The Bike Parable

When my mom died, I felt this force surround me like angels carrying me through the difficult days ahead.

I remember the moment they left. I dropped like a rock into dark waters. I felt absolutely no light, no support, nothing. I prayed for strength. I felt nothing. I read my scriptures, fasted, went to the temple but remained empty. Days passed, then weeks, then months. I started to question everything I knew. Where was God? Why wasn’t He listening to me? Why couldn’t I feel His spirit?

What if everything I had been taught wasn’t true? What if the truths I’d learned about life after death and eternal families was false? Would I see my mom again? Where was she? Worry, fear, depression, anxiety became my constant companions.

Then one day I had a thought. I knew that that I had felt the Spirit before even if I could not feel it now. I knew that I wanted everything I’d been taught and believed to be true. I decided that I was going to go forward, believing with all my heart, clinging to the truths I’d been taught. I decided to exercise faith. Immediately I felt the spirit again.

For a long time I wondered why I hadn’t been able to feel God. When we take the sacrament we are promised that if we keep the commandments and are willing to take upon us His name, that we will have His spirit to be with us. Why had I not felt it for so long?

And then one day, I received insight. My son was about 6 and was riding his bike around the block. I was inside washing dishes and suddenly I knew that he needed me. I ran outside and found him a short distance from our house on the ground scraped and bruised. His pants caught in the chain. He couldn’t right the bike and he didn’t know how he could get home without taking off his pants, so he prayed.

"Did you wait long for me to come?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered, "but I knew you would come."

When my son was learned to ride his bike, I was constantly there. I held onto his seat and guided him and whispered encouraging things in his ear. As he got better, I would remove my hand for a few moments. Soon, I let go all together but continued to run next to him. Eventually, when he could ride on his own, I still knew where he was.

I couldn’t help but think, I was like my son. Sometimes the Lord is constantly with me. I feel His presence and encouragement. But if I am going to learn to be like Him, He has to let me ride alone or go around the block. If He isn’t running beside me, do I have the faith to keep pedaling? If I fall, do I have faith that He knows where I am and that He will come?

My friend shared a similar story in testimony meeting today. When she couldn't feel God's love, she prayed for a hug, something concrete that she could feel. Eventually, she visualized Christ hugging her. God comes to us in ways that are personal and powerful. Just like she needed a hug, I needed to know why I couldn't feel Him for so long, so He gave me the "bike parable." Michael McClean experienced his own spiritual crisis and after a long wait received answers tailored just for him. You can read his inspirational story here.

If you can't feel God, have faith that He knows where you are and that He will come. Until then, keep pedaling.

Me and that guy biking down a volcano in Hawaii--okay, technically we're not biking, but we're about to and we did and we made it even though it was raining and a little bit scary because we're old now and think about all the ways we could die.

Enough

Three of my grandsons, ages 2, 4, and 5, slept over. They giggled and played with swords and jumped on my couch and wrestled on the floor.

Okay,this isn't an actual picture from the sleepover. It's from Christmas. In fact, these aren't the 3 boys that slept over--well some of them are, but I thought this post needed a picture and I didn't get a picture at the sleepover because I was living in the moment. So you get the picture from this picture even though it's not the actual picture, right?

Okay, this isn't an actual picture from the sleepover. It's from Christmas. In fact, these aren't the 3 boys that slept over--well some of them are but I thought this post needed a picture and do you seriously think I thought to take a picture while I was chasing all three of those boys? Ya, no. But from this picture, you get the picture, right?

I finally got them to the bathroom where the sword fighting continued without swords. Boys. . . They got into their Power Ranger, Spider Man and Paw Patrol pajamas and we made a big bed on the floor. Finally, I fell asleep. Not so sure about them.

In the wee hours of the morning, still in my clothes, with fur growing on my teeth, I woke up. I said a sleepy prayer and stumbled to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.

I went back to sleep but was awakened by the crying 2-year-old who wasn’t sure where he was. I pulled him next to me on the couch and fell back to sleep. For awhile.

At dark thirty, they were all awake and bouncing. We read stories, made pancakes---Mickeys and snowmen which were oohed and ahhed over but not actually eaten. Worn out, the 2-year-old was happy to see his mom when she came to get him.

Having errands, I dressed the other two, washed their faces and did their hair. I am not very good at the mohawk. The 4-year old informed me that if the girls at school saw his hair, they’d laugh.

Driving, I realized that I had not done any of my usual morning things like dress, (I may or may not have been in the clothes I had slept in), shower, brush my teeth, (unless 2:00 a.m. counts), but more importantly say my prayers and read my scriptures. So I said an open-eyed car prayer to the accompaniment of laughing boys comparing fruit snack colors and tried recite a scripture or two in my head.

Then I heard the 5-year-old say, “I’m kind of sad because my grandpa died.” (Not the grandpa that is my husband, in case you are wondering.)

“That is sad I agree.” There was silence as we looked out the windows at the sooty snow and miles of smog.

“There are a lot of dead things,” said the 4-year-old.

“Let’s talk about live things,” I said.

I told them that the leaves would come back on the trees and the grass would turn green again and baby birds would hatch from eggs. “Your grandpa’s body is dead, but his spirit is alive,” I reassured my grandson. I tried to do the hand in the glove lesson only I didn’t have gloves so I’m not sure how well this went.

Then an excited voice from the backseat said, “I remember, I remember! My dad told me that Jesus died and that He came back alive again!”

“That’s right,” I said. “And because Jesus died and came alive again, we can come alive again and so can everyone else!” We talked about Jesus and about how He knows us and loves us.

Then from the backseat again. “I can’t wait to see Jesus and give Him a hug.”

After this conversation I was reminded of something my husband used to counsel when he was bishop. Sometimes people would come to him lamenting whether they should participate in a family activity or do their church work. He would tell them, “Your family is your “church work.”

Sometimes we fill our buckets, put oil in our lamps or whatever metaphor you want to use, and sometimes we share our water or light. Sometimes we go to the temple or fast in the desert and sometimes “we suffer the little children to come.”

Car prayers and scripture thinking cannot sustain a soul just like 5 loaves and 2 fishes can’t feed a multitude, but both are more than enough when given to the Lord. He takes the best that we can offer in the moment and turns it into so much more.

So young moms, old moms, young grandmas, old grandmas and dads and grandpas and uncles and aunts and everyone, stop beating yourselves up for serving your families. Do what you can in the best way that you can whenever you can and trust that God will make it and you enough.