|
So, miserable and wet, I stood in the rain at the base of a large hill like a drowned rat with my broken-down bicycle on my shoulder and all my belongings on my back. I had my thumb out, hoping in vain that someone might pick me up. Miraculously, someone did. His family fed me, put me up for the night, dried my clothes, and gave me a good breakfast the next morning. What truly made this a miracle, though, was the town was I happened to end up in and what my benefactor happened to do for a living. The town was home to a Schwinn bicycle factory, and the man who picked me up worked there as a bike mechanic. When things like this happen you just gotta believe God’s hand moves in our lives. Even this morning, as I write this, I have just seen His hand provide for me in a time of need. Thank you, Lord. A bicycle is a toy of a sort, a recreational activity. It is a kind of play, I suppose, riding the 3800 miles, as I did, from Carolina to California. Children and adults do share this one form of play, among a few others. So that is how this story relates to the toy industry, and this blog. Fair enough? Fair dinkum? It may be a bit of a stretch, but I beg your indulgence. Please file all complaints in the circular file in the corner.
|
