Heat

June 18, 2018

Even the breeze was stifling. Saturday, my friend Bill rode his Anniversary Edition Harley from Rochester to join me and a dozen others from the area in a bike blessing and ride. It was a good day, with a pleasant ride around Chautauqua Lake followed by lunch overlooking the water in Bemus Point. Bill stayed overnight to join us for Father’s Day, leaving for home around five in the afternoon. Later he texted me, telling me that he had made it home from his visit, adding that with the heat, it was like riding in a blast furnace.

The only ride I got in yesterday was in the morning, driving to church in Dunkirk. The cool of the night hadn’t completely worn off, so it was a pleasant ride. Today was another story. Even going the back way up Shumla Road, which winds through the woods alongside a creek, there were pockets of heat that assaulted the senses as I rode. Bill’s description was right; it was like riding through a furnace.

I am not a heat person. I do better in the shade or in springtime or autumn cool than baking in the summer sun. It’s just another way Linda and I are different. I am amazed that I handle the Cuban summers as well as I do, but here, I wither in the heat. I am grateful that I don’t have to labor in the glare of the noonday summer sun, and for the break in the weather that will soon come. It is unimaginable to me how slaves managed to survive, working in the South and in the Caribbean heat as they did. I am among the privileged few in human history. I haven’t been forced to labor in tropical heat or frozen gulag. I haven’t been displaced by war, and haven’t had to live behind barred windows and locked doors. We don’t have air conditioning in our house, but the trees and a fan or two make the heat bearable. And tonight, I will lay down in peace and safety, in good health, and in the sure knowledge of the grace of Christ in my life. I am a blessed man, and a thankful one, too.