Driving north on Sooner Rd. to our state’s first capital, my husband and I were embarking on a morning journey before our youngest would be released from school. Short on time alone, we got an early start. Only this time, we were cruising on his newly purchased motorcycle, allowing the wind to flow right past our helmeted heads. It was a breath of fresh air to see older homes away from the city that held true to their country roots. A couple of farms and horse training ranches were in plain view. It was quite a sight for my baby blues to withhold and also equally touching to the deepest part of my heart. Almost as if I was being called back home. Odd to me since I’ve never lived as a country girl. We made our way into the quaint, little town of Guthrie, Oklahoma. Our eyes were peeled for Katie’s Diner, hoping to get some much-needed home cookin’ for our breakfast. Indeed we did. The older woman who served us had a charm about her…the kind your parents would say is lacking from our self-cenetered society today. Filling our coffee cups before we asked, warming the syrup for us before we smothered our buttermilk pancakes with it, and even throwing in a “honey” and “sugar” as she addressed us. It was a perfect morning in a perfect setting with my best friend. We made our way back the same way we got there. The road was a less traveled one so few cars were on it. There were, however, a few bikers that decided to take the route that morning. And as we passed each biker, I noticed something. They waved at my husband. Oh, not the kind of Forrest Gump wave where you put your hand on your hip and throw the other hand in the air. No, it was a subtle flick of the wrist just south of the handlebars that said, “Hey, I’ve got your back.” And I believe they do. I was amazed that all of the bikers that morning “waved” at my husband. It didn’t matter if they rode a Honda Goldwing, a Yamaha, or a Harley Davidson. They waved. It didn’t matter if they were black or white. They waved. It didn’t matter if they were a Democrat or a Republican. They waved. It didn’t matter if they went to church and had a faith in God or hadn’t darkened the door of God’s house in years. They waved. And I got to thinking how amazing their camaraderie, their brotherhood is. Not perfect, by any means, but still, a tried and true association of like-minded people who enjoy the open road. I couldn’t help but to compare that to the Church. As quickly as I was moved by these Bikers, I was saddened that those of us who call ourselves Christians often attack our own. We see a person out in town wearing a shirt they got from their church and instead of running up to them in an I am so glad we’re both loving Jesus manner, we turn up our nose. Because after all, so and so left our church for theirs. And their church did an event that took people away from ours. And their church doesn’t do things the way we do. And their church doesn’t know anything about worshipping Jesus. And their pastor waters down the gospel. See what I mean? My husband told me that every single time he’s ridden a motorcycle in his life, he’s always gotten the wave. He said not once, NOT ONCE has he not gotten it. I don’t know about you, but I’m thinkin’ we can learn something from bikers.