I still wave at trains

Long ago when all my politically correct 5 year old friends wanted to be firemen, I wanted to be an engineer-I wanted to drive a train! Just the thought of driving a mega-ton train, with hundreds of cars behind it has always captivated me. And it must be a freight train-no passengers unless they were the obligatory hobos. No this was to be a freight train, taking the goods to market and keeping America strong. I wanted to be the one sitting in the window, and I wanted to wave to all the kids who waved at me. To see America riding the rails. So I still wave at trains today-and they still wave back. It doesn't get much more American than that.

I will blame this on both my grandfathers. My Pappy used to take me to the train yard where he was in charge of checking all the numbers of the freight cars. I thought he owned them, or at least was the President of the line because he had a clipboard and he checked everything. And he said hi to everyone, and they said hi back. Calling him Mr. Murphy. He was important. I could see him riding the rails, waving to kids, one of them me. And I would tell my friends, "that's my Pappy," and they would be so jealous. Cool, huh? And my other grandfather used to take me down to Bangor's roundhouse on Friday nights after dinner. We would walk through the yards, check out the roundhouse, and he explained to me all about trains. Between my grandfathers, I thought trains were the coolest things in the world, and that my grandfathers knew everything, and everyone that was important. People even called them Mister-wow!

I can remember the trains rolling through Pen Argyl and past my Aunt and Uncle's house. Miles of coal cars, box cars, and tank cars. We knew all of them. They were loud, even better. And how sadly when they tore up the tracks when the coal mines went bust, due to the steel mills closing in Bethlehem. A deafening silence. The beginning of the end in many ways. I also remember the tracks between South and North Avenues-running from Elizabeth to Plainfield and beyond, past my house-and how after school we would stand on the bridge on Hetfield or Martine Avenue and watch them. Trying to count the cars, but never quite completing the task. Waving to the train as it approached, and without fail, the engineer waving back. Sometimes a blast from the horn, which we would think was meant for us, but usually just a safety warning. But it was personal-did you hear that, they were blowing the horn for us? As they went thundering below us.

But trains don't run like that anymore. No more cabooses, now they have computers. Whatever happened to the great names like the Jersey Central, Pennsylvania RR, Erie Lackawanna, and the Lehigh Valley? Names we grew up with, now gone and replaced with non-romantic names like CSX, BNSF, and others. Only the A,T, &SF-the Atchison, Topeka, and the Santa Fe remain. But mostly in my memories. Sing on Judy G!

But times change, and so do we. The things we learn early in life get filed somewhere in the past, as new and more exciting things replace them. Or so we think. From peer pressure, to social pressure, to life interfering, we now have a tendency to look back instead of looking ahead. Maybe the outlook of the future has something to do with it. Just watch the news, it ain't good. It seems we have no future-even Amtrak has never made money-another leisure activity of the Federal Government. No thanks. But yet I watch and wonder as people turn to the government for help instead of turning to God. I listened the other morning as a Christian friend told of how she needed money, and was asking her friends for help-to little or no avail. I listen as churches ask their people for money, or as missionaries tell us how they can't make it without financial help. It has to come from YOUR support, so dig into your pockets just one more time. And I sit disappointed as man relies more upon man for help, rather than going directly to God. Trust me, my finances are shaky on a good day-so why ask me for help? Wouldn't it make more sense to go directly to the one in charge? To go directly to God, from whom ALL blessings flow?

How would you feel if you were God, and had all the resources to fill all the needs of the world-and your people went to other sources first? How many times do you need to hear Matthew 6:33, "Seek first the kingdom of God, and its righteousness, and then all things will be added unto you..." before you believe it? But more importantly, do you trust it? As Christians we all claim to a belief in God, but do we trust Him? When Jesus says to trust and obey, why don't we? Has our relationship gone the way of the railroads, supplanted by government endowments, 401k's, loans, and good paying jobs? Have we let life interfere with the one who gives life-and gives it abundantly?

