Testimony, Part 2 - 1974

Hwy 730, Wallula Gap

As I said in Part 1, the summer of 1974 represented a major shift in the direction my life was heading. My mother was, by then, in her early 50s and my sisters were grown up, moved out of state and starting families of their own. While Mom and I  were visiting my aunt on a very warm day in June, Mom began to feel ill. It turned out she was having a heart attack and would be out of commission for some time. The decision was made to send me to Oregon to stay with my sister for the remainder of the summer.

My sister and brother in law were renting a house just outside of Pendleton. It was an older house with a huge front yard and hills in the back for me to explore. There were railroad tracks nearby with trains rolling by a couple times every day. Whenever I heard a train coming, I'd run out to wave at the engineer in the locomotive and the conductor in the caboose. 

My brother in law drove a chip truck and he frequently took me along with him on his runs. We would drive over a mountain pass to a lumber mill, pick up a load of chips and haul them to a paper mill in Washington. The road to the paper mill passed through the Wallula Gap which is situated on the Oregon/Washington border along the Columbia River. Towering basalt cliffs carved by  eons of erosion created majestic spires and columns that still inspire awe in me to this day.

About halfway through the summer, my mother, who had been recuperating, suffered a set back. It was decided that my move to Oregon should be permanent. The news didn't bother me at first because homesickness hadn't settled in yet.

Almost every Sunday, we went to church but despite our involvement in church, conflict ruled at home. Of course, when youth camp came up, I was interested in going and getting away from the fighting and bickering. Fortunately, there was a spot available for me so I rode with the pastor and his family up to the camp. The spirit of the Lord was definitely there, especially during the evening meetings. By this time, I was understanding sin a little better; I knew I needed to stop sinning. I remember hearing how Jesus took the punishment for my sin and He would give me strength to live the way I should. During one of the final nights of camp, I went forward at the invitation and a counselor shared how I could receive Christ as my savior. All I had to do was pray with him. I was still confused about what all of this meant but I knew I needed to do something about my sin. While we were praying, my desire not to go back home welled up and I became very emotional. Perhaps taking care of my sins that night might make things better once I got back, or so was my reasoning. After camp, little changed, except the conflict at home got worse. 

I started the fifth grade in September, but with the increasing conflict at home and homesickness for California settling in, focusing on my studies became nearly impossible. In October, my sister made the decision to leave her husband. She moved my nephew and I out of that house in the country and into what could only be described as Pendleton's version of "the projects". 

Testimony, Part 1

Second grade portrait, Fall 1971.

In Ecclesiastes 3:11, Solomon declared, 

"Everything is appropriate in its own time. But though God has planted eternity in the hearts of men, even so, many cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end."

This verse very aptly describes my early life. As I look back and recount how God has led me to Himsef, I do not recall a time when anyone had to explain God to me; He planted eternity in my heart.  I remember always being able to grasp His omnipresence (everywhere at once) and His eternal nature. Of course, there were other things I had yet to learn but that is what my testimony is: God has been always been faithfully guiding me even when I was on a path of destruction.

My father passed away a couple weeks after I was born. Soon after, my mother moved my two teenage sisters and me to a suburban neighborhood near Los Angeles. Ours was not an overtly religious family. Besides incidental discussions touching on spiritual mattters such as, "Where is MY dad?" "He's in Heaven, dear..." or talking with my sister about God being everywhere at once, there was little else in my life instructing me in God's ways. Yet, I instinctively knew God was good and He was always there.  I do recall my grandfather went to church and he took it quite seriously. He always insisted the family gather for Easter and Thanksgiving. I remember meeting for Easter dinner once when I asked my sister why we were gathered and why Grandpa prayed at the start of the meal. She relayed the Easter story to me, telling me about this super neat guy, Jesus, who was murdered by some bad guys but  fortunately, He came back to life, and that's why we celebrate Easter. I was sad that Jesus was murdered but I was glad He rose again.

While I was in first grade, I learned that my school bus driver also drove a church bus. It seemed natural to me to ride that bus too. I was taken to a church where they had a very active children's ministry. This is where I first heard the gospel. They spoke of Jesus dying for my sins and showed that famous picture of Him knocking on a door in the midst of a beautiful garden. As they showed the picture, they sang a chorus along the lines of, "won't you let Him into your heart?" All this confused me. What did they mean, "Jesus died for my sins?" How do I let Him "into my heart?" I looked inside my shirt wondering if my insides looked anything like that picture. Mind you, I  could ponder God's eternal nature but I couldn't get my mind around Jesus paying for my sins or coming into my heart.

I suppose me not being able to understand  the gospel was because I really didn't know what sin was. I knew if I did something I wasn't supposed to, that was called sin. I also knew I did bad things or at least things I got in trouble for but I had little or no conscience when it came to sin. The only exception to this was stealing. I remember once, stealing coins from my mother's purse then becoming extremely convicted. That was the first time I can recall my conscience truly bothering me. It was a start.

That was pretty much the tone of my spiritual life until the summer of 1974. Life took a major shift for me that summer. The next ten years had the greatest impact on me and deserves its own post. 

Peace and grace to all.

Arnold.

A Little About Me.

Angela and me riding in the 2021 Veterans Day Parade in Lewiston.

As I said in my introduction, my name is Arnold. I have been a Christian since 1981. (I'll be posting my full testimony soon.) I've been married to a high school friend, Angela, for nearly 17 years. Angela and I live in Clarkston, Washington. When people who aren't familiar with the area ask where Clarkston is, I ask, "You know where Seattle is?" They say, "Yes." I say, "Clarkston is nowhere near Seattle." Clarkston is almost as far from Seattle as you can get and still be in Washington.  I am currently employed as a school bus driver for the school district in Lewiston, Idaho. That should give a clue where Clarkston is. Angela and I attend the Calvary Chapel in Lewiston.

I began riding my own motorcycles eight years ago at the age of 49, going on 50. A family member once asked me if this was a midlife crisis thing. I said, "You [better believe] it is!" The truth is, I was introduced to riding by a "Big Brother" when I was 9 years old. He'd take me for rides on his motorcycle and I fell in love with riding and have wanted to ride ever since. I did a little here and there over the years but finally took the plunge, buying my first bike, a 1989 Yamaha Virago 250 "Route 66", in 2014. My next bike was a 2012 Harley Davidson Sportster 883 XL. I bought my current bike, a 2003 Honda Goldwing GL 1800 on orders from Angela. 😉

I currently serve as Chapter President of the Lewiston Clarkston Gospel Riders #113, a chapter of the Christian Motorcyclist Association. Our chapter is the oldest continuous chapter in Idaho. I consider myself blessed to serve in a chapter with such a rich history in the ranks of CMA. Of course, I'll be writing more about that in future posts as well.

That is enough for now. Unless I am led to do otherwise, I believe I'll be sharing my testimony over the next few posts. 

Blessings.

Introduction

Hi. I'm Arnold. I've been a born-again believer for 40+ years and a serious student of the Word for much of that time. Riding motorcycles has been a desire of mine for most of my life but never became a reality until about eight years ago. I didn't want my desire to ride and my desire to be a student of the Word to conflict so, I joined the Christian Motorcyclist Association. Little did I realize that joining CMA would light a fire in me and both desires would become united: As a member of CMA, my riding has become one of my main outlets of ministry. It's a complicated story which is why I decided to start a blog. I would like to journal my experiences as both a student of the Word and a rider. I'm sure I'm not the only one doing this, hence the name, Another Rider's Perspective. So, I invite you, Dear Reader, to "ride" with me on this journey.