Tag: bicycle

Posted in Family, fear, forgiveness, friends, life, love, prayer, Scripture, Southern born, thankful, Trials

I Heard You

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and discipline.” Proverbs 1:7

Rule number one—it is never a good time to curse God. A while back as I sat out by a fire crackling in our outdoor fireplace, my neighbors were teaching their young son how to ride a bike. He is quite the young man, and he did well. Judy went over to help encourage him. There were cheers and yells as he took off and rode maybe fifty yards or more before he gently crashed into the grass. It all took me back almost sixty years.

I was about seven or eight years old. I’m thinking that I had already mastered the bike riding thing, though I can’t be certain. For one reason or another, I decided I wanted to ride my brother’s 26-inch Schwinn bicycle. Now, if in-fact I had already learned to ride a bike, and this was just a greater challenge—then that’s pretty cool. If I hadn’t mastered riding any bike—well, then this was a recipe for disaster. The bike was way too big for me, but I was stubbornly determined.

We had a road that ran in front of our house and that was where I was going to attempt this daring feat. Unlike my little neighbor next door, Momma and Daddy weren’t home. Neither were any of my brothers and sisters. It was just me—and God. So, the best I could, I straddled the mammoth bicycle and promptly fell over. I got just a little mad. I tried it once again and this time the bike rolled forward a few feet and once again—it fell over—on me. I got just a little madder. By now I am muttering to myself—probably condemning myself for failing.

The third or fourth try, by now I had lost count, resulted in another series of crashes and the frustration, the anger, and probably more than just a little shame boiled out. I shook my fist at God and yelled something like, “God, why won’t you help me.” What followed next is blurred in my memory, but I am pretty sure it came out something like, “God, I hate you.” It was spoken—it was shouted—hurled at the God of the universe. As far as I know it was the only time, I ever cursed God. Somehow, in my mind, all of this was God’s fault. It didn’t matter that the bike was way too big for me, or that I lacked the experience to ride such a large bike. All that mattered was in my mind God intentionally let me down—literally—at least four times.

It was about then that I heard a voice. It wasn’t God, but that probably would have been appropriate since I had just offended Him in a big way. It was a female voice. At first, I thought it might have been Mrs. Job. If you remember the story she told her husband, “Why don’t you just curse God and die.” But it wasn’t Mrs. Job. No, it was Mrs. Taylor—Mrs. Alston Taylor to be exact, and I was about to die. From behind the hedge that encircled our front yard came, “Dewayne Taylor, I heard that. Don’t you ever talk to God like that again.” When Momma called you by your first and last name at the same time—you knew you were in trouble. When she was talking about disrespecting God—you knew you were in double trouble—with her, with Daddy and with God. I was in deep weeds.

Well, once again the end of the story fades from memory. I am sure it didn’t involve me winning the war with the bike. But I am sure, pretty sure that there was more than a verbal rebuke from Momma. I am certain that I learned a big lesson about God that day. That lesson is that God demands and deserves our respect—whether we are seven or seventy. The Bible teaches us that “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and discipline.” The fear that the Bible talks about is not the kind of fear when you think God is about to zap you. No, it is talking about respect. God is worthy of our respect—He is deserving of our respect. Period.

The verse goes on to say that a foolish person despises wisdom and discipline. Another verse I’ve grown fond of is Psalm 14:1. It says, “The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.” I mean, I think it is foolish to write God off, but there is something more here. The words, “there is” were added by the English translators to make the verse flow a little smoother. The verse in the Hebrew literally says, “The fool says in his heart, No, God.” Whoa. It is a bad idea to tell Momma no, but it is really bad idea to tell God no. We need to write that one down.

When I told Judy what I was going to write about today, she asked, “So what did God have to do with you and the bike?” That’s a great question. But you know and I know we blame God for just about everything we don’t like—including when we fall off a bike, even one we had no business trying to ride. So, let’s learn a big lesson from seven-year-old Dewayne.

