2 Wheels for 2 Boys

I should add, 2 sets of pedals, because before this weekend, the boys have been riding on two wheels and using their feet to power themselves. They've been riding their "like-a-bikes" for two years and the seat posts are about as high as they can go, plus, Willy St bikes was having its annual sale. We bought two of the last ones in stock in their size. Dietrich picked out a blue and black frame, Elliott chose an olive green and red frame. But their favorite feature is the water bottle holder.

We went to a local playground but the main paved area was being used for a cricket match, so we started off in an ajacent parking lot with a slight incline. While I was still getting Elliott situated on the seat and talking about pedals, I saw Dietrich go foward out of Ryan's reach and make a loop around the lot, a smile stretched across his fearless face. Elliott's turn came today at a different playground (cricket continues all weekend, I guess) when I gently let go of his handle bars as he screamed, then laughed, and surprised himself, "I'm doing it! I'm riding my bike!" He wants somebody, preferably Ryan, to be right next to him, but he is off on two wheels.

It is the time of jarring contrasts. One moment the sun is hot on my back, the next a cold wind sends us back inside. Next week is Holy Week when we observe, even take part in, the death of Jesus and in the next breath we come out of that darkness and celebrate life, resurrection. Today I watched our boys pedal their first bikes on their own; last week we were shocked to hear of a bike accident involving three young women, two of whom we knew.

I've woke up more than once this week thinking about three high school girls in southern Illinois who suffered a tragic accident as they journied a 500 mile loop to celebrate their upcoming graduation. One of them lost her life. The others survived, but suffer injuries, and the loss of their friend. I've woke thinking of their parents and how they live through this. I've woke thinking of the long road of recovery and what is ahead for those who survived. I've woke and prayed for some kind of grace, a grace unknown to me, for the parents who lost their child.

Last summer one of the girls who was injured offered to help me make decorations for our church's summer Bible school. She was on her way out of town, overseas, if I remember right, but took the time to contribute to the kids' week with construction paper depictions of canyons, dessert plants and creatures. I was grateful for the help, and impressed that someone with so much going on, with plenty of reasons to sit this one out, chose to help anyway. When I met the other girl who survived the accident, it was a mid-summer evening, just before she was to leave for summer camp. She was excited to meet our boys, and her parents, one of whom was a colleague of Ryan's, invited us for dinner. She introduced the boys to ping-pong, and took multiple elevator rides with Elliott (which he fondly remembers when making up stories).

Both of them showed me a kindness for others that I did not know at their age, and am still learning. I've also woke to the thought of the reckless ways of my high school days and how relatively free we came through them. These girls were pursuing a dream, together, and found themselves in the midst of a nightmare. As they journey back home, to a home missing a friend and missing the fulfillment of their 500 mile dream, they will be welcomed with the same kindness they have given to so many others.