A few nights ago, I was basking in the grandeur of nightlife in Washington. Dupont Circle is pretty hip and the Board Room was the destination of the evening. I was having a spectacular time playing Taboo with some awesome people while sipping on a Stella. More quickly than I would have liked, I was back on the metro making my way home to Alexandria. I was riding with a few folks who were bound for the end of the yellow line just like myself. One of the guys cued me into the fact that there was rain on the horizon. I figured I could deal with a five-minute bike ride from my stop. Anther friend graciously lent me his rain jacket for my journey.
I said my goodbyes and hopped off at Braddock Station. Down the escalator, past my favorite nighttime security guard, and speedily to the bike rack where I had parked. I looked at the row of down tubes, searching for my floral decal beneath the dim lights from inside the building. Rain falling. Rain falling harder. My eyes scanned once, but it was nowhere to be found. I walked back and forth, scanning at least four more times before I settled with the unsettling situation. It was gone. I had been meaning to get a U-lock, but waited too long. Someone cut through my cable.
It would be at least a fifteen minute haul in the heavy rain. I suppose I very well could have flagged a taxi, but I can rarely ever justify the six dollars. One would think that this night, I would have made an exception. Something in me couldn’t. And so, I set out. My jeans quickly became drenched. My flats were so soggy from the ankle-deep puddles that I struggled to keep them on my feet.
That’s pretty much the story. My formerly prized bicycle had vanished. And I was wet, really wet. And maybe I was stupid for walking.
And I like to begin sentences with conjunctions.
About a block into my toilsome journey, something hit me. Surprisingly, I was never too, too distressed, but I still had a revelation of sorts. And it was beautiful.
After that single block, I began to laugh…LOUDLY. It was my best option. A moment after the laughing, I began shouting. Mind you, I don’t normally do things like this. I guess it helped that it was dark and pouring, that it was only myself and the streetlights. I shouted phrase after phrase of thanksgiving to my Father.
Thank you that I have a home to walk to!
Thank you for my job!
For my life!
For my family!
That someone got a new bike/some extra cash!
That it’s not freezing cold!
When I arrived home, I crept through the side basement door. Puddles on the creaky, wooden stairs were inevitable.
It might be the fact that I traveled the world for a year and found myself in multiple uncertain and life-threatening scenarios. It might be that I’m an easygoing person. It might be that I have practiced thanksgiving in the past. It might be a great many things.
Whatever the case, I’m thankful that He’s growing my gratitude. I’m thankful that I sensed His Spirit thick in that moment. I’m thankful that He’s all I truly have.
I pray, I hope that I will be thankful in all circumstances. There are certainly trials ahead. I am by no means wishing or speaking unpleasant occurrances over my future. I simply know that life will be hard, for it’s most assuredly troublesome in this world when following Christ.
As for my new ride, I pick it up this weekend. It’s cheaper, it’s smaller, and I don’t have to lock it up. I found a longboard on craigslist. If I don’t get one now, I never will. I’m approaching my late twenties.