I was nine when I got my first bike. Not a new one, not even a decent one. It was a battered motocross bike, five dollars at a garage sale, too big for me and rusted in places that mattered. But it was mine.

One problem: I didn’t know how to ride it.

We found a pair of old training wheels and bolted them on. Suddenly, I could ride—kind of. I could roll, sure. As long as I avoided gravel, sharp turns, or anything remotely unpredictable. The training wheels held me steady, kept me in control. As long as they were on, I didn’t have to risk falling.

Then one afternoon, I came home from school and stopped cold.

My bike stood in the driveway. My dad stood beside it.

The training wheels were gone.

I panicked. “Why would you do that? I’m not ready! Put them back on!”

My dad smiled. “I already threw them away. You don’t need them anymore.”

I was furious. What was he thinking? I wasn’t ready. I was sure I would fall. And I was right—because the second I pushed off, I wobbled, panicked, and crashed onto the pavement, scraping my palm.

“That’s it,” I said, fighting back tears. “I’m never riding this stupid bike again.”

But my dad didn’t budge. “You’ve got this,” he said. “I’ll walk with you.”

At the time, it felt cruel. But looking back, I see it for what it was: compassion. My dad believed in me before I believed in myself.

And later, I’d realize—God works the same way.

For most of us, faith begins with training wheels. We pray simple prayers. We read familiar Bible stories. We hold on to a faith that feels safe and predictable. We like knowing what comes next.

But eventually, God does what my dad did.

He removes the training wheels before we feel ready.

And that’s terrifying.

Training wheels give us the illusion of control. Spiritually, they look like:

But faith isn’t about staying balanced by force. It’s about learning to ride.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” - Joshua 1:9

Just like my dad saw I was ready before I did, God removes our safety nets before we think we can handle it.

Look at scripture:

Not one of them felt “ready.” But God wasn’t asking for readiness.

He was asking for trust.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” - Proverbs 3:5-6

The first time I rode without training wheels, I fell.

Hard.

Faith is no different. When God removes the safety nets, we will struggle. We will doubt. We will wonder if we misheard Him. Maybe He’s calling you to:

We will fall. But falling is not failure. Falling is how we learn balance.

Peter didn’t sink right away. First, he walked. But the moment he took his eyes off Christ—when he saw the waves and fear took over—he began to sink.

“Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him.” - Matthew 14:29-31

When I fell, my dad didn’t say, “See? I told you so.”

He walked beside me. Steadied me. Encouraged me to try again. And after a few more shaky attempts—something happened.

I rode.

God is the same way. He doesn’t push us forward to abandon us—He walks beside us. He sees the bigger picture, even when all we feel is the wobble.

The moment we stop fighting the process—stop clinging to control—faith becomes something new.

Not something terrifying.

Something freeing.

I’ll never forget the moment I finally rode without training wheels.

The wobbles smoothed out. The fear melted away. And suddenly, I wasn’t just riding.

I was flying.

And I realized: Dad was right. I could do this all along.

God wants that moment for us in faith—the moment we realize that what once felt impossible is now second nature. The moment we stop doubting and start trusting.

So maybe you’re in a season where God is removing the training wheels.

What will you do? Cling to control? Or trust that He knows you’re ready?

Maybe He’s pushing you into something new. Something uncertain. Something that feels beyond your ability.

The question isn’t, Are you ready?

The question is, Are you willing to ride?

God’s compassion isn’t about keeping us comfortable. It’s about making us stronger, braver, more faithful than we ever imagined.

So the next time you feel the wobble, the fear—the moment your safety nets disappear—remember who’s walking beside you.

And then, keep pedaling.

Thanks for hanging out,
Pastor Mike