Close Calls

My friend wrecked his Harley today. A car turned in front of him and he had to lay the bike down to avoid a collision. His 13 year old daughter was on the back of the bike.

This story could take many different turns at this point. By the grace of God, there is a happy ending. My friend ended up with some road rash and a broken clavicle. His daughter, who rode on his back as they slid down the road, got some fairly minor scratches. The bike, the least important part of the story, had minor damage.

But it was a close call.

This is not a story about the good or evil of motorcycles. While it is true that when you are on a bike, you never know what is going to happen, in reality, we never know what is going to happen, no matter what we are doing. I myself have had close calls while riding, but I've also had close calls in my truck, in my boat, on my bicycle, walking down a street, and when trying to swallow a tough piece of steak that I couldn't chew well enough. Of all of those, the steak probably came the closest to getting me.

The fact is, we don't know when we are going to have a close call of our own. I work with people every week who one instant were living their normal lives, and the next experienced an accident, a stroke, an aneurysm . . . The list of maladies out there is infinite. You just never know when your number is up (for those of you who watch Person of Interest, that has special meaning).

When my friend's wife called me to ask if I could come get the bike and ride it home, I was out the door. I arrived on scene and the police, ambulance, and fire department were still there. I opened the back of the ambulance to talk to my friend, and you want to talk about a surreal experience. Then, I got on the bike--for the first time in 8 years--and prepared to ride the beast to its lair. Yesterday I wrote about fear, and how we respond to it. That came to mind as I balanced 1,000 pounds of steel, chrome, and fiberglass on two wheels; with everyone watching just after they tucked my buddy away in the meat wagon.

Yeah, I'll admit it. My palms were sweating. My heart was racing a little. I fumbled around a while to find the key, the kill switch, the start button. I didn't want the thing to start, but it did. I didn't want to put it in gear, or release the clutch, but I had to. And on that short trip to my friend's garage, I looked at every car within a block as though it were being driven by a kamikaze intent on running me down. If anyone saw a full dressed Harley being ridden like a moped by a wild-eyed, middle-aged man who looked terrified--that was me.

It didn't take long for my nerves to settle, but then I went to the hospital. Thankfully, everyone was fine. My friend's broken shoulder will lay him up for a while, but that's a very small thing indeed in the big picture. It could have been so much worse. Just thinking about that brought all the nerves back. It could have been worse . . .

And that's the point. We never know. Our next close call could be around the corner, at the next step, or even our next breath. You don't know.

This is where I encourage you to think about your relationship with God, and since that is the purpose of my writing, here's the pitch. What if you don't make it through your next close call? What happens then?

I know, for me, what is on the other side. And my friend knows, though thank you Jesus he did not find out today. But do you? If not, use the email contact on the right hand side of this blog, or message me on Facebook, and we can talk. Or go to someone else who knows Jesus and ask them. But don't go on without knowing.

Like I said . . . You just never know.