Training Wheels Revisited (a Steve Orr Lent reflection)

My first bike, a Sears 26-inch JC Higgins, was so much bigger than me. I had to bring it to the end of our walkway (which was a full twelve inches above the sidewalk) in order to get on it. But, once on it, I could not keep it upright. That didn't keep me from trying, but I fell ... a lot. In fact, every single time I pedaled a couple of turns, I started to tumble. This kept me close to home. That way I could always tumble unto our slightly raised lawn.

Into this problem stepped my Dad.

One Saturday, he called me to come out front to show me that he had installed training wheels on my bike. This was great! I still had to climb on at the end of the walkway, but this time the bike stayed upright. My Dad gave me only one rule: whenever I got off the bike, I had to use the kickstand. He said that would keep the training wheels from wearing out (he intended to use them for my sister at some point). For the first few minutes, I just sat there, luxuriating in the realization that I was not going to topple over.

And then I took off.

I rode all over the neighborhood on that bike. For days —and then weeks— I soared, my confidence placed firmly in those training wheels to keep me aloft. Oh, I still had some dismount problems due to that center bar, but on the whole it was the freedom I had dreamed of. This was more than happiness.

This was joy.

One morning, after having come back from a ride, I carefully climbed off the bike, hooked the kickstand down with my sneaker, and turned to find my Dad standing in my path.

He said, "How was the ride?"

"Great!" I replied.

"So, no problems riding without the training wheels?"

I whipped around and saw, to my horror, that there were no training wheels on my bike! I was almost overcome with the shock. I could have fallen!

"You took off the training wheels!" I accused.

"A week ago," he replied.

More shock! I had been riding without them for a week! But that was not all. Dad had never intended for me to rely on those training wheels. Like Stephen Covey wrote decades later, Dad "began with the end in mind." Every two or three days, he raised those training wheels ever so slightly. Finally, at some point, they never touched the ground while I rode the bike. And, because he had insisted I always use the kickstand, I never noticed that the bike could no longer stand on its own.

It is like this with God and us.

God began a work within each of us "with the end in mind." God knows we have to make the journey. God knows we will encounter things that, initially, we just cannot do without assistance. And God ensures we get that assistance. But the objective is that we outgrow the need for that help; that, in fact, we grow to the point where, not only do we not need help with that challenge, but we become so skilled at it, we become someone else's assistance.

So, don’t be surprised to find in Ephesians 2:10 that long ago God prepared good deeds for each of us to do; that God crafted positive actions specific to you, for you to do. Be encouraged: it means God thinks you're ready.

And be curious. Start looking around. Someone needs their training wheels ... and you’re up!


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A slightly different version of this reflection appeared during Lent 2012.

Photo (and an interesting story):
http://omahamagazine.com/articles/taking-off-the-training-wheels/
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 11, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//

Numbers 21:4-9
Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22
Ephesians 2:1-10
John 3:14-21
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Join us Friday morning for the DaySpring Lectionary Breakfast. We gather at 8:00 for good food, prayer, fellowship, and a truly fine time in the scriptures. We still meet at the Waco “Egg and I” restaurant. We’re in the back.

Don’t expect some dry, dull study. While we delve into the scripture, we share our lives and our laughter.

Blessings,
Steve