attn Postman: no one named occupant lives at this address

Talking with our mail lady the other day, she was explaining how the post office was thinking of going to a 4 day delivery.  It seems the amount of mail has dropped off drastically due to emails, and some days there isn’t enough to warrant sending out the mailman on his route.  It seems after “best food day,” the day all the ads come out, usually Wednesday, but here Monday, the mail load drops off drastically, so the cutback may be needed.  Of course at the other end is the Sunday deliveries via the post office from Amazon, but even lately I have noticed Amazon emblazoned vans in our neighborhood.  All new and clean, the opposite from the postal Jeep that chugs to our house.  And even the periodicals have declined, as evidenced by the growing online amount, the dreaded TV Guide day a thing of the past.  But some how they stumble on, managing to lose millions of dollars per day, all at our expense.  But to their defense, probably the most efficient mail/package delivery system in the world. 

It seems most of the mail I get anymore comes addressed to occupant.  Not sure who occupant is, male or female, but we get their mail.  And a lot of it.  Years ago MAD magazine started a protest as a joke, which some people took literally.  They advised mail recipients, us , to return any mail addressed to occupant, stating no one by that name is at this address.  Potentially flooding the system, while making a statement about junk mail.  Today I just toss it, but have my own form of protest, per Andy Rooney.  All those ads that come with postage paid return envelopes, I return them, empty.  Keeps the USPS busier, and hopefully sends a message, don’t bother me.  Still working on a way for phone calls at dinner time advising me of the prize I won in the contest I never entered.  I hear a high pitched whistle is effective...

But also from time to time, I send back the postage paid envelopes with a tract inside, sharing Jesus with them.  Not sure if they are machine processed, but someone somewhere has to end up reading them.  Just my small way of spreading the gospel, for free, like the gospel, to anyone who is within mail receiving ear shot.  But I must confess, I like getting mail, so I send mail.  True, most is in the form of email, but I still handwrite letters from time to time, making it more personal.  A day and age that has passed, cursive isn’t even taught in schools anymore, and texting has made it OK to not know how to spell, as if the recipient could tell anyway.  But on my desk I keep an old letter, dated 12/5/75, from my Grandpa.  I had just moved to Albuquerque, and it was short, but loving.  Very personal by his writing, not the happy faced icon placed at the end either.  He spelled words correctly, and signed it in a way I always remember, “be good to yourself and others, and abundance of everything, Grandpa.”  A letter of love all by itself.  A keeper, maybe the good old days were that much better.

When reading the New Testament we forget, if we ever knew, that many are letters addressed to a church, to a person specifically, written in love.  Hand written, on scrolls, delivered by a post man, and anxiously received by the addressee.  Can you imagine how excited the church in Galatia was when it received the letter from Paul?  The anticipation of having it read publicly while gathering that night after it was received.  How excited and encouraging his words were.  Written in a letter form, they read like the letters they were then even today.  We just have the luxury of having chapters and verse to refer to, but you can imagine someone in the audience saying, “read that part about Jesus again..” and maybe the scroll was even passed around.  Seeing how their prayers were answered, how things were going for their letter writer, and learning more about Jesus.  They read the New Testament first hand, back when it was referred to as the teaching of the Apostles.  How many in Phillipi would have ever dreamed that it a letter to them would be part of a new book called the Bible?  Do we read the Bible as a letter and get excited, or is it memorization, studying, or reading an assignment?  Think how different it would be if you read it like the letter it was when sent.  Taking a bit of liberty with John 14:4-7, this may give you an idea.  And make Jesus more personal.  And the scripture come alive. 

“Dear Father,

I brought glory to you here on earth by completing the work you gave me to do.

Now Father, bring me into the glory we shared before the world began.

I have revealed you to the ones you gave me from this world.  They were always

yours.  You gave them to me, and they have kept your word.

Now they know that everything is a gift from you.

