Ode to Summer
I enjoyed cross country motorcycle cruising when I was younger. I have many good memories of those summertime excursions. Gallivanting by motorcycle gave me the open-air feeling of being one with the weathered elements. I compared it to horseback travel – but faster. Much faster. With long bursts of exhilarating speed on the highways, slowing only on the byways.
Getting on the road in the chill of early morning was invigorating. The sun would leisurely rise above the horizon, bedazzling with it’s glowing warmth. Sometimes it made me drowsy, almost falling asleep on this machine traveling 60-65 mph on byways. I would scan ahead looking for a large tree beside the road, where I could pause and take time to fully come awake again. I didn’t want to chance dumping the bike and scratching the paint on my beauty. Or worse.
The purpose of a large tree was for shielding. Which could prove beneficial in the off chance an errant four-wheeler shouldered the road, desiring to score a lone motor-horse. It was known to happen. An oversize pickup-truck seeing a single bike parked beside the road, swerve to side-swipe, sending it for a header. The opportunist wouldn’t brave the chance if intended cayuse is leaning against a fortress oak. No rambunctious rambler wants to risk scoring a ginormous tree hugging Rambo’s prey.
Braving a driving rain and riding on to reach the next self-designated goal before pausing for the night, is another gut-flutter of motorcycle adventuring. Motorized cayuse tripping means riding ON the machine, not in it. Therein lies the adventure. Welcoming any and all happenstance.
I was young and my relationship with the Savior was not yet mature enough to practice the presence of God with me at that time. I now think about how much more I could have experienced on those adventures. The peace I felt would have been sweeter and more adventurous. If I had recognized His immediate and close presence with me in the very real way it was even then, my eyes would have been more open to see. My senses would have been keener, and more aware of the full treasure I was truly experiencing. The moments of loneliness, natural to the open road, would have been reduced by the remembrance I wasn’t alone.
But being young means being young. What it has in the treasure of youth, it lacks in understanding of inner fortitude available for the seeking. Some who are young have this in their youth due to their seeking. I was seeking only adventure. I was vaguely aware of God’s attendance — from time to time — from a safe distance.
George Bernard Shaw, an Irish or British playwright (seems he couldn’t make up his mind), reputedly said that youth was wasted on the young. But you must be old to think that way. Which I’m not. Not yet. Not admittedly. And besides, if it’s true that youth is wasted on the young, might it not also be true that happiness is wasted on the trouble-free? I mean, in the Ancient Word we are told to be joyful in all life situations. How can that be? I don’t know, I didn’t say it. But I believe it.
This is just a short piece of summertime memory I felt like sharing. Nothing compared to the stories my grand dad used to tell me; of driving herds of cattle up from the Rio Grande valley in Texas at the turn of the twentieth century. As the drovers rounded up the herd to head north, there were times they had to fight off bandito cattle rustlers to save the herd. But those were his memories. At my young age, his memories made him a hero to me. Which he is still.
Here’s hoping your weekend is filled with many good memories in the making, dazzling sunshine, luminous moonlight, and the Saviors resplendent love enswathing all in the nurture of His care.
Light is sweet,
and it pleases the eyes to see the sun.
8 However many years anyone may live,
let them enjoy them all.