The Motorcycle

            

        

My earliest memory of the Holy Spirit dates back to when I was about six years old. My father pastored a church with a large brick marquee out front, and the parsonage was located behind the church. A dirt path, once used as a shortcut for cars, ran between the church property and our neighbors' yard. The elderly gentleman next door had erected two large wooden posts with a heavy chain between them to block traffic on the path. I often used this path to get to the marquee, which I loved to climb; I was a bit of a tomboy. A thick pipe jutted out of the ground, bent horizontally for about a foot, then re-entered the ground, creating a perfect step up to the top of the church sign. I had played there many times before, but one day, I heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching. I wasn't typically afraid of motorcycles, but this one caught my attention. I saw it in the distance, heading my way. The driver was dressed entirely in black with a full helmet. I couldn't take my eyes off him, even though he was still far away. I felt a sense of unease in my spirit, something I don't think I had ever experienced before. Then, as he continued down the road, I had a vivid mental image of the motorcycle entering the stone parking lot and heading straight toward me.

The vision ended abruptly. My heart raced as I tried to convince myself he wouldn't do it, but he came closer and closer, nearing the entrance of the church parking lot. Scared, yet mostly certain he would drive right by, I watched him intently, imagining I would laugh at myself afterward and resume playing. Instead, my heart felt as if it stopped as my vision unfolded in precise detail before my eyes. Frozen, unsure of what to do or what he wanted, I watched him come around the marquee and circle it in the grass several times, revving his engine repeatedly. By this point, I was standing straight, watching him and timing his passes. Silly as it seems, all those hours playing "Frogger" on my Atari helped me calculate exactly when to jump back onto the ground and run. As soon as he passed the pipe and his back was to me, I jumped and ran as fast as I could toward the chained alley. I could hear the motorcycle making its final lap around the sign. Too frightened to look back, I feared he would try to circle the other side of the church to intercept me. Frantically, I ran down the dirt path, then across the lawn between the church and parsonage, before slamming into the front door of our house. I hadn't heard him coming, but I was shaking as I opened the door and disappeared under my bed. Once my heart slowed and my body recovered from the running, I climbed into bed and fell asleep, exhausted. When I awoke, I told my mother what happened, but she dismissed it, probably as a tall tale or exaggeration. Who would believe a motorcycle came onto church property, into the grass, and circled around a young girl playing? Was he just trying to scare me? Or worse? I started to question if it had really happened, though it felt so real. My legs felt like noodles all evening, and I never played on the sign again. I didn't understand how I could have seen him coming before it actually happened, and I never told my mother about the vision. If she didn't believe me about the motorcycle, she certainly wouldn't believe that.

The Holy Spirit spoke to me that day, though I didn't understand it at the time. Now I believe I was saved from something terrible, most likely a kidnapping. Sadly, over the years, I've ignored warnings from the Holy Spirit regarding things like flat tires and marriages. I'm embarrassed to admit that I have more experience ignoring the Holy Spirit than listening. But just last week, I suddenly remembered that I hadn't had an oil change in a long time. It felt like the Holy Spirit speaking to me, and this time, I wanted to listen. I checked the dipstick and found it bone dry. I poured in a quart just to get by and prayed that God would keep my car running until I could get an oil change. I knew it wasn't enough, but it was all I had. When I took it in a few days later, all three men behind the counter were shocked that my car was still running without any oil. I praised Jesus for saving me a lot of money because I couldn't afford a new car or engine. It may have taken over forty years, but it felt good to finally get it right. I pay better attention these days. So many people talk about the Holy Spirit without recognizing Him for who He is. They say, "A little voice told me." Well, it was a voice, all right—not little and not your own. That is the Holy Spirit, and you would be wise to listen. Ignoring the Holy Spirit is like eating soup with a fork; it's much harder than it needs to be. Take my advice and grab a spoonful of the Holy Spirit, inviting Him into every part of your life. He is our comforter and hope for the future. Read Acts 16:1-10 to see how the Holy Spirit guided Paul away from certain cities to where he needed to go. The Holy Spirit continues to guide each of us in the same way. We just have to be willing to listen.

Joel 2: 28-29 "And afterwards, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions. Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days."

John 16:13

“When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth. He will not speak on his own but tell you what he has heard. He will tell you about the future.”

Romans 15:13

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.”

Updated 1/17/26