I hope you’ll plan to follow the team through the Rich’s Ride blog. I know we’ll meet great people, share inspiring stories, and learn about the people touched by International Justice Mission.

I invite you to check out this special IJM edition of Rich’s Semi-Regular Newsletter.

** For those in the Fort Collins area, please join us as we look back at the 1500-mile tour of the Mississippi River and look forward to what’s next on the journey of hope.

Sunday, June 3, 11:30 am

Timberline Church, room 201

First, my handcycle was stolen from my garage on Tuesday (When Someone Steals). So lots of folks looked and prayed, and we attracted a bunch of media attention.

On Friday police found and returned it. I’m grateful to have it back, and even more grateful that nobody was harmed in the whole process.

However, the unexpected attention prompted many folks to ask how they might contribute to support our next adventure, a trip from Cincinnati to Washington, DC.

That’s right. RICH’S RIDE is hitting the road again.

Aaron Smith of Venture Cycling invited me to join a team for a 500-mile ride from Cincinnati to Washington, DC. The ride is sponsored by and raises awareness for International Justice Mission (IJM), which works within the legal system to heelp victims of illegal imprisonment,  slavery, human trafficking, and sexual exploitation. Project dates are July 12-23, 2012, which includes some days for training and speaking and six actual riding days.

I’ll provide lots more details later. For now, if you’d like to contribute please go to this page. Please find my name under “participant name” to be certain your donation’s properly credited.

I can’t wait to get on the road again. The journey of hope continues.

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.
We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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Click below to get Bouncing Back
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# # # # #

After dinner we met in the parking lot of an old warehouse. Bruce and Becky unloaded the trailer while I watched the familiar commotion of teenagers entering the run-down building. Each time the door opened, music blared into the night. These kids were converging on an incredible Youth Group.

Bruce told us these young people arrived mostly by bus from low-income housing projects. We’d somehow overlooked those areas during two days in what seemed like a middle-class university town. I guess we tend to see only what’s familiar, or perhaps what we look for. In this space filled with worship music and adolescent energy, the incredible need couldn’t be missed.

While I waited to speak I spoke to the director of the youth center. He told me that nearly every one of the one hundred kids in the room would go home that night to some form of abuse or neglect—if they had a home at all. Several were homeless, living either in cars or as “couch surfers.” As I watched their worship time I wondered what I could possibly say to impact their circumstances. Then I remembered they were there to worship. It wasn’t me they leaned upon. They’d come to connect with the One who could change hearts and alter the course of lives.

So I talked and tried to be vulnerable. I hope I said something meaningful. They laughed, seemed impressed with the story of the ride, and hung out after to talk and check out the bike. But I was acutely aware that their world wasn’t going to be changed by me or my words. I couldn’t scratch the surface of their needs. But I could do the task Jesus placed before me on that night, and trust Him for the rest. That’s what those kids were doing. In the end, that’s what all of us can do.

You can leave that kind of experience in one of two ways. You might be sad, angry, or depressed about hungry, abused kids who don’t seem to have a fair shake. You can feel impotent in the face of so much unmet need in the midst of abundance.

Or you can choose to be grateful. Grateful for youth pastors and volunteers who don’t ignore these kids, for donors who support their work, for kids whose hearts are still open to Jesus in tough circumstances. You can be grateful for the opportunity to share an evening with these folks, to contribute in your own small way. You can be grateful for the ability to chase a dream and encourage others to chase theirs.

Choosing gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring the needs. It means acknowledging that you can’t solve them, either, but you can resolve to continue to do what you can, where you are, with what you have.

Clear eyes. Full heart.

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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Click below to get Bouncing Back
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# # # # #

One of many remarkable experiences on RICH’S RIDE was addressing a high school soccer team in Carbondale, Illinois.

Speaking to a team, especially in a pre-game setting, was a new opportunity. I wanted to say something meaningful without overwhelming them, so I began with a simple question. “When a game ends, how do you know if you won?”

Eyes migrated toward the scoreboard at the south end of the field. A few pointed. Pretty obvious—the team with the most goals wins the game.

“And who knows which team won?”

They hesitated before someone replied, “Well, everyone. You just have to read the score.”

“Of course. Everyone knows which team won. Now here’s a tougher one.

“Who controls the outcome of the game?”

Immediately one player shouted, “We do!”

I waited and let that idea sink in for a second. “Really? You’re in complete control of the outcome?”

Of course they knew better. All good coaches acknowledge issues beyond players’ command and encourage their team to focus on what they CAN control. We listed a few examples of other factors that might influence a game’s outcome: weather or field conditions, opponents’ skill and resolve, good/bad bounces, officials’ decisions. It’s just a fact: sometimes the best or most determined team doesn’t win the game.

Then I changed course. “How do you know if you’re a winner?” Curiously, no one looked at the scoreboard. “And who knows if you’re a winner?”

It was quiet, so I waited. Finally a young lady said quietly, “I do.”

I smiled. “That one’s harder, huh? The scoreboard tells who won, but only you, in here,” I put my hand on my chest, “can know if you’re a winner.”

At this point I felt uncertain about how much deeper to go. I know how coaches feel about cluttering their players’ minds before a game. But I had the sense that this coach would be okay with talking about something bigger than game strategy, and it was sort of too late to stop anyway.

I adapted my notion of “being a winner” from the television show Friday Night Lights, which followed a coach and his team through the craziness of Texas high school football. The team adopted a unique rallying cry that reflected the difference between “winning” and “being a winner.”

“Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can’t lose.”

I explained it to the players.

