Coasting

     I was a Schwinn rider in the 1960s. In those days, a kid's bike was their prized possession. It was used almost daily as long as the weather cooperated. We rode everywhere. Our thoughts had nothing to do with strangers or abduction. We worried about where the gang was and what time our mom would call us in.

     If we cruised long enough, we'd spy bikes parked with kick-stands digging into lawns. We'd add our Schwinn to the group and head for the backyard where they might be dividing up teams for a round of "Cops and Robbers on Bikes." The most coveted achievement of neighborhood bike rides was gaining permission to ride to the nearest drug store for candy. It was roughly 2 miles away and visited frequently by car. But, by bike, without a parent, was a feat reserved for biking legends. I only got to go once but I stood taller than my 4' 8" for a week.

     There were several hills in my neighborhood and I tried to plan my rides so that I descended. The heat of August often found us standing on the pedals and pumping our way up the hill with sweat. Those truly defeated were off the bike and walking it up to the top. But down... ah, now that was a treat. 

     I'd speed up before I hit the crest of the hill knowing the ride down would be that much sweeter. And sweet it was as my blonde hair blew behind me in waves and the humid summer air raced across my freckles. I coasted down the hill with hands free, balanced and loving the freedom. No work involved here. No pumping pedals. No shame of walking. The only threat was hitting a rock and skidding to a messy finish line. Without question - Coasting was the best.

    

     The other day, I was reminded of coasting. Of how easy it was and how good it felt. This time, though, when I thought of coasting, it brought me guilt. I've been coasting. And I feel the need for speed. I'm a woman who told Jesus she'd devote her life to him. And in many ways, I have. And in many ways, I've coasted. My life is a comfortable mess. My relationship with Him is still strong, but I'm sensing a "coasting" when it comes to others. You see, I serve where it feels good.

I lead studies with women in my church. Fellow bike riders, so to speak. 

I socialize with people who share the same faith and lifestyle. Their kick-stands land in the same yards. 

I've been given directions to the store and the responsibility to show those who are lost. Do I?

I've trusted in his help on the rocky roads, but I've forgotten to encourage others wobbling on tired treads. 

It's time for me to quit coasting. I've just been enjoying the ride. I must be ready to stand when called and face the hill.  The time is near when I'll feel eternity's freedom blowing across me and I'd like to see familiar faces smiling beside me. On your mark, get set...

     

Just Words

“I hope the worship’s good today. I hate it when we sing those songs I don’t know or they’re too high. And I get distracted by the clothes some of the singers wear. Oh, and I hope they do a video. I love those. Unless they’re totally cheese. Who’s preaching? Last week it was that guy that talked real fast and I don’t even remember what it was about. Wonder if we should sit upstairs or down. Where will the crying baby be this week?”

Do these thoughts sound eerily familiar? Maybe on the drive to church a few have run through your mind. After dressing, getting the family ready, loading the dishwasher, letting the dog out/in and heading out the door for worship, your brain may be in overdrive. You’re on your way to worship. To...worship.

Uh-oh.

The other day, I felt I needed to spend some time in Psalms. It’s been a while since I read some of those. I get bogged down when I hit the ones that focus on enemies chasing and the depression of the writer dwelling in the pit. Now, there have been times when those psalms speak to me and I’m thankful for them, but I also like to read praises about God and his providing for us. So, I grabbed a Bible a friend had given me. It’s a version I’m not familiar with: The New Century Version by Thomas Nelson. I flipped through to the first psalm that opened up. Psalm 48. It begins with accolades about God’s city, his Mount, his power. Great stuff. Reading the first eight verses makes you feel like that kid who boasts “This is my Dad!” Yeah, this is my God! So, I’m reading along when I get to verse 9:

“God, we come into your Temple, to think about your love. ”

We come into your temple. Hmm...my first thought is my church. Of course, as a follower of Christ, I’m well aware of the scriptures about the temple. (My body’s a temple for the Holy Spirit. Christ is the cornerstone.) But, if I’m thinking of a physical place where I go to worship, I think of my church. The sanctuary I rush into. Within YOUR temple, O God. Not the temple where the worship team rules, or the videographer, or even the speaker. God’s temple.

To think about. Not sing, not clap, not shake hands, not be entertained. Thinking. It means really pondering something. Not just your quick thought. You have to invest some time on that one. Chew it over. Another version I looked up uses the word meditate. That word seems to have a stop sign attached to it. I don’t meditate when I’m running or doing. I have to get quiet, be still, and am usually alone when I meditate. But, even in a Sunday morning crowd, I can spend some time thinking about what I’m saying or hearing. Hello? What is the purpose for being there, anyway?

Your love. I know there have been times at church where I’ve been able to wrap my thoughts around his love. Communion is designed for that - when I’m focused. Sometimes, while singing, I can block out distractions and offer him praise. Occasionally, a time is built into the service for reflection. And, if you tear apart most messages, they’re all about how much God loves us. Four letters, little word, unfathomable concept.

A small verse tucked inside a great psalm is packed with some meaty stuff for me to think about today. And on Sunday. When I enter HIS temple to THINK about HIS LOVE.