over the river and thru the woods...

“over the river and thru the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go...” how many times we sang that song as elementary school kids, but to me it was always special, as Grandma’s house was special, and it was over the river, the Delaware crossing into Pennsylvania, and through the woods, the wonderful farm fields and woods that defined the foothills to the Poconos.  And singing it as Thanksgiving kicked off the holiday season, it was many a Thanksgiving spent at Grandma’s that were always special.  We would always leave that Wednesday after school, for the hour long drive, arriving just as Grandpa got home, and dinner was ready.  But already the house was ablaze with smells and sights of the next day.  The dining room table would be covered with pies just baked, and they would have to wait until tomorrow. And after the evening playing with the trains in the basement, our 4 day vacation celebration had begun.

Waking up at Grandma’s always meant Kermie’s sausage, starting a t 5 am.  The best sausage, in a big ring, and served up with eggs, potatoes, and homemade strawberry jam...what a way to start the day with fresh squeezed OJ too.  Eating as if there was no dinner to follow.  And as the cooking had already begun, Grandma was kept busy all day, except listening to the Bangor-Pen Argyl football game on the radio.  Football was so big in this area, that the town of 2500 filled the seats for 5000 each game-and this was the Super Bowl of the Slate Belt, for bragging rights for the next year.  Whoever won this long time rivalry would reign supreme, even if they had lost every other game, winning this insured a great season.  And as we listened, the stories would be retold of how the quarterback for Bangor was kidnapped one year, insuring a Pen Argyl win.  And the time some crooks went through downtown Pen Argyl cleaning out the stores while the whole city was at the game.  And how my mother had been the head cheerleader there.  My mother the cheerleader!  And when the game ended, and Bangor would win, they drove down the hill from the stadium past their house, horns honking, banners waving, and fans yelling in victory-my Grandma standing on the porch applauding-so many of her ex-students yelling “Hi Mrs. Mohn, we won!”  As if they had been on the field of victory themselves, with her.  For the rest of us, it only meant minutes to dinner-and turkey!

We called her Auntie Bray, her name was Lillian Bray and a neighbor and good friend to Grandma, and I always sat next to her on Thanksgiving.  She was old, I thought of her as one of the pilgrims, and wondered why she always ate with us instead of her family, later in life I would come to know myself why she made the wiser choice of company.  And then we would all take our places at the table, and my Dad would say grace, and the eating began.  The biggest turkey I can ever remember, sometimes a duck too, yams, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, stuffing, and my Dad’s favorite oyster stuffing, only made for him on Thanksgiving by Grandma.  That special ingredient of love no one else could duplicate.  And the eating took awhile, and then dessert.  Apple pie, pumpkin pie, and shoo fly pie, so sweet it made your teeth hurt, no ice cream for these thoroughbreds-that was for later.....and then we all sat back and rested.  And then made trays, using TV dinner trays, nothing got thrown away here, and we each made our own for taking home, to be eaten again.  Each writing our name on the foil so we wouldn’t get confused, as if anyone could by my attempts at wrapping.  And then a sandwich before bed, sleeping sound, a great day had been enjoyed.  Bangor had won and all was right with the world...and soon I would be smelling Kermie’s sausage again, and the fresh OJ of Grandpa.  A special time that tomorrow being Thanksgiving makes me remember.  Over the river, and through the woods, more than words to a song.

As Americans we observe the last Thursday in November each year to be thankful.  We are thankful to God, who has again blessed us with another year on earth.  Not an easy year, but one in which He is always there for us, and continues to provide.  A year in which no more open heart surgery, and I am recovering well.  Christopher is touring worldwide with his music, living his dream.  Andrew is in love with Michelle, and we cannot wait until she is part of our family with Hidson her 3 year oldwe will be Grandparents at last-next year we shall all be together for Thanksgiving I hope.  And Theresa, my biggest blessing, who still manages to raise her three boys, through it all.  But we are able to see Jesus in all we do, and the blessings and thanksgiving are not only for one day in our family.  We are thankful for our extended family, John Dooley, Theresa and Kelly, who we hope will be safe and home from Afghanistan soon,and our “grandkids” Landon and Riley, our friends at Dustin Arms, and those who we get to share the love of Christ with.  And as the years go by, many more good memories will be added, but for now we like to look back and remember.  Over the river we go, crossing over like the Jews did into the promised land, and through the woods, the wilderness, being led by a loving God.  Who we have tested ourselves this year with our needs that would not have been provided for unless He intervened, for without Him we have nothing.  The joy we will one day experience when we cross that mighty river into heaven...but for now, a word of thanks to and for all who you hold dear and love.  May this day be filled with joy, peace, friendship, and lots of love...and turkey too.  But keep Jesus first, and give thanks as He adds everything else to us...He is all we need.  And “the horse knows the way ...”  So does this biker.

