As today marks the first day of Lent, I felt it worthwhile to explore a few topics on the matter.

First, cycling. 

As you may know, I try to spend a lot of time on my bike.  I love getting outside, breathing deep of the fresh air and enjoying the songs of birds as I ride through quiet streets.  I love the rhythm of the turning of the pedals, and how that rhythm propels the bike quickly down the road.  I love riding hills, because the hills make me stronger and I feel like I’ve accomplished something each and every time I summit. 

I guess I just love that cycling teaches me so much about life in general.

One of my favorite rides ever is a grueling climb from my hometown of Redlands up to Oak Glen.  It is about 15 miles, almost entirely uphill, with an elevation gain of close to 4000 feet.  The road rises up out of the valley, winding through oak trees, apple orchards, a small petting zoo, and then summiting at a beautiful park framed by mountain peaks.

To some, this may sound like torture, but to me it is a thing of beauty.

 

As much as I love the ride, there is one stretch that consistently challenges me.  At one point, about halfway up the climb, the road straightens out for about 2 miles.  No curves, just a straight pitch uphill at about a 6% grade.

The hard part about that section isn’t that it’s the steepest (that comes closer to the summit); it’s that the scenery never changes.  You see the road moving beneath you, you can definitely feel the burn in your legs, but as you look up the road, you feel as if you’re going nowhere.

All you feel is pain, shortness of breath, and the mental battle of feeling like you’re spinning your wheels and accomplishing nothing…

 

I’ve found that when I feel like I’m not gaining much progress up the climb, I cheat a little bit:  I steal a quick glance over my left shoulder.

This may seem like a trivial technicality, but that glance gives me all the motivation I need to keep on turning the pedals over.

That glance reveals the valley below, and shows me how incredibly far I’ve come—a stark contrast to the uphill view, which tends to just mock me as if to rub its might right in my tired face.

The glance renews me with a sense of vigor and a reminder that I can make it to the summit if I press on.

 

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It is traditional to give up something for 40 days in observance of the Lenten season. 

If you’re anything like me, you saw classmates announce that they were “giving up chocolate for Lent” or something to that effect.  You may have looked at them like they were strange or something, especially if Valentine’s Day falls within Lent as it does this year.

But as I’ve learned more about Lent, I see the beauty in it.  Give up something for the 40 days prior to Easter Sunday; every time you crave that which you have given up, be reminded of everything Christ sacrificed for us.  On Easter Sunday, celebrate with feasting, as a reminder of the freedoms we have as a direct result of that sacrifice.

It’s kind of like forcing us to look over our shoulder for a bit; a beautiful reminder to pause and notice how far we’ve come and how high we’ve climbed.

 

The ancient Israelites used to commemorate God-victories by setting up monuments so that current and future generations would have a physical reminder of God’s goodness toward them.

I’m pretty sure they were on to something…

Maybe they knew that it’s easy to forget.

Maybe they knew that we need constant reminding.

Maybe they knew the importance of stealing a glance over the shoulder from time to time, for our souls can sometimes grow weary without it.

 

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This past week I’ve had the chance to look over my shoulder on numerous occasions.  Often the reminder to do that has come from many of you, whether directly or indirectly.  I’ve been able to see the valley below—where I started this ride—and I’ve been encouraged.

I’ve been encouraged personally, I’ve been encouraged professionally, and I’ve been encouraged spiritually.

For me, during this Lenten season, I have chosen not to abstain from anything.  Instead, for the next 40 days, I’m going to erect monuments.  These monuments will come in the form of a simple, private, written list that will serve as reminders to draw on when I need them.

Reminders of God’s constant faithfulness on my life’s journey.

Reminders of how far I’ve come.

 

Glances over the shoulder.