Last Saturday, as I approached the 85th and Wornall intersection, I saw that the Bikers for Babies were out again, collecting for the March of Dimes. There was some kind of biker rally at the Speedway last Sunday, an annual event to support MOD as well. The bikers that collect at that corner every once in a while are not weekend wanna-be bikes---they're the kind that ride huge bikes, the men burly, and long haired, with faces that look like they've been in a fight or two, and the women with husky smoker's voices, leather jackets, with no pink helmets allowed. I give them something monetarily, when I see this particular bunch out with their helmets in hand collecting for babies in need. It is a very neat paradox that I am gleeful about each time I see it.
Friends, paradoxes (or is it, pardoxi?) and I are close travelers. And in my best time, I rejoice. John Michael Talbot, on a song entitled The Mystery from one of his early albums The Painter sings:
Could you be finding the mystery you have been looking for?
The Kingdom where servants come to be kings, are you looking for?
And you'll know that the sweet paradoxes unfold
The mystery will be shown and you'll know
Jesus, paint my life, Jesus paint my life...
Times come when the paradox is so very real, and truth is born. When sadness arises, and joy sprinkled with tears live inside the same soul or when the deep heartache of loneliness and the sweetness of that pain, truth that it is, abide together---that is when the sweet paradoxes do unfold and paint our lives with mystery and we know that beyond the Precious Moments moppet figurine faith that surrounds us, lies the paradox of empty and full, of lasts and firsts, of large and small.
Bikers and babies, paradox and mystery--real, true.
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