When I was nine years old, I wanted a bicycle more than anything. If you had a bike, the world was yours. Anything was possible. But bikes were expensive, and you could outgrow one so quickly.
In 1961, my parents bought me a J.C. Higgins 26” Flightliner Bicycle for Christmas. Sears’ top of the line bike was red with whitewall tires, dual headlights, rear luggage rack, and chrome fenders. It was one of the most impressive things I had ever seen.
The problem was that even with the seat set in its lowest position, I still could not reach the peddles. Apparently, I would just have to grow into it (as I did with jeans, shirts, and baseball caps). Therefore, my sister Judy, eight years older than me, told me she would ‘give me a pump’ (when one person pedals and steers while the passenger sits on the handlebars). She would take me wherever I wanted to go.
Problem solved.
So, on Christmas morning, she and I pushed the Flightliner to the top of the 11th Street Hill. From there, with me on the handlebars and Judy peddling, we began our descent. Life was beautiful. Face to the wind, screaming my delight, and the sun shining so brightly.
However, as we came down the hill, it became quickly apparent Judy did not know how coaster brakes worked. We picked up speed much too quickly.
Then, as we rocketed down the hill, the bike began to vibrate uncontrollably. That’s when Judy, who had a strong sense of self-preservation, dove off the bike into a neighbor’s front lawn. I continued on, precariously perched on the handlebars and moving faster and faster. With no one driving, suddenly, the bike veered to the right, throwing me headfirst into a thorny rose garden.
I had no broken bones, but I did have abrasions, cuts, and scrapes beyond belief. I looked like I’d been attacked by a mountain lion. Back at my grandmother’s house, shrieks of horror greeted me as they saw the blood and my torn clothes.
I learned two valuable lessons that day.
First, never (and I mean never) let Judy drive. Second, we gain all kinds of skills, insights, romantic relationships, marriage, family, cars, and other treasures as we pass through life.
And we are simply not capable of managing them.
That’s not a bug; it’s a feature. God delivers relationships, visions, and things that are too big for us, even dangerous for that stage of our growth. Our shoes don’t reach the bike pedals. Our levels of maturity do not prepare us to marry at 14. And our big ideas require wisdom, leadership, and funding.
What’s the secret? We must grow into them, and you can’t delegate the “growing into” process to a teacher, sibling, contractor, or cop. Those gifts and talents must be mastered by you!
The fine old biblical phrase—“The fullness of time”—is part of the magic. It takes time and patience to build majestic structures, thoughts, songs, and families.
So, if the bike is too big or if the novel in your heart won’t flow, be patient. Great purposes are at work. Give them room and time.
Timing can be everything.
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