speeds increase as the memory fades

Speed is a relative thing.  Fast is anyone passing me, slow is anyone getting in my way.  And although our thought processes may slow down, the speed in our memories never do.  It may take more time to recall them, but we were faster back then, and with fewer witnesses around to dispute it, the speeds will get faster.  Remember the first ride in a fast car?  And how cool it was?  How about the first time you actually drove one?  And no matter how fast you didn’t go, you told everyone else how fast the car was, and the speeds it hit.  So out there we have the legendary 150 mph Sportster, the Bonneville that will go 200, and 100 mph Beetle.  One of my favorites was the guy who would place a $5 bill in the glove box door crack, and dare anyone to grab it when he took off.  The legend says a hundred dollar bill, I did see a five once, and it bought us lunch at McDonalds.  But somewhere in the lies, dreams, fabrications of truth, and the afternoon bench racing, there were some fast cars and bikes.  And I saw some, rode one, and rode in others.  In high school, some older guys took a 454 Chevy Rat motor, a race motor, and put it in an old 1967 Chevelle 4 door sedan, and challenged people to race.  You would have thought the lumpy idle would have given this sleeper away, but many a GTO and Hemi saw only its tail lights dragging down Mountain Avenue.  Perhaps the first four door sedan I ever had respect for.  Wonder what ever happened to it?  Bouke had a 1973 Z-1, with a Yoshimura kit.  It was fast I thought because he was, but one afternoon on River Road I pegged the throttle in second gear, and hung on for life.  It hit 102 in second, at a time when 100 mph top speed, the ton, was a lot.  I remember it because my helmet blew off my head, and I was more afraid of a Bound Brook cop ticketing me for no helmet rather than the speed.  Bouke was always the fastest, I’m sure he rides a ZX-14 today, probably with a turbo.  The stock ones do 102 in first....maybe times have changed.  Lucio and I cut school one day our senior year, and went down to the Shore in his Trans Am, 1972 version.  The first time I ever went 120, the car seemed to float over the rises on the Garden State Parkway, I was scared, but more excited.  If anyone would believe me. Just two 17 year olds having fun. 

And so it goes, and no matter how fast you were, someone will always be faster.  He may not be telling the truth, but he will win the argument, if only by default.  Now I can say I have really gone 136 mph on a BMW, spent the night in jail for it, the ticket was even framed and hung in the service department at Motorsport in Albuquerque.  I have ridden coast to coast in under 70 hours, receipts to prove I rode, family to see me off and to greet me later.  100 miles per hour, how about 100 miles in one hour?  Done it twice on my FJ1100, once in eastern Colorado, and once between Baker and Vegas.  With Christopher on back.  So I can say I have gone fast, quick, long distance, and can prove it.  Sadly I had many tickets, and lost my license once to prove it also.  So  I am amused when filling up, and a young kid asks “what’ll she do?” to a cycle I’m riding, and looking at the speedo will see 160.  “Wow, it goes that fast?” and not wanting to spoil his illusion, nod in agreement.  Now it’s his story to tell, and the legend continues.  Now speed being relative, a few years ago I rode a Street Triple, that recorded the highest speed.  I showed 131, and was impressed.  Until I saw a black one that had just come back from a magazine, it showed 148.  131 never felt so slow.  On my Street Triple today it only shows 124, tied with Andrew.  I hit the rev limiter on my FJ100 once, according to Yamaha that is 155, according to my old friend Brett, “faster than any sane white man should go.” So I have ridden fast, gone fast, been caught going fast, and hung on for life going fast.  So when someone tries to impress me by fast, I sit quiet, because although I was fast, and still can be if I want, most of my friends were faster.  Some may beat me to the first corner, but many don’t lead me out of it. 

One Sunday afternoon in Golden, NM this guy challenged me to race.  He claimed he had Ron Pierce’s race bike, when he was the #4 plate in the early seventies.  Kept in his van, he kept taunting me telling me my R90S was slow.  Everyone knew BMW’s were slow.  So finally tired of being taunted, especially in front of the two hot girls he had with him, we raced.  Covering 14 miles  in just over 7 minutes.  And I beat him, by so much I was sitting off my bike waiting.  He had more bike than talent, I had more cajones.  Embarrassed, he never said a word, but took off ahead of me, giving the illusion he won upon return.  But he was embarrassed, he and a friend threw the bike in his van,  the hot girls still hot, but now consoling him.  But he still won them, even though he lost the race.  And the next day the word was on the streets....no one ever went that fast on a BMW!

