Motorcycle Memories: One Day A Graceful Rider Caught Me

This poem has been revised many times.  It is getting much closer to what I want it to be.  Yes, I used to ride motorcycles.  I wrecked several times, including a crash where my bike stuck into the side of a Ford Escort and I flew over, landing in the road.  By the time I came back to consciousness, the emergency crew had arrived.  A full-face helmet saved my head (and life).  I had many other close calls.  Clearly, God preserved my life each time as he continued to pursue me by his mercy and grace.  In a very real way, he rode with me.  In an earlier version of this poem I said, “Only he could look me in the eyes at speeds of 80 and above.”  He never backed down or gave up on me.  This poem, one of the first I ever wrote, continues to be an encouraging reminder of my Savior’s faithfulness.  I hope it encourages you as well.  Thanks for reading.

I remember the asphalt…how it let me
live outside the lines on a bike.
I remember a rowdy night-spot
where speed got up to pick a fight.
My bright wheels cannot forget: boots,
a leather jacket, and turns
that made me lean down to the pegs.
The boundary blurred
till hardtop hit like hard times.

I recall the throttle: a twist and clutch
made emblems in the road.
It sounded good, but ditches stood
nearby; the pavement took its toll.
Parking lots demanded wheelies.
I never did say no to them.
Close calls, falls, and crashes…
some could lay it down, but I wrecked.
My graceful arc crossed double lines.

Still, I did not slow the pace.  Then,
one day a graceful rider caught me.
How he chased!  How his engine raced!
He had new tires and tattoos of fire.
His eyes were like mirrors,
and when I looked I shattered.
But to each piece he whispered;
for every shard he stood and shouted.
His voice could not be unkind.

He made pursuit his standard.
His hands, like living stone, never tired.
I rolled with bent desires,
but he anticipated every deviation.
He determined my progress;
he broke my bones, then mended.
I fled, until he pierced and purchased,
until he caught me with the look of love…
a look that saw a man born blind.

He gripped when my will failed.
He healed my road-rash knees.
He knew my make and model.
He saw parts no one sees.
Now I listen as gears make changes—
as rubber on roadway moves me
and I approach new signs and places.
As chain and sprocket go humbly
beneath, a narrow road unwinds.

Robert Buchanan, Hindenburg Docker

Robert Buchanan waited
on the field, in wet clothes, to dock
the Hindenburg.  No shadow marked
its’ place beneath the heavy
morning sky.  The airship
came close, then, POOF!—

strange enormous light, a bite,
and suffocation.  He wondered,
is this the end?  Heat shoved him,
outran him, jumped down on him.
It was the hottest thing
he would ever live

to tell—rain came twice
while he had waited; twice
its’ grace fell on him.  He escaped,
but had to run a long way
before he turned (to see from what
he had been saved).

Robert Buchanan was interviewed for the PBS program History Detectives (Season 6, Episode 5).  His testimony of how he avoided severe burns and possible death at the crash of the Hindenburg inspired this poem.

In Tenderness He Sought Me by W. Spencer Walton

Jesus said, “I am the gate for the sheep.  All who ever came before me were thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them.  I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved” (John 10: 7-9).

In tenderness He sought me,
Weary and sick with sin,
And on His shoulders brought me
Back to His fold again.
While angels in His presence sang
Until the courts of heaven rang.

Refrain:
Oh, the love that sought me!
Oh, the blood that bought me!
Oh, the grace that brought me to the fold,
Wondrous grace that brought me to the fold!

He washed the bleeding sin-wounds,
And poured in oil and wine;
He whispered to assure me,
“I’ve found thee; thou art Mine”;
I never heard a sweeter voice;
It made my aching heart rejoice!

He pointed to the nailprints;
For me His blood was shed;
A mocking crown so thorny
Was placed upon His head:
I wondered what He saw in me
To suffer such deep agony.

I’m sitting in His presence,
The sunshine of His face,
While with adoring wonder
His blessings I retrace.
It seems as if eternal days
Are far too short to sound His praise.

So, while the hours are passing,
All now is perfect rest;
I’m waiting for the morning,
The brightest and the best,
When He will call us to His side,
To be with Him, His spotless bride.

---

Help My Unbelief by John Newton

Albert Finney as John Newton in Amazing Grace

I know the Lord is nigh,
and would but cannot pray,
For Satan meets me when I try,
and frights my soul away.
And frights my soul away.

I would but can’t repent,
though I endeavor oft;
This stony heart can ne’er relent
till Jesus makes it soft.
Till Jesus make it soft.

Help my unbelief.
Help my unbelief
Help my unbelief.
My help must come from Thee.

I would but cannot love,
though wooed by love divine;
No arguments have power to move
a soul as base as mine.
A soul so base as mine.

I would but cannot rest,
in God’s most holy will;
I know what He appoints is best,
and murmur at it still.
I murmur at it still.

The Cashier

Sunday morning, after
church shopping list:
bananas
bread
bologna
tomato soup
diapers.

The deft cashier
runs to grab a flier,
plucks the coupon for
five dollars off any size
Pampers. We

make our way towards
home—plastic sacks,
hungry kids, full
air in all four tires.