Why not go back to the the early times when we first believed, and trusted God-just because He was, and is, and will always be God? Let's go back to when we first met Jesus, and somehow knew our lives had been changed, and that He had everything in control. Let's go back to when it was personal-for like the trains, it wasn't the trains that left the track, or God who changed-it was us! So today I challenge you-pray for something, being so brave that only God can solve it. That it will fail unless Jesus can intervene. And that only God will get credit for it. For unlike the engineer who waved back at us, He waves first. He loved us first, while sinners, and still loves us today. Look for that familiar wave of Jesus, inviting you to spend time with Him. Get out of your roundhouse of pride, and trust God. And wave to others, and marvel as they wave back. Jesus calls it love-and that is why I still wave to trains. And why I trust God today more than ever. The important things are slipping away everyday, don't let Jesus be on your list of casualties. But more important, don't be on His list of those that turned away. For the next train may not be going in your direction.

Jesus Christ. Can I hear an amen? ALL ABOARD!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

highway 1 revisited, again

Rider magazine's first issue in 1974 had an article called "highway 1, you ultimate one..." about the PCH between Cambria and Carmel. It was some 3000 miles away from this Jersey boy, but over a million miles away in my dreams that I would ever ride it. But dreams do come true, so do miracles, and less than 18 months later I was to take the first of many trips on the this ultimate road. In fact so many times that I became "Highway 1'ed out," and the road had lost a lot of its appeal. But the love is alive again, and here are some trips that made it special. With my trip last week in the truck with Theresa flooding my soul with precious memories. It is always more fun travelling with your best friend.

It was August of 1975, and John from Jersey, whom I had met in Santa Monica was riding back home with me. Everything to him was "outrageous," and so was Highway 1. The road never seemed to end, and although we were to go to Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Carlsbad Caverns in the next few days, none would have the affect on me the coast road would. And still does today, I found out 37 years later.

My first motorcycle ride up Highway 1 was with Rex in 1982. We weren't sure where it began, so from San Diego up to Cambria, any sign that said 1 we got off on, and wasted a lot of time. Ignorance will dot hat to you. But when we finally got to the road, we were disappointed to find it closed-a huge landslide had closed the road to all but local traffic, some 32 miles north of Cambria. Our dream ride over, or so we thought. So spending the night in the Piedra Blancas Motel, we listened to the rain and wind howl, bummed out. Two riders, two friends, who made a pact that night that if anything ever was to happen to me, Rex would take care of Theresa and Christopher-no Andrew yet. Then it dawned on us-if the road was closed, that meant no traffic, and a 64 mile round trip with the road to ourselves. So the next day, we awoke excited, it was cold but sunny, and we raced up and down that section 3 or 4 times, as fast as we could, using both lanes as there was no traffic to deal with. Better than any dream I could have ever dreamed. Sadly this was the last ride Rex would ever take, as he died less than a week later. And I had to find it out from reading it in the obituaries. I'll never forget that night, or that day. And I still miss Rex. Maybe Highway 1 is the ultimate, the last ride. It was for Rex.

Don Short and I made the same trip next March. He was on his new Interceptor, and we were both riding too fast-stupid fast. The road was clear, but cold, and we were shivering, but pressing on. Suddenly we came around a corner, and leaning against the cliff wall was a Suzuki, that had been down. Like a warning sign for us, we both slowed down the pace, but not the fun. That vision still stands out in my head, and I ride smarter today thinking of it.

We were going to meet Brett and Jeff and then the 8 of us would go to San Francisco, then down the coast. It was cold, and in Coulterville Milt and Jackie had split off from us-the seat of his V-Max threatening to end his marriage. But the rest of us carried on, and raced down Highway 1 at ridiculous speeds. In very cold, rainy, and dark weather. We were to spend the night in Santa Barbara, and I called ahead because we were running late. No problem, the owner left the key under the mats for the rooms, and we got in way after midnight. Again Highway 1 tempting and testing us, but all of rising to the occasion and beating her once again. My first north to south ride. Six friends, 4 bikes, one road. And one way cool motel owner.