We have become a society of sound bites, sound clips, and headlines.  No one wants to read the article, say it all in the headline.  So that banner better be pretty impressive...or you will lose your audience.  Some 70 years ago a Baptist preacher from North Carolina was out barn storming the country.  He was drawing crowds, people were being saved, and soon he was filling stadiums.  When one Bill Hearst heard of him, he liked his message, although we never did know how he responded to it himself.  But his two word headline, sent out to his nationwide newspaper empire changed the preacher’s life.  It read “PUFF GRAHAM!”  The Graham being Billy, the Hearst being William Randolph.  And the rest is history.. as Billy’s crusades continue even today under Greg Laurie’s Harvest Crusades.  But it took Hearst to help out Billy.  A fact that many don’t know.  And are even more amazed that a secular man like Hearst would puff Graham.  yet we see in scripture many who helped forward the gospel, even if they didn’t know it.  Jesus tells us “all things work together,”  all meaning excludes nothing, includes everything.  All.  Both good and evil, both good times and bad.  And history tells us that every time the church was persecuted, the gospel message expanded even further.  Seems when the church couldn’t meet, they took the message to the streets.  And the church grew.  And it continues today, where in places like China, Sudan, India, and other dark areas, the gospel is going out.  Muslims being saved in the Middle East.  Churches springing up in China so fast the government ignores them, they can’t police the growing numbers.  For just like it takes sand to irritate a clam and make a pearl, all things work together for good for those who seek God.  And we are that all that he uses.  Sometimes one on one, sometimes to a group of students, and some like Billy and Greg.  Sharing a simple message of salvation, making it all about Jesus.  Keeping it simple, so people like me can get it.  In this life you will have tribulation, so you can expect the gospel to grow around you.  It is your choice to hear a story, or be part of the story. 

And so today we find Jesus at race tracks, biker hang outs, drive ins, and even churches.  Wherever two of us are, the gospel goes out, for he is with us.  Sharing testimonies of how he changed our lives, and no matter how incredible, they are more believable than most bench racing stories.  For an infinite God doesn’t cut back on power, or his might, and his spirit still saves.  0 to heaven in the twinkling of an eye.  1/240,000th of a second.  I’m sorry, I thought you said you were fast.  So today as the speeds increase as our memories fade, Jesus never fades.  A light you cannot outrun, and a friend who sticks with you at any speed.  His truth beats any lie of Satan, and he backs it up.  Listen to a testimony and share yours.  See lives changed.  Dare someone to grab the $5 bill hanging in front of him.  But do it fast, time is passing, and his coming is closer today than yesterday.  Fast is a relative term, we are family with God.  How’s that for a theory of relativity?  How many have you passed today on your way to heaven?  How many will you pass today?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

like rearranging chairs on the Titanic

Simple is a relative term, and I find that life is best lived on that level.  Yesterday’s reminder is proof of that.  It is midafternoon, and my phone rings.  It is a friend I haven’t heard from in months, who needs help.  Rather the husband of his receptionist needs help.  The clutch cable on his Harley broke, and he is stuck about 10 miles from my house, can I help?  Sure, have him ride it without the clutch, no big deal.  Silence, and then “can you call his wife?”  “Why, she’s not stuck?  Give me her husband’s number.”  Quick thinking on my part.  So I call him, and find he is stuck 10 miles from my house.  When he admits he cannot ride the bike without a clutch, I explain how to him, it isn’t difficult.  And the silent reply confirms he can’t.  So I offer to go show him, to follow him home, after he admits he has a truck, but no ramp, and his wife is on the way.  Now they both will be stuck.  My last offer is I’ll ride it to his house, and he can follow on my Bonneville, breaking rule #1, don’t let anyone else ride your bike.  But I figure he’s stuck, a friend of an old friend, and no biker should be left behind.  Finding him was no problem, but explaining it in person got me the deer in the headlights look I should have heard in his voice over the phone.  So I explained I’ll ride his bike, follow me, and when we get to your exit go ahead and I’ll follow you.  Sounds easy, so easy a caveman could do it.  And I lost him...rather he lost me, I’m riding at 25-30 mph, and following the exact directions I told him.  Only one turn involved...so I went home with no problems, but was mad, VERY mad.  Where was my Bonneville?  Had he dumped it?  And Ken’s voice kept repeating in my head, from when I offered a Harley group a ride on a Speed Triple, “Mike, no one here can ride that.”  The Harley and I had made it, where ‘s Bonneville?

