God Uses a Parked Motorcycle!
22 months!
The motorcycle did not move for twenty-two months. It was dormant: parked, winterized - and covered with a tarp – in southern California.
Labor Day 1984 was the last time that I had ridden my bike.
In my wildest dreams, I never thought that it would be nearly two years before I would see the bike again.
God had a plan, though. He was to use that PARKED motorcycle in a remarkable way.
Before I left for China for the first time, I had a choice to make. I needed a place to store my motorcycle. Without knowing it, this decision became very strategic in my future relationship with Lisa.
As I look back, I find it curious how I came to park my motorcycle in Pasadena, California – of all places. After all, I'd only lived there six months.
“Somehow” I had a unique relationship with one of my history professors from Biola University. I enjoyed his classes, and he liked my writing style for the research papers that I had written. He and his wife lived quite a ways from the university. Of all places, they “happened” to live in Pasadena, two blocks from the end of the Rose Parade route.
As I was “on hold” for five months preparing to go to China, I took some graduate courses, and began to settle in Pasadena. My professor learned I was in the area; was interested in what I was doing; and periodically invited me to his home. As time drew near to leave for China, he and his wife asked if they could help in any way. I told them that I needed a place to store my motorcycle. They said, “Keep it here.” They were glad to store it behind their garage.
During my “comings and goings”, they were an incredible support. What originally started out as six months of storage, eventually ended up to be two-and-a-half years.
A month after I arrived in China for the second time, Lisa came to China. She was at the tail-end of her six weeks when she showed up with a delegation to visit our university in southern China. It was days after my 30th birthday. I was excited to see her – even if for only two days.
It felt like it was our final time together, though.
For the next 21 months, Lisa went her way, and I went mine. We wrote each other some. Letters were sporadic. She didn’t want to lead me on. Her writing was friendly, encouraging – and platonic. While I had hoped for more – eventually – my resolve waned. And, I started moving on.
Late fall of 1985, I returned to the USA after travelling extensively throughout China, Tibet, and Japan.
I needed a place to land to readjust and heal up. My lungs had taken a beating from the tropical molds and second-hand smoke. I was “just plumb exhausted”, and in need of some recuperation. I also needed to sort out life and figure out “What’s next?”
God provided the perfect place.
Eric and Cindy lived in Portland, Oregon. They were dear friends from Biola. I had been in their wedding several years earlier. When they learned that I was going to China, they wanted to help. Cindy monitored my bank account, and paid bills for me. My mail was routed through their address, so that it could be sorted, screened, and forwarded.
When I was getting ready to return to the United States, Eric and Cindy offered me a place to live. I jumped at it. They were the first family in “Three Families & a Rock Band”. Because of them, Oregon became my “home base”. That is – for everything except the motorcycle.
By the time I finally arrived “home” in Oregon, it was early November 1985. Due to the time of the year, it was too risky to consider riding a motorcycle through the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon. To get around, Eric and Cindy let me use their second car. So, I called my former professor in Pasadena, and got the okay to keep the motorcycle parked behind his garage for a while longer.
Once I was settled in Portland, I looked for work, but it was too late in the semester to teach English to international students. I began to piece together part-time work to scrape together some cash. I had “My Daze with Art” while being a security guard at an art museum. I learned a lot about family life; became “Uncle Randy” to their young daughters; and began to find my way.
Now, this next part is tricky.
Remember, I was on a quest. I wanted to be married, OR I wanted to stop
looking, by my 33rd birthday.
The clock was ticking. October 4,
1987 was my deadline. I was “looking for
the writing on the wall”. You know, a
sign that said, “SHE’S THE ONE!”
Low and behold, soon after I got settled, I discovered that a friend from college had recently taken a job and relocated to Portland. She and I had been good friends for a number of years. As we reconnected, we began to do things together. She was well aware of Lisa, and my past interest. It was no secret. Yet, Lisa had had nearly three years to act, so “it seemed like that ship had sailed.”
As the summer of 1986 approached, I felt like I needed to come up with a long-term plan. I was leaning towards staying in Portland. I figured if circumstances had put my friend and me in the same city, I didn’t want to “miss the signs”. Cautiously and hesitantly, we started easing towards “being more than friends”.
To complete my relocation to Portland, there was just one more thing I needed to do.
You guessed it. I needed to go to southern California and get that PARKED motorcycle.
In early June 1986, I decided to book a one-way flight to Los Angeles, and ride my motorcycle back to Oregon. The closest airport to Pasadena was Burbank. I needed someone to pick me up. Lisa was a logical option. She and the motorcycle were both in the same general area of Los Angeles. Lisa had also borrowed some of my backpacking gear. I had continued to stay in touch with her – much like we did in China, so it made sense to contact her first.
I took two weeks off from the art museum.
The plan was to spend seven or eight days in Los Angeles. Get the motorcycle running. Wrap things up. Then, take the remaining days to ride the motorcycle north to Portland. I contacted Lisa and asked if she could pick me up; take me to my motorcycle; and arrange for me to stay with some guys from her church.
Unbeknownst to me, a "conversation thread" had been developing for a while between Lisa and her best friend. Uvon was Lisa’s former roommate. She had recently gotten married. Uvon knew me from the many times that I stopped by their apartment to pick up Lisa for motorcycle rides. When the topic of guys came up, Uvon began to encourage Lisa. She would ask, “What about Randy?”
The day to fly south
arrived!
Evidently, Lisa HAD pondered the question, “What about Randy?” When she met me at the airport, she was “extremely enthusiastic” in her greeting. Over the next few days, she let me know in no uncertain terms that she was very interested in me romantically. She was very clear. She didn’t want me heading back north without having “all of the facts”.
I also learned that my interest in Lisa was “not in the past” as much as I had thought. She still very much had my heart.
Suffice it to say, the motorcycle never left Los Angeles. I guess you could say that "I saw the sign”. I got the message loud and clear.
I made a complete U-turn – in more ways than one. Within a month, I had quit the art museum, flown back to Portland; bought a car; had a tearful talk; and packed up to move back to southern California.
Oh, and Lisa and I started dating.
When we look back, there’s no doubt that God used a parked motorcycle to bring us together. And, needless to say, we’re both glad he did!
Stay Tuned: The next three stories all occur within the year before we get married. They are foundational, and shaped us regarding relationships: with God, each other, and others.
Of course, God still continued to use the motorcycle to move us in some “interesting” ways.
Next:
Something's Wrong with the Horizon
Why are You Resistant to Counseling?
Searching for Summit
Note: There's a special
picture that we're going to “sneak in” on June 27. You won’t want to miss it!
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