“Have you ever tried to look in a mirror after you ‘got away’ with something? Maybe you broke a rule or lied and didn’t get caught, or took a short-cut in a practice drill and the coach didn’t notice. Maybe you know you didn’t give your best but somehow it worked out okay and now everyone’s patting you on the back and telling you how great you are. And maybe you smile and accept the praise, but when you look in the mirror it doesn’t feel so good.

“Do you know the feeling I’m talking about, when it’s hard to look at the person in the mirror because he or she knows you’re hiding something?” A few heads nodded slowly. “We’ve all had that feeling. We all know what it’s like to think we got away with less than our best, only to endure that crummy feeling of being afraid to face the person in the mirror. It’s like you almost can’t look, or you want to hide.”

So far this wasn’t exactly a rousing pre-game speech.

“Now turn it around. Think about what it’s like to look in the mirror when you know you did the right thing, when you know you did your best. Maybe you’re disappointed because you didn’t get the results you wanted, maybe nobody else noticed Is it different to look in the mirror?”

Heads nodded.

“That’s CLEAR EYES. When you can gaze at man or woman in the mirror and not be afraid or look away, when YOU know that he or she knows you did it right, you’re a winner. Winners live with clear eyes.

“Now think about the people who care about you: family, friends, teammates. Think about what it’s like when you know you let them down because you didn’t keep commitments or do your best. Maybe it’s gossip, or you didn’t hustle on a play, or you weren’t where you said you’d be. And let’s say they didn’t notice.

“What’s it like to face them around the dinner table or in the locker room? They don’t know, or you don’t think they know. Where does that hurt?”

I pointed to my head. No. Then I put hand on heart. Heads nodded.

“Now think about the locker room when everyone gave it everything they had. Think about how it feels when you know you kept your promise when it was hard, when you made a tough play for a teammate.” They were smiling. “Where does that feel good?”

Several kids pointed to their chest.

“That’s a FULL HEART. A full heart is about love. It means you’re connected to your friends, family, or teammates. It means you’re willing to sacrifice for their benefit, for some goal that’s bigger than self-interest. When you have a full heart, you know it’s not about you. You’ve got your buddies’ backs, and they’ve got yours.

“When you play like that, when you live like that, you’re filling your heart with love. That’s what winners do. Winners live with full hearts.

“If you play, if you live, with clear eyes and a full heart, you’re a winner.

“You may not always win. You don’t control the scoreboard. But you can always—ALWAYS—be a winner!

“And here’s the really amazing thing. We’re wired to live with clear eyes and a full heart. We’re created to be winners. And when we operate like winners, we give ourselves the best chance to win.

“There’s no guarantee. We all know that losers sometimes win in the short term. But being a winner, living with clear eyes and a full heart, gives us the best shot at winning in the long run. And that’s what matters.”

# # #

One-shot inspirational speeches probably aren’t the best way to create lasting impact. I don’t know how much those kids really assimilated my message. They smiled and nodded, but I’m sure their minds bounced in a thousand different directions and I was just some old guy on a crazy bike ride. I guess my best hope might be that something clicked with one or two kids and maybe added to stuff they’d heard before.

I do know that the team lost their game, 2-1. Thus endeth my budding career as pre-game speaker guaranteed to produce wins.

I thought a lot about clear eyes/full hearts during the ride. We made mistakes, missed opportunities, and discovered better ways of doing many things. I suppose the scoreboard might argue either that we won or lost. Like the game, that outcome’s mostly beyond our control.

But when you take a God-sized risk and chase a dream, you hit the pillow each night with clear eyes and a full heart.

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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# # # # #

Amazing how much clarity can be gained simply from the perspective of a new day. The next morning Becky and I sat in bright sunshine at the base of that same single lane bridge. A bit of research showed that it was in fact the correct route, and it didn’t look nearly so foreboding in the morning sunlight. So we unloaded the bike, arranged a meeting on the Missouri side of the river, and I set off to finally see if the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge was worthy of all the effort and anticipation.

Chouteau Island turned out to be a redevelopment area. What looked like a deserted, scary road last night was a re-emerging neighborhood scattered with construction projects. I was still surprised that no signs indicated my approach to what was apparently an important local tourist attraction. At least from the Illinois side nobody was going out of their way to publicize the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge.

Finally. A small parking lot and an almost secluded entrance to one of the narrowest bridges I’d ever seen. The sign told me this was once part of the legendary American highway known as Route 66. It was difficult to imagine that this thin ribbon of pavement, now open only to cycles and pedestrians, once constituted a portion of a major thoroughfare across the US.

Besides its limited width and being nearly a mile long, the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge is remarkable for two things. First, it’s really steep! I had to work hard to crank up the incline designed to allow sufficient clearance for river traffic. The bridge also has an unusual twenty-two degree bend partway across.

At the apex I had a great view of the river. I stopped and looked and thought a bit about what I’d noticed about the river as I traveled with it and lived with it. The river’s different that what you normally see from the bridge.

I’ve lived in the Midwest a lot of my life. I can’t imagine how many times I’ve crossed the Mississippi River without paying much attention. At freeway speeds it’s there one moment and gone the next. But when you travel along its length on a bike you have time to notice stuff. Small stuff, subtle changes, things you don’t see from the bridges. You realize that the river isn’t constant, that it’s not just a big ribbon of water. The river has a life of its own, and you can only perceive its nature by being with it for a while. Drive-by encounters won’t do.

I think dreams work like that. When you pass by someone’s dream, it’s pretty hard to understand it. There’s a lot going on that you just can’t see from the bridge at highway speed. Perhaps that’s why others’ dreams are sometimes so hard to understand. When you live with a dream, it looks a lot different than it appears on a quick fly-over. Maybe the idea that seems crazy at from the bridge at freeway speed makes more sense when you travel with it a while. Maybe we should be a bit slower to judge the worthiness of a dream when we bump into it the first time.