Your loving son,

Jesus*”

italics mine

Reads much different doesn’t it?  Just as it was written, and probably read.  For any and all to read.  Maybe the Bible was the first letter addressed to occupant.  The first letter for any and all to read, to be read personally, and read over and over again.  Somehow magically stored on scrolls that survived thousands of years, protected and preserved by the same God that inspired them.  If he can preserve scrolls, how much more can he preserve us and resurrect us?  Take some time to read the letters from God today.  Spend some time with his son, and get to know him better.  He took the time for you, take some time for him.  Be as excited as the first church, waiting to hear more about Jesus, and being the first recipients of this new thing called the gospel.  Read it with the spirit guiding you, as it guided every word written, and find yourself getting closer to God.  No letter from home will ever have more of an impact.  And they are addressed specifically to you, to me, to us, the church.  Occupants here on earth until called home for our final address. 

So maybe MAD was wrong, many occupants do live here at this earthly address.  But remember the words of Jesus, “ I brought glory to you here on earth by completing the work you gave me to do.”  A loving letter to a loving father.  He probably could have signed it “be good to yourself and others, and abundance of everything,” maybe that is why I save my Grandpa’s letter.  A letter written some 2000 years later in love, without the verses marked.  To be read just like it was sent, in love.  Can we read the Bible the same way and be so blessed?  Jesus Christ, for like the mailman, he knows here you live.

love with compassion, and an abundance of everything,

still doing the job you gave me to do,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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in like a lion, out with the lamb

As I sit here today, it is already the third of May, 4 months have passed, and a third of 2016 is over.  Where have I been?  Sometimes I feel like I am on pause, only the clock still ticks, other times I am still at half time and the second half has begun.  Maybe it is true that as you get older time goes by faster, but I think really time stays constant, it is us that slows down.  Where once 24 hours filled a day, my clock still shows 60 minutes per hour and 24 hours per day, I’m on hour 22 and wondering where the other two went.  But with less stress, and as I look at old people, I’m not at 62, I see how in a few years I will really be slow, so enjoy every day as I can.  My main mode of travel is still two wheels with motor included, but planning for our next long trip, I broke it up into 200-300 mile days, not many as compared to the 500-1000 I used to do.  But now I see more, stop more often as more things interest me, and plan a direction rather than a destination.  This year will be east by northeast, and a view of middle America, as opposed to more of California, again.  Freeways be damned, it’s back roads, old highways, highways referred to by name by locals as opposed to by number on a map, and where you actually meet the people along the way, engaging in a conversation that is more than at the counter“next.”  Burning a tank or two of gas, at 200 miles per tank, gas stops will be infrequent, potty stops won’t.  I hope to get the most of every day on the trip, but also the ones leading up to it.  At one time it was all about the ride, the miles, now the ride has expanded to places, meals, old museums, meeting people more, and as the miles accumulate, the memories do too, but at a speed my brain can handle better.  Not as fast, not yet slow, maybe less slow is the best term for it.  And on two wheels the ride continues...

When James Taylor sang of “10 miles behind me, with 10,000 more to go,” some see a long road ahead to their destination.  I see the ride.  America is still out there, even if you aren’t, and waiting to brag on itself, to show just how much God shed his grace on it.  And on thee, by exploring it.  And I have seen a waning grace, not based on God’s grace, but on our grace, for we neglect God more and more everyday.  Where once we did all things based on him, today we try to fit him into our schedule, and we do a pretty good job of it, until something better comes along.  Then it is all about us first, maybe him second, and all of us have been there, sadly I can say I have too, been there, done that, have the t-shirt.  But as I grow in Christ, the t-shirts mean less, and the times I missed with God seem more important.  You cannot go back, so go ahead with him, and enjoy the ride more.  We come into life as a lion, full of sin, whoever taught a baby to say “mine” or to cry when it doesn’t get its way, I know some adults like that, and when confronted with the gospel of Jesus Christ, give our lives to the lamb.  We come in like a lion, but God gives us the choice to go out with the lamb, to leave on an eternal ride in heaven.  Yet many still choose to live like hell, and go there.  Shedding themselves of God’s grace, but not his mercy.  For the key ingredient to gain mercy is that you have to screw up first.  So all of us are eligible.  And so I look forward to seeing God’s grace he shed upon America....the time flying up to the trip, I hope slowing down once I get there.

