Like Riding a Bike

I'm willing to bet bike training wheels rank among the top ten most-used metaphors for learning life's lessons. Well, we took Luke's off this week, so get ready for one more...

When Luke started asking to take his training wheels off last spring, I said Let's wait 'til summer when Dad can help you. I have neither the patience nor the stomach for teaching bike-riding. No, when it comes to patient encouragement and seeing our son take life's hard knocks, that's Dad's department. And since Dad's a teacher, summer's just the thing for such adventures.

But as we all remember full well from our school days, summer comes and goes all too quickly...and for whatever reason, the training wheels stayed on. Luke wasn't upset, though, as he wasn't yet too attached to the idea of taking them off. Only one friend with whom he regularly rides had his training wheels off, after all. But then the weather started to get cooler, and the neighborhood bikers started to reemerge. And Luke's next-door friend took her training wheels off...and the across-the-street friend. And everyone was practicing on the nice, flat sidewalk right in front of our house. Motivation returned.

So Saturday came, and Dad did the deed. The wheels came off. At this point in the story, it helps to know something about Luke: he's not much of a daredevil. Which is why he and I clash when it comes to things like bike riding, because, of course, I am. But not Luke: he's cautious until he's confident,; he's careful and easily shaken. Which is not to say low-key or not rambunctious, of course. But he'll never be the first to leap off the top of the jungle gym, a quality for which I'm usually very grateful.

Until I try to teach him something like swimming or somersaults or...riding a bike.

So Dad--not I--took him out Saturday morning. I dragged my wishing-I-could-sleep-in self out of bed and dutifully headed out to the porch with the camera, while Dad broke his back running up and down and up and down and up and down the sidewalk, carrying practically the entire weight of the bike and Luke. I give them both credit: Dad was calm and patient as usual, and Luke was unusually brave and determined. The verdict after lesson number one, in Dad's words: "It's going to be a while."

Then Monday came, and with it a busy work-week for Dad. And the dilemma: Luke wanted to practice riding his bike. Dad's not much help when he rarely gets home before bedtime, so all Luke had left was impatient, why-are-you-so-chicken, I-can't-stand-to-send-my-baby-out-to-get-hurt Mom.

Fast forward to Friday morning:


Dad hasn't even seen him yet. No trauma--for him or me!--and no serious injuries (yet, knock on wood). From Monday afternoon, when I discovered I could hold the seat just gently; to Wednesday, when all he needed was a little shove to get started and a shouted reminder to brake! ; to Friday morning, when we hit the bike trail with Eliza in stroller in tow. He's confident and not terrified, I've experienced very little frustration, and we've both had a really great week. I've even been grateful for the falls I've seen him take and for the things he's learned from each one (particularly that brake! thing) that I couldn't have explained to him without him experiencing them.

Here comes the metaphor; you could feel it, couldn't you?

I'm learning something about what God must feel like about this whole free will thing. At some point, He takes off our training wheels and gives us a push. Sure, He has taught us how to pedal and how to steer; sure, He'll give us a boost back onto the seat if we ask, or encourage us to keep trying to climb up there; sure, He may call out brake! when He sees the crack in the sidewalk or the prickly thornbushes as we veer off the path. And for sure He's calling out encouraging words and giving high fives for a ride well ridden.

But like any parent, I think He knows there are things He can tell us and other things we just have to learn along the way. I think we do frustrate Him sometimes when we make the same mistakes over and over and over again. I think He does hurt for us when we don't brake in time to avoid the thornbushes. And of course He doesn't want us to hurt, doesn't want us to have to learn the hard way. But saying Don't forget to brake or you're going to get hurt doesn't make nearly the same impression as crashing into the thornbushes because we forgot to brake.

Can I take all the hard knocks out of Luke's life? Of course not. And I think I'm beginning to understand why God doesn't take all the hard knocks out of ours, either. There's a lot to be learned from the cracks in the sidewalk and the thornbushes along the path.