Catching the Wind
When the noise of the road fades and the thrill of the mission wears off, you realize you were never riding alone — you were being carried by a grace you hadn’t yet learned to see.
The Ascent
The front tire felt light — too light. It was 11:00 PM on a jagged side road in the Smoky Mountains, and I was on an old, broken-ass machine that was fighting me every inch of the way. To my left, the world disappeared into a black abyss. To my right, the mountain wall was a cold, silent witness.
The elevation was steep enough that I felt like the bike was going to loop backward, and I had a passenger on the back. That weight was the only thing keeping me grounded and terrified all at once. I was a new rider. I was exhausted. I had nothing left in the tank but grit.
I thought I was the hero. I was out there “riding for the kids,” thinking my mission made me righteous. But the truth was, back home, there was a hole in the story. My daughter wasn’t on the bike. There wasn’t room for her. The more I chased the wind and the “mission,” the more she got left behind. And the more I left her behind, the angrier she got — and her anger just made me want to ride further away. It was a cycle of noise I couldn’t outrun, even at eighty miles an hour.
The 37-Degree Rain
I remember the Twin Cities, merging onto the highway in that 37-degree rain. That was my very first ride for “the kids.” I thought the cold was coming from the sky, but now I see the irony of it all — as I was out there freezing in that rain for a group of strangers, that was the first time the coldness really set into my daughter’s heart.
I was so focused on being “tough” and “doing good” for others that I missed the person standing right in my own hallway. But I was riding on a secret inheritance. My mother had been gone for years, but she was the wind at my back. I wasn’t praying for myself — I was too busy being “badass” — but she had banked years of prayers for me before she left. It wasn’t my “skills” keeping that bike upright; it was her courage, passed down like a baton, and a Grace that was holding the handlebars while I was blinded by the dark.
The Embrace at the Summit
When I finally crested the summit of that Smoky Mountain and rolled into the rough, dark campground at the top, I was done. I couldn’t even kick the stand down. But then the “mission” changed. My brothers and sisters — riders who knew the weight of the road — came running out of the darkness. They didn’t ask if I was perfect. They just grabbed the bike, stowed the gear, and pulled me into an embrace that said, “You’re home.”
I sat by a fire until noon the next day, watching the “smoke” rise off the peaks — that white fog breathing off the earth. In that grandeur, the partying felt small. The noise felt empty. I saw the grandeur of God, but I hadn’t yet seen the truth of my own home.
The Hard Silence
The bike is in the shed now, and the radio is finally off. But the silence I found isn’t the clean, peaceful stillness I’d hoped for. It’s a hard, empty space.
When the “heavy metal thunder” stopped, I was left standing in that hallway, finally ready to tend the garden. But when I looked up, she was gone. The anger she carried didn’t vanish just because I finally decided to listen. It forged her own path. She is out there now, on her own hard journey, “doing it herself,” convinced she doesn’t need anyone.
The irony is a weight that doesn’t just lighten. My mission kept me away, and now her mission is carrying her away on its own currents. I had hoped she would come home to stay, but the wind took her.
The Final Clarity
My eyes have been cleared not by a hero’s welcome, but by the truth. For the first time, I can see my life for exactly what it was — a series of miles where I thought I was solo, but was actually being carried by the prayers my own mother left behind.
And that is where my clarity finally lands. I can’t chase her down the highway, and I can’t force her off her hard path. The only path left for this mother is to do what was once done for me: to bank the prayers for her.
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I’m putting those prayers in the bank today, day after day, mile after mile. When she is blinded by the dark on her own jagged roads, when she thinks she’s riding solo and trying to be “tough,” those prayers will be the silent grace holding her handlebars. I am no longer trying to catch the wind; I am standing in the Stillness, quietly passing down the inheritance.
“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” — Ezekiel 36:26
Heavenly Father,
I come to You today with the noise finally silenced, but with the heavy echo of an empty seat. For so long, I fired all my guns, trying to explode into a space where I didn’t have to feel the cold. I see now that while I was chasing Your wind, my daughter took to her own custom path.
Lord, I accept that I cannot ride this road for her. But just as my mother banked years of prayers for me before she left — prayers that kept me upright when I was too blind to see — I place my daughter into Your hands today.
I am praying every prayer, every tear, and every ounce of love for her future. Let those prayers be the wind at her back. Hold her handlebars when the elevation gets steep and the road gets dark.
I give You the heavy metal thunder, I take Your grace, and I trust You to guard the path she is on.
Amen.
The Journey
I’m sharing this updated truth because you might be on your own “broken-ass” bike right now, or you might be standing in an empty hallway wondering if it’s too late.
It’s okay to walk your own journey. You don’t have to be perfect to be protected, and you don’t have to be standing next to someone to cover them in grace. If you can’t reach them on the road, start banking the prayers. Pass down the secret inheritance.
We all head toward the same destination, but the route is custom-built for every individual. Your journey is shaped by your own unique silences, loves, and detours, but on this road, under His care, no one is ever truly lost.
What a Ride,
Author’s Note: This is a deeply personal part of my life that I have held in confidence for a long time — a story I simply didn’t talk about. But to no longer carry a burden, it must be put down. God gave me a calling I never could have dreamed of — one of His unexpected answers — to do just that. He has set me on a new path, one where I no longer have to carry these heavy burdens alone. With His love, and through the technology of AI writing assistance to help me find the words, I am finally able to lay that weight down and share my story.
Thank you, Telly
Catching the Wind: Finding Faith and Freedom Beyond the Road
A personal reflection on motorcycle travel, faith, and maternal love. Telly explores how chasing purpose on the open highway cost precious time at home, and how putting the bike away led to a powerful realization: when you can no longer guide your child’s path, the greatest gift left is to bank prayers for them just as a mother’s grace once did.
