Yesterday, I went for a bike ride through my hometown, Berthoud, as my truck was to be briefly out of commission since it needed a bit of work. I knew of a trustworthy mom & pop shop just down the street from the home I grew up in so I packed up a days supply of snacks to head north up I-25 & called the shop on my way. One of the mechanics answered saying he'd do everything he could to get my truck done today because I told him lived in Denver & he is a very kind man. My dad has always talked of the quality & honest work they do as he has taken his truck there for years. After hearing my last name, the mechanic asked how my dad was doing, it is that kind of hometown shop. Just before dropping my truck off I stopped by my mom's house, about a half mile outside of the small town. My bike was stored in the depths of the garage, behind storage boxes & summer lawn chairs with a years worth of deflated tires, dust & cobwebs, all attributable to disuse. Nonetheless, I threw it in the bed of the truck so I could enjoy a day riding around the place I grew up & reflecting in a rare combined January sunshine & warmth while my truck received some TLC.
Five minutes later I handed over the keys to the mechanic & started my little adventure. This meant I had to roll my bike a few blocks to the home of good family friends & use their bike pump because I purchased some crazy awesome bike tubes that most pumps won't fit, which helped me feel like a professional cyclist. My bike seat was placed really high from my previous years of avid use which made me weary at first & it was far more uncomfortable than I remember, I carried on anyways. Within seconds of gripping the worn handlebars, feeling the cool air & the smooth motion of the pedals I was reminded why I love biking as I sped through my flat hometown streets as if I were in second place of the Tour de France with the finish line tape in sight.
For an hour I rode before meeting my dad for lunch at our local burrito joint, Tito's. I started by pedaling around & through every park I had ever played in as a child & here I practiced my low speed wheelies & stunted altitude jumps in the grass to spare some minor skin scrapes when crashing. Then I rode past every place I had worked through my adolescence; the gym where I would run kid's classes over a decade ago, the homes of families I would babysit for & the video store where my friends & I would kick it, eat, laugh, skateboard around, dance & sing to music under all the neon lights illuminating the shelves of new release movies. Next I visited each of the three schools that showed me much patience & grace as I moved through them from year to year. Berthoud High School has held some of the greatest memories & most painful growth in my life, so I hit the brakes on the lawn & looked up the the picture of my high school mascot, the Spartan. Here I met some of my best friends, failed miserably at dating, played some football & began my thoughts of a future & of God. Each day I would go to school & see my brother immortalized on the auditorium wall with his picture hung with his fellow valedictorians. I would show up for Spanish & Trigonometry only to be separated from my friends & rebuked by teachers for being too disruptive in my social endeavors. Then I daydreamed of futures while calculating how little effort I could invest to achieve them. I was lazy in my work & relationships but thankful this day while looking up at the Spartan & higher still, for the love that guided me through.
So I re-saddled & carried on to Turner Middle School, home of the Dragons & of me as a highly awkward developing young man. In one quick lap around the campus I remembered overly intense football practices, the dreaded yearly mile runs, hours of hacky sack playing & all of my favorite teachers that were so kind to me. The more I was riding my bike on this day the clearer my thoughts were becoming & the better my memory served me. So I left Turner quickly since I was eager to reach my elementary school to see what I could recall. Less than a mile down the road I arrived at Berthoud Elementary, one of the two rival elementary schools in town. The kids of Berthoud Elementary were a proud bunch as we would regularly come up with new jokes about the school across town, Ivy Stinkwell (Stockwell) Elementary & they would rebuttal with a Berthoud Smellementary. We all settled our differences later & lines of segregation quickly faded under one roof in middle school.
My pace slowed as I rode around my old elementary school & soon I felt the need to stop, so I did. I was looking at the west side of the school with it's tan bricks & two blue doors so brightly painted with the afternoon sun. I recognized this was the wall I stood against, waiting in a very anxious line of 5 year-olds, before the bell rang on my first day of kindergarten. This was a thought that had not crossed my mind in over twenty years but now it was so clear to me. I remember my favorite clothes I had set out to wear, my meticulously packed back-pack complete with a Kleenex-box & Elmer's glue, wondering if I had what it takes to make friends, thinking how big this school looked to me & being so excited to share this adventure with my dad & mom the very moment I see them next. Having a home & love to return to made such an adventure worth while, as did having loving parents that cared very much about me, my successes & failures. Then the memory faded like a ghost of a thought, like a mist that appears & then vanishes.
In this moment's wake was left an enormous gratitude for God's presence. These schools & this town all seemed so big growing up & now I can travel them & reflect in a matter of minutes on a sunny afternoon. In hindsight, the world feels so small while the future, being unknown, feels so large & sometimes overwhelming. It struck me of how small but beautiful our lives & adventures will be looking back from the lens of heaven & how trust in Him allows us to confidently walk into an unknown future.
Then I remember thinking, on that first day of kindergarten, how excited I was to be there but how excited I was to go home to share the story. This thought is not so different for me today. I think that returning home is something that is written on my heart to do, on all of our hearts, I can see it in every season of my life so far. My adventures away from home have been so great because I knew I get to go back home & share the stories with someone who loves me. The adventures in my life with Jesus have not been in leaving home but in finding my way back home with Him. My best adventures have not been in leaving Jesus, but in returning to Him.
As I picked up my truck, paid my bill & thanked the kind man who fixed my it I began to drive & found myself overwhelmingly thankful. All I could think of is how great it will be to be home with Him & how happy He will be to hear little stories of adventure; how every joy & pain was turned to glory through His love.