Today is a wonderful gift of God, enjoy it fully for what God has provided in it.  As many worship the great creations of man, cars, buildings, houses, monuments, and the such, others worship God’s creations such as mountains, beaches, deserts, and the places he put his hand to, yet end up worshipping the work of his hand rather than the hands that made them.  Both close, but yet miss.  As when  you seek Jesus first, all things will be added unto you.  And it will always come down to the people you meet at these places that give them life, that make them accessible, who can relate the testimonies of days passed, and make it more personal.  A few years back we stopped at Mount Rushmore, a must see for all.  A wonderful man created sight, a National Park worthy of its title, but distant just the same.  But when we met Nick Clifford, who had actually worked on the monument, it became personal.  He was history, he had been there.  In his book “Mount Rushmore Carver,” we got background information, learned about the history from one who made it, and saw how things were, not the movie version.  We talked with him, and heard his tales.  His story, history.  It was like being there, and maybe gives more insight into my life than I realized.  We met the man face to face in the book, the man who wrote it.  Like my life in Christ.  Face to face, I know the author personally.

I choose to be where the action is, to live the life.  Visiting some friends who have a lovely home, it was our testimonies of God’s blessings that filled it, we rather be in the picture than looking at it.  To be part of it, rather than hear about it.  I want everything from God I can get, blessings we pray for, but also found that the hardships go along with the ride.  And bring us closer to him, for all things, just not our plans, but his work together for us.  I want the telling of the ride to be as exciting as the ride itself, so I never want the ride to end.  Even if I ride it going less slow, I see more as I slow down, and the destinations are closer, as each day, each mile, each ride is more valuable.  Our rides start with us wanting to get on the road, the day cannot arrive too soon, we are bears, or lions in our attitudes, but as the ride continues we mellow out, we become lambs.  And such is my relationship with Jesus.  As I get closer, the me part wears off, and he grows more and more in me, becoming the focal part of my days.  Some concentrate so much on the beginning and the end they forget we will spend most of our days in the middle.  The in between times, they hurry up and wait, now I just wait.  As I go....

Each day we are closer to heaven than the day before.  Today was tomorrow yesterday.  But Jesus is still the same.  He never hurries, yet is never late.  He never lags behind, it is us who become impatient.  On our set of rules, we seldom are happy, in the spirit we are blessed all the time.  So even though I may have travelled that 10,000 miles, and may have only 10 more to go, I want to get the most from every mile I have left.  To enjoy the ride with Jesus, with him, not just having him along.  There is a difference.  For when we go out with the lamb, it all becomes worth it.  For cars get old and rust, buildings get old and are razed, roads will come and go.  But the Lamb of God will always remain.  He was the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, who became the Lamb of God so we can have a relationship with the Father in heaven.  Guided by his spirit until he returns.  But until then, continue the ride.  Time may pass, be a part of it.  You will meet people who will bless your life, get out and be that blessing to others.  Don’t just watch the documentary on TV, be in it.  Be in Christ, walk in the spirit, and get all life has to offer.  Memorial Day is coming soon, the opening day to summer, be there and ready for it.  But be there, here and now too. 

When asked “where has the time gone?” be ready with the stories of Jesus that filled yours.  People need to hear them, we need to make them.  For by our testimony, and the blood of the lamb, we are saved.  Says so right in the Bible.  Must be true.  Jesus did his part, are you doing yours? 

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

 

 

decades of cars

The movie American Graffiti made stars of many of its actors, and of its producer, George Lucas.  But as famous as they are/were, to me it was always about the cars, and the times we enjoyed them in.  And how that certain vehicle will be remembered long after the dates that occupied the seat next to you in it.  As I was pondering cars I’ve owned, I can trace my ownership back for seven decades, from the forties to the new millenium.  A lot has changed in those 7 decades, I wonder how much I changed along the way with them.  Se how you relate, and if you changed too.

These are not in order of ownership, but by year.  Or remembered.  Seems as the price went up, many times the age of the vehicle went down.  We owned a 1949 Ford F-3, a heavy duty 3/4 ton pickup.  It was really rated as a 1 ton, except for the fact it only had single rear wheels.  It hauled wood for a few years in Colorado, and we sold it when moving into a house with a heater.  $900 when purchased, $900 when sold. A cool old truck, wish I had never sold it.  I once owned a 1950 Buick Special 4 door sedan, a true barn find, before barn finds were the thing.  I found it on the back row of a Mazda lot, and for $600 was mine.  The brothers who had found it in their grandmother’s garage had it cleaned up, new wide whites, and the interior looked like new.  Cool car for cruising in, it was sold to continue an education I never finished.  I’m still a sucker for those toothy 1950 Buicks today.

A 1969 BMW 1600 was my first car, bought used from my dad.  Back when BMW meant “British what” it was cool among sports car guys, and those who read Road & Track.  But it went the way of a new Rabbit in 1975, which was sold for a 1973 Chevy van, customized by Garry for an engineering project, which was later sold when I moved west.  My other car from the sixties was a 1963 Chevy Greenbrier van, based on the Corvair.  $300 I never did pay off, it sat in the back row of Lou’s Garage with others waiting for parts or the owners to come up with money.  Clyde bought it back for the $200 I owed him, if only I had had the money, it was cool even then, sadly vans aren’t any more.  But my favorite car of the sixties was the 1967 Cadillac Sedan DeVille, the $1000 dream of a young man.  It was fast, would outdrag Trans Ams of the time, 1977-78, got 6 miles per gallon no matter how I drove it, so I drove it fast.  The proverbial little old lady car, it wasn’t in my hands.  Sold when Theresa and I got married, traded for a 1978 Rabbit.  She kept running over curbs in the Cadi-land yacht, oh the good old days. 

The eighties brought many cars, a 1981 Chevy Citation X-11, the hi-po version.  Traded straight across for a 1983 Escort, we had a family then, only to find out a drunk driver had run into it totaling it.  A great repair job, but the engine blew in Texas.  Where we bought a used 1984 Thunderbird, our first T Bird.  The new aero Bird, it was later traded, and the list goes on.  Today the list ends at 2003 with the Ranger, but the memories and the “glad I bought it, wished I had never sold it, want it back again “ saga continues.  We put more miles on our bikes than our cars, so we keep them.  Cars have become a novelty for us, we travel by motorcycle, and a 13 year old truck and 15 year old car don’t seem so old.  Today when we see 1991 cars considered classic by the 25 year old rule, our used cars will be classics someday.  Who would have thought it when we bought them? 

But as sure as faces and dates fade over time, we remember the car we had.  The 1972 MG I went to UNM in.  The 1973 El Camino I hauled my first dirt bike in.  Our first Mustang, a 1986 GT convertible, the top went down in May, back up in November.  When it rained, we took the other car.  The trip to Novato one Christmas in it.  Not sure of the year, but traded it for a used 1995 T Bird.  The cars we dated in, loved on, kept running despite lack of funds, we can remember them, the good times in them, just not the dates.  Which is OK, no one will hold you to them, the true test is the times remembered.  Of barely making payments, of the repairs and tune ups, and of course the road trips, the memories that each one provided.  Suddenly when the memories are included, the purchase price and upkeep becomes less expensive, almost a bargain.  If only we knew then what we do now, would it really have made a difference?

Many will criticize the Bible as being inaccurate when it comes to dates.  Yet will compare it to a non-God inspired record for comparison.  Josephus, a Greek historian, has given the Bible a great deal of credibility due to his writings.  But shouldn’t it be the other way around, God proving man right or wrong?  Yet the more men have tried to find errors in scripture, the more accurate it has become to them.  The dates mentioned if not exact years, coincide with history, and when read contemporarily, would have been dismissed as false.  But weren’t, truth winning out.  So some read the Bible for historic reasons, some for edification.  Both true, but we need to remember all scripture, the Bible is inspired by God.  And the same spirit that inspired it is needed to make it become real today.  How many when lost would espouse the Bible made no sense, yet after Jesus comes into their lives see it come alive?  How can we read for hours, when once a few minutes seemed like an eternity?  How can old words thousands of years old still be relevant today?  Does God get old like our cars do?

Like cars, many times I can remember the things God has done in my life, but not the dates.  The dates may fade, but Jesus never does.  He is as real today as when I first met him 41 years ago.  Driving the 1973 Chevy van, my R90S at home in the garage.  If life can be remembered by the cars or motorcycles, how much more important is it to remember where you were in Christ at the time?  The testimonies we didn’t know we were making, how we missed God in our midst until afterwards, and how what he did then influenced our next days.  American Graffiti may have been a life changing experience for its stars, but the true life changing experience is when Jesus Christ comes into our lives.  I can remember my BC days, but my AD days far out number them, and yet I can see how Jesus took me through those times while I was yet a sinner, in rebellion.  Maybe it is the memories rather than the sheet metal they are surrounded in that make the old cars so valuable, to make us want to go back to those times with what we know now.  Only in Christ do we have a future to look forward too.  Decades of memories behind, an eternity ahead.

