no, you go first, after me

Take the word self out of self serve and what do you have left? Serve, as in service. Which leaves you with the decision, who do I serve? You or me? Then add self back into it, and you get your answer, we tend to serve ourselves. Rarely from a pure heart, because that is all we know to do, but sadly because more than we care to admit, that is what we want to do. From self serve gas, to self serve ATM's, we want to be first. Ever watch a mom juggle a few items behind your full cart? How often do you let her go first? Remember the car ahead paying your toll for you without telling you? Happened to me more than once, but how often do we return the favor? Or set the example? When is the last time you shared the road with a biker? Could be your pastor you just cut off, or me!

Police cars say "to protect and serve..." but when is the last time a policeman served you? Or when did you last feel protected? When have you ever prayed for the cop who has stopped the car on the side of the road? It could be the killer they are looking for. Politicians, perhaps the vilest form of life in society promise the world to get elected, but then follow their own agendas, then lie some more by trying to tell us how well they are serving us. All to get elected again, so the pattern continues.

We have become an all about me society. Next time you look at a picture you are in, who do you look for first? See? We all look out for #1, but end up acting like #2! And no one ever put two #2's together to form a #1! And so the pattern continues, and we become more self absorbed-what can you do for me? being the attitude we have.

But some are bothered by this, and seek to serve. But not at any expense to themselves. Yet they don't mind being put out for a picture or interview. Jesus addressed these people, church people, in Matthew 25. When He confronted them, they bragged on the things they had done. "We prophesied in your name! We cast out demons. We built buildings and put your name on it. We tithed. We even have a major religion with your name on it. We went to church on Christmas last year, and it wasn't even on Sunday! What more could you ask of us? Isn't that enough? I even have a title at the church"-but God is not impressed.

Jesus' answer was far reaching, and not what the crowd wanted to hear. And it may not be what you want to hear either. My question is, have we sunk so far as a society that we feel we must be recognized, and rewarded for doing the right thing? Have we become so delusional that we think God is here to serve us? Do we have the audacity to think that when Jesus tells us He came to serve man, that we hired a genie in a lamp to grant all our wishes? Yet I see many Christians act just like this. Grumbling to God or the church when they don't get their ways. Expecting God to drop everything just because they want something. "I'm here God!" And the only time they pray is to ask, and then complain when God doesn't answer exactly like they asked. C'mon God, what is your problem? Man, talking about making me impatient!

Well... since you asked, it is us. For in the answer of Jesus, we learn more about us than we wish to know, and more about Him that we wish we had known. "Be gone! I never knew you, and you don't know me. If you had you would have fed the hungry man at the Burger King rather than push past him to get the lunch special. That would have been special. You would have given water to the thirsty guy cutting your yard, rather than telling him to hurry up in the heat. When in the hospital you made a scene because the nurses were so slow, but did you ever visit to volunteer? To help? Do you remember just smirking when the kid across the street got arrested, but blew him off when he asked about your motorcycles, wondering what he really wanted? Maybe he just liked to ride, like you. Remember you were you so busy that when you met the guest speaker, you didn't ask him to lunch with you, even though he told how he missed his family and was lonely? And left more lonely than when he arrived?" For if you had, you would have served Jesus, for when doing it for the least of them, you did it to Him.

OH. And let the excuses begin. But God, I was busy raising kids. The car payments were killing me. The vacation cost more than we thought. Church-man I'm so tired by Sunday. Kids soccer, Kiwanis, jobs, hobbies, the Chargers, and the list goes on and on. While Jesus stands there quietly, his only desire is to bless you, and equip you so you can equip others. Continuing the pattern of love He started, by passing it on to all you meet. Seeing Jesus instead of the bum, or addict, or cop, or whatever. Or yourself. OH.

Making disciples He calls it. As you go on your way. Teaching love by living it, by trusting God. His only commandment-love Him first, then others, as yourself. So you can. But you must trust God. And how can you trust someone you don't know? Follow the simple instruction-to the letter. Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and its righteousness, then everything else will be added. God first, then you. Simple, and you might just be a blessing along the way. And be blessed yourself. No more self serving, but serving others. Keeping your eyes upon Jesus. Who is more than a bumper sticker or a cross around your neck. He is the way, the truth, and the life. So let me start the process-what can I do for you today? And let the love of Christ dwell in our hearts. Pass it on. NEXT!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

I was a stranger and you took me in

We stood behind the tape in the pits just before the start of the race. The racer was desperately trying to start his bike, but all it would do would crank-no start. Just a few minutes ago he had been on the track for practice laps, now they were calling for the bikes in his heat race, and it looked like he might not make it. As the crews frantically checked everything, the guy next to me was trying to get the crew chief's attention. He kept pointing at the bike, but no one was paying attention to him. He even raised his voice to no avail. It was finally when he reached over the tape and turned the pet cock to "ON" that they noticed him, and asked him to leave-he hadn't stayed behind the tape. And as the bike roared to life, someone had shut off the gas, the rider took off to the starting line-thankful that this someone had helped out, but quite a different story was taking place in the pits. The crew chief was livid that this man had reached over and touched the bike-against the rules, and was giving him a piece of his mind. Maybe the piece that had missed the obvious. He was told they have rules in the pits for a reason, and that he would be banned from entering them for interfering. Sadly, a much different viewpoint than that of the racer. For without this stranger's help, he would still be stuck in the pits. And miss the race.

Recently in church we all met at the altar after the service to pray. When I noticed one man, a stranger to me, by himself on stage. It took me a few seconds to get to him, as God told me, then reminded me three more times to go pray with him. But I just couldn't drop Theresa, so I finished with her and then went up on stage. He was new in town, and felt alone. He didn't know anyone, but had come into the church to get involved and make friends and fellowship, with them and with his savior, Jesus Christ. We prayed, hugged, and then I went back down, doing what God had asked me to do-pray with a stranger in church. But like the stranger who turned on the petcock, I was in for a surprise.

A few weeks later I saw this man again, playing on stage. After the service, when he was the only one left, I went up, and we embraced. He was touched I remembered him, and told me what an encouragement I had been to him that night. I had provided by my obedience to God, the very thing he needed at the moment- a friend, and a Christian brother to pray for him and with him. We prayed, hugged again, and I left-only to be intercepted by two men, security they called themselves, who told me to stay off the stage for my own safety. When they persisted on making their point, I told them "go ask the man I was praying with why I was up there with him." Which they finally did, but at this point, rules had over ruled the Spirit-another clear cut case of not trusting God, but sticking to the rules, despite the prescience of the holy spirit. Another point scored for legalism and religion. And my peace was stolen from me.

I was hurt for I had obeyed God, and we both were blessed. But I was yet stopped again, by another man, an assistant pastor, who wanted to make sure I understood what I had done. It seems I was the only one who had. I was advised to stay off the stage for security reasons-funny we had all been invited up the previous time, and I was just responding to what God told me to do.

So I told him I didn't understand, how you would rather me have obey your rule, and be disobedient to God, and cause me to fall into sin. Well, that changed everything, and without details, I showed him how foolish rules are in comparison to the spirit. The law kills-the spirit gives life. And started asking him questions-like did Jesus have a security team, and caught him off balance. When he mentioned his disciples, all I could think of was them abandoning Jesus in the garden. Peter wimping out to a little girl. And all but Thomas hiding in the upper room after His resurrection.

