Last week I wrote about climbing the impossible. And as I set out on my bike last Sunday, I felt sure no hill could stand in my way.
As I tackled the last steep incline, I felt a pop beneath me and skidded to a halt miles away from home in the blazing summer sun. I spotted a police car parked a few yards away. Timidly, I approached the vehicle and cleared my throat.
“Can I use your cell phone?”
The phone rang without an answer. The policeman looked at my bike quizically and asked, “Think it will fit in the back seat?” I shrugged my shoulders, “Worth a try.”
We wedged that bike into the back like a sardine. The policeman cleared the passenger seat, pointed to it and said, “I usually don’t let people ride up here.”
I nodded and slipped in the door. I tried to reassure him that I was not, in fact, an intimidating traveling partner. “I’ve never been in a police car before!” I declared. “That’s a good thing,” he responded sternly. I noted he drove above the speed limit–probably because I smelled so bad.
As we pulled up in front of my house, my wide-eyed husband came to the front of the garage and looked at me as if to ask, “What did you do now?”
We popped my bike out of the back seat and I was home. The policeman answered my thanks with a single sentence, “Have a nice day, ma’am.”
Safe on my sofa, I reflected on the difference between last week’s ride and this one. Sometimes we do climb the impossible. We push through and realize we’re stronger than we ever knew. And sometimes God, in His loving care, makes a way for us to be carried instead just when we need it most.
Either way, He promises we’ll finish the ride.
Either way, we get Home.
And, in the end, that’s really all that matters.