But what of today?  Where are you in Christ?  Where is Jesus in your life?  Today is not only the day of salvation, but a great day to be saved.  God does not promise us tomorrow, but does eternity.  Which are you basing your future on?  Are you still making payments on a life style hoping to earn your way to heaven, or are you accepting the free gift of salvation?  Is your life all about you, or all about Jesus?  We talk of the good old days, they are still here, today.  Influencing tomorrow.  What are your memories of Jesus?  Do you remember him more than the cars of your past?  Is lurking in your 1960’s body a new spirit or just an old motor in need of repairs?  Time passes, don’t let time with Jesus in your life pass.  We may not recall the dates, but we should never forget Jesus.  A true barn find if there ever was one, and one who makes an eternal impact on your life.  Only in Christ will you truly say “glad I found him, glad he saved me, and I never want to go back again.”  Cars like the grass and memories may whither, aren’t you glad Jesus never does?

Seven decades of cars, five decades of being saved.  What a long, strange trip it has been.  Just make sure you have a today to look back on tomorrow.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

if it has a skirt or wheels you can expect trouble-part 3, skirts and wheels

After two days of too much sun, too much fun, not enough sleep, and spending time with her family, Sunday night we were back at her parents house, and we went out for dinner.  Still echoing in my ear was “did you tell him yet?” and the suspense was building.  Maybe tonight I would find out and her mom would go onto other subjects.  Catching an early movie, the dark and cool was welcomed to these eyes, the 3d movie “Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein,” the 3d effects were great, especially the part of walking through the forest and ducking the trees, we ducked.  But Ginger was obviously ducking something, and at dinner she opened up.  She was pregnant, going to marry her boyfriend, the baby’s father, so we would have to break up.  I didn’t even know we were going out!  I was just visiting, her parents had her invite me, obviously I had missed something in the translation.  It may have been the lack of surprise over breaking up, or the fact she was pregnant, or she was getting married, but it changed the mood of the meal.  She was obviously not hungry after, I was.  Why pass up a free steak dinner her dad was paying for?  And now I knew, I had been told, and I was OK with it.  What did she expect me to do or say?  So as I sat chewing, she told me she had only found out Friday, and her and her boyfriend decided to marry sometime Friday evening.  Somewhere between me oiling the garage floor and my getting lost in the woods.  I can’t tell you why, but I felt relief, it wasn’t my problem, and a relationship I didn’t know I was in was over.  So after dinner we went home, spent more time with her family, and I went to bed early, like before the dawn.  I slept well, after being consoled by her mother, who felt sorry for me, not for the 700 mile ride in the rain, but because her daughter had broken up with me.  Broken my heart, which wasn’t.  I apparently was holding up well in the situation.  A family secret I care not to know more about, I already knew too much.  Somehow I had avoided the skirt giving me a problem, I still had 700 miles of wheels to go.

With a final good bye of “you sure are taking it well,” I said good byes and headed northeast, back the way I came.  Watching my speed, I had plenty of time and daylight.  I was feeling free, and grinning and not knowing why, and Ohio was almost behind me, when two guys with girls on back of their Harleys came up and challenged me.  Showing off their powerful V-twins for their buddy seat sitters, they gave me a look, and challenged me.  So I accepted, sprinting ahead so fast I had to wait for them to catch up.  BMW’s may have been the Cadillac of motorcycles, this was one fast Cadillac.  We were riding side by side, taking up both east bound lanes of I-76, when over a rise the road was blocked, and escorting traffic into a rest area for a license check.  The three of us were pointed to one side, and a group of Ohio Patrol types surrounded us.  The Harley guys were getting tickets, the two men looking at my bike curiously.  And I started to babble, “I don’t know who these guys are, they kept chasing me until you saw us.  I’m a film producer from New York, (I worked for a company who produced/made film in Yonkers,)and I was having front end wobbles.  This is a race bike and I was going about 100 mph to test it out, which is what the factory advises.”  A bit of a stretch of the truth there.  As I pointed to a fork leak, the Sergeant rubbed his glove over the oil, smelled it and said “son the speed limit in Ohio is 55, I’m going to have to give you a warning for 102 mph.”  I’m not sure how many miles it took for the shock to wear off, my last view in my mirrors was the Harley riders obviously mad and pointing and yelling.  400 miles later and I was home.  55 never felt so slow.

