Hitting a Wall

It never ceases to amaze me, how certain memories come back when you would least expect them to.
Now I would have thought that as Pastor Dave spoke about "hitting a wall" on Sunday morning, that one of my more "recent" events would have come to mind. But instead, I found myself thinking back to something that happened back when I was eighteen years old.

It was the spring semester of 1991, and I was attending a small Christian college in Pensacola, Florida. It was actually the only semester of college that I would attend, but there are some lasting memories that were made in those five short months.
I didn't really go for the education, it was more of a timeout than anything. Things were pretty bad at home during that time. Dad was deep in his addictions and I had a major chip on my shoulder about it. More than once things almost got very violent, had mom not stepped in the middle; so it was decided that dad would go to rehab, and I would go to Florida to put some space between us.
The first half of the semester I did what I was supposed to do. Went to class, did my homework, got good grades, but about halfway through, I had what was probably a nervous breakdown, if only a minor one. I would wake up some mornings and not be able to remember what my classes were for that day. I quit doing my schoolwork and I had no interest in keeping up with my grades. My roommates actually thought that I might have mono, because all I would do was go to my classes, ride my bicycle and sleep.
It was that bicycle that probably saved me that year. Now this was not your standard off the rack Huffy that you would buy at Walmart. It wasn't top of the line either, but it was a pretty nice mid-range Schwinn touring bicycle. I had taken interest in cycling a few years before and had bought myself the bicycle with some summer job money. I put a lot of miles on that bicycle, even before going down to Florida. But that spring, I was averaging 100 to 150 miles a week. If I didn't have class, or have to work my on campus job, I was off campus riding along the coastline.
Now for several reasons, most of my own doing, I didn't have very many friends down there. I was a bit of a loner, mostly stuck in my own thoughts. I did find out that a lot of people recognized me because of that bicycle. Again, it was a small campus with a strict dress code; and apparently my cycling shorts did draw some attention as I peddled across the campus each day, lol.
But this particular week, I did find myself engaging in a few dinner conversations. It was quite common to have guest speakers for our chapel services throughout the week. But recently there had been a pastor who had given a message that had been deemed "controversial, and not in agreement with the guidelines of this institution." Needless to say, it was further stated that he would never be invited back and we should disregard what we had heard. But I could not understand what was so wrong with what we had heard.
I can't tell you chapter and verse, not twenty-seven years later; but I do remember the main point of the message, Relationship. He talked about a walk with God that focused on relationship and not just rules. Relationship that might sometimes depend on wisdom in situations where the rules did not seem to apply. He spoke of having such a real relationship with God that you could go to Him for anything and He would hear you. He even challenged those who were skeptical to give it a try. Pray a bold prayer that demanded an answer, something that only God could answer, something that only God could receive the credit for answering. I had never really been taught to pray that way, it almost seemed disrespectful; however I felt the truth of it in my spirit, and could not get it out of my mind. But in a very conservative school that focused heavily on the rules, it was basically blasphemy; and it made it very difficult for me to pursue the topic with most of my fellow collegians.

So where does a bicycle fit into this story?

It started on a Saturday morning.
I was always looking for new roads to ride and new places to ride to. I had heard several times of a place called Ft. Walton Beach and I had a rough idea on how to get there. Rarely did I bother to tell anyone where I was going, no one ever seemed to care. So Saturday morning, I signed out and I was on my way. It was a nice morning and I was enjoying some new scenery, even if it was just a flat rural highway. The miles passed by and I just peddled on. Cycling has a quiet rhythm that is easy to get lost in, so I really wasn't paying attention to how many miles I had ridden. It was around 30 miles that I noticed I had not seen any signs of the town yet, but I thought that I had already come this far so I might as well keep going. It turned out to be just under 50 miles to Ft. Walton Beach, a bit more than I had anticipated. I was a little tired but otherwise alright; it was the time that I had not factored for. To get back to school before my pass would run out at dinner time, I needed to start the trip back right away.
No problem, I thought, I would just eat a quick lunch and get on my way. I was about thirty minutes into the trip back when the weather starter to take a drastic turn for the worse. A bad storm came in off the gulf, the wind started to blow, the temperature went from 80 to 50 degrees, and it started to rain. Rain doesn't really begin to describe it, it was a downpour.
At this point I probably still had about 40 miles left to ride before I would get back to campus. I was soaking wet, freezing cold, and exhausted. The wind was driving what strength I thought I had left, right out of me. I could barely pedal fast enough to keep the bicycle upright, and my legs were cramping bad. Several times I had to get off the bike and walk the cramps out of my aching muscles, but I soon realized that I was facing another problem. It was taking much longer to make the trip back and I was going to run out of daylight long before I would make it back. As I processed my situation, I determined that I only had one real option; I began to pray!
I prayed like I had never prayed before. I told the Lord, "Here is your chance. That man said that if I  sincerely wanted to know that you could hear me, and that you truly do listen; then I could ask that you prove it. Well, here is your chance God. I have no way to call for help, nobody even knows that I am out here; but I need a ride. Send someone to pick me up and get me back to school, and I will know that it was you." I must have prayed that way for almost an hour. Trying to keep pedaling, walking off the leg cramps, watching it slowly get darker. And then the moment came, I was done praying because God was not going to answer. It was going to be the worst ride of my life, but I would ride in the dark until I made it back. I would get into trouble for being back late, and I did not care. "Screw it, I'll make it back on my own." And so I kept riding.
It had been about thirty minutes, when a head popped out of the window of a passing car,
"DAMIEN?!?", was all that I heard.
I started waving frantically for the car to pull over. It was my room mates three best friends, on their way back to campus. "What are you doing out here?", they asked. I just told them to put the bike in the trunk, and I would explain on the way back to school.
 God had heard my prayer.

I have always seen that day as the day that God proved to me that He was listening, that was the day that He proved to me that He was real. But this past Sunday morning, as I listened to Pastor Dave teach about "Hitting a Wall", I had another realization from that day. God did not just prove Himself to me, He also had me prove to myself that I could keep going. I had hit the wall, but I did not quit. I would need that quality as much as I would need God in the years to come, and still do to this day.
Life has thrown a few things at me since I was eighteen, but God taught me to keep going. I have had to sit and rest at times; but I have never quit, and I pray that I never will.