Ridin' Dirt
Author:
January 08, 2022
I’m a non-adventurous person in a family of adventure seekers. I’m not exactly sure what I
mean by this. You know when you say something for so long that if it wasn’t true, it is now??
That’s how I am. I think I have covered my reluctancy to face or even identify fears with an
identity statement…”I am non-adventurous” My kids are all adventure-seekers, partly because
they want to truly experience life and partly because I encouraged them to be courageous, even
in trepidation. Apparently, under my boring exterior hides a closeted daredevil.
But this is all in hindsight and comes after years of unraveling true self from false self. Today,
well, it was actually 10 years ago, but today for this blog post, I’m still a self-proclaimed
non-adventurer.
I have spent my adult life feeling pressured/bullied, 7 to 1, to do things I have never wanted to or
am to afraid to do. Want some examples? Horse-back riding up and down mountain trails and
finishing off on horseback while the said horse is swimming in the ocean. If this sounds fun,
good for you but to someone who was thrown from a horse as a child and is terrified both of
heights and water, not so much. Here’s another…cave snorkeling. Cage diving with sharks.
Riding an elephant up and down the mountains of Thailand. A helicopter ride is a storm. Deep
sea fishing in a storm. Floating rivers. Zip-lining. You get the picture. And every one of these
adventures ended up with my kids posing a rhetorical question, “ Aren’t you glad you did that?’
And every time my answer remained the same, “No, I am not”
This day is ramping up in much the same way. My six kids all want to go mountain biking in
Utah. I want to stay at the hotel, by the pool and read. My adventures are in my imagination
and I like it this way. But the pressure begins, “Come on, mom. Please do this with us. How
often can you go do something like this with all of your kids? How do you know if you don’t try?
PLEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSE!” and because I have a fear of disappointing my family more than
a fear of mountain-biking; because I have a fear of regret that is equal too, if not greater than
death, I say ok.
How terrible could this be? I do know how to ride a bike and I’m sure this will be a well-ridden
path through the trees. I should be fine, right? But, surfacing in my memory are the numerous
wipeouts I’ve endured as a child and all the ridiculous collisions I caused, along with the fact
that for nearly 3 decades, I’ve fairly successfully avoided being on the seat of a bike. Anxiety is
starting to manifest but I grit my teeth and get down to the business of getting through this.
I listen to the instructions carefully because if I know more and do it right, it will be ok. That’s my
philosophy even though the years have dealt some pretty harsh blows to that belief system.
What I do not know, what was still hidden from me, is the type of mountain biking we were
embarking on is what the experienced call, RIDIN’ DIRT. This is not a scenic ride in the fresh
mountain air, pedaling leisurely amid the calm of a babbling brook. This is hard-core, strenuous
manuevering on an obstacle-laden, barely there, dirt path.
But, given the fact we are all novices, I assumed our expert guide, Andy, would be sensitive and
take it easy on us. However, within minutes of launching on our trek, I realized my foolishness.
Andy is the devil.
Still to this day, 10 years later, I cannot describe the breath-taking terrain, nor the color of the
sky or the mountains in all their glory. I cannot recall the smell of the air or the abundance of
wildlife or the sheer majesty of God’s creation. I could not recount any conversations or the
sound of my kids’ voices. Why? Because I was filled with fear…fear of falling, fear of careening
out of control, fear of being thrown from my bike and landing…well, anywhere painful or fatal.
Fear, the thief of life.
I had a death grip on my handle bars and my kids later told me I was so stiff, it looked like I was
wearing a brace. I know I was holding my breath because I heard a voice commanding me to
breathe.
Once again, I just had the goal of making it out of one of our family outings alive.
After our first stop for a quick lesson on how to navigate hair pin turns while riding down a single
path trail laden with rocks, stumps and bramble, Andy realized I needed a babysitter not just a
guide.
So, Andy, who I now have a love/hate relationship with, decided to ride directly in front of me
while verbally instructing, encouraging and comforting me ALL the way down the trail.
For those who know their parables…Andy left the 99, or 7 others, to rescue the 1.
And at this point, I start paying attention to the Lord. Maybe because I thought I might die but
more because Andy became a type of Jesus to me.
And you may hear God’s voice in his too.
This is what Andy said, “I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere. You are not alone.
I’m going to be right in front of you. I know this trail well. I’ve been here many times before.
If you fall, I will help you up and I will wait for you. Look at me, I am your friend. You will be ok.
Keep your eyes on me…looking at me rather than down at the path will keep you on the path. If
you look down at the path you will swerve all over the place and get out of control. Don’t worry
about the rocks, even the big ones, the bike I fitted you for is made to handle this terrain.
Your body will follow your eyes so keep your eyes looking up and on me.”
Isn’t this Jesus’ invitation to us in our fear and striving and insecurities? “Walk with Me, work
with Me, watch how I do it…I’ll teach you the unforced rhythms of grace” Matt 11:28 MSG
Keep my eyes on Him.
Don’t get distracted or paralyzed by the treacherous path because what He has given us, His
Word, His Spirit, His Love, is well able to handle the terrain of our lives.
Let Him lead because He knows the path well. He is with us and for us. He will help us and
rescue us and see us safely down.
I wish I could say I followed Andy’s instructions and made it down the mountain unscathed. I did
not. I looked down. I looked away. I freaked out. I fell. I got scraped up. And every time Andy
was there to pick me up, dust me off, encourage me, teach me…every.single.time.
I wish I made it down the mountain in record time. I did not. I was slow and everyone had to
wait for me, especially Andy.
BUT…I did make it. On a mountain bike trip I was terrified of, felt ill-equipped for; one that held
unexpected and even unpleasant twists, turns and experiences. One that held beauty,
encounters of wonder and growth also…I made it.
And at the end of the tour, in the safety of the van, Andy turned to me with a big grin and said,
“I’m proud of you…that was a job well-done”
Thanks Jesus. Oh, and you too, Andy
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