A bike ride with a few friends...

We rode to remember Jean.

Nineteen of us started the ride. Nine married couples and Gerard, our friend, whose best friend and wife, Jean, died this past February. I could not get his single status out of my head. I am a minster of the Gospel. Some folks seem to think I should have all the answers. But I have no idea why God chooses to bring some people home before their time. I understand the theological maze that purportedly leads to the “right” answer. I navigated it myself when my dad died way too early. And while it matters that I can kinda-sorta explain it, it does not take away the pain.

Pain, it turns out, forms the foundation of more of our lives than we like to admit. Yet we can survive the pain.

We nineteen could easily have been thirty, or fifty or a hundred. Gerard and Jean have touched that many lives. They were the common denominator for our riding group. Most of us knew most of us, but the only one who knew us all was Gerard. No doubt about it, every one of us loves him and wanted to be there for him. I have tried walking through certain brew pubs and hospital corridors with him. You don't get far. Person after person greets him, speaks with him, shares their stories with him. I call him the Mayor of the town where you find one of our favorite watering holes. In truth, he's much more popular than the actual mayor.

So we rode. We rode along a trail whose every inch I know. I have ridden it with my father. I have run it with my beloved. I have spent agonizing minutes willing the next mile marker to appear. I have felt pain on that trail. But my pains pale in comparison to the physical pain Jean felt. They pale compared to the spiritual pain Gerard has felt.

We wanted to ride with both of them. And we did. On the way back to town we stopped at the spot Gerard will sponsor a bench in Jean's memory. There may not be a better view anywhere on the trail. And it lies in sight of a winery she really liked. I know this because we once rode there on that same trail and came back to our vehicles with bottles of product in our bikes' water bottle baskets. One friend left a couple of rocks painted with nice, inspiring messages. We talked of Jean.

And then we split. We left. We also split apart. Some had already had to leave the group. Others rode ahead and still others rode behind. And that, too, is how life goes.

I have only this one thought to leave with you: celebrate while you still ride together.