God once told me life was all about relationships, and your life would be based upon how your relationship with him was.  Who he was, where he was in your life, and how he influenced it.  God played an important part in the Job household, we all know about his trials, but religion has not been kind to his wife.  One statement of hers, branding her as an infidel for life.  But after reading the whole conversation recorded for us, we can see a different thought or attitude.  When she blurted out “why don’t you curse God and die?” she too had lost her family, her wealth, her home, and was watching her husband die.  Rather than accuse him of following a God who had turned on him, she was maybe advising him “just let him take you.”  And me too.  But his reply tells us more, “you are talking like a foolish woman.”  Not you are a foolish woman, but talking like one, out of character for you.  He was offering help in the midst of his turmoil, showing her love and compassion.  Leave it to religion to brand her incorrectly.  How would your perfect pastor interpret it when he is being tried as Job was?  Or is his walk so weak, is yours, that God would never brag on you before the universe?  We will never know the whole essence or words of the conversation, we need the spirit to guide us with what we are given.  But a God of love, who loved us so much he sent his son to die for us would not abandon us or Job in times of need.  It is the tough times we draw closer to God, where we see who Jesus really is and can share in his suffering, seeing a side of him we don’t if never tried.  Those who study to find themselves approved by man or a church miss this, only in the spirit do you recognize the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but that Jesus is walking with you, or in many cases carrying you.  Just lean on him, and let him be God.  Just be still, and know he is God.  While others tried to diagnose Job’s situation, incorrectly, he was still and let God be God. Just like we do, right?

In 3 days I had ridden 1400 miles, half in rain, been stopped in Ohio 3 times over 100 mph, and never received any tickets.  Some who believe don’t ride any faster than your angel can fly would claim it was angels guarding me.  If so, I have a certified 100 mph hour angel.  Some would trust to luck, calling it good, the Porsche driver and Harley riders may argue that.  Greater minds than mine can debate that.  All I can say is like the blind man given his sight, “I was blind and now I can see.  I don’t know whether he is good or bad, but now I see.”  And within a year I would see Jesus in a different way, salvation.  And how he protected me and still does, my testimony of him still building. For just like Job’s wife, even if Job she did tell him to curse God and die out of spite, God still loved him, God’s love not based on performance, but who he is.  We love him because he loved us first.

I never heard from Ginger, or about her after that.  It has been over 40 years since, I hope she had a good life.  That she got better at relationships.  That her family stayed together despite a difficult start.  She thought I was in a relationship I never was in, don’t face life in Christ the same way.  Jesus is real, at 100 mph, on a sailboat, or even at a rest stop.  Bigger than 3d, he made 3d, and other dimensions we have no idea of.  He is God, he is love, and he loves us.  And is just looking for a way to show it.  So don’t curse him, look for him.  See him in all things, for it takes all things to work together to make good.  Don’t wait too long, or miss a chance to show the love of Christ to one in need.  After 2 full days and one night of “did you tell him yet?” the message set me free, from something I didn’t even know I was part of.  So when I got home, I called Ohio to let them know I had made it.  Talking with her mother.  And sent a bouquet of flowers as I did when dating.  But not to Ginger, again her mother.  Yes, I had been told, and sadly maybe the only one who was listening.  Consider yourself told about Jesus.  Are you listening?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

 

if it has a skirt or wheels you can expect trouble, part 2, wheels

On every journey, every ride, there is a point of no return.  Looking back we see the places provided where we could turn around and go back, but kept on going regardless of the outcome.  I had passed that point by a few hundred miles, despite the rain and the cold.  Even to the point of picking up a hitch hiker while filling up along I-80, something I never do, let alone on a motorcycle.  In the rain.  But he insisted, and I gave in, and for an hour he got soaked like me.  I finally let him off, he resisted, I guess he really was going somewhere or being chased, and on I went.  Into Ohio, and looking for gas got off the interstate and got lost.  Only to be led out of a wooded area by a county sheriff, who told me “this is the kind of area people go in and never come out.”  Like I said, past the point of no return.  But on I rode, the sun coming up behind me, blinding me in my mirrors.  Still early, but now dry and cold, a Porsche comes up behind me, then pulls aside of me and wants to race.  I engaged him for awhile, but it was no contest for my R90S.  And at over 100, I ducked behind a truck when I saw the Ohio State Trooper, and he went by, flipping me off, thinking he had won.  An hour later when pulled over by the same trooper, he was handcuffed in the back seat, yelling “that’s the guy, that’s the guy” in reference to me.  I claimed I never saw him before, and the cop let me go, reminding me the speed limit in Ohio is 55, not the 110 mph the Porsche owner had been arrested for.  And on I rode...

