I am not a risk taker. I err on the side of safety, whether in finances or faith. Nothing ventured, nothing gained—but nothing lost.
They rode to support two charities. None of the three had ever ridden more than 50 miles in a day’s time. And as they pulled this feat together, I found myself appalled at the expense! Special shoes, padded riding shorts, wick-away jerseys! Good heavens! I felt sure the charities would come out ahead if the family members just gave the preparation money straight to them. But the young men and we, the family members, would have missed the experience of a lifetime.
I, being the constant worrier that I am, kept conjuring up scenes from Easy Rider. But the guys, armed with confidence, the brashness of youth, and good health, set out. Bad weather, broken spokes, pastors who spoke in tongues, farmers who invited them to “sit a spell,” welcome signs and tents set up for them along the way, phone calls from the Continental Divide—all were part of the journey, and the stories spilled forth. They made a memory.
I often wonder what my memories will hold if I never take a risk. What risks have you taken? What stories do you have to tell? What memories have you made?
Rita Collett, Managing Editor
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