the cars we remember

What will the kids of today remember when they attend an old car show in 10-15 years? Will they get all excited about an Explorer their Mom used to take them to soccer practice in? Will they remember the mini-van that carried them all on that fateful summer vacation with fond memories? Will they get attracted to the older neighbor’s sedan, thinking someday I’ll own one just like it? Or do they look forward to driving a hybrid just like their peers will by then? And will they gaze at any gas powered car and remember the good old days? My parents drove on like that. Makes us take some time to ponder and think, about when we were their age, and our automotive expectations. And also how memories get skewed as the years pass.

I am blessed to attend many old car shows, and it always seems the crowd is gathered around the Tri-five Chevies, natural enough. A GTO Judge, 442, Boss Mustang, or Chevy Impala SS all get equal time when viewed. But of late I find myself more attracted to the station wagons and the four door sedans. For that is where my true memories lie. Sure I had friends or knew of guys who owned cool cars, Tom Jackson, Scottie’s brother Doug’s best friend and his 1962 Corvette, Richard with his 442, Glenn with his GTO, Roger with his Olds Cutlass, and Mr. Brannon with his Mach 1. I was familiar with them and even recognized them by the sound they made coming up the street. Enough to make me stop and run to the window, or pause for 5 minutes while cutting the yard. Dreaming that someday that would be me, and my car. My first ride with Lucio at 120 in his Trans Am. Barry’s fast AMX. Jay J. in his 69 SS 396. All cool, and all within reach of my dreams. But they only occupy a small part of the memory bank, as they were other people’s cars, not mine. So the memory input is limited, with a lot of film left on the roll to develop. So now as I remember old times, and old cars, I look at the sedans, station wagons, and more Ramblers than Fords. For that is where my time was spent, and so more memory photos were taken there. I remember taking my driving test in my mother’s 1966 Rambler Classic. What a humbling experience, but hey I’m driving, and the newly installed 8-track would drown out any insults I would get while driving by. The Pinto that took seven of us to the shore, in the rain coming back. 90 degrees, 100 humidity, and 100% vinyl interior. With the windows up and no air. Bet you never heard the Beach Boys sing about that. Even though it was a deuce coupe, well at least it had two doors. I remember sitting on the tail gate of my Dad’s 1962 Rambler American station wagon passing out our baseball uniforms. Rides in my Grandma’s old 1960 Rambler, then her 62. My Grandpa breaking the mold with his 1959 Buick Electra with the red leather interior. And my Nana with her 1967 Buick Skylark-even had a rear speaker. How cool was that on the way to the DDB for ice cream? And so most of my memories are more normal and unromantic than we care to remember.

But then along came motorcycles, and no one in my family rode, although at 80 years old my Grandpa wanted to learn, only deterred by my Grandma. But the cars we seem to ogle at the shows, and the memories reproduced of are our dreams and visions. And so it is perfectly normal for the next generation to like an SUV-the recent generation’s station wagon, or a mini-van-which I refuse to buy, and avoid any chance I get to ride in one. Pure function, no form. Oh and it has four wheels. And so I spend time in the back row at car shows, seeing things today as I did 40 years ago, my memory intact, just a little jaded by desires never fulfilled. And today still priced out of my reach.

Within any circle of friends there are leaders and followers. Some who just hang on, or get by on other people’s dreams and accomplishments. Sadly I meet from time to time those who brag about God, but on other people’s testimony. They have none of their own, or think the don’t, and are so absorbed in others they live with God through them. Because they never led a crusade like Billy Graham, or sang on stage, or even shared Jesus with anyone, they feel inferior. They are the station wagon whose only purpose was purposeful, but never got the blessing. While the fancy teacher got all the attention. But God wants it personal, and doesn’t regard one as better, or more important than the other. He is nor respecter of persons, titles, positions, or wealth. Who you know will not impress Him, He loves you the way you are. The rest is left up to us. Who do we want God to be in our life? To some He is just there on Sundays, and a memory of Easter, Christmas, and maybe a Thanksgiving visit to church. Grumbling all the time about how they don’t need church, it is filled with hypocrites. Just like them. But some choose all of God, and pray daily. They attend Wednesday night to be refreshed, and even a Bible study. They desire fellowship with other believers, and they are known by others as people who love God. They have the title Christian. They may be a four door sedan, but their life is as exciting as any red 442 convertible, top down on a sunny day. They burn rubber in their spiritual life, not on the street. And many testimonies they share are of one on one miracles, that we can never get enough of hearing of. A daily grind of Jesus, not just a quick trip around the block. A roll of film full of memories, with more awaiting.

