Come, Come Ye Saints

Nervous doesn't even begin to describe it. The line of bikes waiting to start at the 2012 Wichita Falls Century Ride stretched as far as the eye could see. Why in the world was I going to ride 100k on a bike? I didn't need to prove anything to anybody. I could just turn around, load up the bike, head back home and be done with it. Surely this many people simultaneously biking on the same street was sure to be a recipe for disaster. I'd almost gotten creamed three times just crossing the street to get into the starting position. In the end though, I didn't want to miss the journey. What if something magical happened during those 100 kilometers I was about to embark upon? What if I was taught lessons I could never have learned while sitting on the couch? Maybe this is how we felt in the premortal existence. Or maybe this is how we felt just before our baptism. Or maybe this was to be my experience before entering the Holy Temple of God for the first time. Each level of progression within the church carries with it its own sense of apprehension and concern for the unknown. For the faint of heart, that sense of apprehension can be enough to stop people dead in their tracks. But I realized in this moment that I am not one to shrink from any difficult task. And this 100K bike race was absolutely no different. During the two hour drive to Wichita Falls, I had listened to a CD of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Repeatedly, I was drawn to the song, "Come, Come Ye Saints" to the point that I probably listened to it fifteen times before getting to the bike race. If persecuted pioneers could walk thousands of miles to worship God in peace, I could certainly ride 100K on a bike. The comparison of the pioneers with the bike ride made my task seem so small and so able to be accomplished. Several bike wrecks happened throughout the morning. The worst one I witnessed left a woman who was my age flat on her back, motionless. The ambulance was in earshot and I pleaded with Heavenly Father for her welfare. The Holy Ghost's quiet response to my prayer was, "My Spirit will be with her." My thoughts then turned again to those pioneers who lost loved ones along the trail. One terrible story that came to the top of my mind was when a family member of pioneers who had died and was not able to be buried immediately was left on the trail. Later, the family members returned to find that she had been eaten by wolves. How difficult it must have been for those around her to keep on going, not even having the time to properly grieve the loss. My shoulders ached and it became harder and harder to stay in position on the bike. Just when I felt like giving up, I would think of pioneers with blisters on their hands and feet from pushing handcarts. It made my blisters not hurt as much and gave me the strength to press onward. The finish line was glorious! What it joy it was to complete what I had started out to accomplish. And I wouldn't have learned any of this had I stayed on the couch.

Rachel Roark