In 2002 we taught our kids how to ride bikes. Many experiences happen all at the same time when you have four kids less than two years apart. Someone at Valley Church had given us a couple of kids-sized bikes their children had outgrown, and somewhere I picked up enough parts and pieces to cobble together four reasonably functioning kids’ bicycles. Yes, we made sure that whatever else any bike may have been missing, they all had pink and sparkly streamers coming out of the handlebars!
For those of you who have been through this process, you know how challenging it can be—now try doing it for four kids at the same time! We would run along behind them, holding the back of their seats as they learned how to balance, pedal, steer, and brake.
And each of our kids was, and is still, different. One would look back to make sure we weren’t letting go, and inevitably crash. Another would start going faster, say, “Daddy, let go!” and inevitably crash! Eventually they all learned how to ride, got rid of their training wheels, and moved on to bigger and better things. (How I miss those days.)
Why do I bring this up when I’m talking this Sunday about grace from 2 Corinthians 12:7-10? Because I think this illustrates some wrong thinking many of us have about God.
As my children lay in the juniper bush they so often crashed in, my love and care for them expanded exponentially compared to when they were cruising along without a problem. I would run over to them, scoop them up in my arms, kiss all their “owies”, and wipe their tears, (and mine). Our Father God is like that and so much more.
Some people think God is standing over us shaking his head and his finger at us, lecturing us about all the things we’ve done wrong. “If you’d only done…” and fill in the blank. But Psalm 145:8 says, “The LORD is merciful and compassionate, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.”
Here’s another parallel—sometimes we’d take our hands off the seat so the kids could actually ride on their own. And sometimes when we did that, they’d crash. More than once, one of them would ask, “Daddy, why did you let me crash?” That’s harder to answer, but intuitively we all know that crashing is part of learning, falling is part of walking, and pain is part of growth. But that’s hard for a five-year-old to understand and we’d have to say, “Honey, we love you. We’ve got you. You are doing great.” And we’d put them back up on their bikes to do it again.
That’s the way our Heavenly Father loves us. When we’re hurting or pained over something we can’t explain we can blame God or question his character. He asks us to trust Him, but He also gives us the power to get up, move on, and to keep going. He says to us, just like He did to Paul, “My grace is enough”.
I hope to see you Sunday. Keep riding!
In Christ,
Kurt Jones
P.S. To any parents teaching kids to ride – a breakthrough moment came when we figured out (duh) that a narrow juniper bush lined sidewalk was not the best place to teach bicycle riding. We took them to the wide-open spaces of the school around the corner and they sailed effortlessly. There are some good spiritual lessons there too, but that’s for another “weekly”.