What I Learned When I Fell Off My Bike

 I'm typing this with basically one hand.  My right hand keeps getting in the way because it's wrapped in a cumbersome hot-pink cast thanks to a broken bone below my thumb.  How did I break my wrist?  By rushing into a burning building to rescue.....no, actually, I fell off my bike, three times.

This is me the day I received my bike for Christmas.

Four hours later I was sitting on the asphalt holding my wrist crying.  Apparently, clip-in pedals are difficult to master for someone who began the year wearing an orthotic boot.  On my first attempt, I stopped the bike before trying to unclip.  This was followed by wobbling precariously on two skinny tires before I toppled to the ground, feet still clipped into the pedals.  That will also leave a nasty bruise on the shin.  The same thing happened the second and third time.  All culminating with me shouting, "Help," to my husband who even if he'd been Superman had no shot of reaching me in time.  The process ended with me slamming my wrist to the street, finally breaking it.  Now, I'm a forty-year-old mom with a bright pink cast.  Cheers!



Fast-forward to a week after my incident where I'm taking my son and daughter to the book store to spend their Christmas gift cards.  Unprovoked, my daughter pipes up from the back seat, "Mommy, you know kids watch what you do more than they listen to what you say."
"That's true," I respond.  "Mommy really does try to set a good example for you guys."
"You mean by falling off your bike and breaking your wrist?" she inquired through a chorus of giggles.  I joined she and her brother in their laughter and didn't really answer her question, yet I pondered her question the rest of the day.  And here's my response:  Yes.  Yes, I do think I set a good example by breaking my hand on my bike.

Before you decide I also hit my head in the fall, let me explain.  I often tend to take the path of least resistance, sometimes opting for the safety of the sidelines.  Not always.  Sometimes, I'm inexplicably fearless.  I began my own business with nary a clue about business; I homeschool my kids and run marathons, but lately, I'm tired.  Living fearlessly takes effort.  Often, at least in my case, it hurts.  As a stay-at-home, homeschooling mom who runs a business and teaches writing classes part-time, I find myself exhausted.  So often, after my kids go to bed, I'm tempted to mindlessly peruse Facebook or binge-watch Lost rather than prepare lessons, plan meals, or work on projects that need my attention. It's easy in my busyness to lose sight of what matters and stretch myself to new limits.  Rather, I grow complacent, lazy, listless and blame my schedule for the fact that I've failed to accomplish anything meaningful.  That's where I fail to set a good example for my children, those times I settle for half-done and good enough. I find what often lurks behind my procrastination and laziness is fear:  a fear of failure, a fear of not being good enough.

The bicycle, though, was a gift that represented the pinnacle of a year of comebacks and the hope of the exciting new year that lies ahead.  I battled injury to run my tenth half-marathon.  I battled more injury to complete my first triathlon.  I learned to say "no" to commitments that didn't fit my family.  I said yes to riding 67 miles with my husband in preparation for completing my first century.  The bike symbolized taking it to the next level, getting off the sidelines, and jumping into a sport that sometimes terrifies, yet always exhilarates.  My children watched me crash into the pavement three times, but they also saw me get back up and remount the bike two times. The final time I knew I had broken my wrist, so hopefully, I taught them a teensy bit about discernment.  Still, I refused to be defeated.  Call it stubbornness or stupidity, I prefer tenacity, which by the way, isn't easy to parent in my own offspring.  I have discovered that success in sport so often translates to success in life.  Running 13 miles gives me the courage to try a new business idea.  Riding 50 miles on a bike makes completing a home improvement project seem effortless. But, injury also holds immense value and teaches just as many lessons as the successes.


So, just as much as I want my children to successfully navigate their bikes, I also want my children to fall off their bikes (not literally) because it means they had the faith and gumption to get on them in the first place.  I believe God calls us to live life fearlessly.  Over 300 times in the Bible he tells us not to fear.  Don't get me wrong.  I don't think He invites us to live foolishly.  He calls us to be wise.  I probably shouldn't have attempted clips my first time on my new bike.  It probably wasn't wise to attempt clips on a downhill surface made entirely of asphalt.  But, I don't want to teach my children to avoid going out on a limb just because they might get hurt.  I want them to step out in faith, trusting God to guide them.  I'm not saying I want them to live dangerously, but huddled on the shore in fear is no way to approach life.  While I don't want my children to take foolish, dangerous chances, I want them to get off the sidelines and join the game.  I've learned more from my injury and failure than I've ever learned from my success, and one lesson they've both taught me is to lean entirely on God.  Failure reminds me that I'm not in control and that I don't have to be.  I just have to be willing to say yes to life and trust Him to handle the rest.

I want my children to see me fall off my bike because it means I got on.  I want my children to see one of my ideas fail because it means I tried.  I want my children to read my rejection letter from a publisher because it means I sent a manuscript.  It's okay if my children miss a note in the recital because it means they took the stage.  It's just fine if my children don't make the team because it means they tried out. I have no problem with my children not getting the lead role because it means they auditioned.

So, yes, my dear ones, I rode my bike and got hurt, but I'm going to overcome this obstacle, get back on, and ride smarter.  To me, sport, particularly the bike, is a metaphor for life.  There are times you are going to get slammed to the pavement by failure, unkind people, foolish decisions, and circumstances beyond your control.  But don't stay on the ground nursing your broken wrist.  Get up, get better, and go try again.  Follow this example not the bad ones like how Mommy throws toys under the bed when guests are coming rather than picking them up.  Be like this Mommy.  The Mommy who continues to get up and ride.  Because, to quote the dish towel hanging on the oven, "life is a beautiful ride," but you can only enjoy it if you're on the bike following the One who's marking the path He created just for you.