, no clutch-all is well

"Mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this Mama said, Mama said..." And with my mother being a Murphy, I might even go the Murphy's Law way, but that wouldn't be fair either. Let me explain. I had been down for a week with a head cold that took up residence in my chest, so I couldn't do my hospital visits. Finally feeling well enough, I decided to go see Roscoe too, at home, and thought it would be a great idea to ride my old Suzuki. It doesn't get ridden much, it had been over two months, and I had to jump start it to get it going,the battery was weak, and I figured the ride to Fallbrook would be enough to charge it. So off I went taking the back roads, and enjoying myself. No traffic since it was a weekday, and when I had gone 10 miles I went on reserve. With no stations until Fallbrook, plus the fact I didn't want to stop-it might not restart yet, I kept going. And all was well until I got into town. When the light turned green, I pulled in the clutch and SNAP! The ball snapped off at the lever. I had no clutch! So I pushed the bike to the side, getting out of traffic. It had been 30 years since I had broken a clutch cable, so it seemed only fitting that it happened on a 33 year old motorcycle. I guess they just don't make them like they used too, anymore.

So here I was-low battery, needing gas, and no clutch. But at least I feeling better, for now. I said a quick prayer from the side of the road, and figured I would get to Roscoe's if I could. By rolling the bike then banging it into gear, I could shift up, but downshifting was hard. Also I had to judge lights, hills, traffic, and other things so I wouldn't have to stop. Things which were no big deal when you have a clutch. So I rode on-God honoring my simple one word prayer-"HELP!" And in keeping with the day's activities, Roscoe wasn't at home-Rick had taken him to the doctor. So after dropping off the cookies Theresa made-did I say I had them tied to my right wrist in a plastic bag, I took off for home. Roscoe lives on a hill, so I had parked accordingly, and the battery was charged, so I didn't have to bump start it, but still had to bump it into gear once it was rolling. With no clutch!

Again using patience, and trusting God's guidance, I started off. Please note He is a much better pilot than a co-pilot. If He is going to be your co-pilot, why even ask Him along? And taking back streets I made it to the edge of town, and down Mission into Bonsall, where I got gas. Chugging along when riding in, then pushing it on a downhill and banging it into gear when I left. The two sport bike riders were so young, they might have thought this is how the old bikes were ridden, but hid their smiles from me, at least. Then it was off again, using u-turns and timing to get home. Only having to use the freeway the last few miles. Even got the garage door open so I could coast in-ok, it did take three times around the cul-de-sac, but God got me home safe. And safely.

But when I got on the freeway , and I knew I would make it, I began feeling confident in myself, I began to lean on my own skills and understanding again, just the opposite of Proverbs 3:5, you know trust in the Lord with all your might.... And then He reminded me of Peter seeing Jesus walking on the water. When Peter saw Him from afar, he called to Jesus, and Jesus told him to come. And Peter then performed his famous water walk, not by faith-isn't faith the evidence of things believed and NOT seen? And Peter saw Jesus, no he acted in obedience. Just like I had trusted God to get me home without a clutch. But Peter, like me, when he got close to Jesus-his destination, thought he could make it the rest of the way on his own, and fell in. So close that Jesus only had to reach down to rescue him from the water. While afar and he could see Him, he obeyed. But gaining confidence, in himself, he fell in-taking his eyes off the Lord, and disobeying. Thinking he could make it without Jesus. And I didn't want to fall. When I realized this, I immediately repented-stuck on the side of the road is no joy no matter how close to home you are. And maybe this is why so many accidents happen close to home-we get familiar and don't trust God. We lean on our own understanding, when we really need to seek Him at all times!

A Christian's walk, or ride with Jesus is a 24 hour walk. Why would you not want to? But pride can enter, and that is where we fall. I could have blamed many things for my day, but chose instead to trust God. Even amazed myself. And He got me home. Like Amazing Grace tells us, "tis grace that brought me here this far, and grace will take me home..." God is with us, even when we are riding. Reminding us of how much we need Jesus in our lives. It's tough enough with Him sometimes, I wouldn't want to go through life without Him.

And to put this all in perspective, it was two years to the day I had gotten hit on the Bonneville. Too much for one day for this mortal man, but not too much for the son of God. Alive to ride another day, with Jesus, on the road to heaven. Whether on the water, or on the road, keep your eyes upon Jesus. Truly-obedience is better than sacrifice.

Enjoy the ride.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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a street by any other name...