It may be the muscle cars of our youth, the unobtainable that gather the attention and high prices today, but it is the day to day memories of life we treasure most of all. Even more precious when Jesus is in them. If your life seems dull, ask God to add some life to it. Roll down the windows, and stick your head out the window, and find out why dogs like it, no matter how far or how fast. The same air felt with the top down-well, not quite the same. But you get the idea, life is what you choose it to be. So choose it with Jesus. Every day a ride with the top down, and like BH’s 1967 Cadillac, at 60 mph with the top down you never feel the rain. Step out of the mini-van and dare to be a hot rod. Better yet, ditch four wheels for two, because no matter what you are driving, it will never be a motorcycle. And any other experience that isn’t your testimony to tell will never be as fulfilling as one on one with Jesus. Today is the day we make memories that we will remember tomorrow, and cherish and share with others. Fast only lasts a few seconds, but the real action is like in the back seat, the cars in the back row. Just don’t let your memories die there. Not every car is memorable, but the times spent in them, like time spent with God is memorable. It’s that personal. Make a testimony today. Remember, it’s your testimony, not mine.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

the sickest person they had ever seen who wasn't dead, or while the clock ticked

I have never been one to turn to the back of the book to see how it ended. Even when you know the outcome, or know the outcome will be good, as in the Hardy Boys series, you know all will turn out OK. That Frank and Joe with help form friends Chet and Biff will somehow outwit and foil the crooks. And the last paragraph will tell you to read of their next adventure, sure to be even more exciting. And although the ending may be exciting, it is what occurred in the in-between that is even more exciting, the story we care to read. So I don’t like to skip ahead, for the good stuff is in the middle. Between the alpha and the omega for you Greek types. So when someone sees me today, and has heard of my open heart surgery last year, all they see is the happy ending, not what we endured to get there. And I often reflect on the afternoon I was to be released from rehab, after only four days. I was scheduled to be there for four weeks. But as they did the heart tests, and I passed them all, a young girl came in pushing the ultrasound cart. And froze and then broke into a huge smile. “You don’t remember me, but I sure remember you. I was there when life flight landed, and you were the sickest person we had ever seen that wasn’t dead!” And broke into a smile that turned into laughter. “I can’t wait to go home and tell my husband!” She had seen the beginning, and a glimpse of the in between, but was able to rejoice at the end. She was there, but at one time in no way could have l looked into the future to see what God had planned.

Theresa tells me of when Dr. Walinsky came out of surgery, exhausted and threw his hands up. Telling her I should be dead, and how he couldn’t promise her 12 hours. And how each second must have lasted minutes, and minutes hours as she watched the clock for those 12 hours. Believing God for a miracle. A victory had been won on the operating table, but the story wouldn’t end there. And as she looks back now and rejoices that I am still with her, it is the times that were the toughest we look back at and rejoice over. When I was weakest, God was strongest. So much for my strength. And for my trip through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I was there, but couldn’t even walk it. I had to be carried, that is what I remember, and that is what I celebrate. And as the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, we celebrate each day that God has given me, and us, but always look back to the time He carried us to get us where we are today. Better than any Hardy Boy thriller, we know the ending, and thank a merciful and loving God for getting us here today.

We are coming upon Resurrection Day, aka Easter. And many will sing sonnets about their Easter bonnets, with all the frills upon it. We love to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It gives us hope, and allows us to look forward to that day we see Him in heaven. But we spend very little time on Good Friday. We all know some Easter songs, how many Good Friday songs do you know? Do you know of anyone who wears a Good Friday bonnet? Yet we forget that the cross was where the victory was won. It was a horrible place, and I wonder sometimes how Jesus felt for that six hours on the cross. How each minute must have felt like hours, but He knew why and what lied ahead. For 12 hours my wife watched the clock, Jesus hung for six. Can we remember that when we celebrate Easter? Can we think of the horror, pain, and agony He selflessly endured for us? Can we give Him even a few minutes today, that cost Him six hours? He is the Alpha and the Omega-please don’t just read ahead to the ending and forget what it took to get there.

When Jesus looks at us He can exclaim with great joy, just like the girl who did my ultrasound did. We were all the sickest people He had ever seen that weren’t dead. And He gave us life, offering His own. We all know that heaven awaits those that have placed our confidence and lives in Him, but are we willing to share with others our testimony, from what should have been our time on the cross, and how He rescued us from it? Or are you just all about you, and can’t wait to the end? I also think what if Jesus had come back a day before I got saved? Where would I be now? And I am glad He is patient that none should perish.

