Riding My Bike to Heaven

The other night I thought it would be “cool” to ride my bike to Onota Lake.  It’s about 2 miles from my house.

My wife worries about me.  She said she’d pray for me as I walked out the door.

Every Wednesday evening in the summer, the City of Pittsfield runs a free concert they call “Live on the Lake.”

It was around 6:45 pm.  Live on the Lake had started at 6.

As I rode down the street it was very noticeable to me how little traffic there was.

I’m usually a bit timid of the roadways and will often ride on the sidewalks, if there are any, as a precaution against accidents.

This night was different.  I rode boldly down Onota Street and never saw more than three cars until I reached Lakeway Drive.

It occurred to me that the reason the traffic was so light was that all the young people in town, especially those who love to bomb around at that hour, were already enjoying the free concert and gorgeous views of West Mountain and breathtakingly beautiful Onota Lake.

Before long I had made it to the top of Lakeway Drive.  It was steep and long but where it intersected with Valentine Road my hunch about why there was so little traffic was confirmed.

“Lot Full” said the sign.

Just before I crossed Valentine Road a van slowed down to ask me where “Lake Oh-Naada” was.  His pronouncement of the word confirmed his out of town status, along with his New York State license plate.

“Right up there,” I puffed over to him, still a bit tired and glad I had an excuse to take a breath.

Before long I was up that last steep hill and gliding down to Burbank Park past a long line of cars on the side of the road.

The lawn was packed, there were dozens of boats just off the shore, and the crowd was all ages and exceptionally peaceful.

The Pittsfield Police and other City officials had decided to make it a “no alcohol” event.

That may have explained the peace and also my intuitive calm on the road while riding my bike.

I was not in trouble, but before long I had a crowd of about 5 or 6 Police Officers chatting around me and my bike.

I’m friendly with them because of my work connection to SWAT teams and they just decided to have a little social gathering for no real reason.  I felt really safe at that point.  My wife had little reason to worry.

In some ways, our journey or pilgrimage here on earth was like my evening Wednesday night.

We hear about a wonderful place called heaven, that everyone wants to go to.

So we start our journey there through faith and works of mercy and we even get to point the way when people ask how to get there.

At times those steps we take are difficult and expose us to danger, but because of where we’re going and the prayers of those who love us, there’s a special covering.

Based on the writings of the Apostles Paul and John, the wonders of heaven are too complex to verbalize and once we get there we’ll be safe in God’s arms for eternity, amongst a multitude no man can count.

Like Onota Lake, there’ll be peace everywhere, we’ll be friends with warrior angels, and God’s love will be the only stimulant we need.

I just wonder one thing.

Will God’s chorus in heaven know the song, “Play That Funky Music White Boy?”

I hope so.  It sure sounded great that night.

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