Now Theresa knew something was up when she heard the Harley, and saw me on it.  “Don’t say anything,” was all I said, and called my friend.  The Harley guy had lost me, couldn’t keep up, at 25-30 mph?  So he went home, figuring I had gone to his house.  I don’t know where he lives, why would I ride there?  And at this point felt like the guy in charge of rearranging the chairs on the Titanic, it was futile, the iceberg had been hit, and the life boat, my Bonneville was gone.  And then the phone rang, my Bonneville was OK, and he would come in his truck and get his bike from me.  Only about 10 minutes away, he punched my address into his GPS, and arrived 25 minutes later, the GPS had taken him 15 miles out of the way!  Suddenly I was running out of chairs to arrange, but he did show up.  Apologetic, but with no tie downs, we keep many sets, and soon we were loaded up and on the way to get my Bonneville.  Which at this point had become the quest, and this guy kept telling me I was his new best friend.  Just give me my bike, and I’ll be off.  Somehow it all ended well, no one hurt except the clutch cable, which looked like an easy fix, I rode home alone, and all hands were accounted for.  As were all life boats.  And icebergs...the chair count is still out.

Now I tell people the first thing to do in a panic situation is don’t panic.  I hadn’t until he didn’t show, and lost me.  And Theresa reminded me angrily “you know better than to let anyone else ride your bike.  And I can keep up with you better than that!”  But then I had taken my eyes off the Lord, and put them on the situation.  Which turned a nothing situation into panic, anger, and thoughts of my bike in an accident or worse.  I had been prepared for the situation, from riding the Harley to loading it in his truck, but had met a rider who was unprepared, didn’t know, and I had to handle basic riding 101 chores.  A 20 minute excursion had taken over 2 1/2 hours, but it ended well.  Too often we look at the situation, and not to the cross.  We look at the question, get frustrated, pray, then act irresponsibly anyway, without letting God answer.  This was no big deal to our Lord, but to both of us who rode, a big deal.  He had trusted me, I delivered, and I had trusted him, he hadn’t.  But God had it worked out, and we all arrived at our homes safe and sound.

But too often we are arranging chairs on our Titanic, we are the Captain Kirk of our own Enterprise, and things don’t go right.  But fortunately Jesus never leaves us, even when we make wrong turns, or those you are leading can’t keep up at 25 mph.  He never gets too far ahead, as any great shepherd does, and he even prepares the path ahead for us, I made it  home with no problems, so did my road call.  But we each leaned on our own understanding, and that is when the trouble began.  Experience can be that understanding, and we all operate at different levels in the spirit.  And without the spirit leading, we get separated from God.  But Jesus came to reunite us to our heavenly Father, and all is forgiven.  And a testimony has been recorded to be shared.  The guy arranging the chairs on the Titanic just kept doing his job without thinking, with no regard to the futility.  It was about lives at that point, not seating arrangements or motorcycles yesterday.  It was about getting home safe, and both of us did yesterday.  The lifeboat God had provided got us where we needed to be, how many ignored the warnings and the Titanic was left with many empty lifeboats, and hundreds perished.   The people on the ship had ignored the crew’s orders, and died because of it.  Our refusal to listen to God may not end in death, but if we fail to turn to Jesus, we go to hell.  Where there are no icebergs. 

Seek God in your situation today, look to the cross instead of the problem.  Pray, listen, then obey.  You may be only up to your ankles, but the water is rising fast.  And in every situation God is able to come through.  But you need to follow him, and that takes faith, then obedience, then trust.  Funny how we trust someone we cannot see to save us, then fail to trust him when we get into trouble.  Sometimes help is the best prayer, and listen is the best answer.  But communication is still the best.  So spend some time in prayer with the Lord today, listen to him, and maybe avoid dangerous situations.  He knows what to do, where the tie downs are, and how to get us home safely.  A lesson of how to listen, and the how to guide others in their situation.  Then it is up to them to listen and obey...something out of your control.  Yesterday my old and new friends were busy rearranging chairs on their Titanics.  God knew the iceberg of a clutch cable was there, and sent me in a life boat, the Bonneville.  When God shows up in your next situation, don’t be afraid to get in with him. Even if it takes giving up your seat in the boat like Jesus did for us.  My panic started when I took my eyes off Jesus, and didn’t see my bike.  Fortunately Jesus saw the whole thing... lesson learned, all safe on shore.  Jesus saves bikers too, and sometimes from ourselves.  Aren’t you glad?  Think I’ll go for a ride.  After checking my clutch cable of course.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

