bike rider.

Dear Mack,

We took those two, little, worn out, pathetic looking, wobbly wheels off two months ago.  Those wheels that have been a sense of security for you over the past 2 years kept you balanced and happy.  You loved riding your bike and you were confident each and every time you got on.  You knew that you could go anywhere you wanted with no help at all, and there was never a fear of who would be next to you or what might happen if you made a wrong turn.

Standing next to your bike and holding it up was easy.  Getting on and tipping left, right, and left again wasn’t.  The unsure and unsteady feeling that seemed to pour out of you broke my heart.  Fear was winning.  You begged us to put the “twaining ones” back on, but we promised it was better without them.  We coaxed you along, and Papa Gary was able to get you to go about 30 feet before you gave up.

Your bike sat for two months.  You would watch Mason ride, and usually opt for the Green Machine, but getting back on your bike was never an option.  No matter what I would say or do to reassure you that after some practice you’d be a Superstar on 2 wheels, you wouldn’t budge.  The look in your eyes said, “I want to trust you, and I believe what you’re saying might be true, but ... I can’t do it.”

And then it happened.  The first day of summer arrived and we convinced you to try again.  I gave you some jargon about how you were just a few days away from being 5 and that you would be the bravest and proudest 4 year old in all the land if you would just try.  I felt like Dr. Seuss.  “Try it, try it, and then you’ll see …” 

Something changed.  Braveness appeared all around you and confidence swirled like a tornado.  You got on, pushed off, and peddled your way around the house, over, and over, and over again.  

Oh to be you at the age of “almost 5.”

By nature you are not a dare-devil.  You like “steady”… “routine” … “sure”.  Having both feet firmly planted is your idea of fun.  You are your father’s son.

That day when you realized that I’d let go and not left your side, something happened to your soul.  I ran next to you cheering and clapping, and you begged for me to hold on and not let go.  “You’re doing it, Mack … all by yourself,” is what I kept repeating.  And then, when I stopped and you kept going, my heart soared.  I’m certain yours did too.

There are going to be a lot of things in the life of you that require faith.  Riding a two-wheeled bike is just the beginning. 

Bob Goff says it well in his book Love Does with this statement:

Faith isn’t about knowing all the right stuff or obeying a list of rules.  It’s something more, something more costly because it involves being present and making a sacrifice.

Faith is more about what you’re going to see in people than what they say Mack.  If they’re present in your life, you’re going to know it.  You are going to know it because they’re “there,” even when they’re not. 

I don’t know what changed your mind that day, but I hope it had something to do with what you saw me doing  - running along side, cheering, and believing in you… and it's what I promise to do for the rest of my life.

I held you with my eyes, and I’m still holding on today – as tightly as I can, and even though I’ve let go, I’m still right here.  Trust me & have faith in what I’ve shown you … and then go, and believe in YOU. 

I’m with you. 

All the way.

And a whole lot of other people are too.

Loving you so much (my almost 5 year old),

Mom