Absolutely gorgeous autumn morning, sixty-two degrees and sunny. The bicycle and I moved as a unit as we trundled our way to the post office. A mere block from the destination, I passed a man going the other way. He was afoot, a large cross over his left shoulder, the other end, eight feet from his head, was riding along the pavement on two small wheels.
I continued on my mission, collected the mail and returned to and remounted my wheel. As I headed homeward, I was somewhat surprised that I did not pass the gentleman in the first three or four blocks; then I spotted him ahead, yet another three blocks. This guy is moving along! And I thought he was an "old guy."
I came up from behind him, passed him, and stopped the bike. "Take up your cross daily, and follow Me," I quoted. Then I said, "I see you take that admonition seriously." As he rested the crossbar on the ground, he said, "That is the only way to take it."
I applauded his testimony; he gave praise to God for the courage and the strength to carry on his mission. He told me that the cross had been across Indiana from the Ohio River to Lake Michigan. Between tours of that nature, he walks in some neighborhood not far from his home on a daily basis. This was our day. He said he usually walks three or four miles each day, which is not bad for an old guy, for he was indeed grizzled and grey.
We shared our thoughts on a lost and dying world, unaware and heedless of the message of salvation. I wished him well, he wished me the same. "David," I said, as I offered my hand. He took my hand and said, "Ron."
I write this, thinking of Paul's words, "I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ."