The Morning Ride

The Morning Ride

         Dark—it was still dark, as Stan opened his eyes on that chilly spring morning. The chill permeated the room and crept into the sanctuary of the quilted covers that were pulled snuggly up around his chin. Although he could not feel Lisa sleeping next to him in the big king-sized bed, he could hear her steady breathing. He was envious of the deep morning sleep that she was obviously enjoying at that moment. He focused his eyes on the bedside clock.

         “5:45 AM—why can’t it say 8:30 AM, at least?” his mind pleaded, as he futilely closed his eyes to steal a moment’s longer sleep. However, his attempt was unsuccessful. He knew that he was up for the day.

         “No need to wake Lisa with my tossing and turning,” he reasoned with himself. And with that thought, he peeled the covers off of his reluctant body and swung his feet from the warmth of the bed onto the carpeted floor.

         He made his way into the master walk-in closet and switched on the light, which assaulted his eyes with the instant flood of illumination. Squinting, he reached for his warm-up suit, which was hanging in its place on the end of the clothes-rod. Ten minutes later he walked into the kitchen. The cold tile on his bare feet finished the job of waking his senses. He quickly poured himself a glass of orange juice and went about the chore of finishing dressing himself with his socks and joggers. Then he made his way out of the kitchen and into the garage. He punched the garage door opener and hoped the noise of the opening door would not disturb Lisa. The opened door revealed a brisk new morning.

         His bicycle was waiting for him where he had last parked it against the wall, next to Lisa’s. He had purchased the two bikes on the same day the previous year. He had hoped that he and Lisa could get some needed exercise and do some riding together. However, these early morning outings had ended up being a solitary excursion, since Lisa had cherished her early morning sleep more than the physical exertion of the bicycle ride.

         Stan walked his bike from the garage and down the driveway. He checked the early morning sky and was rewarded. He paused for the moment and soaked up the sight before him. On the horizon the clouds hung low, but directly overhead there were high, wispy cirrus clouds that graced the sky in broken elongated feathers. The rising sun cast its morning rays on the undersides of the clouds, painting them with imperial purples and rich, royal reds along the horizon and spreading shades of orange and yellow across the high cirrus cloud formations. The sky was a glorious, massive canvas of color. Stan savored the moment and allowed his senses to absorb the experience.

         He spoke in a whisper that was actually a prayer, “Thank you Father, for painting my world this morning. Thank you for letting me see this one more time.”

         Stan marveled at the thought that this heavenly display was repeated on countless mornings and evenings from the beginning of time and into eternity. He was grateful that commerce had not found a way of packaging it and selling it on the shelves. It was free. The only fee for the experience was the effort it took to leave the comfort of his bed and walk out into its grandeur.

         “It’s a pity that Lisa will not see this. She’ll just have to be content with my description at breakfast.” With that thought he mounted his bike and began his morning ride.

         The wind had been gentle as he left his garage that morning, almost unnoticeable. But, the added speed of the moving bike attuned Stan’s senses to the chilly bite of the morning air. Cold registered on the breaking surfaces where the wind flowed across his exposed skin. His nose and ears felt the nip of cold as he traveled briskly down the road to the entrance of the bike trail into the wooded area within his suburban subdivision. His hands and fingers registered the drop in temperature as they gripped the handle bars and the cold steel of the brake levers. The cold was refreshing. It acted as a great and glorious refrigerator that sealed in the freshness of the morning. It awakened his senses and made him aware of each individual twig, leaf and flower that glistened with the early morning dew. It magnified the sounds of an awakening day. The warble of the mocking bird; the harsh cackle of the grackle; the distant bark of some neighborhood dog secured in a family’s back yard all blended to accent the fresh briskness of his morning ride.

         He entered the wooded area of the trail. Scampering across his path was a pair of squirrels. Stan noticed them and smiled. He wondered about their day. “Are they aware of the part that they play in making this a perfect picture? Did God schedule their scamper across my path as a gift to me, or was it a mere coincidence that their morning chore caused our paths to cross?”

         On down the trail he rode with the sound of the “tickity-tickity-tik” traveling with him as he back-peddled during the moments that he coasted. The sound was muffled in the enclosure of the trees, whose limbs seemed to be purposefully entwined in a protective canopy that embraced the rarely seen habitat that lived within its confines. Stan was grateful that nature had permitted him to invade their inner sanctum along this narrow ribbon of trail. A trio of rabbits, nibbling on some morning clover, raised their heads and watched him glide by. No doubt they would have scurried off into the brush if he had attempted to stop. But as long as he kept moving within the limits of the asphalt ribbon, they were content to continue with their breakfast.

         He emerged from the woods into an opening tucked snug up against the tree-line. The small lake or large pond, depending on your perspective, had been sculpted by the developer when the subdivision had been constructed. Every now and then men do something right. This little body of water was right. It had blended with the environment and had added a new habitat of its own. Its water was teeming with turtles, fish, and along its surface paddled in differing measures of grace ducks, geese and swans.

         Stan could hear the mixture of quacks and honks resonate across the water. He pulled to a stop on the little bridge that crossed the creek that fed the lake. The ducks and geese saw him stop there. They began to make their way to him. He could see the wakes created in the still water by their moving bodies. He smiled. They had become spoiled. Neighborhood children took great delight in feeding the ducks and geese morsels of bread along the banks. They would have to be disappointed. Stan had no bread with him this morning. But the sight of them delighted him. They added another dimension to nature’s pallet that he had come to appreciate during his morning rides.

         Stan allowed himself to be engulfed in contemplation of life’s myriad facets. It was then that his consciousness recalled the telephone call that he had received the previous evening. It was from his doctor, who was also a very close friend.

         “Stan, the results are back. I’m afraid that it is not good news.”

         “Well, Gary, we knew that that was a possibility. What have you got for me?”

         “It’s cancer, Stan. It’s the aggressive kind. It’s too soon to speculate at a prognosis. I want you to come into my office on Monday morning. We want to schedule some more tests. After that we will know exactly what we are facing. But, I wanted to get with you as soon as I knew. I’m so sorry. But, there is a lot that we can do. So let’s just take one day at a time.”

         “Thanks, Gary. You were right. I’m glad you called. I don’t know what to do. It’ll take me a little time to deal with this. Thanks for calling. I need to talk to Lisa.”

         It had not been an easy evening. There were tears and speculations and eventually exhaustion. Stan and Lisa had retired late in the evening. Even so, he had stirred awake at 5:45 AM to begin this morning ride. Somehow he had to put it all into perspective. Somehow he had to find reason and order in his life, which was now unordered and uncertain. He looked intently at the mist that teased the far shore of the bank. It wafted aimlessly in the morning sunshine. It would soon be burned off. And yet he knew another day would come and bring yet another teasing mist to the banks of the little lake.

         He looked around him and smiled. He had a great abiding faith in a Creator and in His goodness. He affirmed that he was the recipient of a great gift. There were some who would call him misguided or desperate. But, Stan believed in a faith that promised him a life everlasting. He realized that God was a God of grace. He gives grace appropriate to our needs. At that moment, Stan’s needs were great.

         Stan gazed at the beauty of nature all around him and spoke, “Trees, you have grown in this forest for hundreds of years. You will likely grow for hundreds more. Yet when you are gone, I will still be living. Water, you have coursed your way through this valley since the time of its formation. You will flow along your course and feed this little lake forever. Yet, when you are gone, I will still be living. And sky, you have painted our heavens from the beginning and will surely be there at the ending of time. But, when you are gone I will still be living.”

         Renewed in his spirit and with confidence in his future, Stan mounted his bicycle and continued down the little asphalt ribbon. It would exit the woods. It would leave the banks of the little lake. It would take him on home—victorious.