How to Stop the Weaving
by Danny Mann
At the tender age of 15, I became the proud owner of a Honda 125. That's right -- a motorcycle. It was a dirt bike, silver and gray, and I was transformed into the Evil Knievel of the Rio Grande Valley.
I had a few riding buddies, but I also enjoyed speeding up and down those dusty dirt roads alone. It was exciting to rip down a road I had not previously traveled, unaware of where it would lead or how long it would last. It filled me with a wonderful sense of adventure and freedom. What great days those were!
But then there was the day I almost died.
My favorite times on the motorcycle were spent with my cousin, Mark. He lived in the country in a little farming community named Los Fresnos. It was a very small town, still is, for that matter, and there were countless trails and gravel roads to explore. Mark was a very good motorcycle rider, much better than me, and he usually led the way. I was a bit older, but there was always something I could learn from him about riding.
One day, we decided to cut a track in a field of sunflowers. The sunflowers, wild and thick from a wet spring, stood six or seven feet tall. We commandeered his father's riding lawn mower and set about designing and cutting out the perfect figure eight. This was hard work -- the sunflowers were so tall, their stalks so thick. It took us the better part of the morning to finish the job.
Then, gentlemen -- or should I say crazy teenagers? -- start your engines! We began tearing around that track like the maniacs we were. The sun was bright and hot. The broken sunflower stalks were flying, the dust thick. At times it was difficult to see.
There were certain places in our homemade figure eight that were narrower than others. The narrowest parts were in the curves. It was very important to stay in the middle of the track as those curves approached.
I was good, my riding, spectacular. I was really getting the hang of it. I was going entirely too fast.
Coming out of one of the curves, I got just a little too close to the right wall of sunflowers. As if it had some kind of evil intent, a thick, rough stalk seemed to reach out and wrap itself around my right handlebar. At nearly 50 mph, I lost control of my bike.
In reaction to the abrupt jerk to the right, I reflexively swung the handlebars back to the left, dramatically overcorrecting. I couldn't straighten it out. Every time, I pulled the front wheel too far, either to the left or to the right. It was probably a comical sight, a kid on a motorcycle traveling through a field of sunflowers at a ridiculously fast clip, jerking his handlebars to the right, to the left, totally out of control. It may have looked funny, but I was terrified.
And then I just gave up. As clearly as if it happened yesterday, I remember thinking -- "It's all over. You're going to die or get hurt real bad, so you might as well let it happen. I let go of the handlebars, completely resigned to my fate."
When I release the handlebars, the forward momentum of the bike instantly corrected the wild weaving of the front tire. I was no longer out of control -- because I had relinquished control.
Most of us have had times in our lives when we have felt wildly out of control. Every corrective measure we take seems to be too much -- or not enough. The reckless weaving just goes on and on. It's at those times when we must trust God and let his grace, his love and power straighten things out. It is only through a searching, a longing, for his presence, his guidance that we learn to listen, learn to trust, and learn to let go. Stop wrestling and just rest. God will make a way -- and, in the process, he will stop the weaving and straighten things out. Loosen your grip. You might be amazed at the results.
Posted: 03/11/2000
URL: http://www.heartlight.org/articles/200003/20000311_weaving.html(c) 2000, Danny Mann <102110.141@compuserve.com>. Used by permission." -->
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