A bicycle for the rest of us#
You may have heard of “the parable of the bicycle”,1 a modern story intended to teach about the atonement of Christ. Briefly, a little girl wants a bicycle. Her father proposes a deal: she saves every penny, and eventually she’ll have enough to buy a bike. A few weeks later, she comes to him and says, “I’ve saved every penny.” He says, “OK, let’s go look at bikes.” She finds the perfect bike, then is overwhelmed when she sees the price tag, probably 100 times what she’s saved. Her dad changes the deal: “You give me all your pennies, and a kiss and a hug, and I’ll pay the rest of the price.”
This story recalls to my mind a time almost 10 years ago.2 My wife noticed I was feeling glum, and asked me about it. I was initially reluctant to share, partly because we were in the van with all the kids, and because the reason was my failure. But I decided I needed help, so why not? “Well, recently I was thinking I needed more help from God, and I was thinking about how He has always promised that because of Jesus’ atonement, all we have to do is what He asks us to do, and He’ll do the rest. He’ll take care of our imperfections and flaws and weakness. So I decided, you know, I’m going to do it.” I clarified, “What I meant was, ‘I’m going to really just take my commitment to the gospel seriously. I’m going to read my scriptures every day, and pray every morning for what Heavenly Father wants me to do, and report back in prayer every night.’ But I only lasted a couple of days! It wasn’t that I wasn’t able, or I forgot, or circumstances made obedience difficult–I mean, I knew I wasn’t going to be perfect–but I realized I didn’t really even want to read scripture that night; I wanted to read a novel or something. And I thought, ‘I have been fooling myself. I don’t even want to be good.’”
My wife didn’t say, “that must be tough”; rather, she said, “Kevin, dear, you have totally misunderstood the atonement. The whole point is to help us when we make a mistake.”
“But I mean, the deal is, God makes up our weaknesses, and all we have to do is just want His help and actually try to follow His commandments. And I apparently can’t even do that.”
We talked a while longer as we drove, and she and the kids seated close enough to hear the conversation tried to offer consolation. They were sure I was missing the point. I wasn’t sure they understood.
Over time I eventually started to see that the Lord’s grace extends to us anytime we turn to Him, not just when we do so perfectly. He is always willing to help us on the journey towards Him even if our steps are stuttering, variable and circuitous. Last week at sacrament meeting, a sister quoted the parable of the bicycle. I realized I needed it written a little differently for my own needs. It would go something like this:
Once upon a time, a little girl asked her father for a bicycle. “OK, honey, you save every penny, and eventually you’ll have enough to buy a bike.” She agreed, and set out eagerly and confidently to start saving every penny. A week or two later, he heard her crying, and asked what was wrong.
“Oh, Dad, I’ll never have enough for a bicycle.”
“I know, dear, they’re so expensive. You just do your best, and I’ll help make up the difference.””
“That’s the problem!” she wailed. “I can’t even do my best.”
The father looked at her quizzically.
“I did great for two whole days,” she explained, “but then I dropped three pennies into the drain when I wasn’t careful enough.”
“Of course, dear. Mistakes happen.”
“But that’s not all,” she sobbed. “The other day, even though I really, really want a bike, I just really wanted candy even more, and I spent ten whole cents to buy a little candy. You know what that means?” Dad shook his head, eyebrows raised. “It means I’m not doing my best. It means I don’t really want a bicycle more than anything in the world.” She cried and cried, and leaned against her father, who was now sitting beside her.
“Listen, sweetheart,” he told her, wiping her tears. “I will always love you, no matter what. And I will always want to help you, whether you are trying your hardest or not. I will even be willing to help you when you are mad at me for wanting to help, or mad at me for saying you have to contribute if you want a bike. Let’s just see what we can do to help you from where you’re at right now. Maybe you’re ten or fifteen cents behind where you would have been. Maybe you have lost sight of your bicycle goal from time to time. But right now you want the bike, and I can work with that.” He gave her a big hug, and over the next few minutes they talked about solutions. He suggested they put a picture of the bicycle over her piggy bank, he volunteered to praise her whenever she told him she’d contributed to her bicycle fund, and he found a quarter in his pocket that he donated to the cause. “Next time you feel like you’ve let yourself down on your bicycle goal, or like you’re never going to get there, you come to me, and I’ll be there to help. Deal?”
She nodded, smiled, and gave her dad a big hug.
It’s finally sinking in that our loving Heavenly Father will do even better than the dad in this modified bicycle story. He plays by the rules He’s set out, and He sets standards, but He will always want to help us no matter where we are or where we’ve been … because He loves us, and wants us to come back home to Him.