One, don’t try something that is clearly a recipe for disaster. I mean trying new and adventurous things is awesome—but keep them in reason. And, never, and I mean never—curse God—especially when your Momma is anywhere around. Just kidding. That is never a good idea. After the bike deal, I’m sure I was worn out and worn down. I hope I had the good sense to take a rest—in Him. And I hope I had the good sense to simply believe that He’s got this—but always in His way and in His time. Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, fear, forgiveness, Grace, gratitude, life, Scripture, Southern born, thankful, Trials

I Heard You

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and discipline.” Proverbs 1:7

Rule number one—it is never a good time to curse God. A while back as I sat out by a fire crackling in our outdoor fireplace, my neighbors were teaching their young son how to ride a bike. He is quite the young man and he did well. Judy went over to help encourage him. There were cheers and yells as he took off and rode maybe fifty yards or more before he gently crashed in the grass. It all took me back almost sixty years.

I was about seven or eight years old. I’m thinking that I had already mastered the bike riding thing, though I can’t be certain. For one reason or another, I decided I wanted to ride my brother’s 26 inch Schwinn bicycle. Now, if in-fact I had already learned to ride a bike and this was just a greater challenge—then that’s pretty cool. If I hadn’t mastered riding any bike—well, then this was a recipe for disaster. The bike was way too big for me, but I was stubbornly determined.

We had a road that ran in front of our house and that was where I was going to attempt this daring feat. Unlike my little neighbor next door, mom and dad weren’t there nor were any of my brothers and sisters. It was just me—and God. So, the best I could, I straddled the mammoth bicycle and promptly fell over. I got just a little mad. I tried it once again and this time the bike rolled forward a few feet and once again—it fell over—on me. I got just a little madder. By now I am muttering to myself—probably condemning myself for failing.

The third or fourth try, by now I had lost count, resulted in another in a series of crashes and the frustration, the anger and probably more than just a little shame boiled out. I shook my fist at God and yelled something like, “God, why won’t you help me.” What followed next is blurred in my memory, but I am pretty sure it came out something like, “God, I hate you.” It was spoken—it was shouted—hurled at the God of the universe. As far as I know it was the only time I ever cursed God. Somehow, in my mind, all of this was God’s fault. It didn’t matter that the bike was way too big for me, or that I lacked the experience to ride such a large bike. All that mattered was in my mind God intentionally let me down—literally—at least four times.

It was about then that I heard a voice. It wasn’t God, but that probably would have been appropriate since I had just offended Him in a big way. It was a female voice. At first I thought it might have been Mrs. Job. If you remember the story she told her husband, “Why don’t you just curse God and die.” But it wasn’t Mrs. Job. No, it was Mrs. Taylor—Mrs. Alston Taylor to be exact and I was about to die. From behind the hedge that encircled our front yard came, “Dewayne Taylor, I heard that. Don’t you ever talk to God like that again.” When Momma called you by your first and last name at the same time—you knew you were in trouble. When she was talking about disrespecting God—you knew you were in double trouble—with her, with Daddy and with God. I was in deep weeds.

Well, once again the end of the story fades from memory. I am sure it didn’t involve me winning the war with the bike. I am pretty sure that there was more than a verbal rebuke from Momma. I am certain that I learned a big lesson about God that day. That lesson is that God demands and deserves our respect—whether we are seven or seventy. The Bible teaches us that “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and discipline.” The fear that the Bible talks about is not the kind of fear when you think God is about to zap you. No, it is talking about respect. God is worthy of our respect—He is deserving of our respect. Period.

The verse goes on to say that a foolish person despises wisdom and discipline. Another verse I’ve grown fond of is Psalm 14:1. It says, “The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.” I mean, I think it is pretty foolish to write God off, but there is something more here. The words, “there is” were added by the English translators to make the verse flow a little smoother. The verse in the Hebrew literally says, “The fool says in his heart, No, God.” Whoa. It is a bad idea to tell Momma no, but it is really, bad idea to tell God no. We need to write that one down.

When I told Judy what I was going to write about today, she asked, “So what did God have to do with you and the bike?” That’s a great question. But you know and I know we blame God for just about everything we don’t like—including when we fall off a bike, even one we had no business trying to ride. So, let’s learn a big lesson from seven year old Dewayne.

One, don’t try something that is clearly a recipe for disaster. I mean trying new and adventurous things is awesome—but keep them in reason. And, never, and I mean never—curse God—especially when your Momma is anywhere around. Just kidding. That is never a good idea. After the bike deal, I’m sure I was wore out and worn down. I hope I had the good sense to take a rest—in Him. And I hope I had the good sense to simply believe, that He’s got this—but always in His way and in His time. Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Christmas, Family, gratitude, Holidays, life, Southern born, thankful

Santa Claus Came to Town

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8

It was a Christmas to remember.  I wish I could tell you the lengths that my Daddy and Mama would go to make sure we had a wonderful Christmas.  Daddy had a good job, but with a bunch of kids, money was always tight.  If I were guessing, we were probably at the bottom of the middle class.  But somehow, they always managed to make sure our Christmases were fairytale. One year stands out.

I was in the sixth grade and by now I had moved into the world of “nonbelievers”—if you get my drift.  I remember that year Mama had told me I could stay up later with the adults.  I guess you could say that I graduated.  That night, we visited, talked, and ate.  I’m sure Mama and some of the girls were in the kitchen preparing for Christmas Day.  At about 11:00 pm, I remember Mama telling me that perhaps I should go ahead and go to bed.  Maybe, she said, Santa Claus might still be coming to town.  Ho, Ho, Ho.

Since it was so late, I didn’t put up much of a fight.  I never was much of a person to stay up late—until I started dating that is.  Smile.  So, off to bed I went.  There were no visions of sugar drops dancing in my head—like I said, I was a “non-believer”.  Our house was an old, former World War II barracks and was long and narrow.  On one end was the kitchen, then a small dining room, next a living room with the bathroom and two small bedrooms, a breezeway and finally a garage turned bedroom.  That is where I slept.

The next morning sometime early, I got up.  I’m not sure if someone woke me up or it was just time.  I wandered through the breezeway into the living room where several of the family were sitting.  I backed up to the old two burner oil stove and warmed up a little. After just a few minutes, Daddy said, “Dewayne, go get me a cup of coffee.”  Coffee was a big deal around the Taylor house, so it certainly was not an unusual request.  I lingered just a moment more, savoring the warmth of the stove before heading to the kitchen.

As I left the living room and entered the dining room, I literally almost stumbled on something.  There parked right in the middle of the walkway to the kitchen was the most incredible red, English-racer bicycle you have ever seen.  Now, keep in mind, this was back when bikes were all the rage.  Unlike today when if it doesn’t have batteries or require electricity it’s not even worth mentioning.  It was beautiful. The frame was bright, metallic red, the fenders were chrome, it had three speeds, hand brakes and, wait for it, a generator light.

I was amazed.  Not in all my years could I have ever imagined such an extravagant gift. Somewhere there is a home video that my brother shot of the grand moment.  I was like someone who had just won the lottery—and from my perspective—I had.  I petted it, hugged everyone one I could find, threw on some clothes and went off into the darkness with my new English racer.  And that generator—oh yes, it lit the way.  And if that wasn’t enough, keep in mind this was in North Florida, so it was warm enough to ride—even early in the morning.

Like I said, my parents went way out of their way to gift us at Christmas.  Things might have been lean during the year but at Christmas, they pulled out the stops.  I had an idea how they did it.  Saving was not practical on such a limited budget, but they would get one of those loans from a finance company and then pay it off throughout the year.  It was so sacrificial.  I know I have many things to be grateful for from my parents, but the lengths they went to, so we could have Christmas touches my heart to this day.  I know it probably didn’t make financial sense, but they loved us that much.

I have another parent who did something that didn’t make sense either…and interestingly enough it involved Christmas and Easter. That would be my Heavenly Father. Knowing the world needed a rescue, a redemption, He sent His only Son into this broken world as a baby just so He could grow up and then give Himself to a Roman cross—just for us.  Paul, the guy God used to write a bunch of the New Testament, said it this way, “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” While we were still broken, still messed up, unloving and unappreciative, Jesus died for us.  Nope, it made no sense but that is what I love about God.  I know sometimes He allows things that I don’t understand…like when I pray for someone to be healed and it just doesn’t work out like I want. But to know that He loved me enough to create Christmas and Easter—well, that’s just amazing.

So as Christmas rolls around, be sure and be grateful for the sacrifices made on your behalf by family.  I know, for some that might be difficult.  But try and find the good that is lurking somewhere out there.  But be sure and thank God for the greatest gift ever—His own Son and His sacrifice, that we can be forgiven and look forward to being in heaven one day.  Of course, the great part too is that having God as your Dearest Daddy means you get the Gift that keeps on giving.  He walks with us every day and through everything, side by side, hand in hand, and we have the grand assurance that no matter what—He’s got this.