At sixty‑one, Mark realized he hadn’t ridden a bike in over four decades. His grandkids begged him to join their weekend rides, but the idea of wobbling down the street terrified him. One article about exercise helping brain and heart health finally nudged him off the couch.
Early one Saturday, he borrowed an old bike, tightened the helmet strap, and pushed off. The first attempt ended with him stepping off awkwardly, heart racing. On the second try, he rode a little farther before tipping into the grass.
Instead of cursing, he surprised himself by laughing. “Guess my pride bruises easier than my knees,” he joked. His grandkids cheered from the driveway, shouting, “You almost had it, Grandpa!”
By the fourth weekend, Mark could circle the block. Each shaky turn felt like a sermon: balance isn’t about never leaning; it’s about correcting gently before you fall.
He realized the same thing about faith and aging. You don’t stop living because you’re older; you learn to navigate fear with humility. Falling wasn’t evidence he was too old; it was proof he was still trying new things.
“Every time I catch myself before a spill,” he told his daughter, “I remember God’s rescued me from much worse.”
Now, when the family rides together, Mark leads the pack for a few seconds—not to show off, but to celebrate that staying in motion is its own kind of miracle.