Highway 1 in so many ways is the ultimate road. But just prior to my first ride in 1975, I met the ultimate one, Jesus Christ. And I need to testify that being on the road with Him is the ultimate ride. I have never seen Highway 1 without Him, so I cannot compare the beauty before I met Him. But I do know this, any road with Him is much better than the same road without Him. Jesus Christ makes the difference. He is more than the bike, the road, or the company you ride with. He is with you, all the time. And for me, He points out such beauties, lets us have divine interventions that others call luck, and has given me life. Life I didn't know I didn't have. And it continues just as fresh today as it did 37 years ago.

Stopping in Gorda last week, I talked with an old local, who had seen so much of Highway 1 and those who fall in love with it. When I mentioned the landslide in 1983, his face it up. He remembered it too, and without many words shared, we both went back to our landslide trips in 1983. Roads will change us, and Highway 1 did in ways I didn't know. And sharing the ride with Theresa last week brought many back-and invigorated new ones. For as beautiful as the road is, it comes alive with someone you love to share it with.

Just like life. Share your life with Jesus. Enjoy the trip, and as the memories grow, and as you change, enjoy the fellowship with Him. Only heaven will be better, but for now the roads we travel here will have to do. Just make sure your road leads to Him, so that it leads to heaven. Jesus Christ-the ultimate one, who gave it all. Who makes any road I travel with Him the ultimate road because He is with me. It had been too many years between trips up the 1, don't let any more time slip away from you and Jesus. When you find that ultimate road, don't stray from it. You never know what is around the next corner, it is so reassuring to ride with someone who does.

That's my story. What's yours? Stop and thank Jesus now. And let the good times roll...and ride!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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find it in the yellowed pages

Going through some old pictures and books the other day, I hadn't realized how long it had been. First the fine covering of dust let me know it had been too long between looks. So after blowing off the dust, I opened up the first book, and noticed the pages were yellowed around the edges, not as I remembered them last time I looked. And they had become brittle, so I had to be careful turning them so I didn't end up with parts tearing off. No need destroying a clue to the mystery if I didn't have to. So turning the pages with more care and concern than I started off with, I found that I studied each page a bit more, that I took more time to read it than just the glances I had planned. And soon found myself embroiled in a story, and my hunt for something to read had ended. Not quite in the way I wanted it to, actually better. For the old pages, combined with the dust, forced me to spend time in a place that I hadn't planned on. But was thankful for.

Later I went digging through some old pictures that somehow never got put into books, but were stored in boxes. Same thing, dust, they were hard, and I had to handle them with care. So I found myself taking time to look at them, and retrace some precious memories that otherwise in my haste would have been glanced over. I was able to remember times, dates, faces, and precious memories, and the five minute look through the box turned into almost an hour of fun. How we had looked so young, were so full of life, had so many dreams, and how the memories of 30 years ago were somehow fresher than what I had for lunch yesterday. I found myself thankful, for both the memories and the years, and also took notice of how the aging process of both the pages of the books, and the photos reflected in my body. We had all gotten older together, the book reminded me of how much smarter I had gotten, the pictures reminded me of how if only I was that smart then, if only then I knew what I do now...Memories will do that to you.

"What would you change in your life if you could?" I have been asked. Usually after I have shared my testimony. My answer has always been, and will always be the same-nothing. For no matter the situation, I am glad to be where I am right now-with God. You see the book I picked up was an early Bible of mine. A book that no matter how hard I had partied that night, I tried to read a book of the Bible before going to sleep-or passing out. Can't say how much I remember, the fact that the word never returns void is proof enough that I remember at all. But this soft covered, Living Bible, was my insight to God. It was my friend. And treasure. And I had read it so much, that most of Genesis, and parts of the pages of Revelation were missing. Worn off. It reminded me that Christianity wasn't for sissies, and that it took a tough man, with a huge heart, to die for us, while we were still sinners. Who on that Good Friday were still mocking and taunting him. And how some still do today. It took me to Jesus. My early Bible showed me that a Bible that is worn out reflects a life that isn't. And how one verse is worth a thousand memories.