So rejoice in the empty tomb, but rejoice even more in the empty cross. The place of victory, where al sin was eradicated for us, if only we choose to follow Him who hung there. It may be the happy ending that get us excited, but it is the testimony of how we got here that people want to hear, and that God tells us to share. By the blood of the Lamb, and the word of of our testimony, we see people saved. By grace. Exciting times lay ahead, don’t forego what it took to get there. Never lose sight of the cross. Without Good Friday we would have no Easter. Without the cross, no empty tomb. And without Jesus no hope of eternity. Read of His testimony today. And add yours to it. At the cross, where the sickest people ever that were dead came to life. Now that’s a story worth reading over...and over...

By the way, my ultrasound was great. “No reason I should be in the hospital,” and she even noted no follow up needed. I was resurrected. No sonnet, no Easter bonnet. At the foot of the cross.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

just a coupla guys from Jersey

For more years than I care to remember, this blue Ford van sat on a long downhill on I-78 in Jersey. He sat there with his radar out, and picked off cars left and right, as he was in the median. And although he was there, and it was well known, people still sped through there, and easy target for him. Somehow I always managed to avoid him, but more than made up for it elsewhere. And in 1974 when the 55mph speed limit became law, I got 18 points in 12 months, 12 points means loss of license, and had to move to Pennsylvania using my grandparents address. This new law seemed like a good thing for revenue, as I got stopped at doing 56, 57, and very few offenses were over 60. For your safety, we were told, on a highway designed for 85mph cruising, that just months ago was safe at higher speeds. And so the story went..

Of course to commemorate the new lower limit, the motorcycle world celebrated by coming out with faster motorcycles, the Z-1, GS1000, BMW R90S, and even a six cylinder Honda. All could easily do 55 in first gear, but even the threat of a ticket, which meant higher insurance, and possible loss of license, see above, kept us within the limits. We just rode smarter, maybe a little slower, but smarter. Until one afternoon, three of us took off for the countryside in Jersey. Yes there is more to Jersey than the opening of The Sopranos. On this beautiful Saturday, Bouke was riding his Z-1 with the Yoshimura kit, the same one that at 105mph the helmet blew off my head, BH on his Dunstall Honda 750, and me on my R90S. I was trailing, these guys were really nuts, and at 100mph looking in my mirror all I saw was grill and flashing lights. Pulling up to Bouke, he had seen them too, he nodded at me and we took off, WTO! With BH following, and leaving the cop behind. Way behind, for it was a few minutes until he caught us when we pulled over. Getting out of his cruiser, he looked at the Dunstall, and said “that thing is fast,” looking at me, “that thing is faster,” and at Bouke, “that thing is a rocket!” And proceeded to talk motorcycles with us. It seems he rode, and had more affection for fast motorcycles than the 55mph law. It also turned out he was a Captain in the New Jersey State Police, and decided to let us off, but couldn’t because he had radioed us in. So he asked us what he should do, but answered it himself after checking Bouke’s plate, which was licensed to an old Bonneville. “You’re all getting tickets for improper registration, no points, and only a $15 fine.” We knew not to argue. And then he also gave us his card, with his home phone, if we ever got into trouble again. This man did more for public relations and motorcycle safety that day than all the other sermons I had to listen to when previously pulled over. He had us, but showed us mercy. And we gave him something, uncommon then, and very scarce today-respect. And never did pull out his card when needed, never wanted to jeopardize him or his position. Respect works both ways.

Mercy is an interesting concept. Jesus showed it many times in parables when those caught in sin were forgiven. It wasn’t a free pass, it was paid for by Him, later on the cross. But in His mercy He showed love, and set an example for us to use on others. And backed up with meekness, a fruit of the spirit, His power under control is a welcome thing in our lives. And in this pre-Christ time in my life, I was shown mercy, by a loving God, who I was still cursing. I needed more mercy, and He continued to show it, based on who He is, thankfully not on what I had done. Based on my record, I am usually borderline on even a good day, but thanks to His mercy and grace, I am forgiven. And live to face another tomorrow and all the trials it brings.

BH was later to lose his motorcycle license when he wheelied his bike for a girl, and landed on the trunk of a police car. I would lose mine for speeding tickets, but never at the fun speeds of that afternoon. Bouke, who knows how many ID’s he had on him, don’t ask. But God continues to show us mercy, and saves us by grace, a gift I don’t deserve, and couldn’t earn. Points never came easy for good deeds, I ‘m glad Jesus knew that. So He offers us grace, His unmerited favor. And when tempered with self control via the throttle hand, we never need to take advantage of it. Meekness again, power under control, makes us better riders, and also better Christians. It’s right there on the list before self control. Also after love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, and kindness, unless you need to be reminded. Good things, showing the character of God. And allowing us to be like Him.

Jesus said He will never leave us or forsake us. He was with us that afternoon at over 100mph, and here as you read this. Love will do that. And all He asks is that we pass it on. Just like the Police Captain that afternoon. On the side of the road. Where Jesus just happened to spend most of His time, on the road. Mercy is faster than a speeding ticket, so as the saying goes, “never fly faster than your angels can fly.” Or better yet, stay close to Jesus. Never leave home without Him. Worked for me, even in Jersey. If it works there, imagine how it can work where you ride.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

so what do you have under the hood?

In their iconic song “409" the Beach Boys sang of a four speed, dual quad, posi-traction 409! Bragging that “when I take her to the track she really shines,” and “she always turns in the fastest times”. And all the giddy-up from just saving pennies and saving your dimes. The romance of burning rubber, the smell of Sunoco 260, and the threat of the man just waiting to write you a ticket. Ahh, the joys of youth 50 years ago. When speed was king, their was no replacement for displacement and no substitute for cubic inches. Put the top down, get your favorite girl, tune the AM to your favorite station, and let the good times roll. Just waiting for the next red light and someone to pull up next to you and challenge you to a race. But the crossed flags on the front fender of your Chevy, with 409 above it, told them to back off, you had power under the hood, and weren’t afraid to use it. And all your friends were impressed, and so was your girl. Speed was king, and you had the most of it. Only a foolish MOPAR or Ford would challenge you. Pontiacs were a threat, but that little GTO was still a few years off. And to top it off, they even wrote a song about your car. “That’s me they’re singing about,” you’d tell your girl, as she snuggled close to you on the bench seat. With only the shifter on the floor coming between you. Oh for the good old days.

For those of you who don’t know, a four speed referred to the transmission, four on the floor, like racers had, not the three on the tree like your dad’s sedan. A dual quad as to four barrel carbs, drinking gas at an alarming rate, but building power at the same time. Posi-traction got the power to the ground via the rear wheels, remember those crazy burn outs! The romance of the road all combined into one package, and you behind the wheel of it. But what do those things mean to kids today? How will our kids remember their fast cars? No more four speed, dual quad, posi-traction, no more 409. Today it is replaced by a 6 speed auto transmission, electronically activated, that has learned your shifting points. Never have to take your foot off the gas. Point and steer. Even the steering is power, allowing you to keep your arm around your girl. Except there is a console between the bucket seats, and she can’t get close enough to snuggle. No more dual quads, as your car is now fuel injected, a fuelie in 1960 terms. Now again controlled by a computer. Self tuning your ride for all situations. No more posi, you have traction control. No more burnouts, unless you have it turned off. Power to the front wheels? And no more skids either, ABS has cancelled that. No wonder we don’t hear any songs about a “6 speed auto, fuel injected, traction control..." And no 409 either, now we are trendy using metric, and would be a 6.7 litre, but more realistically a 3.8, as engines now are smaller. No more Smittys, or dual exhausts. No capped headers, we sit in silence isolated from the world so we can hear our satellite radio. Listening to oldies. All alone, safe and secure in a vehicle with all the romance of dad’s car, yours being just a smaller version of his. So what do the gear heads of today dream about? What do they sing about?

Just 50 years before, they would sing “all I need is a fast horse,” now it is about horsepower. Hopefully always will be. But for every 409 on the street back then, there was a sleeper, with no emblems announcing what was under the hood. Maybe the lumpy idle from the cam would give it away, but in a four door sedan? And that is exactly what my friend did, put a race motor in a four door sedan, a 1966 Chevelle. Blue with roll up windows, and a turbo-hydromatic transmission, shifting on the column. No wide ovals, but an idle that should have given it away. And more than one sucker was enticed into racing him, and shut down as John pulled away from them. Soon the word was out about “look out for a blue Chevelle,” and the competition had caught on. But for that summer, four doors beat four on the floor. And we all learned to ask, “what’s under the hood?”

