The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom should I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—whom should I dread? ~Psalm 27:1
In May 1967 my college roommate Steve Oldham and I packed up our ten-speed Schwinn Super Sport bicycles, drove to Chicago from our university in Indiana, and flew to San Francisco. There we met up with thirty-eight college classmates and set out to ride our bikes to New York City.
Our first day on the road started like a party. The press was there taking photos of our group, with the Golden Gate Bridge providing a spectacular backdrop. As our police motorcycle escort whisked us through the cities of San Francisco and Oakland, we college men felt like Olympic marathoners, entering the stadium for the final two laps. Unfortunately, we had four thousand miles to go.
On our way to Walnut Creek, California, directly out of Oakland, we headed north on St. Mary’s Road—the county tricked us into using this road by giving it a gentle, pious-sounding name. How could they? In only a few miles, we went from sea level to an altitude of almost two thousand feet. A sense of panic swept over me like a bad case of the flu. What am I doing? The thought rolled around my mind like a hamster on his wheel.
I kept checking to see if my tires were flat. This must be what it’s like to jog in waist- deep molasses, I thought. My legs and chest felt as though they were about to burst into flames. Have you ever had that feeling?
But a sensation even more painful than my aching legs and burning lungs began to overwhelm me—sheer terror. The fact that I had signed up for this trip and had thirty-nine more days to go created the most intense sense of panic that I could ever describe to you. I deeply regretted ever agreeing to do such a foolish thing, and frankly, I wanted to go home to my parents in Chicago immediately.
I finished the first day having had little conversation with my riding colleagues. Over military-grade metal bowls of stew that night, some of the guys were jostling each other about being out of shape. Others were joking about their sore rear ends. I sat silently on the perimeter, filled with unspeakable dread. I was all alone, on the edge of tears, old enough to hold them back. None of my friends knew what I was feeling.
But in the middle of that first night, lying on my air mattress and trying to quiet my throbbing muscles, something came to my mind. It washed over me like a cool drink on a hot day: “The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom should I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—whom should I dread?” (v. 1).
That’s it, I whispered over the sound of my slumbering buddies. The Lord. The stronghold. No fear. It’s no exaggeration to say that this moment changed my life. That promise, seared into my heart like a hissing rancher’s brand, became my hope in the face of total desperation.
Thank you, heavenly Father, I sighed. Six weeks later a grown-up young man landed on the banks of the Hudson River. And now more than five decades later, I still cling to these precious words as my life’s verse. Perhaps this promise fits today’s overwhelming challenges for you: the Lord . . . the stronghold . . . no fear. Take them. They’re all yours.