Until just outside Columbus I was making time, drying out but cold.  The two jackets I was wearing soaked, and then the second trooper appeared.  I saw him first, so I rode directly over to him in the center median.  As he rolled down the window, I asked him, “I’m lost, is this the way to Dayton?”  As he answered yes, he also wanted to see my license.  He had clocked me at 111, and with no Porsche driver to blame, I told him to help me pull off my glove.  Which he did, my hand stained black, looked like Herman Munster’s with black fingernails, and all shriveled up from the rain.  I was shaking, and he let me off.  Reminding me to drop my speed again to 55.  Which I assured him I would as I struggled to put on my glove.  And rode off, only an hour to my destination. 

I arrived around 9am, in time for breakfast, and I was glad to be there.  After eating with the family, and her mother asking “when are you going to tell him?” a few times, off we went to the lake.  With no sleep, I went sail boating, and was OK all day.  But Ginger was acting aloof, not herself.  Maybe it was me, maybe the ride, maybe nothing.  I would have a bombshell dropped on me by her later that night at dinner.  And find out why her mother kept asking “when are you going to tell him?”  Exhausted physically, that was about to be joined by emotionally too.

Not much is said about the conversation between Noah and his family when God asked him to build the ark.  He was 600 at the time, and faced with the fact he had been given a job from a God you couldn’t see, to gain protection from rain that had never occurred, it must have been tough on them all.  We know that Noah was given a hard time for the 120 years it took to build the ark, but what his wife.  I can hear the gossip, “Hey Mrs. N, how’s the weather today? Going boating?”  Or the things not said to her face, and how even her closest friends may have left her under pressure.  How would you feel if your daughter came home and wanted to date one of his sons?  “No way, that old man is nuts.  So are his kids and wife.  You stay away, I forbid you.”  But yet three women did, and married into Noah’s family, and would join him on the ark.  How sad that his in-laws came so close, they were family, but rejected his message.  And when the rains came, it was too late. 

Twelve men, who came under fire for following Jesus, and would ultimately be martyred stayed loyal.  One didn’t, and often he seems to be remembered most.  How often we talk of those who died and had rejected Jesus, but fail to rejoice about those who are saved and follow him.  How many times have we been asked by others when dealing with a lost friend “when are you going to tell him?” My experience is to let the spirit guide me, but others tend to rush in, Bible in one hand and a Jesus stick in the other, wanting to beat them into salvation.  When we neglect or are taught improperly to be that witness for others to see Jesus in.  To show love, compassion, respect, and courtesy.  To be light and salt, yet many come at us with their high beams on blinding us, or dumping salt on our wounds.  Remember it wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark, don’t wait until it is too late.  We all must know at least one person who needs love and affection? 

But yet Judas is remembered even more, or rather his death is.  How many know of how the other 11 died?  10?  Even one?  But yet we all know how Jesus died, and for what.  Shouldn’t that be enough to want to share his love with others, the same love that changed you?  It may be as close as the in-laws of Noah, who rejected God, don’t you.  And love on your wife and kids too, don’t preach at them.  There is a reason they stray, don’t you be it.  But be there when they fall, and the rains are knocking at the door.  Do not block them out.  Jesus knocks not be let in, but because he was locked out of the church.  And he threw up because he was sickened by it.  But yet he knocks today...

Skirts and wheels come in all shapes and sizes.  Tomorrow find out what Ginger was going to tell me, and how it affected my life.  My walk, and my ride.  I had escaped getting ticketed for riding over 100 mph twice, would I again?  Would I even be so foolish?  Would I ever get any sleep?  Would I get on the ark or make fun of it?  Would you?

love with compassion,

Mike

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