Happy Thanksgiving!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com 

if loud pipes save lives, why aren't all bikers saved?

If you have ever ridden in the rain while touring, you know how special it is waking up to the sun and warmth of it after riding all day and then falling asleep to the rain on the roof.  To look out and see the mist as the water evaporates from the roadway, and how clean and fresh the air is.  You just know that today is going to be special...but that was going to be my dream for tomorrow, as I was waking up in Fargo to a horrendous downpour.  And the weather channel predicted rain for the next few days with high winds, but only 310 miles away laid sunshine.  Not wishing to spend another week, I mean night there, I put on all my rain stuff, and headed west.  Destination Billings for the night, but would end up riding most of the day in the dark and high wind with rain.  Now I like to think of the plains and prairies as one big valley between the Rockies and Appalachians, and today this valley was gong to be stormy.  How stormy you ask?  Well, if you have ever ridden in high winds, leaning to stay straight, you know how the tires wear funny, mine did to the point of scuffing like a tire after track day, now that’s wind.  And for 310 miles across the valley I battled semis at 80+ miles per hour, and other locals who were not impressed by the weather, just another day to them, to me it was survival.  But somewhere over the non-existent rainbow had to be sunshine, just north of the rain I kept telling myself.  And when I got a sun break in Dickinson, the temp had dropped to 39 degrees.  Cold is one thing, wet another, but the combo on a motorcycle is just plain misery.  How bad could Fargo have been for another 3 weeks?

Waking up the next morning in Billings, it was only cold, so I decided to get more miles behind me, and two hours later found myself indulging in massive amounts of hot chocolate in Bozeman, a quick two hour ride.  It seems 39 is the magic temp this time of year, as the thermometer was stuck there, in the sun.  I was still cold, and about to get colder when a couple rode up on an Ultra Glide.  I watched, no I stared as they walked in-she in a wind breaker and he in a T-shirt.  Just another day for them, I tried to hide behind the cups of hot chocolate sot hey wouldn’t see me, but they did, wishing me good morning, and exclaiming what a beautiful day to ride.  And I nodded, being nice, as compared to yesterday, and add another 40 degrees and I would have to agree.  But at least it wasn’t raining, and the wind had quit, I was through the valley, about to pass the mountains, and an easy 1400 mile two day ride home.  Home on the range may be a great old song, but I had had enough rain and cold to make me utter some discouraging words, only hoping that the skies wouldn’t be sunny all day.  Through the valley of the shadow of death  had ridden....

Now the saying says “loud pipes save lives.”  They sure do get your attention.  But if loud pipes do save lives, why aren’t more bikers saved?  Maybe religion and bikers don’t mix, but I have both, and find they do.  When in the spirit after my open heart surgery, I woke up telling Theresa that I had seen the gates of hell, but wasn’t sure what it meant.  I had other things on my mind, like learning to swallow, to walk, and breathe on my own, so I concentrated on them, but later asked God what He had meant.  And He explained simply, the gates of hell shall not prevail, as He was building His church, using His son Jesus, to build it on.  I knew the verse, or thought I had, but then He added, the gates don’t keep you out of hell, only Jesus does.  Wow-the gospel in all its simplicity, in one line.  Jesus is the way, even in the valley of the shadow of death, or from Bismarck to Bozeman.  He is there in the highs and the lows, sometimes dragging me kicking and screaming, or sometimes just holding my throttle hand steady against the wind.  Taking me through the storm, not around it.  And like a friend told me after hearing of my surgery, “wow you walked through the valley of the shadow of death.”  “No I didn’t,” I answered, “I had to be carried.”  And He will carry you through whatever the day throws at you.  Wind and rain-He can calm them.  Even if the valley is so large it is called the mid-west.  He is there.

And so loud pipes may save lives, but Jesus and only Jesus saves souls.  He is the only escape from hell, the gate to keep hell in, and you out.  And He goes on to say that you have the power here on earth to bind and loose things in His name.  His will be done.  And there are storms ahead, on the horizon that you will have to go through, and you will need the helmet of salvation.  So when someone argues that loud pipes save l lives, I smile.  But I still wear a helmet, my choice, just like Jesus is my choice.  He is the helmet of salvation I wear daily, not leaving home without it, and even looking stylish around the house with it on.  I don’t ride unprotected, I don’t want to live unprotected.  for Bismarck is not the only place where storms occur.  And there are smaller valleys to cross other than the mid-west. 

So if loud pipes save lives, why aren’t all bikers saved?  They still need Jesus.  You see not all ride, not all live in Fargo, and not all are in the valley-yet.  We don’t know the day of our death, so we need Jesus when it occurs.  And I have found Him  great to have around even on nice days, reminding me how even without the promise of heaven He is worth serving.  Heaven is just the bonus.  And after a few days crossing the valley of the mid-west, I was ready to be in the mountains-again like Jesus did.  Which makes the ride all that much better.

Only Jesus saves, but just like loud pipes the gospel annoys people.  But they need to hear it, even over the noise of loud pipes.  And those gates-I am glad to spend today, and every day riding on this side of them, and then into eternity, never crossing over.  You see you get to make the choice, and if you deny Jesus here, you get hell there-no turning back.   A one way gate in-again only Jesus keeps you out.  That bright sunny day of warmth after the storm.  The sunshine on the other side of the clouds.  Jesus Christ-it’s hell without Him.  Only He saves.  And the gates of hell shall not prevail.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

Favorian logic

His real name was Tim, and we met him in Florida, sharing an apartment with his cousin Jack.  He had just been dishonorably discharged from the Army for beating up a Captain, “aren’t soldiers supposed to fight?” and was one of a kind-fortunately.  He had troubles with the English language, among other things claiming Ponce Peon not Ponce De Leon found the fountain of youth, Tubular Bells was Too Many Bells, and earned the name Por Favor when watching a Night Gallery episode with a butler named Portifoy, who he thought was Por Favor, hence his name.  If he couldn’t out think it, he beat it up, hence a trail of broken, bumped, bruised, and barely fixable followed him.  And as we got to know him better, the legend that he would never be a rich favor, but only a Por Favor became evident.

Now Favor was a guy who could find away to do things the wrong way easier than anyone I have ever met.  He had an old 1965 Buick with bald tires, slicks he called them, and would shift his Powerglide unmercifully.  When the car finally wouldn’t stop, he replaced the front brake shoes, by jacking up the front of his car using a bumper jack, replacing the shoes, then racing up and down the street at 60 mph, and slamming on the brakes, locking them up.   When heyh had faded to the point of no stopping, he declared them broken in, Favorian logic.  And somehow it worked, and yesterday meeting up with a group to ride to a funeral, I can tell you Favorian logic is still alive and well-although maybe on life support, and has spread to the west coast.  Pulling up on a press bike, a 2014 Street Triple, I must have looked like the Yuppie in the group.  There were old Nortons, Royal Enfields, /5 and /7 BMW’s, and more old Triumphs that were self lubricating than I had seen in a while.  All reminding me why the Japanese motorcycle invasion only took a few years, and why so many worship at the House of Honda and Yamaha.  Many bikes that I wondered what they had started out as, such as a Triumph Sprint RS with a GSXR fork, and other junkyard bits for a fairing.  A KTM with mesh screen and duct tape covering a hole in a muffler.  One pre-unit Triumph so covered in oil, no chance of rust ever happening here, and low maintenance too, don’t change the oil, add a quart every 100 miles.  Another pre-unit with a leather seat was so worn the packing was worn out too, TT pipes, or their home grown equivalent as they had been sawed off, hacked really, and three, yes three Thunderbird sports, circa 1998, the one like I had that ate tachs every 1000 miles, some so bad they never worked out of the box.  When Triumph found they were bad, sent them out for bid to be replaced.  A Taiwanese company took one, copied it for less, and Triumph bought the bid, and the same tach, doing the same things as the expensive Italian ones.  Favorian logic again.  There was a 1977 BMW R100S, with Dunstall pipes-real pipes, I know because I had the real ones once, and the copies later-again Favorian logic.  Many newer Bonnevilles, with all the good stuff either removed by an accident, or to make it rideable after.  And to a man, friendly, living in their own Favorian world, and even a man on a newer Harley, who answered when asked didn’t he bring his one of his old bikes answered, “this is the only one you can’t kick start, and it is too early to fight with one.”  Imagine that, the Harley being the modern one....

And when it was time to go, a question rose of how we were going to ride, and the answer was another yelling “let’s ride.”  And we did, taking over 25 minutes to go 6 miles..top speed for many I was sure, and immediately I pulled behind an old Norton racer, and inhaled the fumes of racing castor for the ride.  Right next to the BMW with the Dunstalls-I was in sensory overload, on the way to a funeral.  Was it possible I was already among the dead, or had they all been resurrected?

I began to realize I seek more rom riding, and am blessed to get it.  I have ridden in 48 states, and get another 2014 tomorrow to ride, fresh out of the crate.  My 1978 GS1000 is a pretty boy next to my riding buddies yesterday, how would she have felt, no leaks, and still pulls red line in 4th at 120.  I am anything but a Yuppie, I detest them, but can appreciate both schools of thought, the right way and the Favorian logic.  And somehow they both co-exist, all you who think your Co-exist bumper sticker is trendy, try one using the above on one-now that would be cool.  But I seek more, so I ask more questions, read more, and find myself with a group of riders who go fast and know why, who fix things right, and who change the oil rather than topping it off.  And so it is with my relationship with God.  I am glad to thank Him in the good times, not just call on Him when something fails.  I find His promises true, and when trouble strikes, He is more than duct tape and screen to fix my leak.  He deals with the cause, often times me, in a loving way, and draws me closer to Him.  And I am glad to talk to others who are deeper than me, unlike the man who always goes to the parts counter, gets info then off to the junk yard.  No respect for himself or the machine, or the relationship with it, and all the money spent fixing it again,again often adds up to more than doing it right the first time.  Favorian logic...if you can’t out think...you end up spending more and never getting it right.  The old statement of “I rather be riding applies to me,”  and although many like to ride, they rather fix...I rather ride.  And so it is with Jesus, I rather ride. 

Personally I hate it when I am reminded to count it all joy when in various trials.  And they are everywhere, even outside of Favorian logic.  But James is stressing the point that in the difficulties I will see the goodness of God.  So Peter then exhorts us not to look at the difficulties, but look to the cross.  Where the victory over sin was won.  Simply put, if you never got sick, you wouldn’t need the Great Physician.  If not poor you wouldn’t need Jehovah Jireh, the great provider.  If not confused, you wouldn’t need the wonderful counselor.  And if not a sinner, you wouldn’t need a savior, and the answer to all is Jesus Christ!  Yet some choose Favorian logic, their choice when they can’t understand.   I find it easier to go to Jesus directly.  His book states “he never saw the righteous hungry, or their children begging food.”  And as I looked at my new riding friends yesterday, their bikes needed a savior, but so did they, which is why God puts us out among them. 

Trouble with your faith, if you are having difficulties Jesus old us we would have tribulation, see you have works to prove your faith and His words.  Sadly Favorian logic works for a while, why not choose one that lasts forever?  The name is Jesus-the same in all languages, the only name you have to remember.  The true fountain of youth, for we will never see death in Him.  Yesterday reminded me of how some rides never die, Favorian logic keeps them on the road.  I’m glad I chose the road with Jesus on it, like Ecclesiastes tells us, a time to die.  Some motorcycles just haven’t read that part yet, have you?