all in a day's ride

Freeways-I can remember reading about them when I was young, and how they were the roads of tomorrow.  Enacted by a request from then President Eisenhower, we needed an infrastructure in case we ever went to war on our own shores, and the Interstate Highway System was created, and roads started in 1956.  I can remember how excited we were when I-78 went in, bypassing most of old US 22, going through wide open fields, two lanes wide of no stop  lights, no businesses to get off at, and very few billboards.  It took us through land we hadn’t imagined, it was out in the country in many places, and was referred to as limited access.  And for a while only sections were open, making us appreciate the freedom of no stop lights for miles, then being routed back on old 22 and waiting in heavy traffic.  New and improved used to really mean that, and freeways were just that.  And they bragged you could drive from the Atlantic to the Pacific and never encounter a stop light-bring it on!  But with no lights, and limited access, came a new standard-boredom.  Set the cruise and go.  No longer did you pass such icons as the Flagship, or Leaning Tower of Pizza.  You went past miles of openness, limited exits, and it took a while to get used to finding your way.  New street names, even new names of towns took some getting used to.  And exits now had numbers, which until only a few years ago took on the miles travelled instead of numerically in order.  Starting in the west and going east, or south to north, if you got on at exit/entrance 33, and needed to get off at exit 96, you could do the math, it was 63 miles.  Giving a “how long until we get there?” question new and more accurate answers. 

So Cal is well known for its freeways, and really to us they are just big surface streets.  Take the 78 to the Golden State, to the San Diego Freeway and you are in LA.  In places up to 7 lanes wide-for faster travel or actually the world’s widest parking lot much of the time.  The average speed in LA on their freeways is all of 17 miles per hour.  Not what you have in mind when you want to go out for a leisurely ride.  But I can get to LA form Sa Diego using surface streets and never touch a freeway.  And it may not take much longer.  A different ride, at a different speed, slowing down to get there faster.  Which brings us to last Saturday, riding our Bonnevilles.  We started the day and C and G Ford’s Open House where Andrew works.  We frequent old car shows each week end, and after great BBQ lunch, it was still early, the weather great, and we were in no mood fro freeways.  Give us slower today, a ride where we didn’t have to think much, and could just cruise.  And the Bonnies were just the ticket.  Going through Escondido, up over the hill into Valley Center took us to a different world.  No cars were out today, they must all be at the malls, for it was great.  Lots of bikes, particularly near Palomar, but it seemed all speeds were down today, and we just cruised.  On roads like Rice Canyon where on the Tiger I go 70-80 safely, today I rode 45 and felt fast in places.  I looked at the homes and trees, and saw things I miss at 80.  Suddenly I was so relaxed that shifting into 4th in places felt fast, so 3rd it was, helping to keep the speed down, but still using all my tires in turns, a much slower fast, with no traffic to concern myself with.  All in a day’s ride, with no freeways to deal with-and the 100 miles of roads lasted all afternoon.

De Luz Canyon is a beautiful ride, from Fallbrook to Temecula, or vice versa as we rode it.  Picking up elevation quick and leaving Temecula behind, soon you are on winding roads of outer suburbia, past ranches, and soon just you and the road.  No exits with signs or mileages, no signs at all, with only one fork in the road to take, actually a T, hoping the left meant Fallbrook, but not really concerned if it didn’t.  We were just out riding, away from it all, and it felt great.  No lanes to split, no traffic either way for miles, the sound of the exhaust echoing at times off the canyon walls-my kind of music.  With each of us riding our own ride, and although I was riding faster than Theresa never felt hurried, and only stopped a few times for her to catch up.  Riding our own rides, with no pressure, no schedule, and no particular place to go, and all day to get there.  A quick ride through Fallbrook, stopping at an antique store we usually speed past, and finding a treasure trove of goodies.  And then down old 395 and home-rested and worn out all at once.  A peaceful ride for an afternoon....reminding me that it is the road, and not the destination that counts.  That day the road was the destination.  Reminding us of how you can never go home, but you can still take great roads to get there.

