Member-only story
Big, Strong Hands
“My PT said I could ride my bike again if I want.”
My old friend sat near me in the coffee shop as our conversation wandered far afield last week. There was purpose in our visit, but it has been a while since we sat and spoke.
We used to sit for hours on our bicycle seats (what little there is of them) and talk as our magic machines ate up the miles, the twenty-nine-inch wheels spinning at approximately 185.6 RPM. Perhaps fewer, sometimes. And more, less often. I hope that’s not too confusing.
What I’m saying is that we rode long distances — usually slowly. And sometimes fast, but only for shorter distances.
Just over three months ago my friend had an accident and hasn’t been able to ride at all since then. Until this week. It’s been hard for him. The pain was constant and, at times, unbearable. And, when you can’t do what you love, it’s not only the pain that wreaks havoc on your mind and emotions.
Then, on that day last week, his physical therapist had given him a glimmer of promise, of expectation.
I rejoiced with him in his hope.
We stayed. Much longer than we had planned, sitting in that one spot, offering (and perceiving) insights into our faith — our intellect — even our hearts. Three hours after we dropped into the comfortable chairs, we finally stood…