Today you may be asked by God to do something, it is your choice what to do. Trust God and live. OR disobey God, clinging to the rules and laws, and find yourself in sin with God. Without God no peace, and having to repent-but man is satisfied. With Him, God is satisfied and the peace continues. Would I do it again? "Yes," I told the pastor. I will rather obey God than man. And I think he got it. But I know that he will soon return to his rules. By the way, the message that day was on faith, to trust God. When I reminded him of that, and my actions, I was vindicated-by God.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, Proverbs 3:5 says. I did. Lean not on your own understanding. I didn't. And He will guide your paths in all your ways.

Which He did, and will again. For whether at the beginning of a race, or the ending a service, and in the in-between times, Godly advice only works if taken. You can have your rules-I have Jesus. Silly question, but which one saved you from your sin? Your own answer may surprise you. Trust God. Be a Matthew 25 Christian. Upset the world in love. And you just may surprise the church. But not God.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

not all odors make scents

As hard as it may seem to believe, not all people love the smell of racing castor, aka bean oil. To those of us whose olfactory senses are highly evolved in this area, nothing can smell better than following an old race bike down the road. Much better than the toxic smells of today's racing fuels, it stays in the clothes and allows you a quick exit to your room to change out of them when arriving home. Must be a testosterone based event, as I have found few women who share the desire for this most gourmet like smell associated with motorcycles. And wives somehow find it an anathema. Probably not the reason she married you for.

It seems there is something about old bikes and their oils, gasses, and greases that I find intoxicating. I pity those of you who don't, for great smells can relate to great experiences, and serve as a catalyst to fond memories. And I rarely find girl odors, in particular Grandma odors in the files. Like in church, why do some women put on so much perfume to make the rest of us nauseous? Why does Grandma wear so much perfume to the picnic, and then spend the day swatting flies? Like a ride in an elevator reminded me yesterday-leave it at home-no one wants to smell you! Or be fumigated by you! But yet, later on an elevator ride, an older, distinguished gentleman got off smelling of British Sterling, my old favorite, yet it could never make me smell as attractive, or distinguished. And although the commercials always showed beautiful women flocking to these great smelling men, it never worked for me. I think I was the opposite, I wore cologne for me, not for anyone else. So if I may, this is my list of cologne odors-for me. The rest of you, take a deep breath and keep walking.

Racing castor-Castrol to be precise. I would bottle up those fumes from some old Triumph or BSA and keep them liberally spread around the house. Some scents are for more than just the garage.

IN-and OUT-who can resist the desire for a Double Double while passing by-might keep me hungry all day.

BBQ from Arthur Bryants-intoxicating, for the alternative meal after to many burgers.

New Car Smell-not that phony aerosol they spray at the car wash-but real artificial fabrics giving off real artificial scents-needed at least twice a day to break the caster spell.

Bacon frying-from a skillet over a fire-I can hear it crackling now. Next to the potatoes and eggs.

Bay Rum-to be only applied by an old barber-somehow it takes to the skin much better from skilled hands who have been applying it for decades.

And somewhere on the list would be suntan lotion, a wood fire, brownies or chocolate chip cookies, fresh cut grass, or old books. A quick snort of one of these every once in awhile just to stir the senses.

But after sorting out the olfactory eruptions, I would like to sit on the front porch and smell the air after a rain. A summer rain, where after the clouds part again, all these fresh, wonderful, natural odors erupt. And one of the things I miss here in So Cal, for it doesn't rain. It takes a porch in Pennsylvania, or in Colorado to get the right ambiance. And sit back and watch as the rain drops from the trees-good stuff. The smell of fresh and new-just like the song says about Jesus-He is like a fragrance after the rain. Smells of life, love, and watching as flowers bloom again. Signs of life that remind me of being forgiven and loved by Him. Scents so special that they smell different to each one of us. Personal, intimate, and for those special few moments, time spent with the God of the universe. Intoxicating, but different than castor. Invigorating, but different than the barber's hands. And stirring a hunger in me for more, like a trip past In-and-Out. A fragrance that He made just for me. And one just for you too.

A time to stop and rest, and reflect. Something we all could use a lot more of, but somehow don't get.

I could add strawberries, fresh coffee-not Starbucks burnt smell, Sunoco 260-racing gas from the pump, my wife's shampoo, or the smell of a good steak. They all stimulate the senses. But only that precious fragrance that comes from Jesus stimulates my soul. If you have ever smelled this, you know what I mean. If not, next time it rains, find a porch and sit and sniff. Take in all the wonderful smells, and realize they were made just for you, by a God who loved you so much He gave His only son. So that you might have life, and be able to breathe in all the things that He has to offer. Better than scratch and sniff, and you don't have to wait for a rainy day-ask Him into your life now, and let the olfactory rushes begin!

Jesus and racing castor. Then a Double Double, and then some fresh strawberries. With my wife after she has shampooed. On the front porch. Life just don't get any better.

With just enough wind in the face to make the experience last. All this from a guy who hates riding in the rain. For loving God makes more than sense-it makes scents as well.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

do you know who is your evacuation route?

With all the talk about Hurricane Irene, you don't know whether you will be disappointed if it is a bust, or relieved if it is only a disaster. Seems politics are a big part of the weather anymore, and with no one willing to be part of the Katrina episode, anything from ball games, to flights, to weddings, to the opening of the MLK Memorial are being cancelled, rescheduled, or relocated. Not a bad thing to think safety first, but of course the other side is the fiscal impact it will have on these areas. Which will keep some there too long, and others leaving too early. And no matter what party you support, the Republicans and George Bush will be blamed-all the way in Texas. For it seems that emergencies bring out the best and worst in people. For all rush to do blame someone else, or seek what is right in their own minds, but few turn to God.

After being in Joplin the week after the huge tornado, we saw every side of human emotion. But out of the remnants of the town-think of wood, hay, and stubble-the spirit of those still alive was positive. For instead of rushing to FEMA and having to work through any politicians or political processes, they reached out to the church, and they didn't have to reach very far. Countless local churches, many churches from over a 1000 mile radius, and large organizations such as Operation Blessing and Samaritan's Purse were there to provide man power, assist volunteers, provide water and supplies, and to counsel those who suffered in the disaster. People reaching to out to God, not in a religious sense, but because He is always there in time of need, and available. HELP is a prayer that everyone understands, and that God quickly responds to. Let God handle things, without your hello or counsel, and watch as they get handled correctly-maybe the purest argument for separation of state from church, not the other way around.

Storms are nothing new, and a man named Noah once was told by God to build an ark. It would rain, and be ready. With a catch, it had never rained before! So for 120 years, Noah was still a young man in his 400's at the time, he built the ark as God told him. But with criticism, and constantly being made fun of. You could only imagine what the heathen press would do to him today. Endless Tonight Show jokes, even TV series abut stupid, old Noah, and his foolish, old God. You would think that after 120 years the Noah jokes would get old. But God was patient, maybe that's is why it took 120 years to build the ark-God wanted no one to miss out on its mission, which was to save mankind. But to the very end, man ridiculed Noah, and God, even more when God called the animals into the ark. They probably cheered this old fool when he sealed up the ark, laughing in the sun while doing so. The ark sealed tight, so that no rain or anyone else could get into the ark. And no one could get out. And up until the first raindrop, had a great time at Noah's expense. But then the rains came, and those who doubted pounded on the ark-"let us in! Now we believe!" But it was too late, for the time had passed, and only Noah and his family were safe, and would start a new world after the flood. All the king's horses, and all the king's men...so much for man's rebelliousness to God. God warned them, and sadly, felt no joy for even one of them in death. If only they had listened...For God so loved the world, He sent Jesus...the same love He sent to Noah, the same love at the cross, and the same love He offers today.

God has sent an awesome warning out via weather. He controls everything, but your will. And He wants you to turn to Him freely, not because you have to, but because you want to. His love is not mercenary, where He gives you good things so you will serve Him, it is called grace which He wants to shower you with-pun intended. He is God, certainly that should be enough?

People will still talk about Katrina, Andrew, and Irene. But long after the skies have cleared, Jesus will still be the only way of salvation. Don't get caught outside of the ark of God's love. He is patient that none should perish, but time is getting short. And no one knows what tomorrow brings. The pounding Noah heard inside the ark from people dying to get in must have broken his heart, I know it did God's. Make the choice to get into the ark today while there is still time. No excuses, there is plenty of room. And plenty of love and forgiveness waiting-come just as you are. That knocking you hear now is Jesus knocking on your heart-it is your decision where you will be in the storm. Sealed in or sealed out! The evacuation route from sin is as close as calling out to God right now!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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dual citizenship

My current ride is a 2012 Triumph Tiger XC courtesy of Triumph Motorcycles. Among other things it is bike of the year for Rider, and Dual Sport of the year for other magazines. And it should be, it is a great bike, and the eighth one I have ridden this year, putting on miles for the press fleet. Since the importer/distributor is in Newnan, Georgia, the bike comes with Georgia license plates, which start some interesting conversations. "Did you ride from Georgia? No, but I have. How long did it take you to get here? Weren't you paying attention to my first answer? Are you riding it back? No, I only put 1000 miles on them, then turn it in for another." I won't mention that I have ridden over 20 new bikes this year, right out of the crate and never ride more than 1200 miles on one. No need upsetting them. And when I tell them it belongs to Triumph, and they are from Georgia, I get sad looks, like they really wish I had ridden it from there. But even sadder is when someone from Georgia talks to me, and I have to tell them I am from California. I have even had people solicit me to move there, telling me how pretty it is, and one woman almost shed tears when I told her I couldn't, wouldn't, and didn't want to. Among other things if I did I wouldn't get the chance to ride all these new bikes. All this because of the Georgia tag on the bike. And for you more anal types, it is a bike manufactured in England, distributed out of Georgia, picked up at press fleet in Pleasanton, and ridden by a guy in Escondido. How's that for a genealogy?

And unless you are a Native American, you too came from somewhere else. So we are Italian-Americans, Polish Americans, African Americans, and you get the picture. But we are all Americans! So why don't we act like it? Why when we live in the greatest country in the world, do we want to cling to our heritages, and for some it is so many generations the whatever-American heritage is gone. The best thing about becoming an American is that when you come here you give something up, to gain a lot more. Or why would you come? Does anyone move for a worse existence? Freedom and the American dream that even though is demised, is still the best in the world. And my advice to those who don't like it here, go somewhere else and try it. And see if what you are getting is more than you are giving up! We are still the Land of the free, and the Home of the brave! Benevolent and compassionate-we send more money, supplies, people, and missionaries to the rest of the world when in need than anybody else. Try that Mexico. Russia. Cuba. Iraq. We are the US of A, and I am glad to be a citizen of it!

So when a woman one time, came into my office at Mercedes Benz, and wanted to know what kind of American I was, she was a Persian American, I told her I was an American-that said it all, and don't try to diminish it by adding anything to it. But as she kept on, I finally decided to end the conversation. "I am a Heaven American, for that is where my eternal citizenship lies." And she left, not being able to digest that, but the truth is, I am a Heaven American, for my citizenship is in heaven. Written in the book of life, my name is right there to prove it. For you see when we die, we all have an eternal place we are going, but not all go to heaven. You see you need Jesus Christ to get there, and some people reject Him, their choice, not His, for He wants all to go to heaven. He didn't die for some, but all-while we were still sinners. That's love. But you must give up something to get there, it is called sin. And not all wish to give it up, or call on the name of Jesus. And at the point of death they go to hell, Hell Americans if you wish. And my advice to you, is if you don't want to go to hell, call on Jesus. For God does not send anyone to Hell! It is your choice to go. That is why Jesus Christ came to earth, to save us from hell. But true love demands a decision, so it is left to the individual. God is the only one who will never force His will or ways on you. Only in Jesus will you find eternal life, is what you have worth it? Ask yourself the question Jim Elliot did, who gave his life as a missionary to see whole tribes repent. "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." So the choice is yours.

Don't be misled like those who think I am from Georgia. Or those who tell you there is no hell, and if heaven exists you can work your way to it. God knows us better, so He gave us grace. It is a gift you cannot earn.

After I get a 1000 miles on the Tiger it goes back to Triumph. My own bike has a California plate. Am I from California or is the bike? Or am I a California-American? The plate you hang on your life will tell more about you than you think. And to me, being a future citizen of heaven is the most important. And until then, the rest is just for the ride.

Keeping my eyes ahead on the things on high. Not worrying about what is behind me, like a license plate. I know in whom I believe. And I know this is only temporary, even if a lifetime is hard to think of in those terms. For even license plates will expire and have to be renewed. Be renewed now, and refreshed, knowing that your final destination is heaven.

And until that day, I won't mind if you refer to me as a heaven American! Just let me ride!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

BEEfore (6) and the HEREafter

God has blessed me with a desire and ability to minister in hospitals. I have seen blood, guts-I even held a man's brain in his head once, third degree burns, and bones sticking through skin. And somehow it hasn't bothered me, but given me a great compassion for those sick or wounded. And for that, I am thankful to God, and to the doctors and nurses who deal with this on a daily basis. I also spend much time ministering to the families of the sick and injured. They are the ones whose life must go on despite a wounded husband or wife, their children still have school and soccer, etc. to go to. In other words, life must go on, and while the patient is being surrounded with constant care, they aren't. So God has allowed me to be part of a group of like hearted people, and we see that meals are provided, kids get to practice, and that the spouse can be with her loved one in the hospital. And we do it in the name of the Lord, simply based on the obedience of being a Matthew 25 believer, Jesus asked "when I was sick did you visit? Hungry, feed me? Alone, take me in? Thirsty and homeless, did you take me in and offer me drink?" We do these things not to earn our way to heaven, it is a gift called grace, but because of the love of Jesus in our hearts. And we hope to be an inspiration and encouragement for others to do so. Remember the greatest love statement? Laying down your life for another may only inconvenience you for awhile, but will change your life. Always for the better. Try it some time, trust God when He says to do something, and look out-here come the blessings!

But as much as I like visiting those in the hospital, I am the world's lousiest patient, more of an IMpatient patient. So when I got stung for the fifth or sixth time-we only went to the hospital all times but once, so we don't tend to count that one, I took my EPI pen, my Benadryl, and Theresa took me to the ER. Which immediately took me in and started the breathing and IV's. This one was relatively minor compared to others-one time I couldn't breathe as my throat closed up and when the first breathing treatment didn't work, the doctor's look on his face told me this was serious. And the time, #2 or #3, Dick had to get me from Palomar, the left side of my face and eye completely swollen shut, at least we laughed when the people got out of our way when we left-"if you ever pull this stunt again I'll blacken both your eyes!" he shouted, and the crowd moved-far away. And we both laughed.

I have been told that each one will get worse, but with quick treatment only left with my left eye partially swollen shut, mouth and neck swollen, and my left arm swollen and very painful where I was stung yesterday. Six times in less than 15 months, why are the bees always picking on me?

But back to being the IMpatient patient. It forces me to rely on someone else, for them to be their brothers keeper, and it is humbling. It is humbling to watch your wife and son terrified of how their husband and dad are-they have been through this before with me. It means a life change for a few days, and I had to miss a dinner with Ballerina, her family, Roscoe, and Charlie that I had been looking forward to. That is the pride side of it. But the God side is I am not afraid to die. In fact, if I had drifted off and woke up in heaven, I would be ecstatic! For I am not afraid to die-I want to see Jesus!

And that is what I hope to share with all I visit in the hospitals. And from Gavin and Lynsay, Conrad and his family, Bikerjim, Bill, Lucy, and so many others, God has allowed me to share the love of Christ to them all-and watched as Jesus Christ has changed their lives-and how they all welcome heaven now-Born Again! A final healing that lasts forever.

So simply pray that Jesus Christ comes into your life. No big religious experience, but you will know when you let Him into your heart-it's that personal. Don't wait until it takes an accident, job loss, the ruin of a relationship, or death of a loved on-trust God now!

And pray for this IMpatient patient. God knows our days, and the day of or escape from earth, so yesterday wasn't my day. He also doesn't guarantee you tomorrow, so wishes that today be the day of your salvation. And the day that your life truly begins. I want to go to heaven-ASAP. But until I do, I will try to be obedient to God, to not be such an IMpatient patient, and to lay down my life, or at least my plans here for others. Love will do that to you. And love is not an emotion, although it can make you emotional. It is not a feeling, although it will wake up your feeling. God is love, and only found through His Son Jesus Christ. Can't find words for it, you have to experience it for yourself. Fall in love today!

For God so loved the world He sent His only son...just for you!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

ain't no mountain high enough...

Just as Memorial Day is the beginning of the riding season for many, Labor Day signals that summer is ending, and that soon the autumn leaves will be falling along with the temperature. And that only the most hard core and dedicated riders won't be putting their bikes up for the winter before Halloween. Just as they counted the days until the first thaw in March, now they count the days until the first snow which always seems to come too soon if you ride. And just like these man made lines of demarcation, prices and the amount of traffic on the road both go down after Labor Day, sometimes even returning to the pre-Memorial Day level when they all went up. So over the years I have taken September and October vacation rides, and been pleasantly surprised at how many of real riders still ride despite temps in the 40's, the threat of rain, and the real threat of snow. And I have even been tested by the same conditions in July, and on one fourth of July in particular.

Theresa and I lived on Vallecito Lake outside of Durango. At 8300' altitude, in a National Forest, and with only 72 people on the 22 miles of shoreline, we were secluded already. And far enough from town-read broke, that we had no phone, either. So as I set out alone on this 4th of July weekend-she had to work, we had three days without contact. Leaving on my 1975 Z-1, I was heading north to Silverton, over Red Mountain Pass, and into Ouray, where I watched the locals and their celebrations-all in beautiful weather in the 80's. And all was well with the world. And then into Montrose, and up through Paonia, and it got hot-over 100 degrees. And as the afternoon wore on, I sought a place to stay, holing up in some old, tourist cabins with one channel on the TV, and after watching too much Wimbledon remembered why tennis bores me. But the cabin had air, and I slept good that night.

The next morning it was up and through Glenwood Canyon, before they put I-70 through, then up over Rabbit Ears Pass-still warm at 9000', and into Estes Park via Rocky Mountain National Park. A light drizzle, expected in the mountains at any time, but heading south towards Denver, the storm warnings were out-tornadoes! I was fortunate enough to find a motel who would take a check in these days before ATM's and credit cards. I was cashing it, and when it ran out, depended on someone who would take a check. Which they finally, and reluctantly did, and gave me a room where I could store the Z underneath. Fortunately no tornadoes, but winds had torn off tree branches, and some trees had fallen on cars, it was mess the next morning, but the sun was out, and it was getting warm. And except for the damage to the landscape, it looked like nothing had happened the night before. So home I headed, south to 160, then my plan was to go over Wolf Creek Pass-a notorious pass for bad weather, and back then only two lane, not at all like the four lane expressway of today. And riding in warm, sunny weather, I foolishly expected the same over the pass.

The mountains were gray as can be expected, but when it started to rain, it got cold. Just the opposite of three days earlier of Red Mountain Pass in a t-shirt. I put on my winter clothes, aka leathers, and soon the rain turned to snow. And as I huddled under a snow tunnel, freezing and wet, on the Z, a snow plow came up from behind, and told me to follow him over the pass and into Pagosa Springs. Which I did-thankfully, you don't argue with a plow when on a motorcycle in a blizzard. Even if it is the 4th of July!

And then again t-shirt and no jacket to home. Where I found a worried Theresa, who I couldn't make contact with, but who had seen the weather on the news. And not knowing where I was, could only think the worst.

But fortunately we have a God who despite our worst fears, loves us through them. It seems that when we are weakest He is strongest, a fact I don't understand, but that I am glad to agree with. The same God who rode with me for over 1000 miles that weekend, had not only protected me in high winds and a blizzard, I'll call it mercy, but put the Rocky Mountains on display for me also, showing me His grace and majesty-all in a 72 hour period. He was also with my wife in her concern for her wayward husband. And where I was totally unprepared for what was to occur, He knew. And provided a motel room for safety, and a snowplow to get me home. And just by trusting Him, I had turned a potentially disastrous weekend into a great ride. Correction-trusting Jesus in the midst of the storm allowed Him to turn my weekend ride into a great one. Obedience, just like when Peter walked on the water, Jesus called and I said "yes." Fortunately I kept my eyes on Him over the pass-falling into water is one thing, falling thousands of feet down over a cliff is another.

So keep your eyes on God. Be flexible and follow Him. He will show you grace that goes beyond description, and mercies at just the right time. He will guide you, provide protection, and show you a way through the storm, even if it takes a snow plow. And He can even calm the fears of a worried wife, who made me swear I would never do this again.

At least until the next time, or until she could go with me. And for some 30+ years that has been our story. Riding together, travelling together, but most important trusting Jesus with every aspect of our lives. Despite the weather, roads, or finances, God has always gotten us to where we were going. His way. And not always the highway. But a better way. And all we have to do is trust and obey.

Bundle up, I hear it gets cold on Labor Day!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

the longest day

The longest day in my school career was the first day of seventh grade. After spending a great summer hanging onto remnants of being the oldest ones in elementary school, today I was entering an unknown, an area that although we had endured an orientation, we were too cool to pay attention to. And while searching for the right door to go in, recognized a girl who for the last year I had accused of having cooties. But something about her had changed over the summer, maybe those were cooties. But both being alone in a strange land, we talked-awkwardly until other friends showed up, and then the bell rang-and horror set in.

Homeroom-where we would get an assigned seat, which would happen in every class we would go to today. For we were in seventh grade, and no amount of thirteen year old maturity would help now. It was every man for himself. And as you struggled to open your locker, strategically located at the other end of the school from where most of your classes were, you struggled to remember your lock combination, that you had thoughtfully written down on your notebook, which was now safe and securely locked in your locker. But again you weren't alone. And the fastest three minutes of your life were about to take place as you went on to your next class.

And you would repeat the process several times during the day, broken up only by lunch. Where 500 of you would juggle for position, trying to find a seat without dropping your tray full of food, while balancing the books you should have stored in your locker-if only you had the combination. And the one place they should have given you an assigned seat, they didn't. So you ended up eating fast, with people just like you-dazed and confused, and got your first real education of the day-school lunches. And how nu-trition equated to no-flavor. Exaggerated only by the fact you were starving. And wondered if lunch would always mean crowd control. And instead of recess after, you had another class.

And finally, the final bell, and it was time to go home. But first-how to open your locker, which some eighth grade girl was equipped to help you with. And suddenly you felt so young, immature, and helpless. And as you looked at the books in your locker, you wondered what you were in for. The books said US History, Biology, Algebra, and Literature. Whatever happened to the classes on my schedule? Social Studies, Science, Math, and English? Add in the fact that recess now was called gym, doing pushups, jumping jacks, and other exercises, and the best part of school was gone-lunch and recess. Plus you had to then take a shower-with everyone looking at you! Whatever happened to privacy laws? Get me outta here!

But the cruelty didn't end there. You had homework. And what was with this reading 30 pages every night-in each subject? No more after school playing-you were on the edge of adult hood now. And after dinner the same. No TV, no stereo. It was homeWORK. As if they hadn't punished you enough in school, they were now invading your home. And for only five days a week, for the next 10 months, you would have the same routine. No wonder eight graders looked so much older-seventh grade had taken so much out of them. And you felt all alone and realized for the first time no one really cared about you-or they wouldn't make you go back tomorrow for more. Your only solace was that all your friends were suffering the same. Even the girl with cooties. If only you could mature like she had.

If we had only known then what we do now-most of the injuries of that first day of school, and of life, were self inflicted. If we would only grow at their rate, not ours, and realize nothing more was expected from us than had been from previous classes. I know Christian friends who are like that, always trying to get ahead, but end up trying just to keep up. Rather than letting God lead, they first take it upon themselves to set up a regimen, that God never asked for. Learn the laws, know the rules, and wonder why others grow in God, but they don't, despite their superior knowledge, Bible Study, prayer time, and church attendance. They do all the right things, except the one thing that actually teaches them anything-they exclude God. They don't let Him lead. It's just another routine and not personal. But they strike out on their own, and end up later saying "this God thing doesn't work. Too much work." And they are right-and wrong. If you let God lead, He leads next to you. Jesus says His burden is easy, and to take His yoke-let Him lead. And suddenly you don't find yourself late for class. You remember the locker combination, and you can eat, visit, and still get to your next class on time. You are relaxed and confident, so when the girl who matured over the summer sees you, she will see that you have matured also-in the Lord.

Education never ends, although you may earn a degree. Maturity only ends at death, until then you have your whole life to get closer to God. And to spend it with Him. Try God today-at His pace. Let Him lead, and you follow. Enjoy the day, and the days to come.

God will never expect more from you than you can handle. A lesson you wish those first teachers of yours would have learned. But you can only grow through change, and only mature through growth.

And just think-after you master seventh grade, you are older and wiser for eighth and ninth-then onto high school where the pattern starts all over again.

Enjoy today. God gives you a seventh grade for a reason. It prepares you for what comes after. Just like Jesus-He will stay closer than a friend, never leave you in the hall alone, and get you to the next class on time. And eternity awaits-your graduation day!

Say, wasn't Jesus home schooled? Do your homework!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

stuckee in Truckee

There are five words that you hope to never have to use to describe a motorcycle ride. They are cold, wet, hungry, tired, and lost. It is ok to expect one, or maybe two on a long ride, but when you go 4-for-5 on a three day weekend, maybe plan B would have been a better choice.

Andrew and I planned to take our first overnighter together on my Triumph T-Bird Sport. It was Memorial Day, and we planned to spend three nights out going as far north as Truckee, down Highway 49, and then home via San Luis Obispo and the Central Coast. Great roads, lots of time, and we were both excited. And leaving on Friday after he got out of school, we took off for Bakersfield, to get a head start on the weekend. I had booked a room at Best Western, West Bakersfield it said, and it was so far west it had ocean views. With directions to Bakersfield. Its only redeeming value was you could park your semi there quite easily and let it run all night to keep up those of us trying to sleep in the motel. Hungry, we walked over to the truck stop, and after the smell there should have warned us, we took one look at the buffet, and took the waitress's advise to "sit anywhere you like," and walked over and sat at the Jack in the Box. Which answered the question of what does it take to mess up a burger and fries?

Leaving in warm weather, we rode up 49, stopped and rode the train-the same one in Petticoat Junction, where is the Shady Rest Hotel when you need it, and sat up front to get our face full of cinders from the fire. We were having fun, the roads great, and the weather warm-not hot, but pleasant in the 70's. We rode into Placerville, then got gas, and headed up I-80 to go to Truckee, when it got dark. No big deal. Then it started to rain. Deal. And it got cold. Bigger deal. Then it started to snow. Even bigger deal. And then for the last 20 miles, one hour, we followed the snow plow over Donner Pass and into Truckee. Looking forward to a dip in the hot tub, and a big meal-we were starved. After getting directions to the spa when we checked in, we were off to it within minutes. Only to find it filled with a family not willing to share it. Which was ok, for the water was cold, as was the indoor heated pool. Management policy was to turn it off on Memorial Day Weekend as their season was over. A point not covered in the directions to it. So freezing, and disappointed, we took long, hot showers and headed to the restaurant. Which was sorta open, as the only hot food was frozen pizza-you know the kind where it starts out hard as a rock, and ends up harder when done, with some type of mystery topping and tomato surprise to hide the evidence. And when eaten with tap water-sorry no soda available, we took oaths to NEVER stay in Truckee again. This quite possible may be the "1" that Dirty Harry has never seen.

After a nights sleep, why are they always shorter on a trip when you can sleep in, opening the curtains showed bright sun and a blue sky. So we could better see the two inches of snow on the motorcycle. And Andrew was happy to see the sun, until I mentioned we were going west, not east. Which was the same gray that the darkness hid from us last night. At least the roads weren't snow covered, just wet, so we headed out, figuring within 30 minutes a hot breakfast and warmer weather below awaited us. Which it did, it was into the 60's, positively tepid, and we stopped at Lou's, a welcome station for hungry travelers for over 50 years. Except today, even though it was after 10 o'clock, the cook and most of the staff was just getting there due to the snow. So warding off hunger and cold with lots of hot chocolate, we ate breakfast after 11, but at least it was hot and still morning. And of course when we left, she had no change for a hundred, so I left with a wad of ones and fives-still not sure if I got the short end of her tip money.

Down into the central valley, it was 75, but we still were cold. And decided to ride down Hiway 25- a great motorcycle road. And fun until the last five miles, where the rain-unforeseen by the weatherman who can't even look out a window to see if it's raining, had flooded a field, and covered most of the road. Where once were cows, were two guys on jet skies, and the road covered with little frogs. We stopped and watched, and then proceeded to ride, squishing as few little frogs as possible. Maybe a caution-frog crossing sign would have helped. The only vision I had was like a Outer Limits episode, where at the end of the road a giant frog appeared to make us pay for our indescretions. But that was the only thing that didn't go wrong. And in less than 72 hours, the only thing we had not managed to do was get lost. And the rest of the ride was great-almost boring with nice weather, a good motel, and great food. Which for some reason I vaguely remember, must have been the cold. Or the pizza-or whatever was on it.

Forgetting is a key component to forgiveness. When we ask God for forgiveness, He forgets all our sins-past, present, and future. As if they never existed. It is called mercy. And then leads us by grace, undeserved love. Agape He calls it, a love only He can have for us. So....since we are forgiven all sins, for all time, and He has forgotten them, why do so many remind God of them when they pray? Didn't Jesus say "it is finished?" Didn't He mean all sins?

YES, is the answer. And when you pray telling Him of your newest sins, you are reminding Him of something He forgot. So why do it? Why go to Him pride fully telling Him you are the greatest sinner-pride? That He could never forgive you for what you have done-more pride. Or what can you do to earn His forgiveness, when he price is already paid? Forgive and forget-His advice is to set your sights on things on high-heaven. Where there is no sin, and all sins have been forgotten. Just like the first time you repented.

We spent a lot of time praying in our helmets on that trip. And God was faithful, getting us to where we were going. He is also faithful to get you where you are going. He who began a good work in you is faithful to complete it. No matter how much, how long, or how much we need to persevere, God is with us.

And just to show that forgiveness works, I try to forget the ride to Truckee. No need pushing the mercy envelope when He has it all under control by grace. And so I have never gone back to Truckee. Using the example of Lot's wife. Forgiveness is much better than spending the day as a cold pillar of salt. Or having dinner with the Donners.

Hm, that pizza said Donner's on the box, you don't think...NAH. Forgetting has its own blessings.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

but I've been to Oklahoma...with Joe

When the Clampetts moved to Beverly Hills and it was time for Jed's nephew to go to school, the local schools were less than thrilled with his appearance. Until... he mentioned his last school attended was Oxford. Changing their whole attitude, they were proud to have a Oxford grad coming there. "Oh, merry Olde England," she exclaimed. "It must have been a great experience going to school there."

"England?" said Jethro's puzzled look. "It's in Tennessee. I 'm not sure about England, but Oxford is the school by the low spot on the creek, where the ox ford the stream." And another myth was exposed.

Ever wonder how and why towns got their names? Where is the river in Riverside, CA? Can you imagine a Green Bay? Been there, the water is blue. I have been in both Long Beach and Oceanside, California, and New York. The two are not easily confused. Springfields abound, so do Farmingtons, actually lived in one myself. New Mexico, not old Mexico. Same with Las Vegas-two places I'd rather avoid. Did you know that there is even a Mohnton in Pennsylvania? Sadly few motorcycles, hard to believe a town that shares my name could be so deceptive in that category. Why do the NY Jets and Giants play in New Jersey? Never been to school in Oxford either. But I do own a Ford, but not an ox. Confused yet...

So it was when catching up with our trusted friend, road captain, and Torches alumni Joe Sewell, whose mom Maggie works in Nowata, OK, which just happens to mean no water, he took us on a great ride starting in Tulsa, and heading east into the Ozarks on US 412, the old road, not the four laner. And our first stop on this 100 degree day was at the "Git and Split. " What a perfect name for a convenience store. Which all seem to have a catchy name in the Midwest. Kum and Go, Toot and Totem, Gas and Go-all great names, but Git and Split gets my vote. And it is in Locust Grove, Oklahoma. A beautiful area, but the name sorta throws me. Locusts, aren't they the ones that are usually associated with plagues in the Bible? Aren't they the ones I remember one summer as a kid, who ate everything in sight, and then left their hard shells behind on the trees, or to crunch when you walked on? Miserable looking pests, who while making a chirping noise had their beady eyes looking through you? Why would you name your town Locust Grove? What could possibly attract you to a place named after destruction and death? Do they have a housing development The Plague? Typhoid Avenue. Pestilence Place? I do know of a Locust Avenue in Fanwood. Didn't Tom Waits live at the intersection of Bedlam and Squallor? I can see the Chamber of Commerce mailouts-"come to Locust Grove! Stop at the Git and Split-right next to the restaurant that closed down because so many got food poisoning." True story. So as I finished my Coke, and took my last breath of the smell of burning oil from the week old broasted chicken, fresh air never smelled so good, and the silence of no locusts heard inside my helmet made for sweet music. I had been to Locust Grove and missed the locusts-now onto the grove! I had successfully Gitted and Splitted! But no shirt to prove it.

Did you know that there are over 90 types of locusts? Scary huh? And that they eat and destroy anything and everything in their path? Even aluminum, steel, and plastic, their appetites are so voracious, they eat everything in their path. And then die. With more coming behind them. Maybe that is why they are a common Biblical plague. Just ask the Egyptians. But they are also mentioned by the prophet Joel, of things to come in the last days-of which you are a current resident. Here four are mentioned-palmerworms gnawed, locusts or storming ones, cankers or creeping ones, and caterpillar or stripping ones. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" he asks. Yes, but not all at once, like today. For when the locusts leave, there is nothing to eat. Societies collapse. Leaving white powder, or a burned out, scarred people, the Romans called them burners of the field. Sound like current events? World economies in turmoil. Pestilence around the world. Extreme weather-did you know Oklahoma set a US record for heat last month, almost an 89 degree daily average? Joblessness, governments failing at all levels, and you can see the obvious comparison Joel is making. The locusts of sin leaving nothing behind except destruction, touching every life of everyone -even in the US of A. Lives being gnawed at, fear storming peoples lives, turmoil creeping into every aspect of our lives, and a prosperous nation being stripped of all its riches, power, and might. Maybe that old Hal Lindsay book, The Late, Great Planet Earth, written in 1969 was right. Jesus is coming soon, the evidence is all around. But right before, these things must happen. Unexpectably for those not looking, but not soon enough for those of us who are.

But it is not too late to be saved from the locusts that consume your life. Trust God today. Turn to Him, He knows your situation, let Him guide you through, and into heaven. A place that no man has seen-so much for the bright light theory, that no ear has heard the music of, and that no mind can imagine. Better than your favorite road, it goes on forever. No pain, sickness, being tired, broke, or hungry. Perfect in every way. And no locusts.

No Locust Groves in heaven either. Just Jerusalem, the city of God. And soon when God calls His church home, we will "git and split" from here. The plagues are coming, in fact many are here-just look around. But look up, for your redemption is nearer today than when you first believed.

A grove of locusts, or a grove of great riding? And not even a bug to get on your face or face shield. No laws either, so you won't have to wear a helmet. And you won't find any place called heaven in the US of A. It is a special place for God and His children. Like the song says, "but I've been to Oklahoma.."

Be ready to "Git and Split" today!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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when the nicest people let the good times roll

I'm watching the TV the other night and this ad comes on for back to school clothes. And as all these too cute for school girls are dancing, I notice something about their clothes-I've seen them all somewhere before. But not paying attention, I change the channel, I am a well know anti-commercialite, and then soon on another channel, here again are these same fresh faced girls, dancing to music no one should be allowed to listen to, dancing again. No wonder no one learns anything in school. And again, I recognize the styles. But once again, I change the channel, and too soon for my own good, these same kids are invading my TV time-again! So I watch this time, and find out that the same clothes I wore in school 45 years ago are now back in style-except in my house they never went out of style. And every few years come back into style, being told by some half a sissy what is fashionable and what is not. And as a true rebel to the end, I again vaporize him from my big screen-knowing that sooner or later these pathetic girls will sing and dance their way into my TV time when least expected. But never into my wardrobe.

Now I like to look at women dressed prettily, and I like my wife to look nice. And stylish, too. So we only buy the nicest leathers, Arai helmets, high end boots, and motorcycle t-shirts. And we not only look good, but are comfortable. And cool. Ahead of the next fashion trend, in fact we have never left it. And while you others who don't ride are left to wonder if you are in style or out of style each day you leave the house and get in your SUV, cell phone in hand to warn your trendy friends just in case you are, we throw a leg over our bikes and start the day riding. Confident in ourselves, our leathers, and our lifestyle-knowing that if you wrap a fish in nice wrapping paper, it will stink as much as if wrapped in newspaper. Or an SUV. Beware of girls dancing their fashion ways into your heart. Biker chic is still in. Like my friend says, "their are only two colors, both black." It goes with everything, never goes out of style, and you can always look cool. And you don't ever see those pathetic dancing girls in black leather. Hey, maybe bikers are on to something! How about a motorcycle clothing store-Old Biker instead of Old Navy. And we can sell trendy shirts with sayings, and leather, and boots, and....WHOA! Won't this cut into our riding time? Please, no more pretty boys.

Honda in their early ads never mentioned they were selling motorcycles-they were selling Hondas, and since the world was still reeling from the fictional accounts based on Hollister, black leather was out. Capri pants, sandals, visors, and bright colors were in, so the smiling people on Hondas wore them. And looked so stylish that the people who rode them looked nice, and were nice. So Honda reminded you that you met the nicest people on a Honda. And soon, we all wanted to be nicer. But some of us still chose black, and still do. At least for our leathers. We were already nice before Honda thought that one up. Need help, call a biker. Did anyone ever call a Honda? Sorry, only nice people here, not those in need.

Theresa and I get noticed real quickly when we visit other churches, hey we do at our own. The black leather among the suits-black or grey, both exciting colors, Hawaiian shirts, and trendy clothes stands out. A t-shirt with Triumph logo catches peoples attention, and soon we have struck up a conversation, and met people. Ones who would have shunned you if you were dressed as they were, maybe they can't stand the competition, or the conformity. Maybe they are afraid you might be just like them? Or maybe black leather scares them and they wish to make friends sooner than later. Or maybe they just like black leather, and wish they had the guts to ride to church, but what would their friends say? And so we go to church, stylish but never trendy, comfortable that no one judge us. Well, almost...at least no one who really counts.

For you see we are a society based on first impressions. And if you look nice, you are nice. Or if you look bad, or underdressed for the occasion, well, something is the matter with you. But God, the real reason you are going to church, looks past the appearance, and looks at the heart. He isn't stylish or trendy, no matter what the cutesy ads say. He isn't there to entertain, but to have a relationship with you-to love you first, and hope you'll love Him. He can see past the facade of nice, fresh, trendy clothes, and still see the pain, or deceitfulness of your heart. And rather sit with the cool people who love Him, in leather, than sit with the Pharisees who kept up their appearance. Man looks at the outside, God looks at the heart. And still loves you just as you are. So much for Easter bonnets, we have helmets, and helmet head hair in our family is a badge of honor.

You may meet the nicest people on a Honda. Kawasaki will definitely let the good times roll. Solo on a Suzuki. But only Jesus Christ will love you despite the motorcycle between your legs, and the leather you wear. In fact, Jesus would be right there with you, riding and wearing leather. Out among the people, talking with them, and loving them. Eating with them, and listening. And here's the truth-HE IS! Right now. No goofy rules of religion, but of truth and freedom. Love they call it, and He loved us first. No trendy logos, lines, or posters. Just love. And in leather.

Maybe their is Karma in the fashion world, or déjà vu. Heard that somewhere before. Or whatever excuse you make up. Stylish on the outside will never beat stylish on the inside. Maybe that's why leather, and Jesus have been around for a long time, and never gone out of style. But only Jesus can save your soul, consider that truth today. No matter what you wear, He loves you. Or what you ride. Maybe there is more to the name GAP than meets the eye. A space between you and a God who loves you. Based on appearance or perception. But not truth. Trust Jesus today.

Maybe that's why you see so few motorcycles at the mall. And more and more at church. Is it possible? Jesus rides? You never know who you'll find under that helmet, or inside the leather.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

Jesus, tire wear, curves, and leaning

When asked, "what do you do when you enter a curve too fast?" Kenny Roberts, racer extraordinaire responded, "just keep leanin' man, keep leanin." Great advice, as he should know, but how many of us don't lean in corners, but try to take a line that ends in disaster? I rode a few times with this guy, he was into Harleys for the lifestyle, and was rather a joke because he never learned to ride. Riding with him and Christopher one day-I had a Speed triple, I let him ride it, while I struggled on his bike with twice the weight and half the power. In the curves, he hung off the bike, like he was hanging off of monkey bars, somehow keeping the bike fully upright. Christopher pulled up next to me, and you could see the laughter despite our full face helmets, and fell back laughing. Our oblivious friend later mentioned how fast he was going, and the thrill of leaning. We said nothing, as the old adage tells us there are two things you never criticize about any man, his love making ability and his riding, and not necessarily in that order. I just never let him ride any of my bikes again, and never rode with him again. For my own good. Wonder what Kenny would have thought?

On the fifth anniversary of 9-11, we are gathered in the parking lot at the flight 93 Memorial Chapel in Shanksville, where Father Al introduced me to Judge Art Cook. It is raining, as it always does on 9-11, the locals say it is God shedding tears. As we go into the chapel, the Judge speaks and then at 10:06, we do a bell ringing ceremony-40 bells for 40 heroes. And it's just like God to have 40 people for 40 names that morning, so we all get to participate. The Judge is sitting to my right in the front row, and when the ceremony begins, leans over to me and says "I always have a tough time when they read the names." I had my arm on the back of his chair, and I instinctively embraced him, and he snuggled into my embrace. I was able to comfort him, and for this precious moment, remembered what Jesus meant when He said lean on me, give me your burdens for my yoke is easy, and my burden light. Just two new friends, one consoling the other, in memory of 40 heroes who leaned on each other that September morning. Their leaning on God changing the history of the US of A, they are true heroes. And a great example of leaning on Jesus. Just keep leanin' man, keep leanin.

Sadly I have also seen what happens when you enter a corner too fast and don't lean. I have watched, or responded as they slam on the rear brake, causing themselves to skid or swerve, and ultimately going down. Taking a situation where there was no problem, and panicking in the situation, and going down. When if only they had leaned into the turn they would have been fine, and had fun-motorcycles are the reason God invented turns. So you can lean into them, and why God also allows certain situations to occur in life-so you can lean on Jesus.

So the song "Learning to Lean on Jesus" has a special meaning to me. And every time I ride, I get to lean. But every day I also need to lean on Jesus. To be guided by His love, and to walk in His spirit, for so many times I can't see through the curves, but He does. He knows the traffic ahead, and how best to get through it. So I keep leaning on Him, and look forward to the curves. And when I encounter them in life, I take Kenny's advice, "Keep leanin'man, keep leanin'." A lesson any good rider knows, originated with God over 2000 years ago. And you can tell those who walk with Christ, just like you can the faster riders, all of their tire is worn. And it only gets that way by leaning. Whether on the track of life, or on 9-11, or everyday, "just keep leanin' on Jesus man, just keep leaning'."

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

God is not dog spelled backwards

Theresa and I went up to the monthly Orange County Vintage Bike Club meet in Huntington Beach yesterday. This time there were over 100 vintage bikes, many of which I can remember from when they were new, and I wasn't as old. From an old mini-bike, seems we all had a Briggs and Stratton lawn mower ride somewhere in our life, according to the large group around it, to the winning bike, a stunning 1954 BSA, we all had real good time. And listening to two hours of bench racing, well it all felt good. From BSA to Gilera to Honda to Triumph-seems we all were there for one thing-enjoy a good time with motorcycles as the main event.

We had fun as we saw two old Kawasakis-an original owner Z-1 and a '76 KZ900, explaining as our old Z-1, a 1975 was the last true Z, at least to the officienadoes. We visited with guys on /5 BMW's, like I had had, even surprising a so-called expert on the 1973 short or long wheelbase models. And a 1970 CB 350 Honda reminded of my first street bike, and although mine was a 1972, and gold, we both laughed at how we used to travel on such a small bike. Perhaps we were both smaller then, too. Remember when a small bike meant big fun? To apply my own words to Norma Desmond's reaction to the movies-"riding is big, it is the riders who got small." I talked with ex-Motorcyclist editor Mitch Boehm about our GS1000 Suzukis, and got a free copy of his own new magazine, Moto Retro Illustrated. Check it out at Motoretroillustrated.com and tell him another GS Suzuki rider sent you. And plan on a long conversation-listening to him that is.

And since the day was all about bikes, it meant many new Bonnevilles, an occasional Harley-how many of you Harley guys remember the Sprint? and many bikes from the 70-80's. Also a guy from American Honda brought a new bike not available in the states-a CB1100-a standard we used to call them. I noticed the MC DIST plates, like on the press bikes I ride, and he let me sit on it. While we talked, this man holding his purse dog, had been berating Honda, saying they made lousy bikes, and their marketing stunk-for if they had imported this model it would sell well. They don't have any models that anyone wants, etc... I had caught the tail end of the conversation, and when Mr. Honda had enough let this pseudo-half a sissy, holding his purse dog have it. Bravo! A poser, who may ride if his wife would let him, but first would have to put down his dog. Hey-we all ride! And we never found out what he did ride. Or if.

Maybe he should meet friends of mine like Spud at Biggs HD. Who although if cut would bleed orange and black, always takes time to check out any Triumph press bikes I bring by-his addiction is motorcycles. And why Pastor Fred, on whatever he is currently riding, always insists I take it for a ride. Maybe he should talk to David, who let me ride his KTM Duke around the block in 40 degree weather with no jacket-only took me a 35 minute ride to get a chill that day. Or although I favor Triumphs, I have two Suzukis and a Honda with my four Triumphs in the garage, with my wife's Mustang. Maybe he should talk to Herm at ECC, who after riding my Street Triple informed his wife of a new budget which included one. Ask Ray whose license plate frame says "It's great to B KING," mounted on his B King. Stu on his Gold Wing with a trailer, and many other brands known to have been parked at my house-the common denominator-WE RIDE! Honda even wrote a song about us, "I wanna ride, I wanna ride..." so we do, without purse dogs. For real bikers don't have a purse dog.

Did I mention that Jesus hates religion? After dying on the cross for all, seems men have divided his followers into denominations. Catholics can't take communion with non-Catholics, unless you are Fr. Al, who believes when Jesus says "do this in remembrance of me," He means Me-Jesus. Everybody. Not just who your cowardly rules say. That when travelling there are so many types of Baptist churches, with only one thing in common-they don't get along with each other. And I wince when two Christians meet, and then they ask what does your church believe. What would Jesus do? My answer-"you have to ask?" It seems Mr. I wanna be a Biker Purse dog is alive and well, sadly in many churches. We know more about our differences, than allowing the Spirit to unite us in truth. Jesus and... we hear. And I can see why Jesus threw the money changers out of the chapel-they didn't belong. And like my friend at Honda did, stood up and corrected this big mouth. Just like we need to do about the Lord-but in love. Quote the word in love, put on the love of Jesus, and watch as the devil and his followers leave. They can go and start another cult like the Mormons or Jehovah Witness, or take the things that fit their lifestyle and start another denomination. There are always other purse dog owners willing to join, until you don't agree with them.

I once asked a bunch of riders, mostly Harley and posers-you could tell by the clean leathers, and even cleaner, low mileaged bikes. "If only 250cc two strokes were allowed tomorrow, would you still ride?" Without fail, they all said "NO!" Except for one guy, who said he would, and would still sneak out on his old bike whenever he could. I like that-a rebel to the end. Why can't we love like that?

Be a rebel for Jesus today. Rise above denominations and doctrinal differences. Unite with Jesus in the spirit. And watch as the blessings flow. Keep your politics and purse dogs at home-all they do is bring division. And feel free to park your Honda next to my Triumph, next to a Harley. At a Suzuki dealer. Biker unity. The true brotherhood of bikers setting an example for others-whether they ride or not.

And if it works for bikers, can you imagine what it would do for the church? Something to do in remembrance of who? In a perfect world we would all ride...with Jesus.

love with compassion,

Mike

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