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Riding With Pop: The Hill
On my standard daily mountain bike ride in our neigh-borhood, I routinely encounter a hill. (The great thing about mountain biking in the Dallas area for a guy my age is: no mountains! Or hills for that matter.) It’s not a big hill as hills go. But it’s steep. And it comes during a part of the ride where I am forced to negotiate a bunch of twisty trails right before encountering the hill. And it’s rocky. And the path up the hill is bounded by a tricky little bush on the left, and a menacing tree on the right. So, when I successfully surmount the hill I almost automatically let out a silent prayer of thanksgiving: “thanks Lord, for letting me get up that hill once more.” When I don’t make it--the bush gets me, or the tree impedes me, or I don’t time my pedaling right, or misjudge the path, or slip on the rocks—then I take the blame. “I didn’t time it right,” I will say. Or “I got too close to the bush,” I’ll mutter.

The skeptic will say: “You’re being unfair to yourself. You give God the credit when you make it, and take the blame yourself when you blow it.” I reply, “God as the Creator has made the glorious system called the human body. He gave it life and He sustains it. When, with my cooperation, in His providence He allows this system to act according to its purpose, it is He Who deserves the thanks. My percentage involvement—considering the incredible complexity of the body He has given me—is quite low.”

Then the skeptic will say: “Rather than give thanks to God for getting you up the hill, you should complain that he put the hill there in the first place. Your bike ride could be oh so much smoother if there was no hill at all—or at least a gentler hill that was less hard on your body.” Again, I reply: “The whole point of the hill is to test my mettle as a biker. I have to operate my body and mind in perfect synchronization to get up the hill. And the act of doing it—either successfully or unsuccessfully—pushes my body to improve. I’m a better biker today because of climbing that hill yesterday. In fact without it, there are things about biking that I would never have learned. The hill has taught me about biking ‘character’.”

As I meditated on this during today’s ride on a beautiful and warm early Spring-like day, I thought of the spiritual hill we’re attempting to climb as Susan (with some help from me) battles with cancer. Like the biking hill, we’re seeing successes and fallbacks. We’re having to do a third chemotherapy round, something that Susan says she “dreads.” But on the other hand, the recent surgery—coming about through such unusual providences—was a lifesaver. The skeptic like the one above could easily say: “If God is good, why is He letting Susan suffer this disease at all? Doesn’t He love her?”

Like the biking hill, this spiritual hill associated with the cancer battle is focusing us on spiritual growth in ways that “ordinary life” never does. For example, our prayers together have never been so deep and so meaningful. Likewise, the realization of how precious each day is, and how much more glorious those days to come in paradise will be. And then there’s the matter of fulfilling the Lord’s command: “he who would be greatest among you must be the servant of all.” For 36 years Susan has taken the servant’s role as she tried to anticipate and meet my every need—which she has so excellently. Now, I’ve been given the opportunity, haltingly to be sure, to attempt to somehow serve her during her illness.

We would never have volunteered to go through what we are going through now. Yet, through it all we see how it really does show that the Lord loves us as He provides for us a character-building journey just like He did for His Son who was made perfect through suffering:

But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone. In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering. Both the one who makes men holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers. He says,

"I will declare your name to my brothers; in the presence of the congregation I will sing your praises." And again, "I will put my trust in him." And again he says, "Here am I, and the children God has given me." Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death--that is, the devil-- and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. For surely it is not angels he helps, but Abraham's descendants. For this reason he had to be made like his brothers in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted. (Heb. 2:9-18)

Other Pop Writings:
Caddo! (5/2002)
Raising Cane (4/2002)
Ask Anything? (3/2002)
The Race (3/2002)
The Hill (3/2002)
A Remembrance (3/2002)
Christmas, 1941 (12/2001)
Endo II (3/2001)
Endo I (10/2000)
The Course (5/2000)
The Rope (1/2000)

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