Those great old wooden roller coasters that shook and rattled and sounded like a train roaring around the track, they were the best. Nothing fancy, up the hill, then down the hill, around the sharp curve, up another hill and down an even bigger drop - your stomach dropping to your toes, your eyes squeezed shut. That was a ride. Even when you knew what was coming it scared you to death. If you were really brave you rode in the very first car in the front. Nothing between you and that drop except air. Mostly I rode in the middle, too chicken for the first or the last car. I liked that sense of safety, people in front of me, people behind me. Figured if anything happened I could prepare - don't ask me how. There was always that little edge of uncertainty as you pulled down the safety bar, would it hold, would the track break, would you survive.? I still get that feeling when a plane takes off - not overwhelming but there like a small reminder of how little in life is in my control. Most times you take the ride and roll into the station safe and sound. And sometimes not, the unexpected but anticipated bad thing happens and you hold on for dear life and hope it will be ok.
Every roller coaster ride was a challenge, a dare, hoping against hope that the ride would end safely and easily. And if you were really in the mood for daring you would stay in your seat and nod to the guy that you were going around again. Most times you could, if the lines weren't long, but sometimes you had to give your seat up and go to the back of the line and the little nagging dread would worry through your brain as you made your way back to the front of the line and into your seat. Pull down the bar, hold on, close your eyes, and before you reached the top of the first hill, letting go and letting God. Throwing your arms up in the air and screaming out loud. What a ride!
And so life goes, up and down, over and around. There are the slow climbs and the sharp, scary drops, the thrills and the scary stuff. Waiting in line for the next train out of the station and praying for a safe return. After a while it all seems so normal, so regular. You hardly even notice the bumps. That nagging dread only little and short lived as you hold on, close your eyes, let go, and let God. And when the end comes you only hope you can say with a smile, "What a ride!"