But the photos. They made me shiver while remembering of when I was baptized in a mountain stream, at 8900' at El Porvenir. Where along with other young Christians who had just come to Jesus were dipped in the cold stream that May. And how the before and after pictures reflect a different countenance-showing the world the difference Jesus made in my life. The outward evidence of an inward change. How I had to be talked into it, actually encouraged by my brothers, because I didn't want religion, and didn't understand. How love the night before showed me why, and then how I couldn't wait. Not a ceremonial baptism like infants, that's religion, but a testimony to all who would see or hear, that I had given my life to Jesus Christ. With my friend Brett, celebrating in the background. Who we didn't know would be home and celebrating in heaven in just a few years from a motorcycle accident. My friend that day and always. Where one picture was worth a thousand memories. More than words...

Take the time to stop and reflect on the blessings God has provided over the years for you. Share them with others. Encourage them to trust God. We tend to share all the good times first, but like I found that day, it is in the tough times that the best memories are made. When I was weakest, He was strongest. And how we now look forward to heaven with a new excitement each morning. But as long as we are still here on earth, God has plans for us. So get into the word. The gospel means good news. Carry a camera. God has precious memories for you today that you don't know about. Spend time with Jesus. For just one day in His house, is better than thousands elsewhere.

Turn the pages slowly, and handle the photos with care. They are that special. Just like God made them, and just like He made you. You don't want to miss a thing. Plan today to spend time with someone you hadn't planned on spending time with-let that person be Jesus. For the best is yet to come. Roll film.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot

sequence failed continuity

Peter and I took off from Mariposa that Sunday morning after little sleep and a lot of miles the day before. We had breakfast, then headed down old Hiway 99, then intersected with I-5 and over the Grapevine. After 200 miles of California freeway, we longed for some curves, so we got off and I was going to lead him through some great roads, getting off on SR138. I had ridden them before, and told Peter, who has a history of falling-"RIDE YOUR OWN RIDE!" It is not a race, but a ride. So we took off, and I was way ahead. But keeping him in my mirrors as well as I could, for awhile, I lost him. So at the next intersection, I stopped and waited. And waited. And the second worse thing that can happen while riding with someone happened. The next vehicle was not him, but a black pickup. "Were you riding with a guy on a yellow Yamaha?" he asked, and my heart sunk. For his next words were the worst thing that can happen while riding. "He went off the road about two miles back." So I hurried back, only to find Peter ok, shaken, not stirred, the bike ridable, and both it and Peter would finish the trip home. A worst case scenario had a somewhat happy ending, and Peter would ride again, and sadly fall again. While riding with me. Ride your own ride, please.

It is customary for pilots to check in a day before to confirm their next flight assignment. For Steve Schribner, when he checked in with American Airlines on September 10, he found that someone with seniority had taken the open flight ahead of him. He had been looking forward to it, but it had happened before, and he had done it to others. That was the way it was. But this September day, and this flight was to be different. He was bumped off as first officer on American flight 11-a plane that was to be flown in to the Twin Towers on 9/11. Steve thought nothing of it, until he was tracking the flight the next day after hearing about planes being hijacked. When the information came up on flight 11, it was chilling. SEQUENCE FAILED CONTINUITY! And every pilot knew the meaning-the flight had not made it to its destination. All those aboard flight 11 that day were dead, in one of the most cunning and horrible attack made on America. But Steve was saved, by someone pulling rank and taking a flight that should of/could of been his. And as his heart broke for those on the plane, his friends, he was also thankful not to be among them. Somehow in God's plan for him, he had rescued him from this tragic flight. Someone had taken his seat, his place. Steve would fly again.

