Welcome to the world of cyclists

It’s amazing how incredibly different people are. There’s a culture in everything. Subcultures surround on all sides. The distinct culture of the Appalachian Trail where people bond immediately under pseudo names and create a whole new story of Appalachian fame. Learning together, living together, walking together. Enduring weather and finding solidarity in similarity of circumstance.

In the same way there seems to be subculture of cyclists. Each proud of the rides they’ve finished. United by spandex, high end road bikes and more spandex. Each excelling at what they seem to enjoy best and thriving off the effects of the ride. Coming from all over the world to participate in bike tours, and to the innocent bystander, merely enduring the hills and the twists and turns. But they ride on.  

And within the subculture there are more subcultures. Those who ride for fun, those who are so serious they wouldn’t miss even one tour even if it cost their only son, and those like me who don’t really know why they ride, they just do.

Some enjoy pushing their bodies to a new level, some love the scenery that’s so beautiful, and some just want to stay fit. Wherever the people here fit, there is certain camaraderie. People are friendly. They look out for each other and live for the ride, again, a certain solidarity keeping their subculture alive. There’s got to be something that makes Czechs, engineers, kids, doctors, and mothers stick closer than brothers. When one falls down, the others slow down and stop to help him up, concerned for his safety and wanting all to ride safely.

There’s an entire subculture for cyclists. And now I’m immersed in it, drowning in the subterranean reality of cyclist unity. Here is a place that caters to their every need, from helmet covers to toe clips, the bikers heaven covers it all. A giant tent devoted simply to meet their physical riding needs.

Experiences range from newb to seasoned vet, but this weekend the test was just that, to see who could brave the hills and the strain to get up an over to the finish. Vastly a majority of men, women are sparse but present, but all gather together for an event such as this. Nine year olds to men who are almost 85, they thrive on rides such as this one. This is the Hilly Hundred. And it’s just one of MANY places to see this subculture in concentration, to see the determination and fascination of these people who live to ride.

What is it that keeps a group of people so united? Is it a similar interest? A common love for an activity or place that brings such solidarity? If we are truly united in Christ than how do you explain all that seems to be bonds just as strong? 

One thing I’ve seen, one thing I’ve learned, is that no bond is quite as strong as that of people united in Christ. It spans over space and time, across the world and different paradigms. Connecting those who have gone before and those yet to come, it’s the unity of the Spirit that transcends all that’s been done. A solidarity that’s exemplified by the person of Jesus Christ who took on humanity and created the meaning and beauty of solidarity and unity. He became nothing to experience life as we do, and now we can be united because of what he’s been through.

A sweet unity I don’t exactly comprehend, but I can’t deny it’s reality and how it’s affected me.

Cultures and subcultures are everywhere, every place I turn my eye. It’s fascinating to see how people become united over any number of things. So as I continue to live I shall continue to give eye to the pockets of subcultures, seeking to understand what the basic unity is that creates such a solidarity.

"Life's too deep for words. So don't try to describe it, just live it"

     C.S. Lewis

The threat of the tsunami.

These are the thoughts I think while waiting for a friend in a parking lot: 

Again, the overwhelming weight of those who don’t see nor care crushes my hope and threatens despair to paralyze life and growth. Friends, family, strangers, billboards, they all seem to be stacking up against me, leaving my paradigm broken like shattered glass.

Why so angry? Why so resentful? What did God do to ear this name, this defame, leaving his name going down in infamy from now on into history.

Leaving the safe sheltered bubble some called home opens up the mind to the darkness of the unknown, where truth is relative and everything is subjective. My comfortable paradigm is challenged and I’m left having to examine the depth of my devotion to what many consider a fanciful notion of magic and unreality. All of these questions I’ve had come rushing back, flooding my being like a tsunami scene from the news, threatening destruction in every way, to wash away all that I once stood on. It leaves me in a whirlwind of thoughts and ideas, not knowing which ways up due to their manipulation of what’s what.

Why so bitter and hateful towards something you claim is unreal. If it was unreal why would you care who I told or what is being sold as truth.

I want to say that I have enough confidence to claim that if you’re searching for Truth you WILL end up finding it in Christ, but I’m afraid to say that because it seems history has proven otherwise.

All of the Muslims, all the Buddhists, all the Hindus. Can I say they have not a clue of what is Truth? They’re just as convinced as I that they’re willing to die for what some critically call a total lie. Sure there are some who just follow suit because their ancestors have done so, but isn’t that the same in Christianity?