The Bible is filled with warnings of evil, and how to recognize them. Wolves in sheep’s clothing, and many who promise but don’t deliver. From those out to steal your money, and your soul, to those who seek signs, instead of God, we all need to be careful. It seems natural to seek God in bad times, we really need Him then, but in Deuteronomy we are reminded to not forget Him in the good times. How He took us through the tough times so we can be enjoying the good. But many forget, and claim they did it. Even Old blue Eyes sang “I did it my way..” But the successful Christian will stick close to God in all situations. For it is in the good times we are more vulnerable. We get proud and think no one can get to me, I’m fill in the blank. Never realizing that there are blue four door Chevelles out there just waiting to embarrass or defeat us. For the devil is devious, and can appear as an angel of light. Note the word appear, he cannot be one, but imitate one. Just as what’s under the hood’s best asked before you race, the 1John 4 tells us to test the spirits, to see if they are of God. Does what the person say match up with the Word? Do they recognize the deity of Jesus Christ? Beware the wolves are out there, in white shirts and ties, passing out literature about Jesus, just not the Jesus in the Bible. Even using His name in their religion, again not the Jesus of the Bible. So be wary of who you join forces with, whose teaching you sit under. And what they teach. Jesus tells us he is the way, not a way as Jehovah Witnesses lie. He is deity, He is God, not a brother of the devil or created as Mormons will tell you. They may even tell you they are Christians, but they know they are not, as taught in their churches. But will lie to get you to join their church, rather than seek God. And for them there is hell, whether they believe in it or not.

So don’t be afraid to ask “who do you say Jesus is?” Even Moslems will admit He was a great teacher, again denying His deity. He is God incarnate! Spoken of from Genesis 11 to the end of Revelation. And loves you so much He gave His life for you, so you could get back to God.

So beware of flashy sayings, trendy music, and promises not found in the Bible. Ask to look under the hood. You may be surprised as to what is really there. In Jesus you will find meekness, power under control. Posi-traction for the soul, no matter the engine size. So if someone asks you to race, and you notice his rear tires appear bald, they may be racing slicks. Remember the lesson learned of the blue 4 door Chevelle. It is what is under the hood, and in the heart of man that matters. Make sure Jesus is in your heart before you accept the challenge. Will you accept His challenge?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

suddenly it's the past-and I was there

I ran into Ray and Kenny at the Orange County Vintage Motorcycle meet in Huntington Beach yesterday. Held every month, over 144 of the loyal braved the 75 degree weather and came out riding. From the two Ariel Square Fours, one the People’s Choice Award, to a clean /2 BMW with Earles forks to many Triumphs, BSA’s, Nortons, and even a prewar Indian Scout, and a prewar-war Henderson, it was fun. Add in a few Velocettes, a six cylinder Honda, and all bases were covered. Ray has been around the So Cal scene for over 50 yers and many know him, and he still rides-fast. And has passed on his biking genes to his son Curtis, the fastest gun at Willow, and to his grandson Bradley, an editor at Sport Rider. Ad listening to the old guys tell the stories of racing down Fullerton Blvd. at 120 back in the day, and watching as many younger guys riding bikes from the 70-80’s, older than them, it was good time. Even a 1974 Kawasaki Z-1a with only 880 original miles on it, for sale for only $15,000. Of course the owner knew Ray. But as Kenny and I walked around, we laughed at how no one seemed to notice that we both were riding 2013 Daytona R’s. The only two in the Us of A! And felt invisible in the crowd! Just the previous day I had been surrounded at a motorcycle store on it, guys wanting to know all about it. Here it was too new to notice. Maybe the way it should be. But a quick trip back to when I started, and a reminder of how far we had come. Probably the only meet where vintage Harleys, the only one being a 1969 Sportster XLCH are outnumbered, and the new ones seem out of place. Why care for new nostalgia when there is plenty of the real stuff available?

But it was a good day, and after two hours of listening to old stories, commenting on bikes we used to own, and wondering whatever happened to You know who, the guy on the old Honda, I took off, completing my 200 mile round tirp ride with no problems. A feat not possible for some of the old bikes, or the older riders. How far we have come, and how we can still be invisible. Given the right crowd.

I have won numerous awards in my time. Salesman of the Year, Rookie of the Year, and won trips to Cancun and Germany. it may be true I have never come in second in a beauty contest, or first either, and a few years ago when moving my office, took down all the plaques and trophies from over the years. And threw the away. Somehow they didn’t mean the same to me anymore, and had no desire to keep them. Trophies can be like that, just like the right audience is needed for an old Indian, the right audience is needed to show your trophies. No one but Coca Cola employees would care about Coca Cola awards I won. It was time to move on, so I tossed them. No longer a part of my legacy, as those things no longer seem important to me. But while looking at restorations in progress, and some completed yesterday, I realized I had never won a Most Improved Award. Which to me were always misleading, as you have to come from near bottom to win, and once achieving Most Improved how to fall pretty far to be considered again. Fortunately Farrest Fallen awards are never given out, we just talk about them behind the person’s back. But I laugh at Most Improved Awards, as many achieve them, but have difficulties maintaining the level. In spelling there are always new words to learn, and old bikes will wear our again. Thankfully God never does, and holds all the awards for an Awards Ceremony in heaven.

