Foggy Future. First Bike Ride. God knows.
‘Biker in the fog’ by Anna Niemiec
And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
Excerpt from a poem by Minnie Louise Haskins, who grew up in Warmley, from 1912, which is often called The Gate of the Year (and was shared by King George VI in his 1939 Christmas Broadcast
to a country facing the uncertainty of war).
I remember the day clearly. My step-father and I were stood on the pavement in a suburb of Derby. One of us was standing and the other was sat on a small bike. One had their feet firmly on the ground and the other had their feet placed nervously on two pedals of a bike, which gently swayed (and the small boy). I knew I would have fallen sideways if it was not for his hands holding both the bike and my body upright. Outstretched before me was a path with no horizon. I was not sure how I was going to go forward or how I would reach an unknown point way ahead of me. “It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.” (JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings)
“Okay. Big breath. You can do this. All will be well,” was not the words I was saying to myself. If I am honest, I was afraid, anxious, a little scared. I was not certain I was not going to make it. After all, I was going to be, at some point, all on my own. But while I still felt a hand steadying me and holding the bike, that were both (hopefully) about to travel into an unknown future, it was pretty alright, albeit a bit wobbly.
Anyway, like any journey, any new experience, any new adventure, any action to be embarked upon, you have to take the first step, or in this case the first pedal. I was asked if I was ready. I was not. But said yes. And so slowly I began to move as my step-father began to speed walk with me, still holding me and the bike. I noticed the difference of movement that the bike caused without its stabilisers to keep things ‘straight and upright and safe’. I was pedalling but I was not riding alone, not yet. I was being told words of encouragement as we travelled along. We were now going a bit faster and I began to notice that the pavement did not go on forever, there was an end, but that was still a way off. I was ready to go alone. I was ready to ride my first bike all by myself. When I became fully aware of what this would mean I realised that I had forgotten, only moments before, the feeling of a slight push on the bottom of my back that had ever so gently jolted me forwards. It then dawned on me. I was doing it. I was on my own. I was ready. I had been riding the bike independent of any help for the last few seconds, that felt, to this day, like days. I am pretty sure that not long after my epiphany I stopped or, to be honest, in actuality slowly fell sideways as one ‘falling with style’. (Toy Story)
Now, reader, you may have already figured out where you think I am going with this. Yes, I could write about the support, encouragement and help that we each need from God – to do anything new, unknown. I could also write that with the wind of the Spirit behind us we can reach new horizons and explore new places. I could also write that in order to see a new world we are going to have to do things that, from the starting line, we may not want to do. I could also write that such things are part of some of the natural cycles and seasons of human development and growth (and for other children it may not be a bike in the story but something else), and actually also part of the cycles and seasons of the church and Christian life.
But what I want to write is that the future we are part of, no matter what we may encounter, will involve many of us venturing on something akin to our first bike rides. To do this with some courage in these wobbly times, yes, we need God but we also need each other. The horizon is a bit foggy at the moment.
The following verse is from a poem called God Knows, written in 1908 (later The Gate of the Year was added to it) is included in a collection of poems called Desert, which includes the following verse that I would like to share with you:
God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.
Yes, the future is foggy. We are going to need people to keep us steady, to help us from falling, people to cheer us on and encourage us, to help us from turning around and giving up. God knows. Yes, the future is foggy. We are going to need both a light and lights to guide us, and these may come from existing relationships or from new people and new organisations, we may be surprised by what we discover. God knows. Yes, the future is foggy. We are going to need to support others in different ways and model new ways of being communities that follow Jesus. God knows. Yes, the future has always been a bit foggy. Yes, God always knows. Sometimes, all we need to do is start pedalling…
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
Turn swiftly, with all your heart, to God and be embraced. It is in Christ where community can be found,
where disconnected parts, exiled from each other, can collide back together
both beyond and within time and space.
From the Incredible Bill Watterson’s Calvin & Hobbes