Looking back, growing up on Algonquin Drive was a pretty good thing. Although it came close to never happening. Not because of where we lived, but because of some identification issues Scotch Plains had with the name of the street. The street was initially called Trenton Avenue, in a neighborhood where the streets were Princeton, Jersey, Elizabeth, and Newark-all Garden State cities the locals would be familiar with. But Trenton was the only one with access from Martine Avenue, which didn't go through to our side of Trenton. The colored section-probably dates me pretty well, and a huge woods we referred to as Land of the Jinx because of the sticker bushes keeping us from it were there, and McGinn School wasn't built yet in its place. So they decided to name it Mohawk Lane, only to find that name was already taken by Westfield, which adjoined Scotch Plains. And due to the fact we got our mail from the Westfield post office, our mailing address was Westfield, although we lived in Scotch Plains. Two Mohawk Lanes would be too much for any one post office to handle, even when they made money. So they named it Algonquin Drive, which even worked out well for the real estate agents when they completed the street up to McGinn, naming the development Algonquin Village. Which led to jokes about finding a village and being its idiot, which led to many discussions under the street lamps at night as to who was the latest idiot, mostly based on whose parents had busted them and made them obey. Even at a young age, the word NO had a tremendous impact on social standing. And to this day Algonquin Drive still doesn't go through from Martine. Maybe it was a wise decision after all.

The houses are still there on Algonquin Drive, but the names and faces are different. The last memories of the street for me are 1975, but really are based 10 years earlier, when the neighborhood was as far as I dared go, and at that age there was no reason to go any further. I knew all the kids on the street, and even those who didn't have kids. You knew to stay out of Marie's yard, and could almost forgive her because of her 1963 white Grand Prix. Kickball was always safe to play in the circle by Chris Farley's, who lived next to Kenny Stephens, who was older and had a go cart. Scottie Aldinger's house was a great place to play hide-and-seek, with Kenny Corsi-my mother called him Nutty Kenny living next door. Who always called his parents Henry and Elsa. Sadly he would prove to be the sane one. Knowing where Ricky, Donny, Raymond, the Kelly's, Joey, Eddie, and others lived, you felt safe at all times, even walking home after dark in the summer. It was home, and there was no place like it. And to those of us on Algonquin Drive, it was the only place to be. No matter if the street had an identity problem, we lived on Algonquin Drive and that gave us a common bond. Long before some psych teacher told us about them. Makes you wonder is there nothing that adults and their so-called knowledge can't ruin.

It was on Algonquin Drive that I learned to make decisions. How I learned to tell time, and was able to make it home by 830pm, leaving no time to spare, no matter where I was-not wishing to waste one second of my kid time. I knew all the short cuts, and how to cut through back yards, or not to cut through back yards to make time. How the time was shorter on my bike, and how to slow down enough so I didn't have to stop to cross Hetfield Avenue-a busy street, maintaining speed for the last 100 feet. If nowhere else but my mind, I had a well worn path of where to go, and how to get there. A path that always led to home, after putting my bike away and trying to shut the garage door quietly if my calculations were off due to an extension of fun on that evening. Where if late, I was reminded of it, and promised to never do it again-at least until next time. It was a friendly street, a neighborly street, and looking back it may have been a more important place than I ever gave it credit for.

Now when I visit the street seems so small. It hasn't changed in size, but I have. Where the Farley's at the end of the street were so far away-I had to ride my bike there, now it is a short walk. But a longer walk in my memory. I know Theresa gets tired when we walk and I tell her of who lived where, and what we did. I can see it in my mind's eye like it was yesterday, she only sees it now as today. Without the point of reference I had as a kid. And for a moment in time, I am still that 10 year old kid, remembering being a kid, with dreams of growing up. But now as a grown up, longing for the days of being a kid again. Free from responsibility, free from adult decisions, and with a lifetime of memories still ahead. Maybe it is true you can never go home-but you can go back.

But someday you will also go home. For as Christians, we may now live on earth, but this is a temporary address. We are sojourners-I love that word, travelers here for a short time, and then to our home in heaven. Where all the dreams you have will fall way short of what is awaiting us. Better than imagined, better than told about, it is a perfect neighborhood. But sadly some of your friends from the old neighborhood may not be there. Without Jesus they will never see heaven. So it is important to pray for them. To share with them at reunions. To encourage them in the Lord. You can never go back to the special times, but you can look ahead to the even more special time called heaven. A place where summer nights never end. Where time spent under the streetlights with friends go on forever. Where you are never late getting home, and never have to promise to not be late again. A time where there is no time, and where the joy never ends. An extension of your childhood street, a place you never thought could be improved, a place called heaven. Where Jesus and others who believe are. A place where everyone knows your name, and where even more memories await. Not the end, as death tells us, but the beginning of eternity. A place you don't have to go back to, for you will never leave.

Growing up on Algonquin Drive it seemed all roads led to it. There were many ways to get home in a hurry when late. Only one road leads to heaven-Jesus Christ. That is the only road to follow. Before it is too late. There may be stops along the way, and detours and things that take our minds off the trip-but He will get us there, on time. In His time. For all time. The street you grew up on may have a different name, but the road to heaven is only identified by Jesus. Many roads-only one way.

With only one way it should be as easy as naming a street. It's easier. Trust God. He knows the name of your street, and your name also. Where you live now, and where He has built a home for you in heaven. And some day you will go home-heaven calls. And just like the promise in Psalm 23, He still leads us on paths of righteousness. Make the right decision and follow Him today. Truly there is no place like home.

love with compassion,

Mike

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