I had been with Winzer only a year, after moving to So Cal, and they were about to celebrate their 10 year anniversary in Texas. Timing could not have been better to be Salesman of the Month for two months leading up to the celebration. I would meet men from all over the country, and many knew my name, but not me. After going on stage to get my awards, they made me wear a suit and tie, in fact the National Sales Manger brought an extra one in his attache just in case I refused to be seen none. After words those of us who had won awards were surrounded by many asking questions. Or just wanting to meet us. But as a group of 15-20 gathered around me, one asked, “what is your secret to success?” I answered him, asking three times “you really want to know?” And the anticipation grew. What is the secret? What sales school, or training film, or motivational speaker inspired me? But my answer was simple, “Jesus Christ. He makes all the difference in my life.” And the crowd thinned, faster than it formed. Faster than riding the Daytona. For my answer was simple, just like the gospel it represents, Jesus Christ. For He has made the difference in my life, and makes me who I am. And that is why some years later I chose to get rid of the awards. I choose to remember Him, to Him be the glory-not me. But yet He allowed me to win to share my testimony. Think about that one for a minute. Does your testimony give God all the credit, or is it all about you?

Old bikes, old memories, and old awards will fade away. Who Jesus Christ is never will. Cling to Him in good times and bad, while being most improved, or falling away. He is still there, with the promise of heaven. And delivering it here while still on earth. Someday in the future, someone will ride into a vintage bike meet on a 2013 Daytona R. And those of us will remember them as new, just as it should be. To a ne audience just waiting to hear our stories of going fast, and escaping death. Of cops outrun, bikes owned, and friends lost but remembered. Don’t let Jesus join the forgotten file. Keep Him fresh in your life, tell others about Him, share your testimony, He will give you the words and the opportunity. Just trust Him. Remember someone shared with you, caring on a tradition. This is one tradition worth passing on to the next. He will always be new to someone, He once was to you. Salvation, the only award you cannot win, but is a gift. No matter how old, how fast, or how improved-we all need Jesus.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

darkness on the edge of town

Riding east into Xenia, Ohio, the sun was brightly reflecting off my rear view mirrors. But up ahead was quite a contrast, as the sky was as black as night, and it was only 430pm-I was riding into a storm, and from the wind and rain hitting me in the face, I started to look for shelter. And then the rains hit-hard and fast, and before I knew it, I was riding in water over my foot pegs. So getting off at the next exit, I turned off onto the exit ramp, and as I rode to go under the over pass, I came upon a Mazda, with water over its hood, and up to the windshield. No place to stop, I kept going, around it, and rode through with water almost to the top of the tank on the Tiger-pretty high stuff on this dual-purpose bike. But somehow managed to keep going, leaving the Mazda in my wake. Going up a small grade, I pulled into a gas station, and parked under the overhang, as the rain only got worse, and then the thunder and lightning, cool stuff under any other conditions. Trying to pull off my helmet, the ground shook with a bang, and I saw lightning hitting the bowling alley in back of the station-about 200 yards away. Suddenly the gas station wasn’t quite the safe haven I had first pulled into, and as flames erupted from the bowling alley, I had to consider what was worse, a soaking or a burning! Within seconds, which seemed like minutes, fire trucks pulled up to the fire, and quickly put it out. I was not only amazed at how fast they responded, but how the fire still burnt in this storm. And how within this ten minute episode, I had blue and gray skies, high and low ground, fire and rain, and safety and imminent danger, all within a mile of each other. But I was safe, albeit soaked through my rain suit, and still had another 100 miles to my motel destination that night. Cold, wet, squishy, and hungry-not at all the plan for the day, and then the sun came out-and dried everything but me. I can still see the looks on the other diners’ faces at the Bob Evans as I sat eating my hot turkey dinner, while shaking. Everyone else in summer clothes, and not even a raincoat or umbrella in sight. And I wondered if the Mazda driver was among them, giving me the eye, maybe for not stopping to help. Maybe an episode for the Twilight Zone, but too real for me.

