TRUST: Tales from an Introverted Christian

My friend Elaine will always be an inspiration to me.  In fact, she was the first friend I ever had that truly taught me how to express what I felt.  Most likely, she will read this and blush or deny it.  She tried tirelessly to get me to trust with the most positive attitude I have witnessed.  For her it seemed natural and because of this she is now married and the happiest she has ever been to the most wonderful man. 

For me, an introvert, it is just not that easy.  Introverts generally have an uncanny knack for reading people in the deepest sense.   It is a blessing at times and a curse at others.

So, why am I writing this gibberish?  Introverts are the minority in this extrovert-driven society and I find I share the same thoughts, feelings, concerns, disappointments, aspirations, and dreams.  One of those feelings is a lack of trust.  So how do you simply trust someone?  My personal answer is you can’t.  Not an introvert. 

We just place entirely too much stock into the people we call “friends”.  What I have found though is through faith; I have learned how to trust, just not without faith first.  Sounds confusing, eh?  Well, it does to me and I am writing it!  Faith helped me know who I can trust and helped me forgive who I could not.  I had to think of faith as the rule book on how to tell if you can trust someone at all.

Now, with that all being said, it was not easy for this introvert to choose the Christian life.  Introverts are ones to ask how, and why, and who, and when, etc.  When you have to place faith into something unseen, it is simply unrealistic and illogical.  Notice how I said faith.  Faith is not trust.  Trust is twisting your key in your new car in the morning without thinking about the outcome.  Faith is believing in something that makes no sense at all or something you could not even begin to figure out.  And if you think one can just wake up one morning and have faith, well maybe they can.  But, it took me over 20 years.  My reason is that in order for me to have faith, I had to let go-let go of reason.

Because of my faith I now have a mother I am getting to know deeply.  I have children that are happier than ever before.  I have been there for my uncle in his darkest times during some of my hardest moments.  But most of all, I have a large, Christian family to call my own.  I love, joyfully, in larger quantities than ever before.

My definition of love-sacrifice.

Clydesdale Curse

A couple weeks in the gym, a week of swimming, and a week roofing was not what I had in mind for getting my rusty cycling legs back in shape.  All these calories spent while not eating any more than normal tacked another three pounds on my already-fat ass.

Frustration aside, today was too beautiful to say no when given the opportunity to ride into work.  Although spinning at 100 RPM took real effort, anything other than flat pavement sent my heart rate to Mars, and a 30 mile per hour pace seemed light years away, the hunger is still growing to just be around it again!

Baby Steps

Over the years, I have touched on the subject of cycling and since it is my motivation for getting back into shape, I feel it deserves an explanation. 

About 15 years ago, for one reason or another, I was enamoured with the idea of bicycle touring.  To head out into the unknown with only the items you could stuff into your saddle bags.  With the idea firmly placed in my head, I set out alone, and sometimes with a close friend (now racing for the same team I am on) into the Mount Hood National Forest.  In many ways, it was much like the backpacking I do today, minus two wheels.

My bike kept me out of trouble, gave me self esteem, and kept me in great shape.  Soon after, I took a chance on racing and was hooked.  With a (downhill) maximum sprint speed of 53MPH, I took a top 3 placing in every novice category my first year, only being beaten by Jay; an animal that went from CAT4 to CAT2 in the very next year.  That just isn't done.  I remember while drifting off to sleep, my bikes would be the last thing I saw and the first thing the minute I woke up.  The dream was to race professionally.

Soon enough, there was a wife, kids, house, and a career while cycling became a fuzzy, mental picture that I rarely took out of my minds dusty archive.  The problem was I never got over the desire to constantly challenge myself; test myself; see if I was better than I thought I was.  I tried, like most, in my career, but did not care enough about money.  I tried on my materialistic things, but found I just did not give a shit with keeping up with the Jones.  Nope.  Who I was, was who I was and there was no denying; I loved friendly, tagable, wholesome competition.  I don't remember ever being angry about getting my butt handed to me by other riders.  I just remember grinning from ear to ear thinking "ah, a new benchmark".