It also says a time to live....I like that.  Which gives me more time to ride, the fountain of youth.  Imagine if Ponce De Leon had ridden motorcycles?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

Abraham, Martin, and John-and Bobby, too

50 years ago today I was an over active fourth grader in Mrs. Vanderbilt’s class at Shackamaxon School in Scotch Plains.  School let out at around three, but just before that we were told school was letting out early-hooray!  Must be something special, we didn’t know what, but we didn’t care-school’s out and so were we, starting our weekend early.  But by the time we all got on the bus, the word had been passed that President Kennedy had been shot, and our moods turned somber.  We were the Baby Boomers, and our generation hadn’t known depression, war, or hardships  like our parents had, but then the bus driver told us the news.... President Kennedy was dead, assassinated-a big word we weren’t sure of, and the bus got quiet.  Probably the quietest bus ride any of us was to take, we weren’t sure what to do or say, and some cried.  Others sat in shock, while others couldn’t wait to get home to their mothers, and feel safe.  We had questions, we just didn’t know it yet, and 50 years later we still have questions that either have been unanswered, or have not been answered to a satisfaction that we can believe what really happened.  A day that shook America and the world, we all remember where we were that day...I’m sure you do to.  And we were never the same....

It was a hot not quite summer evening, my Father’s birthday, but that wasn’t the news of the day.  Bobby Kennedy, JFK’s younger brother, had been shot the night before in LA, and died that day.  Campaigning for the presidency, he was shot while leaving through the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel.  But that night instead of listening to Cousin Brucie on WABC, they played over and over the sound track from it.  The first time I heard it lying in bed, I thought it was live-but I thought this happened last night, how could it?  But then hearing it again and again, somehow I couldn’t change the station, no matter how much I missed hearing Mrs. Robinson, #1 at the time, or Herb Alpert’s This Guy’s in love with You, there would be no music that night...and I fell asleep a little less secure, wasn’t the Summer of Love just last year, what would this summer bring?  And with a girlfriend and the promise of school being out, somehow this all overshadowed them, another Kennedy was dead.  June 6, 1968, on my Father’s birthday...

And America was in shock, for just two months earlier, a black man whose message was changing civil rights was gunned down in Memphis.  Martin Luther King, the man who once shared with the world about how he had a dream, was also assassinated.  Shaking up America, this non-violent man, a godly man had been taken from us...and we were again in shock.  Again listening to the news, and watching his funeral at my girlfriend’s house, with her ever present mother peeking in, not sure that a 13 year old couple who was all hands and glands would care about history, but we did, and we watched.  Death has a way of changing a romantic mood, and neither one of us was interested in stolen kisses...besides we would be quizzed on it tomorrow, and with Plainfield on one side and Newark on the other, the remnants of the 1967 riots were still fresh in our minds, and we wondered would it be safe to go to school tomorrow.  We had many black friends, and felt deeply for them, and within a short period in our lives, our Baby Boomer generation had known death on a scale none other had. Suddenly the future that had once been so promising, looked so dismal...

It is appointed to man to die once, and then the judgment.  We know the saying, born once, die twice, born twice, die once-how important it is to be born again and enter the Kingdom Of God upon death.  Ad we find the great patriarch Abraham, dying a peaceful death of old age.  And we find in Genesis 25 where God blessed Isaac after his death.  This man who is mentioned some 70 times in the New Testament, only Moses gets better NT press, he was 175 years old, and I imagine ready for heaven.  But left a legacy behind that only God’s promises to him could and would fulfill.  It is written that all gathered to honor him...if only the media had coverage that day, what a sight that must have been.  But some 1800 years later, another man was to be born, and assassinated, crucifixion, a descendant of old Abe, whose death is still remembered, sadly many times more than His life.  For it is in the death and resurrection of Jesus we place our eternal hope, knowing someday that if we believe we too shall be like Him.  And He has left us the Bible to tell us about Him, to instruct, correct, and reprove.  But as much as we don’t know about His younger days, we all know about His death.  And so it is with Abraham, Martin, and John, and Bobby, too.  We all know about their deaths, but many historians tell us little about their lives.  Maybe it is because it is not as sensational as being murdered, or maybe if they hadn’t been they would have faded into obscurity.  But Jesus was different, and still is today.  He is alive, He defeated death, and the stories of His life are taught worldwide via the gospel.  So stop and consider, other than today being the date of JFK’s fateful ride in Dallas, do we know more about his death than we do his life?  Do we know more about that afternoon in Dealey Plaza than his presidency?  Or his heroics on PT 109?  Or that he was an acclaimed author, read Profiles in Courage, and then see if you agree.  How many ever heard of MLK’s “I have a dream speech, or would have if he hadn’t been assassinated?  Would we have a day off in January if he had died peacefully?  What if Bobby had become president, how would he be remembered?  And Father Abraham, who had many sons...if he hadn’t not trusted god to fulfill his promise to him, would we not have the descendants of Ishmael today?  And look a the trouble they still cause.