Wet weather riding is not a favorite among those of us who ride, but you know when riding back east, storms will hit. Afternoon showers on this September afternoon not unexpected, just uninvited. And as the skies got brighter, a not so dark shade of gray, I looked forward to tomorrow, with only a 20% chance of rain-hey that gave me an 80% chance of no rain. If only the 80/20 rule worked for weather. But I was safe, everything would dry that night, and after eating at Bob Evans, why don’t we have anything like this in California, I slept good. But was up early to the sound of thunder. Fortunately it was a group of Harley riders taking off early, so I rolled over and slept another hour. Just in time for the sun being my wake up call. The rains would wait until later, when I had no place to stop, so rode on-for another 100 miles or so. And for whatever reason I kept singing the Allman Bros. chorus, “you’re my blue sky, you’re my sunny day, Lord you know it makes me high, when you turn your love my way...”

Lord you know. Words to hang on, and words to trust in. Amazing in the entire ordeal, I hadn’t got scared, but only anxious, and that was when waiting to use the rest room while the bowling alley burnt. Somehow I knew God had everything in control, even though the skies, rain, fire, and fire fighters said different. I was more concerned at first for a woman in a black car almost backing into me, don’t hit my bike after all I had just gone through! But somehow I had this peace, one I didn’t get then, and don’t get know, but I knew God was there, in the blue skies, just the other side of the rain. Maybe there was some truth to the song, “Lord I know you make me high when you turn your love my way.” And in the storm, He was there with me in the midst of it, keeping me safe. He had taken me through the storm, not around it. Giving me a chance to see His grace and mercy at work. Not a valley of the shadow of death, but one that anyone with common sense should have been scared of, but I rode on. Jesus Christ in a life will do that. Urging you on, despite the odds, keeping you safe in the storm. And remembering the safest place to be is where God wants you-I‘m glad He didn’t want me in the Mazda that day. Or bowling either. But riding, and He was with me. Never leaving me, nor forsaking me. He was the rider on the storm with me, wet, cold, upset, but not scared.

I had survived the darkness on the edge of town. I had come through the storm, and would ride again the next day. In the rain, but then the blue skies, and warm weather would greet me, and all would be forgotten, and forgiven. Well at least forgiven, for another chapter had been written in my book of testimonies. But a thought continues with me even today, I didn’t get mad at God. I could have, so many blame anything they disagree on on Him. They get mad, try to take it out on His people, and even on Him. No end to stupid, maybe that is why it is designed to hurt. But a thought has been with me the last few days, He loves us so much, and I can’t explain it. It makes no sense, psychiatrists refuse to believe it, atheists deny His existence, poets write sonnets about it, and theologians dispute it. The Allman Bros. sung about it. But God’s love to us shows no wrath-yet. So to better understand it, He put it to me this way. “It is hard to make a fist when a nail is piercing your hand.” And it reminds me of Jesus. Whose arms and hands are open to us, never raised in a fist, or clenched in rage. He loves, and sets the example. Can we do the same in our reaction to Him? To others? How about ourselves, when the storms come and ruin our ride?

The evidence is found in the hands of Jesus. The nail holes are there. To show us love, to hold us up, to guide and point the way in the storm. So unclench your fists, and show the love that He showed us first. Trust Him, and guide others to Him. Let Him guide you. You may be entering a storm, sudden or not, and even though the sun is shining, a storm is coming. And only He will take you through it. Look to His hands, see the nail prints, and be glad His hands are open to help, guide, and love.

Besides, you can’t twist the throttle when your hands are clenched in a fist. Just a thought, from someone who has weathered a storm or two, safe in His hands. And after the rain, there is a rainbow, another open hand of God reminding us of His love. You only need a rain suit when it rains, never ride without Jesus no matter the forecast. Remember those open hands...

love with compassion,

Mike

nmatthew25biker.blogspot.com

one afternoon while waiting in line

While on a mission of mercy for my wife, a candy run to See’s Candy, I was standing in line with the other devotees, when the woman at the head of the line held things while talking on her phone. Now I and others have become familiar with the rudeness of others on cell phones, but this woman seemed to take it to the extreme. This was a small store, with only one woman behind counter, and four of us in line, but we got the benefit of having of having to listen to this woman discuss very personal matters of setting up an old woman who was near death for hospice. We all heard details that were none of our business, and that we really should not have been privy to. About the only thing we didn’t find out was her name, but all else seemed exposed to us in line. And to make it worse, she wenton for about five minutes, while the lady behind the counter was trying to fill her personal order. While Ms. Cell Phone went on and on, even making faces behind the poor See’s Candy girl who was trying to help her. Rude, indifferent, and self absorbed, it seemed the rest of us didn’t matter, and either did the hospice recipient. Again a strong case against cell phones and the rudeness that they encourage. I can only be glad that it wasn’t someone I know in hospice, and that this rude woman was connected with her.

