Yellow Bicycle | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Yellow Bicycle | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jennifer Percell
02/08/22
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The Yellow Bicycle

Fulliam Street was a quick downhill and Sycamore was flat. I made it to Iowa Avenue in five minutes. My legs felt powerful and the feel of the wind in my hair gave me a rare sense of freedom. Courage was not a strength of my character, but I had planned this all week, it was no minor disobedience. I was proud of myself.

My bell bottom jeans were gathered in rubber bands to keep them out of the chain, but a small rock caught my front wheel at Iowa Avenue and 6th Street. I skidded hard and nearly lost my balance.

I was nervous. The yellow bicycle had no mirror, and I hadn't ridden enough to be graceful about looking over my shoulder. Every car that passed me could be him. On Iowa he would not suspect anything, at 8th Street my intention would be obvious.

When I worked through memories in my thirties I felt the impact of this Sunday morning rebellion, now forty-five years in the past. In retrospect I understood how wrong the situation was. But as I rode those blocks watching for my father's car, I just knew I was terrified. My focus was on getting to the beautiful brick building at 8th Street and Iowa Avenue without being caught.

I decided at the last minute to turn early, I could go around the block and come in from the back. So much safer than a direct turn by the building. Finally, I could stretch my arm to signal and leave the busy street. I passed my aunt's house but knew that she would never mention I was riding in her neighborhood. She would never do anything to cause me to get in trouble.

Only a half block down 8th Street I turned into a short cement driveway. I nearly hit a large piece of loose concrete as I looked down the street to be sure I was not seen. I walked several steps into the grass and bushes and leaned the yellow bicycle against the brick. Sweating, shaky with nerves and fear I felt calmed by the cool bricks against my back.

The bottom of the stained-glass window was just above my five-foot frame. I could not be seen from the street or inside the building. I knew I could not deal with the embarrassment or explanations needed if anyone saw me hidden alone in the bushes. Who would ever understand how I needed this time?

The window was open several inches, I took a deep breath and felt sweet gratitude for that. I had to listen carefully to the order of events to be sure I was home in thirty minutes. Permission for a bike ride was hard enough to get, if I was late, I wouldn't have this freedom again.

The last strains of “Anywhere With Jesus” brought my anxious breaths under control. Mr. Jim's familiar prayer voice gave me that wonderful feeling of coming home that this place always held for me. At least, what I liked to imagine coming home would be like if home held any of the spirit I had found here.

As the strong, sure words of the sermon filled my ears I was more aware of their weight than their meaning. A firm, steady weight that held my frightened heart safe for a fleeting moment. That safety, strength and spirit would be enough to get through another week. Knowing there were good people I would one day get to freely worship with gave such hope.

Riding home I planned a story to tell of where I had ridden, a lie, to cover my disobedience. I knew he said I could not go to church, I prayed God would forgive the deception.

I remember that day so long ago. I remember how finding Jesus and His family gave me what I needed to survive the last two years in a terrible situation. I remember how much I loved and needed His precious church, and what it felt like to be forbidden to go. Today, so many years later, secure in a wonderful home I know how important this memory is. Let me never forget the treasure of gathering with the Lord's people, worshiping in song and communion. May I always remember the fresh love and new found faith of the brave girl on the yellow bicycle.

*Based on my own memory of this event.

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