It was another beautiful morning, after a busy weekend. A man who had claimed to be God had been crucified, and on this Sunday morning three men ran to the cave he was placed in. But three women were already there, and found the tomb empty. You see this man, Jesus, had promised to be resurrected on the third day-and this forgotten thought had escaped this group until they met at the tomb. "He is not here, but has risen, just as he said," the angel informed them. A prophecy that upon His death on Friday had spelled Sequence Failed Continuity for the believers, their beloved savior was dead, had turned into a successful prophecy that morning. He is alive! RISEN! Even more compelling when you realize it was you and I who He died for-He took our place that Friday. We should have been nailed to the cross for our sin-but Jesus took it all. He spared us from death and hell, and gave us the chance to become children of God. Just like He had intervened for Steve on 9/11, He intervened for all of us on that Good Friday. He had taken our place. Sequences intact. No failure. Continuity continued. Eternity awaits.

And it still continues today. God has everything under control, even down to who will fly with whom, and where we ride and with whom. Jesus died for all those on 9/11, and for all those up until that fateful morning. And continues to carry out the promises to all who believe today. If we looked on the screen of your life, what message would we read? He is risen, or sequence failed continuity? If we look into the book of life, is your name there? And if we ask you who Jesus is, will you confess that He is the Christ, the living God? Do you believe?

It wasn't Steve's time to die that Tuesday in September, 2001. For only God knows the number of our days. But no one is promised tomorrow. It could end today. OR-today could be your day of salvation. Rescued from death by a living God, who died for you, in your place. No sequence failed continuity here, just His eternal love. It's your choice. The eyes of the Lord run to and fro on the earth to show Himself loyal to those whose heart is loyal to Him. A sequence that never fails.

Jesus Christ-born, died, and resurrected-just like he said. The only flight that you will ever take that is guaranteed to the end. Are you on board? Excuse me, but I want a window seat for this one!

Please watch "In my seat-A pilot's story from Sept. 10-11" on YouTube. Now do you believe?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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rookie mistakes

The first thing you do when buying a new motorcycle is to go show it off. Right? I mean what good is it being new if you can't go and make someone jealous? But it pays to know your audience, for some are just ignorant, and some just don't care. And the two can appear to be the same. But pride of purchase generally overrules any other sense of common, so off you go. And so off I went that day, to visit some family that was visiting. Now the family has no respect for motorcycles, but on this day I had two nephews coming to town. Who ride. Who ride Triumphs. Finally someone to talk too. So as we greeted each other, and it was time to show off my new ride, we immediately ditched the small talk, fake greetings, and the yuppie shortcomings of said nephews and myself, and went out to talk motorcycles. I had just picked up the new bike, and had less than 100 miles on it, and after they both sat on it, and drooled over it, one wanted to hear it. I had the TOR pipe on it, and it really made the sound of the triple sing-just not today. I couldn't get it started-it cranked like an old sewing machine, but wouldn't start. We all felt bad-I just felt stupid. So I quickly went in and called Mick, who ran me through the possibilities. Only to get outside and hear my bike running. I had hit the kill button, a rookie mistake, and the nephews had noted it and turned the bike on. At that point I wouldn't have cared if they had taken it for a ride. They were cool about it, and my invite is open to them to ride my bikes anytime they visit. But just one stupid rookie mistake had taken all the joy out of the moment. At least for me. Pride goeth before the fall, but not very far when your ride won't start. At least I didn't fall.

And I have seen other rookie mistakes-forgetting to turn on the petcock, and running out of gas-usually happens at busy intersections. Going around a corner too fast and skidding on new tires-add water for the slickest stuff you ever want to see. We used to tape my friends horn button down with clear tape, and every time he turned on the key, the horn went off. This was only fun for 20-30 times. Or in my case, not checking the kill switch. We are all rookies at least once, it is the career rookies that scare me.