So sadly many are more famous in death than in life...only Jesus, the true Son of God, defeated death.  And although many would come after, only those who believe in Him have everlasting life.  There are legends, and there are special times and dates that we remember.  Where were you when you got saved?  The answer for all of us is we were lost.  But He ahs given us each of us a testimony.  And rather than remember where were you when the aforementioned were assassinated, where are you in Christ today?  Is everyday a special day in Him?  Do you remember His death only on Good Friday, or as many do only celebrate on Christmas and Easter?  How do you remember Jesus?  It all comes down to how much you let Him into your daily walk,  not just a holiday to remember.  And unlike all the others in death, only in Jesus do we look ahead.  Imagine if you can the excitement of the women when they found the tomb empty...do we celebrate like that?  Everyday?

If you were alive 50 years ago today, you probably remember where you were.  But where you are with Jesus today is far more important.  So where are you with Jesus?  Is He real and alive in your life?  Or is He just a two day a year holiday?  Ecclesiastes tells us the day of our death is better than the day of our birth. All the men above we celebrate in death.  When our old man dies and we come to Christ it is exciting, but on that day when we die and go to heaven, how can anything be better than that?  To be remembered in death is one thing, to remember Jesus while still alive is better.  You will only know by knowing Him...how will you be remembered?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

night court-Spotswood on my mind

Scripture tells us we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.  One of the first things a new Christian is taught in Romans.  Yet there are times when we are innocent yet found guilty by man.  For example, we were sitting waiting for the judge to render his verdict.  We had provided a good case, I had a good attorney, Jim Walsh, who was the attorney for the Township Of Scotch Plains, and had Paula, my girlfriend as my witness.  Plus I was innocent, I was sure that would have something to do with his verdict.  “All rise,” we were the only ones there, except for a few cops huddled together, “GUILTY!”  And I was shocked, the cops shook hands, and they all smiled at the judge, who grinned back.  But I was outraged, and fortunately Jim held me back from going after the judge-but I did get a few good words in, words not found in any Bible.  I had been screwed over by this small town judge, who was more revenue enhancer than judge, and we left angry.  Jim knew it as a screw job, and offered to take the retrial for free if I wanted, he saw the injustice.  The only wise words the judge gave that night were “we never want to catch you in Spotswood again.”  Gavel banged, case closed.  But before I get ahead of myself, let me go back to the beginning, the night of the crime.

Paula was home from college in Florida and we were going down to Cooper’s house in East Brunswick.  Spotswood is a small town, a hick town, and upon entering its boundaries, a cop car joined along, following close.  Now this was 1974, the fuzz vs. longhairs, and times were bad among them.  We both noted the cop, and drove very carefully, which may caused more suspicion than not driving carefully.  Approaching a light, we moved into the right turn lane, the light was red, so we slowed, signal on.  We had been noting the cop’s movements, and when the light turned green some 50’ away, we proceeded to turn, and so did our shadow, who then hit his lights, and we were pulled over-for going through a red light!  Arguing only would make it worse, and so we decided to fight it, and my Dad agreed, turning me onto Jim, who thought it was a set-up, and would defend me for free, more as a favor to my Dad as anything, but still a good attorney with a good reputation.  Scotch Plains after all was a higher class town...And so Jim filed the papers, and got a continuance to April when Paula would be home on Easter Break.  We were confident, I had a credible witness, but most of all I was innocent-I hadn’t run any red light!

