Dear Evan,

Recently you learned to ride your bike, on your own, without training wheels.  We stood in awe as you placed your feet on the pedals, slipped past the surly bonds of earth, and touched the face of God (it’s a quote….look it up.)

But that incredible moment almost didn’t happen. You wanted your training wheels, we couldn’t find them. You pouted and kicked the dirt, we still couldn’t locate them. We told you to bring your bike anyway, you threw a fit.  Eventually you walked your bike up our gravel driveway and out to the black top.

You tried one time, wobbled, fell, and you were done.  Seeing your sisters buzzing around on their kids bikes with training wheels, you tried again.

This time you wobbled, pedaled harder, straightened out, and you were off; we were screaming, you were laughing, it was beautiful.

For the rest of your life this will be true – the most meaningful, life-shaping, true and noble decisions you will make will also be the most difficult and challenging. You’ll want to quit, you will ask to quit (or try to give yourself permission); you will try to explain to yourself that something this difficult could not be what God has for your life, and that this must not be the direction you should take.  In those moments, the way you choose to respond, will mean the difference between soaring around the parking lot with the spring wind in your face, or walking your bike, that was too hard to ride, back to the garage.

But bikes don’t belong in the garage, and God made you to fly.

Love,

Dad.

P.S. Later that night, you handed your Mom and I this piece of paper with your own “tweet” on it:

So since I cannot tweet, I wrote it down. Here’s what it says, “Today I learned to ride my bike.”