Let Go and Let God: Some Thoughts With 1,800 Down and 1,800 To Go
Today I took about an hour in the post office. See, I’ve had this growing hobo-santa-esque grocery bag of hobo-esque goods intended for the post office tied precariously to my back rack for about a week now and I’ve tried to go to the post office several times but irregular small town hours and bad planning have had me just missing the office hours for a few weeks now. So, today when I was at the post office…. let’s just say I had a lot to do.
Why does this matter?
Because after I was done taking an absurdly long time in the post office, I came outside to meet Dustin — who had been waiting (baking) patiently in the sun for me outside with the bikes — and we were just about to ride away when a gentleman was walking into the post office just as we were rolling our bikes toward the next 10 miles. He asked where we were going and where we had been and where we were planning too stay tonight. We told him about our there’s and our then’s and our plans for the night: to stay in the Hayward KOA and go tubing/canoeing on the river. Then he told us that we were welcomed to stay at the KOA… or — for free — we could just stay at his house on the river right behind the KOA in one of his four extra rooms.
It was like the sky parted and magic rained down upon us. A bed in a real house? With a warm shower? And tubing on the river? Right down the street? For free?
It was an amazing let go and let God moment for me.
See, the only reason Dustin and I are even in Hayward, WI — a town about 25 miles off the ACA route — is because we tried to go canoeing in Interstate State Park three days ago and got rained out, then we tried to go swimming in a lake in Cumberland, WI and arrived too late in the evening, and then we tried to go swimming at the lake in Edgewater (the next 200ish-person town over) and that lake was so green with ectoplasm-colored……who knows what…. we couldn’t bear to slim ourselves with it, so, having been canoe/lake swimming-foiled THREE TIMES we decided that we needed a lake day and the Hayward KOA was just the answer. So we travelled 25 miles out of our way to stay at the KOA. Which lead us right to Kris and his warm bed, magic filled house behind the KOA.
And now, here I am, sitting in an incredibly beautiful — incredibly inspiring — house. All because we got lake foiled three really frustrating times; and all because I took at least an hour trying to figure out which overpriced USPS bubble mailer to send my Afrian Porcupine quills home in (yes, I have those), and all because Kris — the nicest politican you’ll ever meet — happened to be wandering into the post office at exactly the time that I was happening to almost be rolling away.
It’s just one of those everything fits together just as it should moments. A let go and let God moment, as I’ve taken to calling them.
That bad frustraing stuff? Yeah… it’s frustrating and bad. But if the post office wasn’t closed three times, you wouldn’t ever be at the fourth post office where the magic is going to happen! It’s like a magic eye. You can’t see the big picture when you’re in it; when it’s happening; when you’re at the third post office getting rejected by an awkward 7-1:37pm open hours sign; when you’re too close. It’s when you relax your eyes and stop trying and slowly step back from it all that that big beautiful pirate ship I like to call grateful clarity and perspective really pops out at ya. Or, God’s plan if you prefer to go that route — which, these days, I do. (You can choose what you call the pirate ship; just make sure your eyes are open or you’ll miss it.)
The point is that I just feel really grateful.
Greateful to be here. Greateful for all the hospitality — for all the humanity — I’ve seen from total strangers on this route.
I met a guy (Donn Olson) in Dalbo, MN who turned his 100-year-old barn (and a wheat silo!) into a bunkhouse for travelling bicyclists. He turned his whole barn (and a wheat silo!) into a bunkhouse! Just so cyclists could have a place to sleep for the night.Don Olson doesn’t cycle; he just really appreciates the adventure and is happy to offer a haven for weary bums in the middle of nowhere. He stocks the bunkhouse with eggs and bread and homemade jam (homemade) and offers it as a free gift. He has a coffee maker and a toaster and he built a shower and an outhouse that he cleans himself, just because he knows you — a total stranger on a bike — need a break.
Moving slowly seeing the country on County roads named only with letters, seeing unjaded animals as interested in us as we are in them, and meeting people like Don Olson, and Kris, and Chuck (a fellow who gave us a bed and a shower in Whitefish, MT), and Scott (an excellent cohert who offered us a futon and a shower in Twisp, WA) — people who have opened their homes to us, cooked us meals, and trusted us alone with their laptops and their irreplaceable relics — it becomes hard not to feel an overwhelming gratitude to a power greater than yourself every day.
My friend Amanda says her parents go for a run every Sunday morning and call it church. She says they take that time to connect with the universe; to be grateful for the day; to coalesce with their higher power as they understand Him. I like that a lot.
That is how I feel on this bike ride.
Every day I try my best to be open; to be connected; to tackle what I face (and who knows what I’ll face) the best I can; and to remember that no matter how bad it is it can’t be worse than the mosquitoes in Eastern Montana, that this too will pass, and that whatever craptastic failblog of a canoe-day disaster is happening, it’s all part God’s big-picture plan.
Some God Pics: