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Coping in the darkness – a guiding light

Ask my husband how the ride through the tunnel was and you will get a very different response from mine. He knew some of the history of the railroad. He noticed the markers inside the tunnel that gave clues as to how far we’d traveled or how much was left. He really enjoyed the ride through it.

I was merely focused on not falling.

His start was filled with anticipation. Mine was filled with anxiety.

Grateful for a guide

I was grateful that he rode ahead of me so I had a notion of where I was going. Farther down the trail I realized the light on my bike was pretty dim. Much of the light that guided me through the tunnel came from my husband’s bike light and that of the other riders, even the ones headed in the opposite direction.

The tunnel is 1.661 miles long and not in a straight line. There is no visible “light at the end of the tunnel” for the majority of the ride through it. I was very much “in the dark” on this journey. And it felt that way.

Making room

While trying to stay upright and going much slower than the other riders, they would pass me. Each time a bike neared, its rider would call out, “Left!” That was the signal to move over and make room for someone to sail past, but that meant scooting closer to the dreaded gutter and riding on the slanted portion of the trail. I didn’t know at the time that the path slanted in that section. I just knew peddling and steering on that part challenged me more than in the middle.

I struggled to take in the sights and enjoy this stretch of the ride because I was so focused on not crashing into the gutters or another rider.

Foxhole prayers

At one point I started to hum to distract myself. I’m sure I also started to pray. You know, one of those foxhole prayers in the moment of deep distress and need. Praying and humming was calming. When I’m not struggling to stay upright on a bike, I write worship songs and play the violin with a worship team, often creating a violin part during the service. So I drew on these skills that were comforting and familiar, and made up a melody to draw me into a place of comfort and peace.

Connecting to Jesus

This praying and music making connected me to Jesus. I no longer focused on what was worrisome, but instead on that which brought peace and calm.

I know it’s early to talk about Christmas, but it’s like when we hear the beginning of a favorite Christmas carol. It can transport us to a memory or a feeling that brings comfort and joy. A place or sense that all is calm. That’s what praying and humming did for me.

Do I remember the prayer I prayed? No, though it was probably along the lines of, “Jesus, please keep me upright on this bike and help me make it through this tunnel.” I’m guessing my prayer was even shorter as that probably would have taken too much concentration. More like short bursts of hope to grasp onto. A simple, “Jesus, help,” (which I just noticed is the first word of each of those phrases).

So whether or not you’ve prayed before, I invite you to give it a try. Take a moment and just say, “Jesus, help,” and maybe you, too, will find a place where all is calm.

Riding into the tunnel – setting the pace

So there we were facing the long dark tunnel. (Did you see the photo of it in the previous post?)

There were no lights in this tunnel. The only light came from the one attached to the bike. The ride through the tunnel was on packed dirt with loose gravel on top. (Remember what I said about my childhood experience with loose gravel?)

Inside the tunnel

This was a recipe for disaster. And the path was flanked by gutters full of rushing water while moisture dripped down from the roof of the tunnel. And there were puddles, (or potholes as I experienced them), ready to knock me off my bike, unless I rode around them, but maneuvering around them added to the wobble. (My husband told me later he could tell I was struggling because my bike light was swerving all over the place).

So all I knew about this tunnel was that it was long and dark and the ground I was riding on felt unstable. As much as I tried to hold steady, my bike kept meandering toward the gutter. (Later I would find out that was because the path sloped on both sides to help the water drain down toward the gutters, which was certainly practical and helpful for the gutters, but not for me).

Other riders

Added to all those unhelpful factors was all the other riders in the tunnel. Some were headed in the same direction as me. I was going slower, (which I later figured out actually made the ride harder). But the lights from the other bikes also illuminated the path, making it easier to see than going it alone.

Entering the Bible

Ever look at the Bible and feel like you’re staring into a long dark tunnel? Ok, so maybe there’s a little light at the beginning of Genesis, after all, God did create light in chapter 1 verse 3. (Genesis 1:3)

But not long after it can start to feel murky and convoluted. Especially if we go it alone.

But we’re not alone on this journey.

Start anywhere

And with the Bible, as with the path, you can start anywhere. Sure, it may feel more logical to start in some places than others, but remember, the point of reading the Bible isn’t about figuring it all out the first time we read something.

Setting the pace

Sometimes reading a section quickly helps with the understanding of it and makes the journey through a chapter or story a little smoother than plodding over each verse.

It’s fun to go back over verses slowly to catch the nuance of what’s in them and the meaning behind the words, but it really is ok to do a fast skim or read through the first time.

As with the bike ride, slower was actually harder. Once I got the hang of riding, it was easier to stay upright going faster.

So find the pace that suits you and read on.

Tunnel ahead

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words…

Receiving the map I was told I would never use.

start of Hiawatha bike ride — Staff vendor tent, official trailhead.

Smiling at the start of the bike ride.

me and my bike — Notice the mud on the tires.

The long dark tunnel ahead.

You thought I was kidding?

A shaky start – looking back at what’s familiar – childhood stories

So I’m on my bike wobbling, half walking it as I try to navigate my way over loose gravel. Now I need to back up a bit and tell you why I keep mentioning loose gravel.