"Sure I know how to ride," he bragged to his girl friend. I had just sold him a new GT380, fun bike, and he was taking delivery of it. I was skeptical of his statement-he was more yuppie than rider, and as I watched him start it, and rev it up, I stepped in and asked him again. He was lying, I knew it, but girlfriend was all smiles and tight clothes, so the lie was perpetuated. He knew his audience. Her. So after reassuring him that 6000rpm starts weren't needed, he took off at 5000rpm, straight, really veering left into a chain link fence. His first ride had taken all of 3 seconds and 30 feet. For which he immediately blamed the bike, and girlfriend came to his defense-hugging him and promising to stay with him while he healed. A vow I think should be in every biker wedding, "till healing is complete and I ride again"-right before till death do us part. Amazingly he had managed to total his bike in that short ride, some kind of record, and he limped off in her arms to the showroom to find his next victim. Rolex intact, with some real rips in his jeans. The legend continued.

The other day I stopped in NCY, with the newest press bike. I got off and joined the crowd of younger guys talking about their track days. "Do you work here?" I was rudely asked. I replied "no, but you fast guys sure impress me. I hope that someday before I'm too old I can learn to ride. It scares me, but it must be fun going around corners and going over 100mph! Maybe some day if I'm not too old..." And while this young punk bragged to me on his riding skills, and his crashes, I finally had enough-it took less time than the fool riding into the fence, and I walked over to my ride, which that day was a new Speed Triple R, more bike than he and his friends had. He had noticed the bike, and read about it, and noticed the manufacturer's plate on it. As I got on it, he yelled, "hey I thought you didn't ride!" My answer was simple after looking at his scratched body work-"I thought you said you could!" And I rode off...

A boss who I had once was excited to have me working for him. I was experienced, successful, and like him, I was a Christian. His definition, not mine. But we soon found ourselves worlds apart. He went to church. So did I. He read his Bible. So did I. We were both married. But his philosophy on Jesus was do what you want, I'm going to heaven anyway. So he drank-heavily. He made rude comments to and about women. He took afternoons off without permission, and with different women. Yet he was always ready to include me in his Christian group. My reputation was a little more solid, and maybe by including me would increase his standing with God. Or his church friends. That oughta scare you. It only insulted me, and I finally had to tell him so. His walk wasn't his talk. And I was accused of being judgmental! Why do those caught in sin always cry that? Did that make him feel better? Or just expose his sin more? I quit shortly after.

Stupid hurts. And it will happen. So get over it. But the self inflicted wounds hurt the most, and at least with me, mine are always the most evident. Nobody seems to miss them. So-for those of you who brag better than ride, take some lessons. Get some seat time. Learn how to turn on your bike. How to avoid fences. And know your audience, you may encounter Eddie Lawson without knowing it-but that's a story for another time. But grow in Christ. We know we are all at different levels. And God won't take you to the next until you get the one you are on. Trust God, knowing it's hard to trust someone you don't know, so get to know him. Hang with real Christians, not the religious types. And watch as you grow in Christ, so does your outer man. For what is on the heart comes out of the mouth. Walk your talk.

And if your ride never starts, you'll never ride it into a fence. Or to impress the next generation of riders. Someone is always watching, set an example that you would look up to. Trust God. Pride goeth before the ride, the fall, or the crowd. Self inflicted wounds hurt the most. It is the scars that don't show that have the deepest pain. Stupid hurts. Jesus saves. Your answer is...Hey,is that my horn going off, again?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

style vs. substance

Willie G., chief stylist and one of the original group of owners that purchased Harley Davidson from AMF is set to retire. At 78, he probably wants to slow down, maybe ride at a different pace, and escape some of the responsibility of who and what he has become. In case you are wondering, Willie G. Davidson is the grandson of Walter Davidson, the original Davidson of HD. Starting in 1963, he developed a styling department, to which I am extremely impressed. And is turning it over soon to a young man, who the bar and shield elite hope will carry on the tradition. But first you must ask, what is the tradition?

Style. When AMF sold Harley in 1983, one of the first things they did was to ask President Reagan for help in the form of a tariff against all imported bikes 700cc or more. Harley had fallen behind in a technologically growing market, and things that were high tech in the 30-50's, were unacceptable in the 80's. Ironically the "great American freedom machine," as their ads claimed, needed help from the government via taxing their competition. Why don't you hear that one bragged about today? But it took new ideas, a new motor, and new styling to keep Harley alive, it took a Davidson. And with a brand that was all about style, and not substance, without Willie G. there may not be any Harley Davidson today, at least as we know it.

