In the early 70’s, 9 of us took a mission trip to Penasco, NM, just outside of Taos. One Saturday afternoon, the local lady, Laura, who set up the trip came by with a six pack of beer to relax with us.  She offered a beer to one of the group, who graciously declined. As did the next. And the next.

With each, Laura seemed to take the decline as rejection; you could see her shrink within herself. Back in the legalistic day, Christians didn’t drink. Shouldn’t drink. Couldn’t drink, and still be viewed as a good Christian. And, many of our group genuinely didn’t indulge out of preference, not legalism. But Laura didn’t seem to make that distinction.

I did indulge, but didn’t feel the urge then. But I popped out, “Laura, I’d love one.”

Snick. With the push of a button, the garage door descended. Snick. With another button, my new acquisition, a 2005 Honda ST1300, purred into life.  By day’s end, we rode 340 miles through the mountains and valleys and beaches, the ranches and farms and cities of Ventura and Kern Counties. But now all of us lay face down, kissing concrete, with multiple pistols pointed at our heads, with tense faces behind them.