Trust the Process

I’m up late on a Tuesday, thinking about Easter and feeling nervous about finding a story to help the congregation celebrate the transformative power of the resurrection. It’s heavy, of course. So I’m seeking inspiration from weighty past sermons, academic articles – Max Lucado, Dutch Sheets, and something by Charles Taylor that I don’t understand. My brain, riddled with ADHD tendencies, jumps around randomly—and it was no surprise that the first sentence in my notes looked like this:

“My daughter lost her pink-princess-bike training wheels on a wintry November in Kansas City.”

Hopelessly looking for the profound, I think, led me here—drawn to an ironically simple memory about my little girl, her first bicycle, and what it means to let go.

I remember jogging beside her that day as she death-gripped the handlebars of her bike. She pedaled wildly—urgently—glancing back every few seconds. She doesn’t trust herself to stay up, but she trusts that I’m behind her, keeping pace and holding on. In her world, she’s safe, but only if I’m physically there. Parents think like this, too, if we’re willing to admit it. We have to be there. We have to hold on.

Then, for a moment, it hit me.

It’s a lie.

She’ll be strong with or without my hands on the saddle, and whether or not I’m running behind her. In that moment, without a push ... I knew it was best to let go.

See, there’s a silly helplessness parents experience when we let go for the first time. Someday, when we see them driving away to college through tear-blurred eyes, we’ll reflect on this with nostalgia. But, at the time, watching her find her balance on two wheels was hard enough.

“Daddy, I can’t do this! Don’t let me go!”

Had she looked back, she would have seen that I was actually getting smaller and smaller in her rearview. She pedaled for 25 yards on her own, begging me to keep my hands on the bike without realizing ...I wasn't protecting her at all.

“Look, Peanut… you’re doing this on your own!” I screamed -- likely underestimating the scope of the moment.

Parents recognize the moment when their children figure it out, of course. And it’s not the moment they’re jetting down the street on 14" wheels. No—it’s when they stop looking back, when they trust their own strength. It’s the moment they find  balance on their own, without us.

Back to Easter ... This random memory reminded me of the man at the pool in Bethesda (John 5:1-15) and how we underestimate how helplessly, how reluctantly, we wait for someone else to push us forward. Jesus lets go of our metaphorical bike, though, not because He’s abandoned us, but because He knows we’re ready to move.

Jesus Wants Us to Move

Have you ever wrestled with the question, “Do I really want to get well?”—not just physically, but spiritually and emotionally? It sounds so basic, but your answer here has the power to change everything.

Remember, the man had been waiting nearly four decades for healing. Can you imagine how many times he must have felt overlooked or hopeless? Yet Jesus doesn’t ask, “Would you like some relief?” He doesn’t offer medicine or food. He doesn’t pick him up or place him in the pool. Instead, he asks, directly, “Do you want to get well?”

You see, deep healing goes beyond mere comfort. It requires us to leave what feels familiar—even if it’s painful—and step into a future that’s different, perhaps even a bit scary.

The Push You've Been Waiting For

The man at the pool spent 40 years convinced someone else would be responsible for his healing—that someone else needed to lift him, push him, or place him in the water.

Jesus saw it differently.

What if God’s healing isn’t waiting for a perfect moment or a better opportunity? What if He’s already given you everything you need to stand?

My daughter believed she needed me to hold onto the bicycle before she realized that she was already moving forward on her own.

This Easter, don’t wait for someone to push you. Trust. Walk. Move. Jesus has already given us all the direction we need.‍

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Do you have a story of transformation? Do you have a story about getting up to move on your own? We would love to hear it! Click here to contact our team.