I thought I was nostalgic last year. Seriously, I thought being away from my best friends for 3 months was about as rough as it could get.

But here we are. There are 14 days left in the entirety of my student life at Dordt College, and I’m crying as I write this.

And I cried a little bit earlier when one of my best friends told me how much I meant to her. 

And after that when I tried on my graduation dress.

And I teared up after that when one of my teammates told me not to graduate so I could stay around.

And that was just today.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely eager to graduate and see what God has up his sleeve for me, but as I sit in my bed looking at my wall where I’ve hung so many pictures of the friends I’ve made over the last three years at Dordt, frankly I’m scared.

I’m scared because I don’t know what’s ahead. I’m scared because I’ve heard how hard it Is to maintain friendships after college. I’m scared to enter the adult world. I’m scared because I know how tough this world can be on a bright-eyed-dreamer. I’m scared because everything I’ve ever known revolved in some way around school. I'm scared because I love Dordt College.

I’m scared to graduate.

But then I look back at that wall of pictures and right in the middle is a large picture of a tandem bicycle and I’m reminded of two things. I’m reminded of how thankful I am that it’s warm enough to bike again, but more importantly I’m reminded of a poem that a dear friend shared with me this past summer, called the Road of Life (by anonymous).

At first, I saw God as my observer, my judge,

keeping track of the things I did wrong,

so as to know whether I merited heaven or hell when I die.

He was out there sort of like a president.

I recognized His picture when I saw it,

but I really didn't know Him. 


But later on, when I met Christ,

it seemed as though life was rather like a bike ride,

but it was a tandem bike, and I noticed that Christ

was in the back helping me pedal.


I don't know just when it was

that He suggested we change places,

but life has not been the same since.


When I had control, I knew the way.

It was rather boring, but predictable . . .

It was the shortest distance between two points.


But when He took the lead,

He knew delightful long cuts,

up mountains, and through rocky places

at breakneck speeds,

it was all I could do to hang on!

Even though it looked like madness,

He said, "Pedal!"


I worried and was anxious and asked,

"Where are you taking me?"

He laughed and didn't answer,

and I started to learn to trust.


I forgot my boring life

and entered into the adventure.

And when I'd say, "I'm scared,"

He'd lean back and touch my hand.


He took me to people with gifts that I needed,

gifts of healing, acceptance and joy.

They gave me gifts to take on my journey,

my Lord's and mine.


And we were off again.

He said, "Give the gifts away;

they're extra baggage, too much weight."

So I did, to the people we met,

and I found that in giving I received,

and still our burden was light.


I did not trust Him, at first, in control of my life.

I thought He'd wreck it;

but He knows bike secrets,

knows how to make it bend to take sharp corners,

knows how to jump to clear high rocks,

knows how to fly to shorten scary passages.


And I am learning to shut up and pedal in the strangest places,

and I'm beginning to enjoy the view

and the cool breeze on my face

with my delightful constant companion, Jesus Christ.

And when I'm sure I just can't do anymore,

He just smiles and says . . . "Pedal."

I’m still learning everyday to trust, but in these next two weeks, “when I’m sure I just can’t do anymore,” I’m reminded that God knows bike secrets.