Sometimes I get scared.
I’ve always wanted to get a motorcycle. I had one at 18 and loved it. Granted I starved it of oil and blew up the engine within two months, but oh wow, while I had it – I was a very cool biker babe.
I’d still like to be a biker babe, but these days I get scared. What if someone cuts in front of me? What if I slide out of control?
Maybe I should buy a station wagon instead…
I get scared for my girl. The dangers at 19 are greater than the ones when she was 2… burning her little finger on a hot stove or bumping her head on a table don’t hold a candle to what’s out there in a city at night or what can happen in today’s dating relationships.
This whole launching thing gets my tummy in knots sometimes.
I get worried when my man climbs big mountains – like today he’s climbing one that requires a helmet for all the stray rocks that come flying down. “Oh really?” I said, gulping down my nag, “Rocks fly down just like that, huh? How fun!”
Oh God, please keep him safe.
Sometimes I’m afraid of going after a goal. Like this whole triathlon dream I have. I don’t like the idea of being the last chick in the pack, huffing and puffing as people look on. “Look at that lady,” I imagine they’ll whisper, “I think she took a wrong turn on her way to the ice cream shop. Doesn’t she know we’re in a race here?”
I didn’t used to be scared about stuff. I didn’t care about what other people thought. I didn’t care about danger. I had my motorcycle, I dove off cliffs, bunji-jumped, went skydiving and tried new things just for the fun of it.
I was all that and a bag of barbecue pork rinds.
But then life came. I lost people I loved in sudden tragedies. I totaled my car. I embarrassed myself trying something new. Suddenly the world didn’t seem as kind or friendly or accepting of wild risk-takers like me.
So today I’m tempted to temper my life – to keep danger at bay.
I could take up knitting.
I could force my girl into a convent and give her a tricycle to ride.
I could give my hubby a honey-do list so long that he won’t have time to don his rock helmet to go out in the wild.
But in the end, what would that say about my God?
Yes, sometimes people laugh at you.
Yes, things get messy.
Yes, motorcycles crash and bad stuff happens.
But if I shrink back, something even worse will happen – I’ll turn into a wimpy old woman. Even more tragic, I’ll turn into a wimpy old woman with no life, no stories to tell, no adventures to share. I’ll miss the chance to tell people how God is God even when tragedy strikes, even when things don’t go right, even when you’re the last chick in the pack huffing and puffing away.
This world is tough, but our God is tougher.
The world is risky, but our God doesn’t shy away from risk.
He proved that one on the cross.
So I will not shrink back. I will not be a wimpy old woman. I will buy that Harley Davidson one day. I will be the wild godly chick with a red leather jacket riding down the road on a purple Harley Davidson. I will encourage my daughter to pursue every last crazy dream and I will cheer my hubby on to climb dangerous mountains.
I will not shrink back because my God parted a sea, healed broken people and raised my Jesus from the dead.
Which means He’ll take care of me.
And He’ll take care of you, my friends.
No matter what comes.
So we might as well live…