Being a divorced kid is hard. I wasn’t one, but I watch my kids do it every day. They get passed back and forth and somewhere in their hearts there has to be a quiet but consistent sense of brokenness and reminder that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
And sometimes your parents are distracted by the complications of it all and things get forgotten.
My daughter was seven years old before she learned to ride a bike without training wheels. I thought her dad would do it, he probably thought I would do it. But by the time she turned seven, she was embarrassed that all her friends were training-wheel free. It was (past) time.
So that spring, before it was too blistering hot, I took her up to the top level of the church parking garage, where there were never any cars and we got to work. The training wheels came off and she spent a couple days just sitting on the bike, kicking her feet on the ground and scooting around, just to get the feel of things.
Then it was time to start pedaling.
I decided to shoot her straight right from the beginning. I looked right into her big brown eyes and said, “Caroline, listen. You ARE going to fall. There’s just no way around it. You’re gonna fall, you’re gonna bleed, it’s gonna hurt, but you’re not gonna die, okay? It’s just part of deal. So go ahead and just plan on the fact that you’re gonna fall so you’re not surprised when it happens. I’m right here and I’ll help you. Got it?”
As these words were coming out of my mouth, I felt a familiar warmth stirring in my chest. God was there. And these words of love and instruction for my daughter were really His words for me.
My Child, you are going to fall. You’re going to fall hard and bleed and it’s going to hurt. It’s just part of this life. There’s no way around it. So don’t be surprised when it happens. I’m right here.
I tried to shut it down and said in my head, “Not now, Lord. I’m trying to focus here.” I felt His amused smile and He sat back and watched.
Gradually, her feet started to come off the ground and onto the pedals. Five feet. Then ten feet. Then farther. Then her handlebars would start to wobble and her feet would hit the ground. I cheered enthusiastically with every bit of progress. With every significant step forward, she’d put her bike down and run over to me for a celebratory hug, almost as if that made it official.
Day after day, we kept working. She began to complain that her arms were sore. I was completely perplexed. Her arms? What were they doing working so hard? I began to jog beside her as she rode, and finally noticed her white-knuckled grip on the handlebars. I saw what was happening.
She was trying to balance by pushing equally hard on each handlebar. She was trying to hold herself up with her own little arm strength. No wonder she was exhausted.
We stopped and I explained the problem. “Look,” I showed her, placing my hands lightly on the handlebars. “You barely need to hold on at all. These aren’t for balance. These are just to keep you moving in the right direction. Your balance comes from your body, not just your arms. Don’t hold on so tight.”
God flexed His presence again. Don’t hold on to control so tightly. It will not keep you balanced. You’re wearing yourself out trying not to fall. You cannot hold yourself up with your own strength. Your balance comes from Me.
I sighed. “Okay, Lord. I hear You.”
Her confidence began to build and she got better and better. But she was really worried about falling. She hadn’t had a major wipeout yet and the prospect was terrifying. As soon as she started to wobble she put her feet down to catch herself. I explained a new strategy.
“Try this next time. When you start to lose your balance, instead of putting your feet down right away, pedal harder. Go faster. The bike will straighten itself out if you keep moving. Just try it.”
Again God echoed. Whenever you’re afraid, you panic and stop. Keep going. Push harder into Me, then into what you’re afraid of. Forward motion will steady you.
She was skeptical but after much more convincing, she gave it a shot. And it worked. I jumped up and down and cheered, she beamed. Before I knew it, the bike was back on the ground and she was back in my arms. I started to say something about not stopping every time she got it right to keep the good momentum, but quickly dismissed that idea. Give her a hug. Celebrate together for a few seconds.
It got to where I could just stand by the car and watch her ride, barking instructions. “You got it, babe! Relax your arms! You’re holding on too tight! Pedal, pedal, pedal! Don’t stop! You got this! Keep going!” Over and over and over.
I leaned back against the car and smiled proudly, fighting back tears. She was doing it. The stirring started again. And this time I let Him talk.
Relax.
You’re holding on too tight.
You’re gonna fall and it’ll be okay.
I’m right here.
Keep going. Don’t stop. Just keep going.
You’re doing it. You’re doing it.
I watched my girl bike happily around the parking deck and I realized again this is exactly how my Father sees me as I’m learning to do this life. And He’s so proud.
The tears escaped my eyes and ran down my cheeks. The thought of me actually making Him proud every once in a while was almost more than I could take. Crawling back to Him after screwing up again with my head down in shame was all I could think of. I was blinded for so long to the times when I actually pleased Him. His favor washed over me for a moment and took my breath away.
Yep, too much. I shook it off and reengaged my daughter. God seemed to understand. I would learn how to let Him love me.
Just gotta keep pedaling.
