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.
