I miss the old gas stations, the ones with the bells that ring, or rather
clang when you run over the hose. Alerting the attendant, and soon seeing a
face to fill your tank, check your oil, and put air in your tires. A far cry
today from where you put your card in the in the pump, and the only interaction
is “do you want a receipt?” I think that most of us of the age of service
stations did our time in one, and can remember the smell of high octane, the
license plate snapping back when removing the hose from the fuel filler behind
it, how many lost digits is still not available, and the group of men who always
seemed to be hanging out, with nothing better to do. Back at a time when the
brand you put into your ride mattered, and for us it was Sunoco, 260, racing gas
at the pump. Super premium, because just premium wouldn’t do. As it we could
tell the difference. But a few extra cents per gallon spent wisely. And it has
been awhile since I enjoyed one, but one morning somewhere in West Virginia will
always stick out in my mind.
I was on a ride to New Jersey from Escondido, and I left at 530 pm on
Friday night. I was at the Sunoco at about 10 am on Monday morning, and would
end up at my destination in a little under 70 hours, travelling some 2900+
miles. A lot of things stand out, but this Sunoco station holds a special
place, for no particular reason than it was there. It had been raining, I had
spent the night in Lexington, Kentucky, and rode in rain and cool that morning.
Just over the state line into West Virginia, the clouds broke ,the sun came out,
and a new day was dawning. Suddenly the warmth of the sun changed the ride and
my attitude, and I couldn’t wait to get my rain suit off. And the Sunoco
station, short for Sun Oil Co. seemed like a good place. Filling up, I then
sat in the sun on a bench, and took off my riding suit. I was sharing a bench
with an old man, who never spoke, but watched intently. The owner, who was
running things, this station was very busy, started a conversation with me when
he saw the California tags. “How long you been on the road? Where you from?
Where are you going?” And the list went on. But when I told him I had left
California Friday night, he was impressed. So much that he told everyone, and
suddenly I was a celebrity. “Do you know what this man did? He drove that bike
from San Diego since Friday night?” And a legend was born, as soon the group of
men were impressed enough to start sharing stories of their long rides. Or
rides they hoped to do. Each person that pulled up to the pump was pointed to
me, the guy from California. Rode there on his motor sickle. And as I took off
my rain suit, it was as if they saw who Clark Kent really was. Or was it the
other way around. That one morning at the Sunoco station in West Virginia
somewhere had an impact on many lives, and I am sure the story was told for some
time.
To me just another fuel stop, in another state, but for those whose daily
routine is so routine, a big event. I left laughing to myself of how the old
timers would go home and tell their wives. And how they would nod and say “yes
dear,” and how dreams of a long vacation, or a ride were awakened again. If
that guy could do it, so could they. But somehow the telling would never be the
same as the doing. Just a 20 minute break from routine in daily lives, for me
no big deal, but for those there that morning, the news of the day. Or week.
And the things that dreams are made of.
When old friends meet, no matter how often or where, the talk will always
turn to one event, one thing that they can share with each other, and brag to
new comers about because they were there. It wasn’t legend or hearsay to them,
they met the man, saw the bike, took the picture. They might even be in the
picture, but they were there. And the memories may fade, the details change,
but they were there. In the picture, part of the story. An approach I like to
take in my walk with Christ. Too many churches, fellowships, or studies have
become routine. The same message told over and over, relating what they were
taught but with no new insight. Like the guys at the Sunoco station, life is
predictable, then someone comes into their lives for a few moments and thing
change. Too much religion is like that, the same songs, same prayers, same
story at Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, or Thanksgiving. And we wonder why
people quit coming to church. Why they seem to be stuck in a rut? They have
all the gifts of the spirit available to them, but never take advantage of
them. And for those who do, they soon become different, and many times
unwelcomed. A threat to others, as the newfound freedom challenges others, who
don’t realize they are dead. And take umbrage against anything new or
different.
But then others like the men at the Sunoco station get excited. It wakes
them up, and they dream again. They look back to fond memories, and soon are
rejuvenated. One tells of an old ride, then another, and soon the bench racing
is alive, where once it was dead. Or at least in a coma. God has given each
one of us a testimony to share, to encourage, enliven, or to lead to salvation
for the lost. A story we didn’t just hear, but were a part of, and still are.
An excitement is created when Jesus is shared, and the story of how he changed
the lives of us. Others listen attentively, some may turn away, yet we never
know the full effect our story may have on others. We leave that up to God, and
his spirit. Jesus told us as we go share the gospel, the good news of him. Too
many wait for words, looking for the chance, while others live the life, and the
words just come. When St. Francis of Assisi advised “to preach the word daily,
and if needed use words,” he was talking to us. For our light to shine in
darkness, but not to blind the one who it was aimed at. God creates the
situations, it is up to us to be who he wants us to be in them. How many times
have I been able to share Jesus with an audience who otherwise would not listen
just because I rode? Just because I ride and love the Lord and take it for
normal, doesn’t mean others do too. “You ride a motorcycle and are a
Christian?” You mean you don’t? Or aren’t?
One unplanned stop at a non-descript Sunoco station in West Virginia caused
a small uproar. Daily routines were shifted, and a new memory was made. We
never think of evangelizing at a gas station, but why not? Too many think
evangelizing is inviting someone to church, yet we find Jesus lived on the
road. He was where the action was, he was the action. Tired of hearing but not
doing? Get out and share what Jesus has done in your life. Quit hiding in a
church, and go out and be the church. Using words when needed. Maybe talk to
the guy at the register. Or the kid interested in your bike. All things work
together, and if a loving God can use motorcycles to aid in sharing the gospel,
what are you missing? What has Jesus done in your life today that feels better
when shared with others? It may only be a ride to Walmart, but people
everywhere are looking, searching, and wanting to know. Just not preached at,
like you. For me it was 20 minutes out of a 70 hour ride, in a place without
name. The importance of getting out and effecting the lives of others. A time
of refreshing, sharing the love of Jesus. A time to share about good times.
Today will be the good old days we refer to some day. By the blood of the lamb
and the word of your testimony we are saved. Jesus did his part, are you doing
yours?
In this age of self serve, who are you serving? Some believed, and some
believed not. Believe is a verb, is it to you?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogpsot.