Learning to ride on an unknown path.

My son, who recently learned how to ride a pedal bike, brought his bike along for our family walk. This mostly meant our “walk” was more like my husband chasing our toddler daughter in circles and me sprinting after Oliver. We got to a point where you could continue on the paved walking path or detour onto a single dirt track through the trees. 

It came as no surprise to me when Oliver steered his bike straight for the path into the trees. But as someone who had only ridden on smooth pavement, I don’t think he realized how different it is riding a new narrow path full of rocks, turns, and hills. 

My brave boy was suddenly reluctant. 

Sensing his hesitancy I held onto the back of his bike seat. Crouched down near him I said, “Ok son, here we go!”, as I pushed him further into the woods.

Only a few feet in, he yelled out, “Mom! Hold onto me!”

“I am honey, keep pedaling.”

He pedaled a little further.

“Mom?! There’s a hill up there!”

“I see it, buddy. Let’s keep going.”

He continued pedaling, pushing forward, little by little. 

Every time he’d get some speed and gain control, I’d soften my hand and hang back slightly. Inevitably I’d hear, “Mom?!” As he quickly whipped his head back and forth looking for me while losing momentum and riding off course. 

My steps falling just behind his back tire, I’d answer, “I’m right here buddy, keep looking where you’re going.”

I’d help him correct course, then, reassured by my presence, he’d look straight ahead and confidently pedal again. 

This continued, following the same pattern: Determined, Oliver would set his face towards where he was going and push forward. Then he’d encounter something he’d never rode on before or see an obstacle up ahead and the doubt would creep in. Not just doubt in his own ability, but doubt in me, to really be there for him.

Did I see the danger that was up ahead? Would I help him when he needed it most? Did I even know what it was he needed? 

We came up onto a rocky section and Oliver immediately started looking around for me again. 

“I can’t do this part, mom!”

In total bewilderment, I stopped him suddenly. I moved around until I was right in front of him, squatting down to get on his level.   

“My sweet boy! You CAN do this!”  The fervor in my voice willed him to believe me.  

“I’m going with you and will help you. I HAVE been here with you, helping you this whole time. You know this, right? I’m not going to leave you!” My head moved from side to side searching for his downcast eyes.

“Besides, we HAVE to do this section to get where we’re going! It's going to be okay! You just pedal, keep your eyes on where we’re going, and trust that Momma will get you there, okay?”

I wasn’t frustrated with him. In fact, quite the opposite. My heart was exploding with pride and love. He was doing it! He was working hard, pushing forward, and doing new and brave things. I just couldn’t understand how he could be so fearful when I was right there with him and was providing precisely what he needed in each moment- not only for the here and now, but also what he needed for growth in the future. 

It was at that moment that my heavenly Father, gently, but firmly offered me the same fervent exhortation. Tenderly speaking to my quivering heart.

I could nearly cry just thinking of it!

“Oh, my sweet daughter. You CAN do this. I am going with you and I will help you. I have set you on the path. Keep pedaling. Keep your eyes focused on where you’re going. Don’t get overwhelmed by what’s up ahead. Don’t get thrown off course by endlessly throwing your head side to side frantically looking for me. I. AM. RIGHT. HERE. I have been here helping you this whole time. You know this, right? Yes, I see the hard stuff up ahead. I know unfamiliar territory can make you feel wobbly. I love you! You can trust me!”

Oh, the goodness of our Father! 

Just as I was hovering over my son on his bike and was not slow to respond when he cried out for me, or needed help or correction, in the same way, our heavenly Father is with us- guiding, helping, correcting, and encouraging.

On his own, the obstacles would have been too much. His bike riding skills too green. The hills too steep. The ground too uneven. But he wasn’t on his own! He was never on his own! 

Our success. Our ability to make it to the other side is possible only because He goes with us. 

He is our all-knowing, all-sufficient, gracious, patient, and good Father. And He lives in us. 

Where we go, He goes.

Fear not, dear ones. In him, we truly can enjoy the ride.