Harley's styling and marketing programs are world renown, even taught in some colleges. They have taken a style of motor, the v-twin, and styled a line of motorcycles around it. Based on style. Motors that compared to anyone else's under perform, but when it comes to styling out perform. Gordon Jennings, engineer, publisher, and editor once said of Harley, "there is something inherently wrong with an engine that produces maximum power at idle." Some truth there, but to a company based on style, not substance, keep creating style, the loyal won't notice. Sell them Screamin' Eagle upgrades, that should have been standard, and keep adding chrome. Substitute lesser brakes because of the weakness of their "Springer" front end model-their admission to the press. The ex-president of HD when he dumped Buell stated it was easier to sell their customers $3000 worth of chrome rather than performance. A rude, but accurate comment.

So we are forced to admit it is style over substance. And quoting from Sonny Barger, any time you hot rod a Harley motor you are killing its reliability. He should know, he has built some fast motors over the years, but today rides a Victory the last I heard-more power, better brakes. AKA performance. So as Harley continues to reinvent nostalgia, to take us back to the 50's and 70's with styling, at a premium price, plus more for any other color than black, I believe they will miss Willie G. He was more than an owner, and more than a designer-he was the heartbeat of what a Harley should look like, and what the loyal came to expect and demand. Without Willie G. Davidson, Harley Davidson is just a Harley.

Who will take Willie's place? The disciples were faced with a similar dilemma when Jesus was crucified. Who will take Jesus' place? Who would guide them, and they certainly needed guidance. With Peter it took one last appearance of Jesus after He was crucified. When asked by Jesus three times, "do you love me?" Peter exclaimed three times "you know I do." And was told to "feed MY sheep," by our risen Lord. His sheep, not Peter's, not a denominations, and not a religion. His own sheep He left in the care of the 12. But He also left the Holy Spirit to guide them, and us today. Without the Spirit coming into Peter and the 3000 at Pentecost, there would be no Stephen to be martyred. No Thomas to start churches in India that still thrive today. No John to write five books of the Bible. No apostle Paul to spread the gospel throughout the known world. And there wouldn't be any of the church today-you and me, for without the spirit we are nothing. We are style without substance, and trying to do what we feel is best, for appearance sake, but failing miserably. Jesus never had a PR department. For just like Harley is all about style, with not much substance, Christianity without the Holy Spirit should have died at the cross. But because Jesus is resurrected, so will we be when we believe. It takes the substance of the spirit, changing the heart and our lives from the inside out, not the outside in. Just as a the motor is the heart of a motorcycle, without a change of heart with have no power. It takes God to guide us in a loving manner, and for us to trust Him. Then for us to follow and act upon His guidance. It takes a relationship-something no religion, no pastor, and no group can achieve without Jesus. It takes God! A triune God-God the Father, who sent His son to make a way for us to get back to Him, and the Spirit to guide us until He returns again for His church.

I know of few true riders who don't want more performance from their motorcycles. Or their God. Trust Jesus to give you what you need, when you need it. More than a bolt on set of headers, or a new chip, He gives you life, power, and love. Built in to your relationship-they are not options. He is the substance of things believed, but not seen. He is the truth, the life, and the way. More than a seasonal color change, or retro style, His mercies are fresh every morning.

So although I don't ride a Harley, I will miss Willie G., for what he has brought to the motorcycling community. A legend within the hallowed HD ranks. Without him Harley Davidson will always just be Harley to me. Don't make the same mistake with Jesus. The Christ. Without Him there is no Christianity. No hope. No resurrection. He is more than a legend, He is the real thing! Substance that no style can imitate. And no one can outperform Him. He is love-now that's style!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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the ultimate grand falloon is more than a coincidence

No matter where you live, you start your day in darkness. To those in the Mid-east the day starts when the sun goes down, and for us Western Civ types it starts in the morning-still in the dark. But as sure as the sun will rise in the eastern sky every morning, the day turns to light. And the light soon overtakes the darkness, and no matter which schedule you choose, you spend the day in the sun-unless it rains, where the sun just happens to be on the other side of the clouds.

