“What in the world are you doing?”
“Well–I just wanted to rest my legs for a second.”
“Honey-love, you can’t do that! We’ll crash. If you need to rest, just let me know.”
I dropped my head toward the pavement, silently muttering my frustration. I was trying, I really was. It just wasn’t easy for me to express my every move. Cackles of laughter snapped me back to attention and I glanced up to a swarm of young adults approaching us on our left. Without warning, I obeyed my impulse to lean to the right—perhaps, maybe way right.
“Honey, what did you do now?” Irritation was now rearing its head from my husband Jeff, as he forcefully corrected our course.
Jeff and I were vacationing in the north woods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. We took a ferry over to Mackinac Island and decided to bike around the entire island on none other than a “tandem” bike. Jeff was in the front. I was in the back. Yes indeed.
I huffed in defense.
“Well, don’t get mad at me! It looked like we were gonna crash into those folks. Do you know how hard it is for me to not be in control?”
My husband blurted out a robust guffaw. Actually, he did know, all too well. We rode quietly for the next few moments. Despite my childish intention to lick my wounds and not speak for the rest of the day, Jeff broke our silence with his tender words.
“Honey, here’s the thing. In order for this to work, you have to communicate with me. You simply have to trust me.” Um, not so simple, but of course he was right.
Corrie Ten Boom once said, “When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don’t throw away the ticket and jump off, you just sit and trust the engineer.”
From my vantage point, I couldn’t see what my husband saw. I was unable to know what the road looked like ahead, and what or who was heading toward us. I had to trust him. I had to trust my engineer.
My faith is so much like that tandem bike ride. I want to stop pedaling once in a while because I’m stubborn or tired, when God has other plans. I tend to look over God’s shoulder and attempt to take control of the handlebars, thinking I know best. Sometimes, I can actually hear myself saying, I know what I’m doing, God–I’ll drive for a while. The reality is, when I take the steering wheel away from God I end up in certain peril, or at the very least, on a ride that becomes more treacherous than it was ever intended to be.
Here’s what God’s word says:
“Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for to You I entrust my life.” Psalm 143:8 (NIV)
Having been married for several years, Jeff and I were fortunate to find our rhythm on that bike rather quickly. We chuckled over lunch about how every young couple should be required to bike-ride together, tandem-style. I fondly admit, I do trust my husband–with my life.
I also do trust my God, my engineer. With my life. God’s promises assure that you can too.