How can there be so many who have thought through this all and still end up claiming Jesus as Truth, the Bible as the perfect powerful presence of God in written form? Where does their confidence come from? What’s the core that holds them up against the torrents of nontraditional culture and challenges of views?

I’m left wallowing in my own insecurity and uncertainty of what’s right. I know I cannot disregard the past, the stories of millions who have asked for Truth and have found it in You, radically transforming their very beings. Yet if only seeing was believing, for even in the midst of these stories I’m still questioning.

Where is this dissatisfaction, this unquenched curiosity.

So many who I know and love have turned from what they once claimed to be their all, and I’m left in awe of the bitterness they harbor toward what they once held so dear. Where is this all coming from? What’s the root of this entire lack of love and conviction, a radical change of direction.

So many different people, and my heart wishes to know them all, to see where they fall in life and where they’re going. To share the life I’ve found, the blessed peace of rest in Truth, but as soon as I open my eyes and realize how exceedingly many differences there are even from those from the same gene pool, I am overcome with a weight that presses on my chest, sucking all rest I once found in what I thought I knew. With each new person, each new story, I’m left with thoughts that have wrought my mind in ways I know not how to repair.

I don’t know what to say or even what to pray in response to this reality.

It’s not exactly fair for some to say that Christians haven’t seen reality because we haven’t questioned anything and have just blindly believed what we’ve been fed from when we were wee. But how are there some who come through the kiln of questions stronger than before, ready to take on the world in the name of Jesus yet some who build up so much pressure of hatred, uncertainty and anger that they explode from the tension and walk away entirely, not able to even mention the name of God without a grimace.

How are there such extremes? How can something so beautiful seem to create such division and elicit such extreme contradictory life trajectories? I can’t wrap my mind around it and I’m still unsure of where I fall in the middle of it, but rest assured, I will press in, press on, and see what comes of it.

Appalachian Trail.

Day -1: driving. Visiting Uncle Brian. Dropping Paul off. Enjoying the finer things of class and hearing stories of an unexpected traveler.

Day 0: Panera breakfast. More driving. A visit to Grandma. Peanut butter pie. Even more driving. Getting lost. Getting found. Meeting with the Maloneys. Camping. Night hike. Fire.

Day 1: Wake up. Pack up. More driving. Getting lost again. Getting found again. Getting to a trailhead.

Putting packs on that were waaaay to heavy. Saying goodbye to the Maloneys. Starting hiking. Sweating. More hiking. Realizing we started at the wrong place. Near breakdowns. Almost tears. Asthma attack. Up and down mountains. Too much weight.

More walking. Carrying way too much weight. Sun went down. Still walking. Head lights. Setting up tents in the dark. Eating dehydrated dinner. Camping by 4-H facility.

Day 2: up and at em. Breakfast. Packing up. More hiking. Soreness. Kind mom lightening the load. 2 bears. Up and down more mountains. Slept in Gavel Springs Hut.

Filtering spring water. Sweet book of journeys. Blackberry shake (without the blackberry).

Day 3: packing up. Easy day. Stopping every 4 minutes. Contempt for the trail turns to fun in the pine forests. Mom and Justin’s food fight. Throw-up TVP. Camping. Fear of bears. Sassafras root tea. Silence at 8:30.

Day 4: October 1. Government shut down. Uh oh….we’re in a national park.

Through hikers who were depending on the Wayside Stores. Unloading so much extra food. Struggling parents. Going to hitch-hike…but the park’s closed…so there are no cars. Wait! A lady! She’ll give us a ride. Or she’ll join us backpacking since we have extra food. Kristen joins our motley crew.

 More hiking. “There was a bear” songs. Hiding away from rangers. Clifty. Mutts. Slips. Foot. Funny guy with the beard. S’mores all around. Playing cards. Cool people, amazing stars.

Day 5: Wrong spring. Lost mother. Stony Man. Amazing views. Still hiding away. Lots of cyclists who are enjoying the ride of their lives with no cars. Try to find a ride. But the parks closed. Nobody’s here. No cell service. No rangers. Street dance on the yellow lines.

Dad hitchhikes to our car. Mom freaking out. Nice ranger, nobody’s gonna come search for us. Back to the backcountry. Birds Nest #4 hut. Oz. Human. Junko. Gear talk. Sharing stories. Stunning stars. Falling asleep on the log.