And during these times we call days, a battle looms that is seldom known of, but we all participate in. It is the battle of horizontal vs. vertical. It involves relationships, and for those of us fellow earthlings, most of our relationships are vertical, or sideways, with others of our species. Earthly. Some are loosely based, but some get quite intricate and complicated. So since no one else came up with guidelines, Kurt Vonnegut, he of Slaughterhouse Five fame, came up with the term "grand falloon." Say you run into Abraham Lincoln. He was born in a log cabin, I lived in a log cabin. We have log cabins in common, that's our grand falloon. Say you meet Princess Di. She was killed in a Mercedes Benz, I was a service manager for Mercedes Benz, Mercedes Benz is our grand falloon. And say you drive a motorcycle-so do I, so we have a two wheeled bond as our grand falloon. A brotherhood. Simple isn't it. Or it should be per Mr. Vonnegut. And that takes care of the vertical relationships. If only life were so easy...

But what about the horizontal ones? The ones that go between our God in heaven and us? They can get pretty complicated if you buy into religion-don't let that be your grand falloon. It is wiser, and much better to have Jesus as our common denominator. For He adds life to the relationship, and makes life more exciting. For example-

Years ago we visited a man in the hospital who was dying-he tried to commit suicide by alcohol. He was pretty bad the night we visited him in ICU, and while some prayed, I shared the gospel with him. I asked him if he wanted Jesus as his savior, and did he want to go to heaven. Via the Holy Spirit, he accepted the Lord, dying later that night. While leaving his room that still small voice of God told me "you will see this man in heaven." Now heaven, that's the grandest falloon of all. And so we fast forward five years to where Richard, a man who shared my devotions in prison is released. He calls me, and I go to his home, where he is staying with his mom. On the piano is a picture of his brother David, and Richard begins to tell me the story of how some bikers went to see David in the hospital the night he died, and led him to the Lord. As my heart started to beat faster, I asked him some questions about that night. With Richard telling me they didn't know who that man was.

That man was me! Through God's infinite grace, I had led David to the Lord, and now was ministering to his brother Richard. Talk about grand falloons, we had his brother in common, but more importantly Jesus Christ-the grandest of all falloons. Now to the horizontally challenged, this may seem like a coincidence, and you would be wrong. Bad falloon. For coincidence merely appeals to non-God items-this was definitely a
God thing. And with no such thing as coincidence, they are all God things. And although this grand falloon would bring a smile to Kurt's face, we as Christians know better. God calls it divine intervention-for without God, His timing, and His spirit, none of this would be possible. And when a vertical relationship among men meets a horizontal relationship with God, it forms the cross! The perfect combination of man with God, showing that Jesus came to earth to save those that were lost. And to bring us into fellowship with Him, and then into heaven for all eternity. Life begins at the cross-the best falloon I know.

Did you realize by reading this, and sharing it with others we have a grand falloon? More importantly did you know we have a common relationship with Jesus Christ at the cross? Ask God to intervene today, to bring you into contact with someone, to share that precious moment of divine intervention, and have church while fellowshipping with someone-wherever the two are gathered, Jesus is among you.

Just like that night in ICU, and just like that day in Richard's living room. No coincidence, more than a grand falloon, most definitely a time of divine intervention. May all your relationships take the form of the cross, keeping your eyes on Jesus. For as night turns into day bringing light with it, when Jesus comes into your life He shuts out the darkness, and replaces it with life. It would have been nice meeting Abe, Di, and doing it while riding a motorcycle. But spending eternity with Jesus...it takes divine intervention. At the cross-the only place where two lines intersect to make something of your earthly relationships. It takes Jesus. And the only thing that will turn you night into day. Out of darkness into the light, all this grand fallooning and we had Jesus all the time...

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com