Becky and Monte waited for me partway across. We enjoyed splendid river views, shot some video, and chatted with a few tourists who recognized us from a news feature. The bridge is restored with 40’s and 50’s memorabilia recalling the heyday of the Route 66 era. It was fun to wonder about the adventures that crossed that bridge and imagine the dreams people chased along its narrow corridor.

The Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge was a highlight, one of the scenes I’ll always recreate when I picture the ride in my mind. It would have been easy to skip it and move on. We had miles to cover and places to go and it was just an old abandoned bridge. But I’m glad we took time to go back.

When you’re chasing a dream you need to stay focused, but you need to stay focused on the right things. This dream was never about covering miles. The Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge helped us remember that. We’re a culture of freeways and efficiency. But I saw the river more clearly sitting atop the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge than I ever did whizzing across a freeway bridge. That’s the sort of perspective you need to follow a river—or a dream.

You need to be careful when you’re chasing a dream that you don’t run too fast. A dream is a mystical thing that may not be right where you expect it. It’s worth the time and effort to reach remarkable, out-of-the-way places. Sometimes that’s where mystical things hang out.

# # #

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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Before we get to this week’s excerpt, I have some exciting news. If you haven’t heard already, RICH’S RIDE is getting back on the road again. Here’s what we know so far.

Aaron Smith of Venture Cycling has invited me to join a team for a 500-mile ride from Cincinnati to Washington, DC.  The ride is sponsored by and raises awareness for International Justice Mission (IJM), which works to combat and raise awareness about slavery and sexual exploitation. Project dates are July 12-23, 2012, which included some days for training and speaking and six actual riding days.

I’ll share more info when I know it. For now, I can’t wait to get on the road again.

# # # # #

I looked forward to the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge since the beginning of the ride. My Google search for scenic riverfront routes returned surprisingly few options, but an intriguing web page convinced me that I didn’t want to miss the St Louis Riverfront Trail and its Mississippi River crossing at the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge. However, like many pre-planned episodes of the trip, reaching this historic landmark wasn’t quite as simple as I imagined.

Saturday in St Louis was a rest day. We stayed downtown directly across from the Gateway Arch, courtesy of our new friend Rich McClure, president of Unicorp. It was a great day to just unwind, explore downtown St Louis, shop, and gawk with the other tourists at the incredible Arch that marked the midway point in our journey.

Sunday morning brought a beautiful sunrise and a trip to a church in Alton, Illinois. The plan was to speak there and ride the Illinois side of the river to a trail that connected to the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge. The weather was perfect. The route was well-marked on my map. I’d do about thirty miles, cross the river, and complete the ride at the base of the Arch. It was the ideal way to commemorate the halfway point of our epic journey.

Beautiful. Perfect. Well-marked. Ideal. Those words should have been sufficient warning, but I’m a slow learner.

We enjoyed a wonderful morning in Alton. One amazing aspect of visiting and speaking in so many different churches is remembering that Jesus doesn’t live in your little building and worship culture. It’s one of those things you say, but when you attend the same church with the same people every week it’s easy to forget Jesus is worshiped and loved by different people in different ways. It reminds me that it’s not how or where we worship, but Who we worship, that matters. The folks in Alton were kind and welcoming and made us feel like part of the family. When you’ve been away from home, dealing with a lot of stress, you forget how much you miss that feeling.

The road along the Illinois side of the river was just as beautiful as advertised—a busy four-lane, lots of Sunday traffic, but nice, wide shoulders. The atmosphere was more hectic than usual because as I traveled south hundreds of cyclists pedaled north as part of a one-day century ride. Between the motorcycles, the Sunday drivers, the cyclists, and everyone gazing at all the sights, it was a bit of a distracting, circus-type atmosphere. It was one of those stretches where Becky lived with fear, but I really enjoyed the ride.

As I cranked along I realized my attention was oddly diverted. As I watched the cyclists traveling in the opposite direction, I caught myself wondering who had the easier ride. I rode slightly downhill with the river, but into a fairly strong breeze. They had the opposite conditions. So I wondered whether I’d rather ride downhill into the wind or uphill with it. Which was easier? As I realized what I was thinking, I thought about how silly the question seemed.

First, it didn’t matter. Unless I planned to turn around, I had my path and they had theirs. Wondering who had the easier task was absolutely pointless.

Second, easier isn’t the point. If I wanted easy I could have stayed home and played video games. The point is to travel well and appreciate my path. Four weeks had passed so quickly, and soon we’d be finished. I wanted to enjoy each moment of this amazing journey without wasting time on pointless speculation.

Finally, by focusing on someone else’s task I looked to my left. Meanwhile, a beautiful stretch of shining water passed unnoticed on my right. This was a scene I’d likely never see again, and I was missing it because I wondered about what someone else was doing.

This sort of comparing is simply wasteful activity. Its only function is taking attention from what’s before me. It’s really an excuse. As long as I’m concerned with someone else who might have more or less, I don’t have to dig into my own work.

What matters isn’t the other guy’s path. What matters is moving forward toward my own goals. Anything that distracts me from pursuing my dream needs to be discarded.

# # #

About fifteen miles down the road I passed through a small town and a park that connected to a trail. The trail follows the top of a series of levees, and every mile or so the trail descends and then ascends again to accommodate a break in the levee for a service road. It’s actually a cool way to construct a trail system—mostly.

Apparently there’s a problem at those service road intersections. Signs instruct cyclists to slow down, yield, but we all know how that works. Since those roads are seldom-used the bikes become accustomed to ignoring the warnings, and I imagine there’ve been a few nasty accidents. At one intersection I encountered a creative attempt at a solution.

It seemed so innocent. I cranked along the top of the levee, king of my world, enjoying the afternoon warmth. I saw the sign indicating an approaching descent, slowed a bit, and rolled over the edge. The idea was to force cyclists to dismount and walk through the gate that created a sharp turn that couldn’t be navigated any other way. It was quite a simple and ingenious solution, except that the turn was too sharp for the handcycle’s long turning radius. Of course I didn’t discover this fact until I was halfway through the gate. I was hopelessly stuck.

I couldn’t back up the steep hill, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because there was no way around the gate. I tried rocking back and forth, but I got nowhere. Afternoon became late afternoon as I sat hopelessly trapped by this “safety” gate. After about thirty minutes another cyclist appeared.

“Are you stuck?”

I never cease to be amazed by the unintentionally stupid questions people ask or by my inclination to respond sarcastically. I resisted the impulse to say that I was here intentionally because I actually enjoyed the scenery and it was a nice break from riding my bike. The guy was really very kind and managed to free me from my trap. He also informed me that there were two more similar barriers waiting down the trail.

So I abandoned the bike path, found a busy road with practically no shoulder, and risked life and limb for a couple of miles. Beautiful. Perfect. Well-marked. Ideal.

Finally I caught up with Becky, who couldn’t figure out why I was riding in traffic when I had access to a perfectly good bike trail. I told her about the safety gates. She’d been watching on the GPS. “So that’s why it looked like you were sitting in one place.” Once more I resisted that urge to respond sarcastically. At least that’s how I remember it.

At this point Becky suggested that it might be wise to pack up for the day and complete this ride in the morning. She was probably right. Afternoon was fading along with my positive attitude, and the path along the levees wasn’t as easy to follow as that “well-marked” map indicated. But I was determined to complete my perfect plan, cross the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge, and finish the day triumphantly at the Gateway Arch.

Determination is a good thing. Mostly.

# # #

Beautiful. Perfect. Well-marked. Ideal.

There were very few times during the eight weeks of RICH’S RIDE when I actually felt frightened and in danger. The next hour or so brought one of those occasions.

The levees wandered away from the main roads, and as evening approached it became a little more difficult to be certain I followed the correct path. In a few spots pavement turned to gravel, which made pedaling harder and the path even more vague. Finally I reached a road which I felt pretty certain would lead me to the Old Chain of Rocks Bridge, though I’d have been more confident if there had actually been a sign confirming that fact. Sunlight was fading. I had to decide. So I turned right and headed down an unmarked two lane road. After a few hundred yards I came to a one lane bridge marked by a rather ominous sign: Chouteau Island. Closed dusk to dawn.

Now you’re thinking exactly what I should have been thinking. It’s getting dark. I have no clue where I am. I’m about to cross a rickety one-lane bridge to nowhere, and nowhere closes at dusk. Anyone in their right mind would have stopped. But I was determined, so up and over this creaky old bridge I went.

Chouteau Island looked like maybe no one had ever lived there. The moment I exited that ancient bridge in the fast-fading light I knew I’d made a mistake. Whether I was lost or not I had no business being out here. In a few minutes it was going to be dark and I suddenly remembered the dangerous reputation of East St Louis. I didn’t feel quite so determined any more.

Phone call. Where are you? I don’t know. I see you on the GPS. I’ll come back over the bridge. Whew! There’s the trailer. We hugged in relief. We both knew I pushed it too far. There were no recriminations, no “I told you so’s.”

There’s a fine line that divides perseverance from stupid risk, and I don’t think that line’s always clear. It’s easy in hindsight to distinguish stubbornness from tenacity, but in the line of fire it’s not always simple. God’s not safe, and neither are God-inspired dreams. When you’re chasing a dream you take some risks, and you just do your best to find courage without recklessness.

However, on that Sunday evening I did find one clear distinction. When it’s getting dark and you’re about to cross a dilapidated single lane bridge with a sign that says: Chouteau Island. Closed dusk to dawn, you’re probably about to cross from determined into stupid.

# # #

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

Want to receive free updates?
Click below to get Bouncing Back
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# # # # #

I’ll confess to being a bit overwhelmed as the group gathered on Friday evening. It’s one thing to be invited to address a previously scheduled event, but these folks just showed up, with almost no notice, to listen to someone they’d never heard of a day earlier. These didn’t appear to be people with nothing better to do, so I figured Kelley must be pretty persuasive.

As a physical therapist, Kelley was curious about the bike, my injury, and how we’d gotten to this point. We had quite a bit of fun at her expense as she attempted to pedal a handcycle around the sanctuary. I did my presentation and we enjoyed a wonderful group discussion that featured sincere, perceptive questions. As we talked afterward I was humbled when Kelley shared a small piece of her story.

In her early twenties she struggled through a tough battle with cancer. As she endured multiple rounds of chemotherapy and radiation treatments Kelley talked to God about rearranging priorities regarding two issues.

When doctors offered gloomy predictions about a “low probability” of becoming pregnant, she wondered about future plans for a family. She accepted the reality that her desire to have children might be fulfilled through adoption.

She also understood that her physical capabilities had changed. Prior to treatment her goal was to climb the “Colorado fourteeners,” the fifty-eight Colorado mountain peaks that exceed fourteen thousand feet. But the cancer and side-effects of treatment significantly limited her ability to breath at high altitudes. For a long time she couldn’t run or even walk fast, and she had to rearrange her priorities regarding exercise.

When we met on Elk River Day, sixteen years after the treatments ended, Kelley had just completed her first duathlon (run-bike-run). She beat her “dream time” by more than fifteen minutes, inspired by a personal cheering section that consisted of her husband and the three young children to whom she gave birth.

