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It's Not About Me - Part 2

It’s not about me. If you are at all like me, this is a lesson that needs to be repeated on a fairly regular basis. For many of us selfishness is our default position. It seems easier and more natural to act as though it really is about me. There is a prayer that I have often prayed to remind me that I am not the centre of the universe. “Lord, remove from me all selfishness, pride, irresponsibility and laziness and fill me with Your divine fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.”

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It's Not About Me

Here’s a thought you may want to hang onto – everybody has the ability to brighten up a room – some by entering it and some by leaving it. And a word of encouragement – each of us has the moment by moment ability to decide which side of this fence we will live on.

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Small Beginning - Big Finish

(Continued from previous blog, “A Cord of Three Strands”)

One day as I pushed myself through another torturous ten hours perched on my red hot bike seat – at least that’s what it felt like to me – I remembered a story I had read in Chuck Colson’s book, “Loving God”. It was the story of a fourth century hermit/monk named Telemachus.

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A Cord of Three Strands

(Continued from previous blogpost, “We Really Do Need Each Other”)

There is great romance in starting a journey like this. When people would see us cycling on the shoulder of the Trans-Canada highway through the mountains and then across the plains, they would ask us where we were headed. “St. John’s Newfoundland” we would answer confidently. And people would marvel at our grit and determination. But it didn’t take too long for the romance of the trip to begin wearing thin. There were days when I just weren’t sure I would be able to push those pedals one more turn. There were temptations to get off my bike, admit defeat and go back home. How could I keep on going then?

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We Really Do Need Each Other

(Continuation of the previous blogpost, “A Prairie Lesson”)

We really do need each other.

I had that lesson emphasized to me in the person of Andrea. The first time I saw her I had an immediate dislike toward her. She shouldn’t have been with us. Her hair was dyed an unnatural black and a swatch of blonde hair was hanging onto the middle of her forehead. She was wearing facial hardware and as far as I was concerned she was a lost ball in tall grass. She was one of our roadies and I wanted nothing to do with her. On top of everything else she wasn’t a Christian. This was a Christian ride. We were raising money for Bible distribution in Canada and how could she have thought she would somehow fit into our holy venture? I was righteously indignant.

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A Prairie Lesson

(The story continues from “The Last Mountain Lesson”)

The next day dawned cool and cloudy. We had to be taken by bus to the eastern edge of the city before the cycling would begin. One of the daily tasks was to fill the giant water coolers and to mix the Gatorade we would consume during the day. In the back of the Silver Bullet was a 20-litre cooler of Gatorade. As Iona sped away from the church to the staging area for the day’s ride the Gatorade container danced to a different beat than the van and became the recipient of a winning coach’s victory shower. The back of the van had become a lake of sticky, aromatic Gatorade.

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Final Mountain Lesson

(Continuation of previous blog, "Surprised in Merrit”)

With the mountains behind us and the prairies ahead of us one final lesson had been imprinted on my mind. It was from one of those days you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. It started poorly and got worse.

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Surprised in Merrit

(Continuation of previous blog, "Lessons from the Back of the Pack”)

We arrived in the city of Merrit situated in the beautiful Nicola Valley of British Columbia, and again the church that had agreed to host us was too small to accommodate our entourage of over 80. But we had a little tent that would accommodate us. Our air mattress covered the entire floor of the tent. Inflating it and putting the bedding on proved to be a little more difficult than I had anticipated. Think returning an inflated airbag back into its compressed state in the dash of your car or a parachute to its pack. Technically it should be able to be done. After all hadn't it actually been there, but the logistics of doing so were more than my two left hands could accomplish.

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Lessons from the Back of the Pack - the Adventure Begins

July 2, 2006. I stood on the brink of a great adventure. Some eighty of us had slowly cycled from the Presbyterian Church where we had slept the night before. We had been scattered throughout the building but Iona and I had been invited to lay out our inflatable mattress in the pastor’s study. Two other women were there with us – women I did not know.

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