Rivers have moods. 
 
Terrain, elevation, and climate all affect the flow of a river.  Sometimes it’s wide and mellow.  Sweeping, meandering, and even majestic.  Other times it’s narrow, and dangerous.  Full of twists and turns.  Deep canyons, whirlpools, waterfalls, and rocks make the river perilous at best.  Deadly - at its worst.

​At times, my life feels like a flowing river.  The current is always moving.  Sometimes, the stretch of river is predictable.  Comfortable.  Manageable.  At other times it can be harrowing – with little sense of control.  In those times, I can feel the angry pull of whitewater – as I “hold on for dear life”.

​On August 29, 1947, my mom and dad were married.  They were both 18.  I am thankful for them; their love for each other; and for their Godly example.  My story certainly wouldn't be the same without the commitment they made to each other on this date, and throughout their lives.

​Crumbled sheets fill the wastebasket.  Printouts line the desk.  Drafts “long discarded” - lay in piles on the floor.  Hand-written scribbles in the margins. Misspellings circled in red. 
 
Each reveals its own evidence - of the task at hand.

​

​A "work in progress" is what they called it.  A “rough draft” is another name.  To most, it looks a mess.   The gaps are many.  The ending is yet undone.  Parts of it flow well.  Others are just not right.  To anyone, but the author, it makes little sense.  
 
While the draft remains drafty, and completion is far away, there is a flicker of hope.  There’s the whisper of a message.   There’s an ebb to the flow.  Maybe, just maybe, it is closer to being finished, than it seems.  While imperfect, it has promise.   There’s a heartbeat of promise – that lays deep within its soul.

​It was crunch time.
 
The wedding was seven weeks away.  And, Lisa and I still had one huge decision to make.
 
Where in all of southern California were we going to live?
 
More than needing housing, we were also grappling with finding a community that we could settle in and call home.  We wanted God to direct us to “the right place”.
 
For our June wedding, the beginning of the month was just three weeks away.  Procuring a place to live had crept to the top of our “to do list”.   It was time to rent something – somewhere – and soon.

“Will you marry me?”
 
As far as grammar goes, it’s a simple “Yes/No Question”.   
 
But, “in matters of the heart”, the effects and ramifications of this little question – are anything but simple.
 
It was at the stroke of midnight that this question - and its answer – was my sole priority.   
 
While revelers around the globe rang in the New Year, my task was simple.  My thoughts were focused.  My emotions were a mess.  As the “ball dropped” in New York City; and one calendar year flipped to the next; I was poised to “pop the question”.    
 
In the beginning “seconds” of the year 1987, I longed to hear one word from my girlfriend Lisa.
 
After three years of friendship, thousands of miles of distance, and a ton of wishfulness, I had found "the one".  I was “in love” and I was more than ready. 
 
Within a matter of seconds, as Lisa said, “Yes”, she shifted from being my girlfriend - to being my fiancé.  In that moment, we agreed to become “engaged”.  Like gears in an automobile’s transmission, we were now supposed to be in-sync.  Mesh.  But, let’s be honest, I did not recognize, nor was I prepared for the “engage” part of this season called “engagement”.   
 
Looking back, I am so thankful for God’s “six-month premarital workshop”.  But on January 1, 1987 – when Lisa enthusiastically said, “Yes!” - I sure didn’t see what was coming.  ​

​Mt. Shasta stood like a quiet sentinel - dominating the eastern horizon. 
 
The mountain was majestic – draped with white snow - in vivid contrast to the late afternoon sky of early summer.  The view was spectacular.  On any other day, it would have been “a photo-op waiting to happen”, but not on this day. 

​I was preoccupied with a payphone.  It was 50 miles south of the Oregon border, at a rest area just north of Mt. Shasta, California.  Vehicles whizzed by as they picked up downhill speed on Interstate-5.  But, my vehicle was not moving.  It was stopped.  More accurately, it was cooling off.  And, Los Angeles was still 600 miles away.

​The phone call was to my girlfriend, Lisa.  As she answered the phone, I had three minutes to blurt out my plight.  There was no preamble. The message was straight and to the point.  “Lisa, pray.  Something’s wrong with the Horizon.”

Forty-five months after our first motorcycle ride in August of 1983, Lisa and I took another memorable ride on June 27, 1987. 

This time, Lisa was in her wedding dress, and I was in a tux.

​22 months! 
 
The motorcycle did not move for twenty-two months.  It was dormant: parked, winterized - and covered with a tarp – in southern California. 
 
Labor Day 1984 was the last time that I had ridden my bike.   
 
In my wildest dreams, I never thought that it would be nearly two years before I would see the bike again. 
 
God had a plan, though.  He was to use that PARKED motorcycle in a remarkable way.  

​Something changed! 
 
Motorcycles were NOT part of my world growing up.  Never drove one.  Rode one once!  Yet, for a 10-year stretch, from 1976 to 1986, that’s all I owned.
 
At the age of 22, something happened!
 
And for the next ten years, God used a motorcycle to shape me in some powerful ways. 
 
Now, before I start “coloring-in” the essentials of this story, I need to back up just a bit.  While I have told lots of stories so far, my focus hasn’t been on being 100% chronological.  For the purpose and flow of each story, I’ve only included pertinent details.  So, when it comes to “our love story as a couple”, some “pieces to the puzzle” have been notably missing – until now.   And, I am fairly certain that without these “pieces”, the ending would NOT have been the same.   
 
Strap on your helmet.  Let’s see how “God used a motorcycle” to bring us together.

We are taking a slight detour this time, but not really.  The focus is going to be on my wife and best friend, Lisa.  I am thankful for her.  She is a woman of faith, conviction, and character.  And, I dearly love her.  This is one of her faith adventures. 
 
The year is 1984.  It had been 15 months since my path first crossed with Lisa’s in June 1983 – with the infamous “Phone Call”.  If you recall from a previous post, the phone call came from Lisa when she was a recruiter who screened and sent English teachers to China. I was one of them.  There are still three more years before our paths truly merge.  Even though we are not married at the time of this story, “the recruiter’s dilemma” has become an important marker in our journey as a couple. 
 
It encourages us each time we tell it. We hope it encourages you, as well.

​The recruiter was in agony. 
 
She had been for weeks.    It was a quandary - a dilemma.  As she prayed, she searched her soul.  “God what do you want me to do?”  As a recruiter, she had a spot to fill.  As part of her job, she did this all the time.  But, this time – was different.  The decision didn’t affect others. The airline ticket to China was not for someone else.  This time - it was for her. 
 
The decision couldn’t be put off any longer.  It was time to decide.  Was it “go, or no go?”