And so the stage was set, and then we got blown out of the water...and anger and huge disappointment set in.  But Jim explained it, but still wrong is wrong.  He told us that no one fought tickets in Spotswood, and they had no night court.  So between asking for a trial, and a postponement, and at night, we were already a thorn in their side.  And then he dropped the bomb, the cops were coached to tell a standard story, and mine didn’t jive with theirs, even it it was the truth.  Let’s get it over and go home, guilty was the scenario, no truth or justice that night, plus him being a city attorney rubbed this small court judge the wrong way.  And since he was the judge, more of a revenue collector, we were an example to not go against his power base ever again.  The only credible words he spoke that night were “we never want to catch you in Spotswood again, “ and he never would.  Any further trips to Cooper’s took the long way.  Maybe this is why I have a dislike for the court system, and feel dirty each time I go, even just to give support or jury duty, I remember Spotswood and never want to go back.

Now God is right when He tells us we have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.  No argument there, but I talk with many who have been given a bad time, shown prejudice in court, and never trust them again.  First time your fault, second time mine, and sadly think of God in the same terms.  They see Jesus, or worse yet have been told Jesus is mad at them, and is out to get them.  Nothing is further from the truth.  Think about it, if God didn’t love us so much, why would He send Jesus to reunite us to Him?  If He wanted to punish us, we would all be dead, but yet judgment awaits us when we die, before the only true and honest ever judge.  No prejudice, and until we draw our last breath on earth, He is trying to get us to repent.  And such is the patience of love that leads to salvation.  And unlike Jim, who was a pretty good attorney, yet we lost, we have the wonderful counselor in Jesus pleading our case for us before His father.  And His father agrees to whatever He tells Him about us, for He is truth.  He never lost, and never loses.  He even took the sentence of death for our sin, but rose again so that we can also.  Only before God will we ever be found guiltless, and told to enter heaven, but only if we have repented and accepted Jesus.  A loving judge, unlike the judge in Spotswood.  He has heard all the excuses, but still provides a way, one way, the only way to be found innocent-Jesus.  And He will be your witness, giving credibility to your salvation, for without Him going before God for you, it is hell, and death.  With Him it is enter in my good and faithful servant.  Me?  The Spotswood avenger?  Yes, all sins are forgiven.  And forgotten, but breaking the law still requires payment here on earth. 

God wants to forgive you, and will give you a honest judgment.  Either way you will know why you are entering heaven, or going to hell.  No retrials, no bail money, no last minute plea bargains. Jesus is it-today.  For we don’t know when life will end, or how, and it is better to go into the arms of a loving God than to drive in Spotswood.  Today when I think of Spotswood I think of everything wrong in the court system, But when I think of Jesus I see justice for all.  From a loving God,  who even offers the court system in Spotswood the chance of salvation.  And just like in the eyes of a loving God, who sees no sin in me, I’m forgiven, you will never see me in Spotswood again either.  Let God be God and all men liars-Jesus Christ, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  So help me God-aren’t you glad He is?  I can only hope a certain judge in Spotswood sees it God’s way.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

 

the bike still gets the best Castrol

It started as kids, hanging out after school playing kickball without teachers.  Soon we were riding bikes together, then hanging out with girls.  But as we got older and rode, soon it was afternoons at the bike shop, and as we got older, Saturday’s too when too cold or rainy to ride.  A place where everybody knew your name, or at least the nickname they had given you.  Where Tuesday’s donuts had gotten hard and marked their spot with grease by Saturday, and where we felt at home.  And in our own minds needed.  Sometimes we would help sweep up and empty trash, like Jay Leno did for Bud Ekins.  No fancy celebrities here.  We would help moving bikes around, and for some of us we spent so much time there customers thought we worked there.  We got to see the new models early, and when offered a test ride-but don’t tell anyone, we did and didn’t.  Remember the first 1982 Katanas-I rode one.  Fast!  The same with the first Rocket 3-such were the benefits of friendship.  On some rainy days when things were slow, we would get a discount after much negotiating, read begging, and then to the shop where we begged again to have the part installed.  After spending too much time helping and talking with the mechanics, who were already behind thanks to us, and had other bikes to finish that were promised for the weekend-which started on Sunday and ended on Monday.  Remember those motorcycle shop days off?  But somehow it all got done, and we repeated the process again the next week.  Same donuts, same conversations, new Cycle magazine, and more bench racing.  With a little more than the free memories, and the free t-shirt you were given as a reminder.  You were part of a brotherhood, more than those that rode, you were part of the shop, and even if it was a small part, an annoyance was how you were referred to, it was those times and friends that made it all worthwhile.  So talking with Dan yesterday, who started fixing bikes when he was a mechanic, we laughed about the good times, being broke, but not broken, for the rule in many homes was like ours was, we can eat hot dogs and potatoes, the bike gets the best Castrol.  The things some parents do for their kids, we did and still do for riding motorcycles.