On my ride yesterday, I watched as I ate a mother and her son eating next to me. They started to talk, his cell rang, and then he cut her off. So she picked up her cell and called someone, what a tribute to mother/son time. And this is all too common. I watch as people text while driving, almost cutting me off, and years ago I was hit by a man who was on his cell. Cut off his hands! But yet in our it’s all about me world, we all seem to have so much to say to those who don’t listen. Or won’t listen. So much talk about useless things, that important messages may not get through. Even when we called 911 a few weeks ago, it was rerouted from a central dispatch, and we were told to wait, there would be silence, for maybe a minute. Put on hold at 911? I could get through to hospice quicker! But yet we are self absorbed by cell phones, and communicating, just not good at social rules or at being social. Blame it all on Samuel Morse, inventor of the telegraph, precursor to the phone, “Watson, come here I need you,” was Thomas Edison’s first phone call, at least Sam’s first message posed a question, “what hath God wrought?” And today we are finding out, that many things that start out with good intentions go astray. From internet to cell phone we have so much information available to us, yet we have become a stupid people. Which is truly revealed when the power goes out, and people have to actually talk to each other-face to face Iwas amazed though at the response in the candy store to this woman. It was one of contempt for her. Anger from one man, who was insulted and embarrassed for the lady in hospice. How dare her personal life be paraded in front of strangers? The woman in back of me started the comments with “how rude, do we have to listen to her?” But the See’s lady’s comment was the most telling. “That was nothing, you should hear some of the things I hear. It is worse that a bar in here, all the personal things I know, and don’t care to hear about.” So where is this all going?

For years while in line, if someone is talking on their cell in front of me, I start whistling the National Anthem. Louder than they are talking. Freedom of speech works both ways. And have been given dirty looks, have had the offender talk louder, and asked to stop once, she couldn’t hear over my whistling. So I whistled louder, telling her I couldn’t hear my whistling over her talking. She called me a name in Spanish, and kept on talking, but softer. Point made. Yet these willing offenders go on, in church and meetings. While conducting a meeting once, a man’s phone rang, and he answered it. So I stopped, and asked can we all be quiet so we can hear better what is going on? And apologized for trying to conduct business while he interrupted me. He sheepishly hung up-point made. So, where am I going with this? Freedom of speech is a right under our Constitution. But not a responsibility. Better to know the difference than suffer the consequences. Take Jesus for example, under Jewish law He was convicted unfairly. He could have declared His rights under the law, but yet chose His responsibility to God, and went to the cross-willingly. Some theologians claim He was murdered, but He went willingly, choosing a violent death by crucifixion, to save us and reunite us with His Father, than claim His own rights. Setting a pattern for humility and love. But just imagine if He did exercise His rights? What if no death on the cross? Sure we would miss Good Friday, not celebrate Easter, and miss out on tons of chocolate consumed. But we would miss heaven, because He is the only way. You see love gives, He is the ultimate example. He also listened, and gave proper responses. And He is the original wireless communicator-it is called prayer. Try that one on your cell friends? Is His number in your cell’s memory? With so much to talk about, with so little to say, wouldn’t His calling plan be less expensive, and reap higher rewards? Jesus never dropped a call, His line is never busy, and it is private-no one is listening, or will interfere. Or record, listen in, or eavesdrop. NO communication with Him will ever be used against you! Now what rights do you have Jesus didn’t? And what responsibilities do you not have He did?

Someone is always listening, all cell phone calls are recorded somewhere-not for your benefit. So share Jesus, just like we did when our phones were tapped years ago. Must have really confused the DEA and ATF with all the kind words and praying they heard. Some sort of code, they must have thought at first, but love speaks no code. And it doesn’t interrupt either! So like the Proverb says, “don’t put your ear to the wall to hear your neighbor, you might not like what you hear.” God is always listening. May change the way we talk. Or use cells in public. He reads texts too. And t answer Morse’s question, based on a quote based on Numbers 23:23, “what Hath God Wrought?” The answer is Jesus! The ultimate communicator. The way to God. To heaven. See, someone is always listening.

By the way, my wife loved the candy. So it was all worth it.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com