I’m still processing Kelley’s concluding statement. “I sincerely hope I never have to go through the cancer battle again, but I wouldn’t trade my cancer experience for the world, because of how close to God I became and how much I learned to trust Him and depend on Him. I do think he possibly allowed the cancer to happen to get my attention, and I’m thankful for that ‘wakeup call.’ It rearranged my priorities. Definitely it was worth it for the relationship I now enjoy with Jesus.”

It was one of many moments on the trip when the only appropriate response, or at least the only one I could muster, was “Wow!”

In my presentation I stated that I never seek to romanticize my injury, because being confined to a wheelchair stinks. It’s painful and frustrating and embarrassing, and I ask God regularly to heal my injury. I’m incredibly grateful for all of the good that He has brought from a tragic accident, but I can’t say that I’m thankful for the injury or its terrible consequences. And I do not believe God caused this suffering.

But Kelley’s incredible testimony helped me reconsider. I am closer to Jesus because of my injury. I have learned to trust God a bit more. And those rewards are definitely worth any price.

But I still don’t like sitting in a wheelchair.

I absolutely believe God answers prayers. I believe He answered Kelley’s prayers, and I believe He answered mine. In every way that really matters in Kingdom terms, God has healed me. He’s used the circumstances of my injury to bless me in unimaginable and countless ways. I also believe God hears my prayers for physical healing. I don’t know why I’m still paralyzed, but I emphatically reject the suggestion that it’s because God ignored my prayers.

As I said, I don’t understand how prayer works.

Kelley talked about faithfully respecting God’s timing. Maybe He told her to wait, or perhaps His YES involved a longer-than-expected time frame. Maybe it took sixteen years to perceive the radical, but gradual, alteration that ultimately led her to a place of such great joy.

God often works on an extended timeline. He promised a child to Abraham and Sarah when they were probably in their seventies, and they waited nearly twenty-five years for Isaac’s birth. The Israelites entered the land of milk and honey more than six hundred years after God’s promise to Abraham. Simeon served his entire life in the Temple before he beheld the Messiah. God frequently seems to operate in terms of long term arcs rather than sudden u-turns.

So if He doesn’t seem to be responding, perhaps the answer isn’t NO or WAIT. Maybe He’s doing the new thing we seek right now, but we need some time and trust to see His answer from our limited perspective. I just don’t know.

Kelley’s story provided an opportunity to celebrate without analysis, to embrace the mystery of being held in the arms of a loving God whose ways and thoughts are beyond our comprehension. It was a chance to hang out with Jesus and a few of His friends, a reminder that Jesus is a person rather than a collection of theological ideas. Hearing about Kelley’s miracle helped me to know Him and let go of knowing about Him.

Elk River Day was an implausible confluence of people, events, and circumstances. When I looked through the hotel window at dense, impenetrable fog I couldn’t possibly have imagined the inspiring story of courage I encountered as the day concluded. When Kelley received that phone call from our mutual friend Kathleen she couldn’t predict that she’d open a web page several weeks later and feel prompted to step into our journey in such a powerful way. When Becky struggled to make my daily ride as smooth as possible she didn’t visualize a supportive prayer circle of new friends who would help her rediscover personal peace.

It’s all an amazing coincidence, right?

That’s not what I believe. God was at work doing a new thing, faithfully responding to spoken and unspoken prayers. I don’t understand how that works, but that’s okay.

He’s God. I’m not. I’m glad.

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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Click below to get Bouncing Back
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# # # # #

Elk River Day

Friday of week #1 was a late-start day. St Cloud seemed determined to live up to its name as dense fog obscured cars in the hotel parking lot. I was committed to finishing the first week well, but the prospect of riding on back roads with my silly little flag in thirty-foot visibility crossed the line from dedicated to irresponsible.

So I rolled away from the hotel later than planned and encountered detours that redirected my intended route. We were learning to anticipate and accept those inevitable on-the-fly course adjustments. I followed the signs that sort-of marked alternate roads as Becky scouted ahead for best options.

This Friday was one of many days on which RICH’S RIDE showed me that I’m frequently oblivious to what God’s doing beneath the surface. While I worked around weather and roadblocks, the actual bike riding became background for more important events developing beyond my awareness. As I cranked along country roads through deep green Minnesota forests an appointment was being arranged that transformed this foggy Friday into a signature incident.

The hidden story line actually began weeks earlier when I published the initial draft of our itinerary. Our good friend Kathleen noticed that we would pass close to Elk River, which happened to be home to her close friend Kelley. So Kathleen called Kelley and suggested that she follow our progress. She did much more.

When I rolled out of St Cloud that morning, Kelley tracked my movement via the GPS device that translated the bike’s real-time location to our web page. As we meandered through the unintended twists and turns of our impromptu route she realized that I might literally pass within a few blocks of her house. She called Becky and asked if we were interested in meeting and sharing our story at a couple of last-minute gatherings. So while I pedaled along, blissfully unaware of behind-the-scenes developments, Kelley contacted friends in a couple of different groups. By the time Becky told me what was happening we had two speaking gigs arranged later that day.

The day’s ride had to be shortened a bit due to the foggy late start and our improvised afternoon meeting in a nearby park. As the sky cleared we ended the first week of riding in Elk River, packed the trailer, and headed off to talk with a group of home-school students and parents. I always recall this episode of the story as “Elk River Day,” even though I later discovered that we actually stayed and spoke in the neighboring town of Otsego. No reason to let facts get in the way of a good memory.

