A Bikerís Changed Point of View

 Itís been a long, hard road from my first breath in 1946 to 2010.  Iíve made many wrong turns, and often chosen the most difficult paths, trying hard not to arrive at the place God had intended for my life.   Looking back over my life I am in awe of the patience and mercy God has extended to me in order to bring me to the love for Him that I now hold in my heart.  

 I was the firstborn of a young girl 14 years of age.    By the time I was four, there was a divorce and my two-year old brother and I were raised by my father.  And, just like my mom and dad, life seemed to hold nothing simple, only anger, complication and determination to do my own thing, my own way.    As is in many families, our family line seemed to be interwoven with pain and heartache.  These generational curses seemed to engulf far too many of those God had chosen as my family.     In those days, and under those circumstances, boys were expected to act like men at a very early age.  I played that part of my life very well.   While there were many guidelines that probably should have been implemented in my life, in my heart I know my dad did the best he knew how, and I love him for it.   Needless to say that by the time I was 17 years old, I was grown, on my own, and my limits reached as far as my desires could extend.

 At the age of 14 I got my first motorcycle.  It was a 1952 H.D.   I discovered then that riding gave me the strongest sense of peace and freedom I had ever experienced.    I was in and out of trouble my entire life.  I lived hard, fought hard, and rode hard and furious.  I began smoking, and I donít mean just cigarettes, drinking, chasing women and looking for fights anywhere I could find one.  

 As the years passed and I was on my own, I went to see my mom.  She had turned her life around, even to the point that God called her into preaching.  I went to church for a time period, but soon told her that I was going for the wrong reason.  I had been going for her, and not for myself, so I quit altogether.  I remained faithful to my unsavory ways, associated closely with motorcycle clubs, and continued my life of rebellion.   Although there were times I knew that God was dealing with me,  I continued to rebel against all authority, especially against Godís authority.   Ultimately, I had chosen a path that took everything from me, including my freedom.

 In my long, fast, furious fight I found myself in a hospital with a ruptured appendix, and on my death bed, facing the choices I had made as to where I would spend eternity.   No longer did I run and rebel, no longer did I feel the need to do my own thing my own way, no longer did I believe I needed no one, or nothing.   I knew, without a doubt, that I had gone too far, and His mercy was all I had to count on.    As I slowly emerged from the coma, with all the humility and sincerity in me, I found myself humbled and weeping, asking God to give me one more chance, and I would serve Him.   I had run for 52 years, and now with everything in me, I cried out to belong to Him, I wanted to serve Him, I understood my need for Him.  And in my desperation and with all sincerity, my entire being was crying out, ďLord, if you let me live, Iíll serve you the rest of my life.Ē  

 In that moment Jesus not only spared my life, but he changed it forever.  I underwent surgery, and spent almost four months in the hospital.   Itís now 12 years later, and did I keep my promise?  I did.  Do I regret the choice I made.  My only regrets are that I didnít do it earlier.  Do I miss my old life?  No, He has replaced the old life with something much greater Ė His love, my salvation.  I made it, but many I knew didnít.   I am a Biker.   And this is what changed my point of view.   

Pastor Pickle


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This site was last updated 07/22/15