The other day I was thinking to myself about the previous day's events. I mentally reviewed the facts; I had completed an epic and personal best 200 km cycle ride in northern Ontario. At the 150km mark I had caught up with my wife and her sister, who were doing the same ride but had been given a 60km head start along with all those who choose the shorter route. I rode with them for a while, and then went ahead to set up our tents at the finish point. I had just completed that before it rained and the girls arrived.
Should I be proud of that? It sounds like an impressive day. In fact, as I reflect on my thoughts, I realize to my shame that it sounds a lot like boasting. It is true that I am in the midst of a 2000km cycling journey to raise funds for ministry to the addicted and marginalized in the downtown cores of our cities. It is true that my wife and sister-in-law started with me (and about 24 others) in Portage la Prairie, MB and rode to Thunder Bay, including the aforementioned ride. It is true that I (and about 20 others) will be going on to Wawa, and that a few more will join us then as we cycle on to Toronto - all over the next 10 days. I am blessed to be part of a cycling team. We have SAG (supplies and gear) stations every 30k to refill water bottles, provide granola bars and fruit and top up tire pressure as needed. If you're going to ride, this is the way to do it. I am not alone.
Yet I do spend the vast majority of the time riding alone. As the team starts out each morning, we most all find ourselves spread out along the route. That's a function of slightly different departure times (we each leave camp as we're ready), as well as road conditions that mandate significant sections of the route to be ridden single file. So the faster ones get out in the front and the slower ones follow behind. Occasionally we get a section of road with a wide shoulder that coincides with catching up to another rider, and then a conversation can be enjoyed until the next hill or narrow stretch.
On the day in mind, we had woken up, packed up the tent and had a quick breakfast. Those riders who were going the shorter route were called to "sweep camp" - meaning it fell to them to clean up after breakfast and load the trucks with everyone's gear before leaving camp. That meant that they would be the last to leave that morning. As it was to be a long day, the rest of us were encouraged to hit the road early. Being with the latter, I set out, some having already left, some leaving soon behind me.
I had checked the weather and it had said it would be mostly sunny and a high of 23 deg. It as only 13 deg that morning, but I knew that as I cycled I'd warm up fast. So I packed my raincoat (also used as a wind breaker) and my cycling pants in my duffle bag with the rest of my personal gear, and headed out wearing only the standard cycle shorts and jersey. The sun was just coming up, it's first beams shooting out between the trees on the horizon. The sky was that light blue colour of a cloudless dawn.
I flew down the first hill at a 40k/hr, picking up a serious wind chill. It was cold. For the first time since we had started there was a tail wind, so I was making great time, averaging over 30k/hr. The temperature dropped to 12. Clouds began rolling in as the sun struggled to gain altitude. Darker rain clouds moved across the sky ahead of me. I began to realize that without my rain gear and in such low temps, if it started to rain now, I might well not make it to the first SAG station before hypothermia.
So I began to pray. I remembered the opening of David Chotka's book, "Power Praying", where he talks about rebuking the rain clouds away from an open air meeting in Africa. So I boldly asked God to push the rain clouds apart. I asked Him to push the temperature up, and I asked Him for some warmth from the sun to shine through the clouds. As the horizon darkened, I could almost sense Him pointing out that I had had my rain gear in my hands that morning. It was me that had made a decision to not take them as I shoved them into my bag. It was me that had made the decision to not go back and get them when I realized how cold the day was. It was me that was determined to try to warm up through sheer exercise on a day at least 6 deg colder than any other time I had done likewise in training. I had chosen...poorly.
Now some 10k in, I was fully dependant on His grace. Perhaps there were others, someplace nearby, who were needing His grace in the rain. Perhaps He had determined that the colder temperatures were needed to circumstantially speak into the spiritual formation of someone else. I didn't know. What I knew was that I needed it to warm up, and I needed the rain to hold off. By now the gear truck had been packed, and it would be the end of the day before I could get my hands on my rain gear. So I asked Him for His grace to me, and for that grace to prevail over His grace to others as it may be needed, and for that grace to persevere until I got to the finish point and set up our tent. Then I asked for even more grace, that the rain would hold off till I also set up my sister-in-law's tent.
I'm not sure what the Lord thought about my requests. I know how I would feel if one of my kids made some thoughtless decisions and then asked for my intervention to prevent the natural consequences. But unlike mine, God's grace has no limits, because unlike me, He has no limits. For reasons I will take a thousand years and even then still not yet fully grasp, He cares for me. The rain clouds that gathered so menacingly slowly separated. The temperature climbed. The sun shone through. I caught up with the girls after lunch and rode with them for a while. Later in the day I found I somehow still had strength, so I headed on past. A century ride in 7 hours. I kept riding and made it to the campground as rain clouds gathered once more. I set up our tent and it began to spit. Finishing that, I set up my sister-in-law's tent. I pushed the last peg into the ground for the tent fly and it poured.
In Exodus 3:16, the Lord says to His people, "I have watched over you." Amen.
He watches still.
