Peace Amid the Dangers and Detours

I will be with you when you go through deep waters and great trouble. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown! When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up—the flames will not consume you…  Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.  Isaiah 43:2,5a

The sun warmed my shoulders as I pedaled, and the lake to our left glittered like glass. Prairie dog heads were popping up like Whack-a-Moles in the field to our left. The trail stretched ahead, smooth and welcoming. It was our first bike ride of the season, and everything about it whispered peace.

No eagles today, but a pelican glided overhead like a sail, and the snow-dusted peaks stood in quiet watch. It felt like God had painted the morning just for us. For me, riding isn’t just exercise. It’s where I hear God best—when my legs burn and the world falls quiet around me. But not every ride is calm.

I recalled a biking adventure with a few friends on a new-to-me trail snaking behind a local neighborhood. At first, it was serene—light filtering through a canopy of trees, circulating pedals pushing me forward, as we laughed. Then, a loud mechanical roar shattered the calm. We rounded a bend and saw a figure in a bright vest waving both arms.

“Stop!” he called out. “Wood chips flying up ahead—can’t let anyone through till it’s clear.”

We waited, and patience waned as we looked at our watches. Finally, it was clear and we moved forward, more alert now.

We passed a lean-to, slouched against a tree, surrounded by garbage bags and forgotten belongings. Then, a flicker of red and blue light. A police car idled near the trail.

“There’s been a report,” the officer told us. “We’re looking for someone. Domestic violence suspect. If you see a man in jeans, call 911.”

We glanced at one another, unsure whether to turn back or press on. We rode on, slower now.  Around the next bend, I saw movement—a large, dark, lumbering animal. I slowed, phone in hand, ready to snap a photo.

Behind me, a friend’s voice sliced through the quiet: “Peg! That’s not a dog—it’s a bear!” I froze.

A bear ambled along the path just ahead, not ten yards away. We stopped, hearts racing, and quickly detoured in the opposite direction. Other riders and walkers had taken the alternate path as well. One of them exclaimed, “She had cubs, two of them; we just saw them up the hill.”

Lessons in the Chaos

My friend’s voice—her warning—echoed in my mind. Our peaceful ride had turned into something else entirely. But here’s what stayed with me:

God had been on the trail long before I was. He was in the calm, yes—but He was also in the chaos. In the warning voice. In the detour. In the waiting.

Some days begin like that ride—smooth, familiar, even beautiful. And then, out of nowhere: noise, waiting, warnings, fear. Detours you didn’t plan for. But just as we made it back to our cars safely, hearts full of adrenaline and awe, I was reminded: God knew every bend in the trail before we did. He was there when the trees arched overhead, and the path got messy and uncertain: we weren’t alone. And neither are you.

God doesn’t just meet us in the mountaintop moments. He walks us through the messy middle—the chipped-up trails, flashing lights, and unexpected turns.

We may be surprised, but God never is.

 

Dear Lord,

Thank you for going ahead of me on every smooth or uncertain path. When I’m met with delays, detours, or danger, remind me that You are not surprised. Help me trust Your voice, listen for Your warnings, and follow Your lead. Teach me to see Your presence not just in the peaceful moments but also in the places where I feel afraid or unsure.

Guide my steps today, and give me the courage to ride on, knowing You are with me.

Amen.