You know, life really is a lot like riding a motorcyle

Published 12:00 am Saturday, October 22, 2011

The Rev.

Dale Sallans


When the folks at First Presbyterian want to know if I am at the church, they look for a motorcycle parked by the offices. In the event of rain, they look for “Kermit the Ford,” my old truck. My preferred method of transportation is the motorcycle. Some people reading this totally understand the joy of getting your “knees in the breeze.” Others scratch their heads and hope that some of my organs can be harvested when I get run over by someone not paying attention. I put forth this hypothesis – Life is a great deal like riding motorcycles.

Last Thursday, I had to attend a meeting at Spanish Fort. Rain chances were 30 percent, and it was cloudy down south. I carefully considered the folly of riding for up approximately 2.7 seconds and climbed on my ride. I left the clear skies around Andalusia, and soon ran into mist and fog while still in Covington County. I kept going though for I knew as a rider, there are times the weather will not cooperate. If you keep riding, eventually you will run out of the bad weather and be back into the sun. As a biker goes down the road, he/she is treated to she smells of freshly turned earth, new mown hay or grass, fabric softener when someone is drying clothes and even the occasional whiff of something rotting beside the road. Every so often, from out of nowhere, a big old bug gets you right in the face.

Jesus never said that if we accept him as Lord and Savior that we would become bullet proof. That we wouldn’t have rain, good smells and bad smells on our journey. He never promised that we wouldn’t get clobbered with an occasional bug when we least expected it. He did promise to be with us through good times and bad. Just as I realized I needed to persevere on my ride to feel the sun again, we need to persevere in our lives knowing that the Son is always with us. May God make us aware of His presence each and every day of our lives. Keep the shiny side up.