Providence on the Side of the Road
“Cynthia’s down! Cynthia’s Down!”
The cry came from my tandem partner, Barb, and it meant exactly what it sounded like. Our fellow cyclist, Cynthia, had crashed while going 20+ mph on a stretch of I-76. She lay on the side of the road with her cracked helmet, holding a throbbing wrist, complaining about a pain in her thigh that would later be identified as a fractured pelvis.
Later, after Cynthia had been carted away the ambulance and as we continued to ride somberly toward our final destination, another cyclist commented that it was amazing to see how God was, once again, at work on their tour. “It wasn’t just coincidence,” he said. “It was providence. It was a ‘God thing.’”
I’ll admit, I’ve never really liked the phrase, “God thing.” And any time people start talking about the providence of God in a messy situation, I start to get nervous. After all, if they’re going to credit God for what went right in a bad situation, are they going to give him credit for what went wrong, too? Isn’t there something wrong with that picture?
I don’t have the answers to all those questions. But as I continued to reflect on what happened–and what didn’t happen–with Cynthia’s accident, I had to admit that my riding partner was right. Some how, some way, God was at work.
First of all, there was Sarah. At the moment Cynthia went down, she was being passed by a car with two folks who were heading back to Massachusetts after a few weeks of vacationing out west. They immediately pulled over and one of them one of them (Sarah) just “happened” to be an EMT. Not bad timing, if I don’t say so myself!
And then there was what could have happened–but didn’t. Cynthia could have fallen into traffic–but she didn’t. And she could have taken out the two cyclists who were riding behind her–but she didn’t. Things could have been so much worse than a fractured pelvis and a prematurely ended bike tour. But they weren’t.
Perhaps–in a world that is broken and fractured by sin and its consequences, in a world that is far from imperfect–that’s how God’s providence works. No, he doesn’t remove all obstacles (or crash inducing litter!) from our paths. He doesn’t make us invincible. But God–in his providence*–does make it so that things aren’t as bad as they could be. And though God doesn’t give us a Teflon coating that causes all the garbage of life to slide right off , He does–in his providence–give us the grace to make it through.
*In our tradition, this has often been attributed to the function of “Common Grace” and what John Calvin (I believe) referred to as “the universal work of the Holy Spirit.
The Brilliance of Bicycles
Two years ago this August, Jill and I found ourselves standing in the rain along side a nearly abandoned country road in Ontario, Canada. Our tandem bicycle–along with the bags of camping gear we were depending on to keep us sheltered, fed, and clothed for our two week bicycle tour–was laying in the ditch along side of the road.
The bike had already taken us over a hundred miles that day (108, if I recall correctly), but we knew that it wasn’t going to take us any further–at least not without a little help. Due to on unfortunate set of circumstances (involving the previously mentioned rain, a metal grate on bridge, and some bad advice) our rear tire was damaged beyond our ability to repair it. And so we stood on the side of the road, looking at our wounded bicycle wondering what to do–and where to go–next.
We didn’t have to wonder for long. It was only ten–maybe twenty minutes–before a man (whose name I’ve sadly forgotten) in a Chevy Silverado pickup pulled unto the shoulder next to us. “Where you folks from?” Before we could answer, he went on, “You look like you could use a little help.” We seized the opening and explained our precarious situation. And before we could ask him what we really wanted (Did he know of any towns nearby that had a bike shop? Could he help us get there? Or at least a campground nearby), he tugged at his beard and said: “Well, I happen to own a marina in the next town up. I’d be happy to have you stay with me for the night. Then tomorrow morning we’ll see about that tire.”
So that’s what we did. We loaded our gear into the back of his truck and a half hour later we had not only met his wife, we’d also met another woman (also a complete stranger) who offered us the exclusive use of her camper–warm shower, stove, clean sheets and all. For a couple of dirty, worn out bikers, she was a Godsend!
The thing that always strikes me about that story–and the others we have like it–is the way people treat you when you’re on a bicycle. There’s something about people on bikes–especially people on bikes who have clearly traveled a long way using nothing but their own horsepower–that breaks down the barriers that are usually erected between strangers. Maybe it’s the funny outfits. But for some reason, when people see a couple of strangers roll in on their bicycles, they seem much more prone to let their guard down and strike up a conversation. And therein lies the brilliance of bicycles. And the brilliance of the Sea to Sea Bike Tour.
I’ll admit, I wouldn’t always have characterized Sea to Sea as “brilliant.” In fact, I’ll confess to being rather cynical about it all. That’s not to say I don’t like the idea of a cross country ride. I do. In fact, it’s something I’ve personally wanted to do for a long time. So as a cyclist, I always thought it was a great idea. I was not convinced, however, that the tour was really going to be all that effective in pricking any one’s conscience about issues of poverty, or that it would do much (besides raise a fair chunk of money from people who might give it any way) to “stop the cycle of poverty.”
But that changed yesterday. Yesterday, I had the privilege of riding along with the tour for a day . I pedaled the tandem (this time with a biking buddy from my youth, Barb) from Denver to Fort Morgan. And a long the way, I was reminded of what I had learned on the tours Jill and I have done–when you’re on a bike, people want to talk to you. In coffee shops and campgrounds, I got to see my riding companions speak with complete strangers. And not just about the route, or the weather, or the other mundane details of their days. But about things that matter. They got to talk about why they were doing this crazy ride from Seattle to Jersey city. They got to talk about poverty. 
