Biker girls

It's a funny thing, those little moments that make you wonder.

Yesterday, K and I spent some time being motorcycle girls. And no, I'm not toting a two-year-old around on a Harley. We deck out in our biking gear and go for a ride, which almost certainly ends up at some neighborhood park where K plays and I stretch--and usually we end up playing and stretching together. Consequently, I hope to end up someday fitting into that too-tight pair of jeans. Or at least not accumulate any other pairs that are no longer wearable.

At our old house, we rode in the bike lane on a just-as-busy street, so that's what we do here. It took me a while to get used to the whiz of passing traffic, and I try not to let it distract me. But B had just commented to me the other day that this street is narrower than our old street, and more hilly, and more twisty. All things that percolated in my mind as we started out. Indeed, I hadn't noticed just how narrow it was, or how unpredictable the turns. But surely there wouldn't be a bike lane unless bikes were meant to ride in it.

We neared a corner and there it was: a little whisper. Nothing elaborate, extravagant, or otherwise noteworthy. Just the nudge that yes, B had been right, and yes, it might be safer up on the sidewalk. I hate to ride on the sidewalk, though, because of all the dog-walkers and runners and up/down ramps bumping poor K. This time, in the nanosecond that I had, I popped up and off the street.

Not a minute later, among a series of cars, one car drifted so close to me that I jerked my bike to the side in surprise. So close to me on the sidewalk. Maybe he (or she) was checking his teeth, or adjusting the radio, or making a call. Maybe he was distracted for just that moment, sliding from the narrow road to the bike lane beside it. Right next to me. Right where we would have been riding. Right where a little girl who likes to pretend we're a Thelma and Louise team would have taken the brunt.

I know I spend too much time talking, thinking, worrying. I know that God does not often get a word in edgewise. But I wonder how often He tries, how often I'd miss out on less physical hurts if I spent more time listening and less time doing everything else. I praised Him then that He raised His voice just enough to break through, thanked Him for the safety of K and I, and rode the rest of the way without incident.

I admit that the driver might have been more cautious if he'd seen a bike ahead, and I admit also that I'm not immune in any way. Nor will God be responsible for bad things that just, well, happen. But it was enough to make me realize that He's watching every minute, and maybe that was the whole point.