Old podcasts never die.

In the meantime, I’m on His trail and I hope my money trail supports my claim. If you’re looking for a good investment, I believe investing in others is the best. Besides, God doesn’t want or need our money. He wants our loving, obedient hearts.

Finally, I’m learning to walk for the third time. Walking of the third kind is not new. It’s an ancient skill of faith and obedience that produces amazing results. I’m finally joining the ranks of imperfect heroes like Abel, Enoch, Noah, and a long line of spiritual ancestors who learned to walk the walk of the third kind. One step at a time.

Today we rested. Training will continue tomorrow, one step at at time.

I’m still learning how to pray, but some of my best prayers were those I prayed from inside a helmet. My first prayers were copies of other people’s prayers. Many teach children to repeat the words of others like training wheels on their spiritual bicycles until they get the hang of it. That’s the way it was for me.

But my prayers got more serious when I started riding motorcycles as a boy.

When I’d get in a spot of self-inflicted trouble on the trail, I used to pray. It must’ve worked. I’m still here, but as my body grew and my appetite for speed and adrenaline increased, so did my need for prayer.

About that time, I discovered the comfort, safety, and convenience of full-face helmets with visors. My helmet became my personal war room for communicating with my God. We talked for hours and hours as I rode back and forth across North America.

But then I was given a new helmet. They called it a steel pot. It was made of steel, painted with drab olive green paint and worked best when used with a helmet liner and adjustable band. It wasn’t bullet-proof, waterproof, and its open-face design didn’t provide the comfort or the convenience of my full-face motorcycle helmets. But, I didn’t get to choose the color or the design. It was standard issue.

I didn’t get to choose my fights either. Soldiers fight. Others decide who, when, and why they fight. Some of my best prayers originated within my steel pot (with and without the helmet liner) as I prayed to survive, fight with honor, defend my comrades, and live one more day.

It must’ve worked. I’m still here, but as my body grows older and my appetite for speed and adrenaline decrease, my need for prayer continues to increase. Thank God I no longer wear a steel pot on my head. Does any military still use those old helmets?

Today I put on my full-face helmet, lowered the visor, lowered the sun shade, started my motorcycle, and rode down the road one more time.

Wise riders always check their equipment, wear the right protective gear, and prepare as if their life depended on it, because it might. Every ride could be the last.

If you saw an overweight elderly man on a small delivery-style motorcycle wobbling down the Panamerican Highway this morning, thanks for not running over me. I was doing the best I could, and it felt great. I was praying all the way.

Even better than the wind, the sound, the sights, and the smells, I prayed like my life depended on it from inside my helmet one more time. It must’ve worked; I’m still here.

This old soldier served on land, at sea, and in the air. I prayed. It must’ve worked. And since it worked so well for so long, I pray more and more. My warfare now goes beyond sea, air, and land into a spiritual dimension I could’ve never imagined as a young man. I was too strong, too independent, and too much like myself.

My battles are tougher than they were. They never get easier, but we get better. Now I’m more like The One I follow, completely dependent on Him, and I’m too crippled and weak to deceive myself or anyone else. Now, finally, after all these years of helmet prayers, I’m finally in shape for Him to use me for the really big fights using His weapons. My enemy is not who I thought he was.

My Lord’s soldiers work, serve, sweat, bleed, sacrifice, and fight. He IS The One who decides who, what, where, when, why, and how I fight.

No complaints. I recommend serving in the Lord’s army. The pay is out of this world, the care is unmatched, retirement is the best, and the life insurance is prepaid. The helmets are the best!

Maybe I’ll retire my truck and turn it into an office when the authorities no longer want either of us on their roads. I can already imagine myself in the cab of the truck, parked behind the house, talking to Jesus. It’ll beat the traffic!

I believe I’m gonna enjoy being a kid again. I also enjoy our talks, even if I seem to do all the transmitting. Have you ever thought about how easy it is to share so much with strangers we never expect to cross paths with again?

It reminds me of a long conversation I had with a soul from Heathrow to JFK one night, or the train trip from Penn Station to Little Rock, Arkansas. But, it’s time to get some sleep. I’ll try not to rest my head on your shoulder or snore. I remember how awkward that used to be on planes, trains, and buses.

Thanks for listening, reading, or both. Maybe we can do this again, if one of us doesn’t disembark first. Thanks for existing.

I’m shooting for 7, maybe 8, definitely pre-adolescent, because that was almost as uncomfortable as being a senior. Let’s see how this works. But even if I could choose, I’d still choose an old body with a new mind and spirit over a young body with an old mind and dead spirit. How ‘bout you?

If only we knew how fragile life is. If only we knew the acquaintances, the encounters, the friendships, and the loves we experience never had to end. If only we could believe Him and love with His love as we wait for our faith to become sight. If only we could would become of course we can!

Now, about that assisted living. As my neighbors to the north prepare to celebrate their day of Independence, I remember that I am completely dependent on my God for everything, all the time, wherever I go, whatever I do. Whenever I forget, something happens to remind me that assisted living isn’t just for us old, retired souls. We’re not broken, not broken down, just broken in. We welcome the assistance.

Would you like to read this and others? You can read them here. You're welcome.

My only hope, my only anchor, my only safe port is with the One who walks on water like dry ground, strolls through time like it was His garden, and IS concerned about His creation. Who or what else is there to hope in or hope for? Are ya sure?

Ecclesiastes 1:9-11

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Tired of listening? Me, too. Sometimes I prefer to read. You can read this one and others at https://brosteve.medium.com

You're welcome!

Doesn’t it feel like we’re reaching our boiling point? When it comes to hot water, potatoes are good, eggs are better, and coffee beans are the best. Today I chose to be like coffee beans instead of becoming too soft like a potato or too hard like an egg. I believe there’s more hot water to come.