Honestly, I couldn’t imagine that kids in a park wanted to stop, sit quietly, and listen to me talk about a bike ride. I’d designed my prepared presentation for a controlled indoor setting with PowerPoint visuals, so I was a bit unsure of myself.  But the kids—and their parents—actually seemed interested, curious, and especially fascinated by Monte and my odd bike. The kids asked lots of questions, mostly about dog and handcycle, and we enjoyed a relaxing, unrehearsed encounter that couldn’t have been pre-planned as well as it turned out.

And the theme of Elk River Day continued as the really important stuff still unfolded just beyond my awareness. I knew that Becky had been scrambling to revise our lodging plans. While I enjoyed my mid-day bike ride she searched for an affordable hotel near Kelley’s church where we’d speak that evening. As I finished my presentation and talked with individual kids and parents I noticed that she’d gathered with a small group of moms. Obviously they were praying together.

The first week had been difficult for Becky. I got to ride a bike. She managed equipment and luggage, arranged lodging on the fly, fielded calls and emails, and administered an evolving schedule. She also navigated and tried to keep track of my location so she could keep me safe, fed, and hydrated. In addition, she had to deal with me—no small chore—and help with dozens of small tasks inherent to life in a wheelchair away from our familiar home environment. And she was still recovering from that first-day crash that left her a bit more banged up than she wanted to acknowledge. Her role as the entire on-the-road support team for the project turned out to be more difficult and stressful than we’d anticipated.

Our preparations hadn’t accounted for cumulative effects of the myriad challenges she’d accepted, so when I saw Becky off to the side, praying with that group of moms, I felt grateful for her moment of support and encouragement. And, as usual, I was oblivious to what really happened right in front of me.

God says, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”

And my answer, sadly, is usually, “Oops, sorry, missed that one.”

As I chatted, Becky told those women that she hadn’t been able to find nearby accommodations. They suggested a few options, including a hotel directly across the street from the church, but she’d already tried them. As Becky shared her frustration and apprehension, one lady said, “Why don’t we pray about it?” So they stood together in the park, hand-in-hand, and talked to God about accumulated concerns, worries, and needs.

As her new friends helped Becky re-load the trailer we talked about what a great afternoon we’d shared and made plans for the evening. One of the ladies encouraged us to try the conveniently-located hotel that had already quoted a price far beyond our budget. I still knew few details as I pulled into the parking lot and waited while Becky headed inside.

She was gone a long time. Finally she returned, slid into the passenger’s seat, and pointed. “Park over there.” Then she related the entire story, concluding with the hotel manager’s offer of a suite for less than a third of the previously-quoted single-room rate.

I don’t understand exactly what happened. I know the events and circumstances, but I won’t even speculate about how it all came together. I’m not sure it’s as simple as A causes B causes C. I think there’s more happening than that.

But…I also don’t think it was all just happy coincidence. I believe God was at work, doing a new thing, keeping His promise to provide.

Here’s what I do know. I know it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t anything I did or caused. While I enjoyed the scenery, Becky scrambled and worked to find a solution. I was just a guy taking a bike ride along a mostly unplanned route from St Cloud to Elk River, completely unaware of an amazing story that God wrote using pretty ordinary circumstances.

And then some people we didn’t know gently reminded us that we weren’t in charge, that this really wasn’t our story. Kelley and her friends helped us re-focus, relax, and remember who we claimed to trust. They reminded us, in the words of writer Mark Batterson, to “work like it depends on us and pray like it depends on God.”

I don’t understand how prayer works. I don’t need to.

The first half of Elk River Day was behind us.

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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Some days are peanuts. Some days are shells.

RICH’S RIDE reminded me that attitude alters my perceptions of “peanuts” and “shells.” I can choose those attitudes intentionally or allow circumstances to dictate. It’s a lesson I continue to learn.

Thursday of week #3 began with a fresh sense of energy after a rest day in Davenport, Iowa. The route along the Illinois side of the Mississippi seemed promising—twenty miles to finish the Savannah-Rock Island trail, a short portage through some city traffic, and on to Muscatine, Iowa. The guy at the bike shop sounded absolutely confident and reassuring as he sketched the map. That should have been my first clue.

The initial miles provided splendid early-morning river views and tours through suburban neighborhoods. I was glad we pre-arranged a halfway meeting point in Rock Island because this part of the trail twisted through parks, along levees, and around riverside communities and resorts. Becky couldn’t follow this convoluted path in the car, so I was pretty much on my own for the first part of the morning.

The rain developed slowly, initially a light, almost pleasant drizzle that became a wind-driven downpour as the path emerged onto an exposed levee. I finally found shelter in a picnic area of a small community park, and Becky and I chatted by phone and laughed as we realized that we were probably within a few blocks of each other and had no idea exactly where we were. Bike-shop-guy’s sketchy map wasn’t as helpful as we’d imagined, but there wasn’t any emergency. The rain subsided and that enticing patch of blue sky was just down the road as I resumed my journey toward Rock Island.

That cloudless patch remained tantalizingly close, apparently just on the opposite shore, while I cranked along in a constant sprinkle and a strong west wind. But it wasn’t bad, and I really had no choice anyway because my support team couldn’t locate me. Suburbs melted into city, but that didn’t matter much because I still had a few miles of trail. At least, that’s what bike-guy’s map told me.

The “trail” quickly degenerated from a dedicated path to a series of narrow bike lanes on heavily traveled roadways. Our designated rally point was still a few miles away. Suddenly I was navigating city streets, roadside puddles, and impatient city drivers. And construction zones. Seemed like every other block involved some sort of construction, and the first territory claimed by the crews was the bike lanes. I merged with traffic several times, hoping that texting kids and frazzled parents wouldn’t miss my flag flapping in the breeze. After a few blocks dodging in and out of whizzing traffic and wondering which distracted driver would end my ride, the trail magically reappeared. I cruised along the shoreline, separated once again from cars and noise and danger.

Around the bend, a temporary construction trailer blocked the path. I sat in the project staging area, a jumble of trucks, heavy equipment, parking lots, and sidewalks with no hint of proper direction. Contractor vehicles buzzed everywhere, men and women in hardhats moved gear and equipment in all directions, and I was clearly in the way. I noticed a handful of orange-vested workers digging around some unseen obstacle, so I called out, “Any idea where I go to re-connect with the bike trail?”

I just wanted to escape their work zone and find a way around the trailer. Seemed like a perfectly reasonable question, but I guess it came across differently to the man who started toward me, brandishing a shovel.

“You get that fancy #$%&-ing bike outta here or I’ll show you a @$%#-ing trail.”  He hoisted the shovel like a baseball bat and I got the distinct sense that my head might somehow resemble a hanging curve ball. I briefly considered pointing out that this was Illinois so he was probably a Cubs fan, which meant that he’d most likely swing and miss, but he didn’t look like he was in a joking mood. Since I wasn’t interested in testing my bike helmet against the shovel, I figured it might be best to move along. So I wandered through the confused mess of the construction site, ignoring irritated stares, until I re-discovered the trail.

As I cranked away, and my heart rate subsided, I wondered why that man got so angry with an innocent request for help. I was just trying to do something good, to live out this crazy dream and share hope with others and raise some money for a worthy cause. What transformed him into a hardhat version of Babe Ruth threatening to smack me into the bleachers with his mud-caked bat?

I was a bit frustrated by a blocked trail, a hand-scrawled map that promised more than it delivered, and a morning filled with minor, irritating interruptions that delayed my progress. I was chasing a God-sized dream. RICH’S RIDE was a God thing. Every day I prayed for God’s blessing, for a clear, safe route as I moved forward in pursuit of a worthwhile goal. Hundreds of people covered my efforts with faithful prayers. So how could God answer those sincere prayers with a guy who cursed and threatened to knock me into center field?

As I cranked away from Babe Ruth I remembered an important truth: It’s not about me! It’s not about my dream or my goals.

My project wasn’t the center of Babe Ruth’s universe. His world was cold, dirty, hard work, and I was a guy in a fancy bike jersey on a goofy-looking tricycle who got to play around on a work day while he struggled to make a living. Maybe he was hung over, or his wife yelled at him as he left for work. Maybe he didn’t know if he’d have a job once this project ended. Maybe he’d just had enough of people discounting his efforts.

Perhaps he prayed that morning that God would bless his efforts and allow others to understand and be a bit more tolerant and appreciative. Maybe he wondered about God’s answer to his prayers as he stood ankle deep in mud, drenched by hours of rain, digging for who-knows-what to satisfy an impatient boss in the warm trailer. And perhaps he wondered why God would send a guy in a silly bike helmet and a spiffy bright yellow rain jacket on a weird-looking bright yellow bike looking for a stupid trail.

Maybe the construction guy was frustrated by a morning filled with minor, irritating interruptions, by people like me who perceived his work as “getting in the way” of their important activities. Who knows how many other cyclists had already complained because his hard work interrupted a bike ride?

Maybe we both wondered that morning about God’s response to our prayers. Maybe we both needed to remember:

It’s not about me!

I hope I didn’t seem impatient or irritated when I asked for help. Maybe I did, or maybe I didn’t do anything wrong. Most likely this was simply a guy frustrated with a cold, miserable day, and this interaction wasn’t my fault at all.

But in that moment I didn’t try to see life from his boots. I wanted to get where I wanted to go, and this trailer blocked my path. This construction project that meant so much to them was an obstacle to me.

We both wanted God to honor our prayers. I believe He did exactly that, but I also believe He answers from a broader perspective I can’t imagine. I need to trust that He sees what I can’t.

I need to remember that it’s not about me.

I’m just glad Babe Ruth didn’t decide to use my head for batting practice.

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

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Click below to get Bouncing Back
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This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain … Mark 4:26-28

God is doing a new thing—all the time, all around you.

In La Crosse, Wisconsin we received a lot of media attention. Over a two-day span our project was featured on television, radio, and in the newspaper. As a result, lots of people recognized the bike and the trailer and knew what we were doing. We felt like minor local celebrities as we prepared to head south.

Our hotel was in the heart of the city, but I discovered a fairly manageable route along a bike path leading to the edge of town. However, as we unloaded the trailer we encountered an unexpected complication: Octoberfest. Downtown streets were closed to traffic for the city’s annual parade. I could escape on sidewalks, but Becky was trapped for a couple of hours. The car and trailer weren’t moving until the parade passed.

It didn’t seem like a big problem. I could take off, and Becky had some extra time to relax. Then she and Monte could enjoy the parade. No problem.

As usual, I meandered a bit before finding the bike path. I had to swallow male pride and ask for directions a couple of times. But eventually I located a trail that took me through parks and neighborhoods to the outskirts of La Crosse. At that point I joined a truly beautiful stretch of road.

This busy highway paralleled the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi River, separated from the water only by railroad tracks. As the morning brightened I watched river activity and enjoyed gorgeous bluffs towering above the road. A nice, wide road shoulder provided plenty of separation from cars and trucks speeding past, and dealing with traffic was a small sacrifice compared to the beauty of the surroundings. This was one of the rare times when the road provided uninterrupted river views, and miles melted away as I took in a postcard scene.

At first I was startled when several drivers honked horns and waved. Then a few miles down the road a cyclist pulled out of a driveway and said, “I’ve been waiting for you. Mind if I ride along?” He explained that he just wanted to ride a mile or two to honor what we were doing. I realized what was happening. This guy, and all of those drivers, recognized the odd-looking bright yellow handcycle from the media coverage.

I felt a little like Forrest Gump, and I kept waiting for someone to yell, “Ride, Ride, Ride!” It never happened, but all through the day I was buoyed by smiles and waves and honking horns. I hope those people realized how much their small acts of encouragement meant to me.

I’d covered about twenty miles before I saw the trailer zooming past. I rolled to a stop and listened as Becky recounted the fun of the Octoberfest parade. It’s not every day that you get to sit on a curb next to a man in lederhosen drinking beer at 9 o’clock in the morning.

I was a little sorry I missed that.

The remainder of the day’s ride passed uneventfully. Warm temperatures, beautiful river views and friendly supporters made this an especially pleasant, memorable road. People smiled and waved from front yards and along sidewalks in the small river towns. And all along the way a wonderful story unfolded just beyond my perception.

We’d arranged to end the day in one of the towns that lined the shore. I cranked onto the main street and saw the car/trailer parked just ahead. I noticed that Becky waited inside the car, which was unusual, but didn’t think much about it until she emerged and walked quickly toward me. She appeared anxious about something.

“See that man?” I turned and saw a guy watching us from across the street. “He’s been following me most of the day. Every time I stopped I noticed his truck. At first I thought I was being paranoid, but it’s the same guy and the same truck.”

Becky had apparently attracted a stalker.

Your mind invents horrible possibilities when you’re being stalked in unfamiliar surroundings, so I was more than a little bit concerned when the man started to cross the street toward us. I briefly considered having Becky get Monte out of the car, but I chuckled internally at the notion that his goofy, floppy-eared appearance would actually intimidate someone. The man approached slowly.

As he reached our little staging area, he stopped, scuffed his feet, and stared at the ground. He started to speak a couple of times, then hesitated. He wanted to begin a conversation but couldn’t find the right words. Sensing now that he didn’t pose a threat, Becky greeted him and broke the awkward silence. As he relaxed we listened to a heart-wrenching story.

Like so many others we passed that morning, this man saw our story on local television. He drove to our announced route hoping for an opportunity to meet us. He spotted me cranking along, then saw the trailer, but couldn’t summon the courage to approach. So he followed nearly forty miles waiting for the right moment. Then when we finally stopped he stood for a long time because he didn’t want to interrupt.

He wanted to talk about his boy who struggled with a rare and especially difficult form of diabetes. At age eleven his son was beginning to understand the realities of his disease. He realized that he wouldn’t be able to participate in many of the same activities as his friends, and he was angry. His dad was clearly a compassionate, caring father who didn’t quite know how to talk to his son about the emotions he felt. What he wanted to tell me—the reason he followed us all morning—was that he appreciated seeing our story because it got them talking. My silly bike ride opened the door for dad and son to talk about overcoming a difficult situation.

He wanted to thank us for sharing the story of the ride, for the blog and the videos and Monte’s weekly writing. They looked at that stuff together and talked about how it’s possible to do interesting, challenging things even with a disease or disability. He said it was the first time they’d been able to really talk about the disease and its effects, and that they looked forward to following the rest of the ride together. He followed us all morning to tell us about his boy, to say thanks, and to shake our hands.

Then he turned and looked deep into my eyes. “It breaks my heart to see him so sad and angry. I just want to help him, but I don’t know what to say. “What should I tell him?”

How should I know?

Did this guy chase me for hours thinking I somehow knew some magic words that would fix an un-fixable situation? Except that’s not what he really wanted. He wanted to connect, to know that someone understood. He wanted—needed—the human connection of a handshake and a look in the eye. He knew there weren’t any magic words, that he and his son faced a difficult path together. He knew it wouldn’t be fixed, but he appreciated knowing that it was shared.

“Tell him he’s special. Tell him he’s got gifts and talents and that he can do whatever he wants with them. And keep telling him that.

“Tell him not to let what he can’t do keep him from doing what he can do.”

He smiled and repeated that last line to himself. “Don’t let what he can’t do keep him from doing what he can do.” He smiled, shook our hands again, and walked back to his truck.

# # #

During the next six weeks there were days I didn’t feel like writing a blog post, days when I was tired or couldn’t think of anything to write. Sometimes I wondered if it mattered, if anyone would care if I skipped a few days. When that happened I thought about an eleven-year-old kid and his dad. I thought about other people I hadn’t met, who didn’t or couldn’t follow us for an entire morning. I realized the incredible blessing I received each time I had the opportunity to share a small bit of this amazing experience.

This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain … Mark 4:26-28

I wonder how many opportunities we miss by insisting on our own notions of worthwhile outcomes, or how often we quit when seeds don’t germinate immediately. Mostly we never fully appreciate the effects of our actions. Persevering, doing what’s right, keeping commitments, and following the path—those are hard things when we can’t see that the effort and sacrifice make any difference. Maybe that’s why Jesus used so many planting analogies.

RICH’S RIDE scattered seeds. God put those seeds in the right lives and added fertilizer and water. Results from the ride sprouted and matured in places and ways we would never see. We needed to proceed with faith, hope, and love, trusting that God would use our efforts even when we didn’t understand the specifics. Knowing that God’s at work, and that He always works for good, has to be enough.

God is doing a new thing—all the time, all around you.

Please leave a comment here.

# # # # #

If you’ve enjoyed the updates from Rich’s Ride, please check out my blog at BOUNCING BACK.

We’ve got a great circle of folks who look at living life on purpose and following Jesus in the real world. I hope you’ll join us.

Want to receive free updates?
Click below to get Bouncing Back
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