The Unseen Story

I’m sharing some excerpts from my in-progress manuscript about Rich’s Ride. You can check out previous posts here.

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This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain … Mark 4:26-28

God is doing a new thing—all the time, all around you.

In La Crosse, Wisconsin we received a lot of media attention. Over a two-day span our project was featured on television, radio, and in the newspaper. As a result, lots of people recognized the bike and the trailer and knew what we were doing. We felt like minor local celebrities as we prepared to head south.

Our hotel was in the heart of the city, but I discovered a fairly manageable route along a bike path leading to the edge of town. However, as we unloaded the trailer we encountered an unexpected complication: Octoberfest. Downtown streets were closed to traffic for the city’s annual parade. I could escape on sidewalks, but Becky was trapped for a couple of hours. The car and trailer weren’t moving until the parade passed.

It didn’t seem like a big problem. I could take off, and Becky had some extra time to relax. Then she and Monte could enjoy the parade. No problem.

As usual, I meandered a bit before finding the bike path. I had to swallow male pride and ask for directions a couple of times. But eventually I located a trail that took me through parks and neighborhoods to the outskirts of La Crosse. At that point I joined a truly beautiful stretch of road.

This busy highway paralleled the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi River, separated from the water only by railroad tracks. As the morning brightened I watched river activity and enjoyed gorgeous bluffs towering above the road. A nice, wide road shoulder provided plenty of separation from cars and trucks speeding past, and dealing with traffic was a small sacrifice compared to the beauty of the surroundings. This was one of the rare times when the road provided uninterrupted river views, and miles melted away as I took in a postcard scene.

At first I was startled when several drivers honked horns and waved. Then a few miles down the road a cyclist pulled out of a driveway and said, “I’ve been waiting for you. Mind if I ride along?” He explained that he just wanted to ride a mile or two to honor what we were doing. I realized what was happening. This guy, and all of those drivers, recognized the odd-looking bright yellow handcycle from the media coverage.

I felt a little like Forrest Gump, and I kept waiting for someone to yell, “Ride, Ride, Ride!” It never happened, but all through the day I was buoyed by smiles and waves and honking horns. I hope those people realized how much their small acts of encouragement meant to me.

I’d covered about twenty miles before I saw the trailer zooming past. I rolled to a stop and listened as Becky recounted the fun of the Octoberfest parade. It’s not every day that you get to sit on a curb next to a man in lederhosen drinking beer at 9 o’clock in the morning.

I was a little sorry I missed that.

The remainder of the day’s ride passed uneventfully. Warm temperatures, beautiful river views and friendly supporters made this an especially pleasant, memorable road. People smiled and waved from front yards and along sidewalks in the small river towns. And all along the way a wonderful story unfolded just beyond my perception.

We’d arranged to end the day in one of the towns that lined the shore. I cranked onto the main street and saw the car/trailer parked just ahead. I noticed that Becky waited inside the car, which was unusual, but didn’t think much about it until she emerged and walked quickly toward me. She appeared anxious about something.

“See that man?” I turned and saw a guy watching us from across the street. “He’s been following me most of the day. Every time I stopped I noticed his truck. At first I thought I was being paranoid, but it’s the same guy and the same truck.”

Becky had apparently attracted a stalker.

Your mind invents horrible possibilities when you’re being stalked in unfamiliar surroundings, so I was more than a little bit concerned when the man started to cross the street toward us. I briefly considered having Becky get Monte out of the car, but I chuckled internally at the notion that his goofy, floppy-eared appearance would actually intimidate someone. The man approached slowly.

As he reached our little staging area, he stopped, scuffed his feet, and stared at the ground. He started to speak a couple of times, then hesitated. He wanted to begin a conversation but couldn’t find the right words. Sensing now that he didn’t pose a threat, Becky greeted him and broke the awkward silence. As he relaxed we listened to a heart-wrenching story.

Like so many others we passed that morning, this man saw our story on local television. He drove to our announced route hoping for an opportunity to meet us. He spotted me cranking along, then saw the trailer, but couldn’t summon the courage to approach. So he followed nearly forty miles waiting for the right moment. Then when we finally stopped he stood for a long time because he didn’t want to interrupt.

He wanted to talk about his boy who struggled with a rare and especially difficult form of diabetes. At age eleven his son was beginning to understand the realities of his disease. He realized that he wouldn’t be able to participate in many of the same activities as his friends, and he was angry. His dad was clearly a compassionate, caring father who didn’t quite know how to talk to his son about the emotions he felt. What he wanted to tell me—the reason he followed us all morning—was that he appreciated seeing our story because it got them talking. My silly bike ride opened the door for dad and son to talk about overcoming a difficult situation.

He wanted to thank us for sharing the story of the ride, for the blog and the videos and Monte’s weekly writing. They looked at that stuff together and talked about how it’s possible to do interesting, challenging things even with a disease or disability. He said it was the first time they’d been able to really talk about the disease and its effects, and that they looked forward to following the rest of the ride together. He followed us all morning to tell us about his boy, to say thanks, and to shake our hands.

Then he turned and looked deep into my eyes. “It breaks my heart to see him so sad and angry. I just want to help him, but I don’t know what to say. “What should I tell him?”

How should I know?

Did this guy chase me for hours thinking I somehow knew some magic words that would fix an un-fixable situation? Except that’s not what he really wanted. He wanted to connect, to know that someone understood. He wanted—needed—the human connection of a handshake and a look in the eye. He knew there weren’t any magic words, that he and his son faced a difficult path together. He knew it wouldn’t be fixed, but he appreciated knowing that it was shared.

“Tell him he’s special. Tell him he’s got gifts and talents and that he can do whatever he wants with them. And keep telling him that.

“Tell him not to let what he can’t do keep him from doing what he can do.”

He smiled and repeated that last line to himself. “Don’t let what he can’t do keep him from doing what he can do.” He smiled, shook our hands again, and walked back to his truck.

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During the next six weeks there were days I didn’t feel like writing a blog post, days when I was tired or couldn’t think of anything to write. Sometimes I wondered if it mattered, if anyone would care if I skipped a few days. When that happened I thought about an eleven-year-old kid and his dad. I thought about other people I hadn’t met, who didn’t or couldn’t follow us for an entire morning. I realized the incredible blessing I received each time I had the opportunity to share a small bit of this amazing experience.

This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain … Mark 4:26-28

I wonder how many opportunities we miss by insisting on our own notions of worthwhile outcomes, or how often we quit when seeds don’t germinate immediately. Mostly we never fully appreciate the effects of our actions. Persevering, doing what’s right, keeping commitments, and following the path—those are hard things when we can’t see that the effort and sacrifice make any difference. Maybe that’s why Jesus used so many planting analogies.

RICH’S RIDE scattered seeds. God put those seeds in the right lives and added fertilizer and water. Results from the ride sprouted and matured in places and ways we would never see. We needed to proceed with faith, hope, and love, trusting that God would use our efforts even when we didn’t understand the specifics. Knowing that God’s at work, and that He always works for good, has to be enough.

God is doing a new thing—all the time, all around you.

Please leave a comment here.

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If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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