This was my first sermon preached at First Unitarian in Portland on Oct. 14, 2012.

When I was around five years old, I got a shiny, new bike with training wheels. One day, if I am remembering this correctly, I decided I’d had enough of the training wheels, and I had the babysitter take them off. I remember crying through that day. I remember I kept banging my ankles on the chain guard. I remember falling off – bang on to the asphalt – and scraping my knees. I remember my shins getting scraped up too. I remember every time I hit my ankles or knees more than a few times. Ouch. And what I remember is that on that day, I learned to ride.

Today, just a bit on the other side of the freeway, as you go over the bridge into NW Portland, there is a little hill I ride down. I think it’s Jefferson Street. I think I reach a top speed of  25 mph on my bike. I always feel exhilarated flying down that hill.
But I also know, every time I ride down it, that I could fall, and if I did, I could get really, really hurt. (Here I have to pause and say, because I’m superstitious and because my partner is here, that I am not going to fall going down that hill. Ever. And I’m going to knock on wood for good measure.) My thrill as I fly down that hill, usually in as aerodynamic position as I can get, is directly tied to my 5-year-old self. I can never not be that little girl with the banged-up knees and shins and ankles.

We all have stories like this, about our bumps and bruises. Some of those bruises we expected, maybe from the result of us stretching and growing in some way. Some bumps, though, we did not expect. To embrace life leaves us open to being hurt. We are glorious, beautiful, wounded beings. Read more