Day 6: Hiking out. Driving to Big Meadow Lodge, our would-be last night of luxury. NOBODY around. Raid the walk-in cooler. Left money. 4 rangers drive up. Enjoying  a victory snack. A family of naturalists spends 100 years looking at the plants in the meadow. Drop off Kristen. Have to beat the lock to get through. Overlooks. Mama bear and 3 cubs. Locked in? Yep.

 Life-saving lady dives up and unlocks the gate. Onward. Subway. Breyer’s Ice cream. Driving through West Virginia. Scariest drive of my life. Dark, twisty, foggy roads with deer. Get to Uncle Don’s. Chili. Showers. Sleep.

For the sake of Love.

Laid bare. Today I chose to bare my soul, to share with rawness my life of imperfection, my struggles, my weaknesses, yet the beautiful redemption I’ve come to know. I choose to be laid bare for the sake of Love, yet I ask you don’t see my nakedness, my vulnerability, and tear into me, shredding my delicate skin, I ask you, don’t see my fragile frame and aim for destruction as the end.

Today I’m lade bare for the sake of Truth, and I pray you embrace that and that same freedom finds you.

I don’t have it all together, yet I invite you to read the letter of my soul, not so you know better where to attack, but so you see the brokenness I no longer hide or hold back from plain view. But how can something be embraced as beautiful when it’s not seen in entirety? Among the backdrop of hopeless brokenness that I used to be, now I can own these things with humility for the sake of restoration, redemption and the true-self God created me to be.

No, I don’t have all the answers. I can’t combat your every word. I can’t even explain all that I’ve heard and learned in the depths of my being-yet I find rest in the truth that I can just be in Christ and trust in a transforming love, a saving grace. So I put up no walls, no barracks to blockade in, but I offer my true self, the honest Truths I’ve come to walk in. It may sound like foolishness to you, but I pray for his words to be spoken, for the Spirit to move and lift the veil, opening blind eyes to see the truth set sail into the core of who you are. So I won’t apologize for who I’ve become, but in love I choose to be laid bare, I choose not to run in fear, but to listen and hear and speak a grace-filled, love-rooted Truth. Yes, brother, I choose to be laid bare because I have confidence in YHWH, and I truly love you.

Revelation.

All these questions, what once was hostility, attack after attack, the goal to defeat me. Helpless I used to run, like a dog being chased by a man with a gun after digging up his yard, tail between my legs, not even sure of the legs I was standing on. Tottering between standing and falling off the cliff into the abyss of humanism and self-sufficiency, not having the answers I’m expected to say. Before I’d leave interactions replaying the conversations over and over until I thought myself into a well to deep to climb out of. A well I felt trapped in, the waters of doubt crashing onto my ‘well-constructed’ house, our talks just made me want to walk away since I lacked the words you wanted me to say.

I thought if I didn’t have all the answers, I couldn’t live with integrity of the mind, so I kept trying to find a way to master God with my mind. And when you brought up those questions, tears would later flood my eyes as I agonized over what I didn’t know. There were times you tried to tear me apart, to destroy me by ripping out my foundation, by cutting out my heart, vein by vein, everything you’d say would be aimed at my destruction.

And I was helpless. I did not know the reality of my defenses. Your questions left me senseless, resenting what I once clung to.

But now. Now I know I may never hold every answer. Now I’m not crippled by my own self-sufficiency, dependence on me, with my feeble arms and weak knees. Now I am free. Free to see the confidence I can find in Jesus. The exact imprint of God, who knows my deepest thoughts and every last answer my mind claws for mastery over.

Now I have realized that I need not convince, I need not seek to relieve your every question by the strength of my own mind. I cannot talk you into belief, but I can lead my life as I know, not bereft of fullness. I can still ask my questions and yours, striving for the truth we both knows out there to find, but I choose to press in, yet preserve integrity of the mind. I can rest in the rest that’s found by abiding. I can’t offer you resolution to all of your issues, but I can walk side by side, living and residing in your life. I can share what I know, I can listen and learn, I can even do research on those questions, but I cannot tell you the amazing grace of knowing I need not explain entirely my faith, but I can rest in the Truth that God is good, his love is pure and his faithfulness endures.

After all these things, when all’s said and done, I can’t offer what you think you want, but I can offer you one thing the world can’t give. I can offer you transforming Love.