Here’s the way I saw God. He knew all, saw all, but was pretty much hands-off. I turned to him only out of necessity. He was my “get out of jail free” card. Sometimes, quite literally.
Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
After one of my many crashes, God would pick me up, dust me off, fix my bike and place me back on the seat, my hands confidently gripping the handlebars. Wobbly at first, God would jog alongside me until I got up to speed. “Thanks!” I’d call out over my shoulder, before giving him a quick wave and smashing into a tree.
Because I’m an alcoholic, I don’t do things the way other people do. Given the premise that I’m a novice bicyclist at best, why then do I immediately attempt to ride no-handed? Or kneel on the seat? Or stand on my head while cruising toward a major intersection? Because for me, these things seemed all within my capabilities.
And when they weren’t, I’d break out the blame game. The traffic. The road conditions. The bike itself. And the self-loathing followed. I’m such a loser. Why can’t I ride a bike? Everybody else does it just fine.
But nobody else was riding no-handed or on their heads. Just me and my over-sized ego. Which I easily justified: If I am to suffer the pain of failure alone, why would I take anything less than all the credit for my victories?
And now, in order to move on, I had to humble myself? Ugh.