I lift my bike from the hooks in the garage. It's been stored there since last summer. I ponder change as I wrestle it down, potentially dropping it on my head. Adrenaline pumps as I catch it, flip it right side up, and prop up the kickstand. I squeeze the deflated tires, grab the cob-webbed pump and begin pumping them with air.
Today I pedal hard. I want the wind to whip at me. I want it to rain. But He doesn't let it. The breeze dries the beads of sweat as they form. I am refreshed. The evening sun softens my path, peeking through the tunnel of green I'm racing under. I ride stubbornly over uneven sidewalks, wanting them to jostle me. He doesn't let them. To the fragrance of evening flowers, dew, and cracking twigs we begin talking.
Serious talk.
And when I get frustrated, He quiets me with His love. How can I be angry when I drink of His goodness every moment?
(a butterfly flutters gently out of the way of my spinning tires)
I trust Him because I know Him.
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