Finding God

Afternoon rush hour is my favorite time of day if I’m on my bike. It was 4:15 and I had just locked up at work. My black Ivan Chrome bag held my laptop; a water bottle; a cycling travel kit complete with a CO 2 pump, multi-tool, and patch kit; a Kryptonite cable lock; and my wallet and cell phone. It’s the cargo that I carry every day to and from work. The heavy duty straps and thick padding allowed me to forget about the weight of my cargo as I snapped the aluminum frame of my Specialized Allez road bike back and forth underneath me during quick sprints through the city. I rode south on Larimer St., enjoying the sights and sounds of the city on a Friday afternoon. The roads were packed like any other weekday after work, and I loved it. I took a quick glance over my left shoulder before darting across three lanes of moving traffic to the far left side of Larimer. I’ve always loved the rush of riding through traffic. I rode with 2,000 pounds of moving steel on either side of me ...

I write this blog for myself more than anything. Many times I sit down with the intent to create a story or personal testimony that will affect someone else in a positive or convicting way. I like to turn mundane occurrences into experiential life lessons. But it seems that, more often than not, these stories refuse to fit the mold I try to shape them into. More often than not, these stories are written for me, and for me only. It seems that whatever I write evolves into a story tailored to fit me and my personal struggles. The problem with this, however, is that it often leads to very real feelings of conviction. Sometimes I read back through my previous blog entries and find myself wondering why I acted the way I did in those situations. Sometimes I approve of my past actions, and other times I am utterly ashamed or angry that I have ever done such a thing. This entry is about the latter feelings of remorse and helplessness. I am a sinner. I am broken beyond repair, and the...

You might think that I have it all together. You may have seen me do a few nice things here and there, – volunteer at church, pay for an elderly woman’s bus pass, give lunch to a homeless man – but the fact that I may have done a few good deeds in my life is not going to save me. If you truly knew me, I don’t think you would consider me to be a ‘good’ person, certainly not anywhere on the spectrum close to “perfect”. I am a broken human being and the mess that I’ve created in my wake is something that I can never repair. I lie, I cheat, I steal. I remember being called a “goody two-shoes”, but I spent nearly an entire school-year’s worth of Sundays looking at pornography in my dorm room rather than going to church. I’ve jumped out of the back window of a house because I was afraid of being caught by the police at an underage drinking party. I’ve spent countless hours of my life lusting after other women and I’ve struggled with greed, envy, bitterness, anger, and self-worth. I hav...