We were on very few straight and narrow roads that day.  I still believe to this day God invented curves for motorcycles to ride on.  And for years struggled with the scripture “for the gate is narrow, and the road is straight to God.”  How could scripture mislead me so badly, why were there curves if straight was the best?  Until he reminded me one day, and again last week.  The road is straight to Jesus, only one way, so that you don’t get lost.  And the shortest way is a straight line between two points-here and heaven.  But he added curves so we can enjoy life, be tested, and have to rely on him to make, we cannot do it on our own.  For straight and narrow roads lead to a gate that is straight and narrow-the only way in.  Not like the border crossing, where 17+ lanes await you, the gate is narrow, so stay straight!  Also you get to choose the best lines when riding through life, finding like riding, if you enter the curve correctly, you can exit faster.  So choosing the right lines is important.  Too far left-oncoming traffic.  Too far right-you run off the road.  Staying the course, riding straight and narrow, and as any racer knows, turning curves into straight lines.  For curves are just a bunch of straight lines at changing angles.  So adjust you speed carefully.  Works in riding, works in life, works with Jesus.  You don’t have to ride too fast into a turn to see God like some racers do.  And although we each take a different road to Jesus, there is still only one way to heaven, and he is it!  Fast or slow, freeways or back roads, with him we will finally get there.  But the road ahead looms, and for some it is scary.  For some boring, for some an adventure.  How is the procedure, who is the destination. 

Some day we will look back at life as all in a day’s ride when we get to heaven.  Riding at God’s pace rather than rushing at ours.  Jesus never hurried, and was never late.  He never delayed, and always arrived on time, God’s time.  A fact Martha and Mary were to learn with their brother Lazarus.  Life is more than mileage markers, and roads can be taken slower and faster at the same time.  For us Saturday’s ride was all about the ride, showing us it is all about Jesus.  And that no matter what road, how fast, or how slow, when it leads to him it is the right road.  Many will offer quicker ways, detours that sound appealing, or even alternative routes.  Stick with Jesus, the only way.  When we get to heaven I don’t anticipate anyone asking “are we there yet?”  We’ll know, there will be no doubt.  Until that day, enjoy the road you are on with him, and enjoy life.  Straight and narrow leads to the gates of heaven, it is the curves that make the ride there worthwhile.

love with compassion,
Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

hair today, gone tomorrow

Blame it on the Beatles, the importance of long hair.  I was 9 when the Beatle haircut fad hit, and to a kid with a crew cut, they were a dream away.  No way I would ever have long hair.  It was still an age of what we called Greasers, who poured on Vitalis by the gallon, and slicked back their hair, but respectable people had short hair.  Men went to barber shops, women to salons, and never the twain should meet.  Women spent hours making themselves beautiful for their husbands, and the barbers shop was a place for men only.  Where no numbers were taken, you just asked who was last, then joined in.  Never in a hurry, you could either get the next barber, usually three of them, or wait for your favorite, usually the guy by the window up front.  But while waiting men would talk of men things-cars, jobs, girls, and were careful no to get too graphic when a son of one of the guys sat by him.  While they read Field and Stream, NRA Magazine, or Esquire, titles usually not found in suburbia homes, we looked at Archie, lusting over Betty and Veronica, and every time we were close to choosing one over the other, the next page would delay the decision.  It wasn’t easy being a kid where sex was a three letter word.  It was an experience that usually took place on a Saturday morning, and time for you and your Dad to hang out, even if it was with other men.  And he usually told his barber how to cut it, and when old enough, you didn’t have him tell the barber, in most cases Jerry, how to do it.  You were an adult, making your own decisions at age 12, but with your Dad watching close, you weren’t going to be a long hair, a hippie, or any other kind of socially irresponsible citizen.  And so you endured it, even your Grandparents thought you looked cute...not quite the compliment you wanted in puberty, but as you got older, your hair got longer, and soon Jerry’s Barber Shop was left behind.  And you went to a stylist, who gave you a haircut, that cost more, and always asked “how do you want it cut?”  Something you never heard from Jerry, for any good barber worth his razor knew his customers, and how they wanted their hair cut.  Some things would change, but your hair style wouldn’t.  And from the time you sat on the kid’s set stretched over the barber chair’s arms, to the time you went to a stylist, Jerry took good care of you. With a strange thing happening, although you hated haircuts, the time spent in the barber shop was really an education.  A place where men talked men stuff, read men magazines, and us little kids all wanted to grow up.  Today we get our hair styled at unisex salons...somehow just not the same.  And oh for just one more visit to smell the witch hazel, to watch a man get shaved, or to hear the sound of clippers again.  One more chance to choose between Betty and Veronica.  And to maybe find out why you couldn’t read Esquire.