But a quick glance on the inside of doing business, made me glad I didn’t.  The shop owners were in it for love, and obviously not the money.  It was rumored some shops went broke buying donuts every week.  Just a rumor.  But while we had real jobs, and could hang out, as a shop owner you were open 24/7, before the term became popular.  Seeing the parts guy at a Mickey D’s, you asked about the new Yosh header, while all he wanted was some time alone away from the shop.  And anytime a mechanic would see someone stuck on the side of the road, he would stop to help, many times his wife going to his kid’s programs alone, and facing her wrath when he got home, usually after her.  But this was our brotherhood, and we did it without pay many times, but paying the price in other ways.  We became good will ambassadors for motorcycling and the shop, and we were glad to do it.  And we still do it today...

Two things you must know about pastors is no matter how much they are paid, it isn’t enough.  And no matter now many hours they work, there aren’t enough.  For what appears to be an hour long gig on Sundays, is really a 24/7, there’s that term again affair.  See your pastor out with his family, instantly you want to stop and say hi, and you should-then respect his privacy too.  If you want to unload about your current problem, make an appointment and go see him.  Don’t interrupt his family time.  I have also found that pastors like to ride, and many are at least into cars.  Find a common ground and talk about it with them, they could use the break.  Jesus was a carpenter, how many framers and cabinet men did He meet and talk business, forming a relationship?  And getting to know Him, wanted to know Him, leading to salvation.  For like bike shops, Jesus is all about relationships, the main one being with His father.  Remember that when you think you must go out witnessing, you could be being a witness and building a relationship, while ministering at the same time.  What a novel thought!  An ambassador fro Christ!  Being who you are in Christ, when you are out in the world!  It is not unusual for me to have others come over and want to talk about riding when they hear us, and it is the same about Jesus.  We have a passion about both, but only one saves.  So again consider the pastor....

When he tells you to be a witness, be one.  Not of your church, that is OK to, but of Jesus.  Be willing to answer questions and listen to them.  Just like you once did.  For just like our gang at the bike shop, it took time to fit in, it takes time to build a great relationship, and takes even more to maintain it.  Show some respect of who Jesus is when out!  And show some for your pastor too.  We in the biker world know all about respect, if only the church could get over it!  Oh and if you see your pastor out, greet him and leave, leaving him a love offering.  Cover his check, without telling him.  Show him some love, it may not be tax deductible, but God sees it.  Show some love, and respect.  Like my wife reminds me whenever anyone else buys the meal it tastes better.  Add some taste to your pastor.  And start a revolution of showing love.

The ministry of just being there.  Works in church, outside of church, at diners, and at bike shops.  And just like Jesus, who taught in church, He ministered on the street, just like we do.  Meeting people, making friends, and building relationships.  And if it works in church, or diners, or at bike shops, imagine how it could work at the gym, the golf course or the tennis courts.  Of course these places aren’t as cool as church or bike shops, but they need Jesus too.  Jerusalem may be the next shop ahead, Judea a man stuck on the side of the road, and the outer areas the golf course.  It starts with just two people, and you find Jesus among them.  Pray for us, and pray for your pastors.  They need a place to hang too, if yours doesn’t ride, invite to on ride...could be the best invite ever!  Just introduce him as your friend, give him a chance to make his own relationships.  Somehow those old meals of hot dogs and tater tots weren’t so bad after all.  The things we do for love should be for more than our motorcycles.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com