Riding my bike as a kid

When I was a kid I used to ride my bike a lot. Well, after I traumatically learned how to ride it but that’s a story for another day. Once I was comfortable riding a bike, and not helplessly trying to lean in the opposite direction so I wouldn’t fall over, I was a pretty decent rider. I could cruise around the cul-de-sac no handed. I knew how to ride my bike and I no longer had to think about the mechanics of staying upright. I could take curves at a comfortable speed, ride uphill and downhill no problem. I rode my bike to work one summer and that was downhill uphill downhill on the way in and uphill downhill uphill on the way home. I was accustomed to riding a bike – a regular ten-speed on pavement and street asphalt.

So one day I was riding near a park in another neighborhood and I rode up a ramp and turned. Then crashed and burned. I learned the hard way what happens when you (or at least I) try to turn on loose gravel. I scraped my knee, limped home, and had to get the gravel out.

Back to the Hiawatha bike ride

Are you with me? So imagine what’s going through my head as I’m on a path of dirt and loose gravel. Where’s the paved road? The trail I imagined in my head? I’m not even up to that long dark tunnel and I am already confronted with my greatest biking fear. The only thing going for me is that I’m sitting on a mountain bike with really fat tires (well compared to a regular ten-speed).

But it’s been years since I’ve been on a bike. Nothing about it is familiar and I’ve just committed to a 15-mile bike ride that starts on bumpy dirt and loose gravel. What was I thinking? Whose idea was this anyway? Oh, yeah. My husband’s. And I love and trust my husband and he’s going on this bike ride with me.

Childhood Bible stories

Growing up I heard Bible stories: Noah and the Ark, Moses and the parting of the Red Sea, David and Goliath. The stories were presented on felt board. They were short and understandable. All I had to do was listen to someone else tell me the story or look at an illustrated storybook version.

The stories were recognizable, understandable, and familiar. When I tried to read the Bible as an adult, the safety net was gone. There were no pictures and the stories were a lot longer and had more details. And those names, so many difficult to pronounce names. I wanted the process to be easier, more understandable and manageable.

What we remembered

On the first gathering of my Bible study (the group that read through the whole Bible), we started with what we remembered: Bible stories from our childhood. We shared names we remembered from the Bible: Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses, David, and Jesus. In some cases we remembered a story about the people. Noah built an ark for a flood. David slew a giant Goliath.

Coming back to these stories woven in our hearts from our childhood helped us find a connection to the Bible. It gave everyone a boost of confidence as they realized they already knew something about the Bible. I remember when the epiphanies started and someone discovered they knew a story but either hadn’t realized it was from the Bible or that it was the same person in the Bible. Moses as a baby in a basket and as a grown-up with the parting of the Red Sea.

“That was Moses?”

“Yes, that was Moses.”

“Same Moses?”

“Yup, same Moses.”

Do you have stories you remember from the Bible? Start there. That’s your knowledge base. You do know something from the Bible. No stories coming to mind? Don’t worry, that’s what this journey is for, to learn about those people in the Bible. And the best part? God is in those stories and He’s with us on this journey.

Gearing up for the journey

This summer I rode the Hiawatha bike trail, a 15-mile trek along an old train route. This stretch of the trail originates in Montana and continues downhill into Idaho. Downhill is a relative term because there is a lot of pedaling involved, much of it on a gravel path, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Our adventure began as an idea my husband had. He was familiar with the train that went through here and mentioned it when we drove past one time. For a few summers, we talked about going on the bike ride, but the scheduling never worked out until this year. I caught glimpses of information about it and his initial description made it sound fun. A little leisurely sightseeing. An easy downhill bike ride on an old train route. Coasting gently downhill while taking in the scenic views.

As the date approached, I read more about it and started to get a bit nervous. Several tunnels were mentioned and I saw something about the first tunnel, just enough info to cast a bit of uncertainty toward the trip.

The day of the bike ride we started at Lookout Pass Lodge. (Ok, that name takes on new meaning now… look out…) In winter it’s a ski lodge, but during the summer months, bikes, helmets, and riders fill the entryway. We waited in line to arrange bike transport and receive our necessary gear: an appropriately fitted mountain bike, front light, and helmet. Once the arrangements were made, we loaded up in our car and drove to the trail head.

The parking lot was full which meant a really long walk to pick up our bikes and more time to worry about that first tunnel.

I hadn’t ridden a bike in a few years. I was hanging onto the old adage, “It’s just like riding a bike.” I think it implies that once you learn how to ride you don’t forget and it comes back easily. I can soundly report that there are exceptions to that rule.

Once on the bike it was a short jaunt to the dreaded tunnel, (which looked really dark – that’s what the headlight is for). All of the well-seasoned riders were cruising along to the entrance and sailing through the tunnel. I awkwardly tried to steer and navigate my bike over loose gravel. I was the epitome of clumsy and felt very foolish.

I had all the gear and equipment. I’d heard the speech at the lodge. I had a map (which someone told me I would never look at). I was at the trail head. On paper, I was ready to go. In my head I knew I should be ready, but my heart was anxious. I felt like a fraud, out of place. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be here. Who do I think I am that I could do this bike ride?

Ever feel like that with the Bible? I have. I had a Bible. I went to a study. I had all the gear, but I had no clue what I was doing or what I was reading.

I made it through the bike ride and made it through the Bible. It wasn’t without mishaps, but I’m happy to share the experience. I hope you’ll come along for the ride.