Just another time that has gone away, a memory that is from another generation.  And although some barber shops are around today, we get our hair styled, I refuse to get styled, I still get a haircut.  It is what it is.  But the past few years I let it grow long, and at one time it was down over my shoulders.  Which gave it a flip after wearing my helmet, much like the Betty and Veronica style.  And since going to Maranatha had it long like that.  So when one day I decided to get it cut, up over the ears like a yuppie, no one recognized me.  I went to a Bible study after it was cut, and Doug followed me around.  A man I knew for three years came up and introduced himself.  Even Pastor Ray after church one morning didn’t recognize me, “Mike, you got a haircut!”  To which I now reply, “no I got it styled.”  And still people don’t recognize me at first, but always tell me it looks good.  Why do bald men always insist that?  But I still get grief from some, who liked my long hair, but whose job or wife wouldn’t let them.  Mickey makes fun of me, and my helmet fits loose.  It takes a shorter time to dry, I have to get it cut more often, and I have to shave more, because you can see my face.  All because of getting my hair styled.  Hair today, gone tomorrow, but it grows back, and probably will get longer again.  Not pony tail length ever again, but long enough to look cool.  And then there are the guys who shave their heads...I don’t get it.  And I really don’t get the women who like it.  If it looks so good, why don’t they shave theirs?  I never met anyone growing up who looked forward to being bald, and now we have self induced baldness.  With men looking like future beings from a 50’s science fiction movie.  For me, I’ll stick with the Cowsill’s recommendation, “fill your head with hair, long beautiful hair...”  Leaving the question, what color hair does a bald person have checked off on his license? Is none a color?  Or is bald the new blonde?  With no dark roots?

Now Samson to me has always been a great argument for long hair.  But it came to him with two problems, one he was attractive to other women, usually the undesirable ones, and it gave him supernatural strength, from God.  But when on Delilah got her hands on it, and cut it off, he lost all his power.  He was separated from God, his sin reflected in his actions.  He drank wine, forbidden, he touched a dead animal, big time no-no, and fell into lust. Losing his hair to her, and being blinded by his enemies, he finally was to fight the Philistines in one final battle.  But while they thought his hair had given him strength, it was really God, the hair being a symbol to others.  Jews still like to look for signs today  Words aren’t enough.  But the good thing was that Samson conquered the Philistines by himself, pulling down the columns and crushing them, a crushing defeat.  But being blind, he never got to see his victory, and died soon after.  God had planned to use him all along to win over the Philistines, but his sin got between him and God, and he won, just never seeing his victory.  Sin had blinded him to the things of God.  His hair had grown back giving him renewed strength, but there was a price he paid for his sin. 

Today we have Jesus to forgive us, but sin still will keep us from seeing the things of God.  God has plans for us, he tells us many times, but our actions are our own, and when we sin rather than choose God, we suffer.  God’s will will still be done, but sin has robbed us of the full victory.  Only in Jesus will we see that full victory, where no sin stands between us and him.  When we are truly forgiven, but still need to change.  Samson still lived in debauchery after his haircut, it was only when he got right with God did his true strength return.  Long hair, short hair, or bald we all need Jesus.  Cut or styled, we all sin and fall short.  It takes a loving Jesus to save us.  Remember the posters form the 60’s, “let them wear their hair as long as they like,” portraying along haired Jesus.  Some buying into it, this being the closest they got to him. Long hair represented freedom or rebellion, but never experiencing the love of Jesus.  So close, so trendy, yet not saved.  Just a haircut away from salvation.

So I prefer to say I got my hair styled.  I will keep my relationship with Jesus short or long.  For he is more than style, he is life.  Samson found out the hard way about being separated from God. Jesus makes it easy to be reunited with him.  Takes less time than getting a haircut.  Even shorter than getting it styled.  But a great walk with him takes daily shampooing, combing, and grooming.  God calls it working out our salvation.  We are saved, our lives just need touching up.  But we can all be beautiful in Christ...his love for us showing all the way down to his roots.  Samson knew the true effect of hair today, gone tomorrow.  We have the chance to be here today, and in heaven tomorrow.  Only in Jesus will we get there.  But that still leaves the question of Betty or Veronica?  And is it true blondes still have more fun?  More fun that what?  All I did was get my hair styled, or cut....and that made all the difference.  If only Samson had listened to his barber.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com