Healing

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I’m writing down some struggling thoughts so this story may not make any sense.

On August 3rd 2002 something about me died. I’ve grieved that death but as time has progressed I glad for that causality of life.

I hit a car on my motorcycle that day. I hit very hard. (Lots of broken bones etc) Many people thought I would die that day but God said, ”Calm down Tim, I’m not done with you.” and I lived. However, something did die on that sunny Saturday morning. No one put up a cross in that spot but that old leather clan boy never made it home.
I loved motorcycles and speed. I would spend all my extra cash on my ride. I went to bike shops, Harley dealerships, biker shows and would lust over the latest rides, pipes and shiny junk for my ride. I would wash my bike every week, cruise with my buddies and then wish I had a better ride.

That rider died.

I still love bikes. Yet, I don’t day-dream about a new motorcycle. In fact, I do not own a bike and I’m o.k. with that bikeless space.(I wish some of my friends were o.k. with me without a bike) I bought a jeep but even the little 4 by 4 was not all that exciting to me. So I sold the shiny jeep and gave away the money to an important cause. I bought an old Dodge Caravan for four hundred dollars and I enjoy the cheap grocery buggy. No ride can ever add to my identity again. My self-image is not a mixture of iron, chrome and smoking tires.

I have looked but I can’t find that guy.

I will never be able to try speed therapy again. I get my peace from another source. I loved to ride angry. Fearlessly I raced around curves till the thrill of the moment overwhelmed my emotions. I can not even understand why I got angry over those things now.

That biker never came home.

I loved to wear leathers and play the part of a rider. I enjoyed it when people would say there goes Pastor Tim, he is a biker. That was me -the biker pastor. Now I’m just Tim. Being called a pastor or a biker is no big deal. I love bikers but I do not care what people perceive me as. If they think I’m some middle aged guy I cool with that thought. I have overflowing joy in my ministry. However, the position is not my passion; my passion is the call of God in my life. I would park my big old ride at the front door to the church, (for all to see) now I just keep my office door open for anyone that wants to stop by.

I died but I live more then ever.

My greatest thrill each week was the weekly rides with my pack of crazy friends. I still love those guys but the rides do not thrill my soul. Now, I love to make my wife smile. I am thrilled to get a conversation with my college age son. I love to watch my daughter’s concerts. The birds in my backyard feeder refresh my heart. Life is a very simple pleasure. I live life! I'm not waiting for the next thrill to live.

All I have left is twisted metal and a cut-up leather jacket.

My biker buddies prayed over me for a compete healing. They asked for God to heal and raise me back up to lead the pack. Well, God healed my body and my soul. Pain and suffering were gifts that changed the desires of my heart. I do not want to be the leader of the pack. I just want His kingdom come, His will be done and his will may not be on a motorcycle. I am complete in Christ and no part of me believes that I need to ride to live.

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