The White Bike on the Corner

“There’s a white bike tied to a pole on the corner near our home…”

You don’t notice it unless you’re really looking — and even then it takes a moment for your heart to understand what it means. But once you know, you don’t forget.

I didn’t understand at first. I had driven past it several times on my bike, just a flash of white in my peripheral vision. But one evening, as I rolled by a little slower, I noticed a small candle flickering underneath it — a quiet flame, a memory someone didn’t want the city to forget.

And that’s when it hit me:

something tragic happened here.

That simple realization slowed me down — not just physically, but spiritually. I found myself thinking about the thin line between ordinary days and eternal destinations. The space between a normal bike ride… and the moment a soul steps into forever.

A Conversation That Hasn’t Happened… Yet

A few weekends ago, I met up with a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. We were just catching up, talking about town life and familiar things. He brought up the bicycle culture here — the groups, the lanes, the riders everywhere.

Without planning to, I mentioned the white bike on the corner.

He hadn’t seen it.

He asked — almost casually — why someone would paint a bike entirely white and chain it to a pole.

I told him how I wondered the same thing until I saw the candle glowing under the frame.

He paused.

“So someone got hit and killed there?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “That’s what I’m assuming too.”

Something opened inside me. Words rose before I could prepare them.

“You know… I’m grateful for 1 John 5:13.”

He looked at me. “What’s that verse?”

And there I was — standing in an ordinary moment, being given an opportunity to talk about eternal certainty.

I told him John was speaking about the possibility of actually knowing — really knowing — what happens the moment life ends.

And I said, “I can’t imagine living or riding a bike thinking every ride could end in a destination I know nothing about.”

We didn’t go further. No Romans Road.

No prayer.

No pressure.

Just a seed.

A quiet one.

But a real one.

And here’s the truth:

I haven’t actually had that conversation with my friend Bojan. Not yet.

But I think about it often.

Sometimes imagined conversations prepare us for the real ones God will give.

And those potential moments — held in our hearts — can become the tools God uses to escort people gently toward Christ.

The Ministry We Carry Without Realizing

Every time I pass that white bike, I feel the weight of what it represents. Not just the tragedy of a life cut short, but the urgency of every soul around me.

Paul wrote that God has given us “the ministry of reconciliation” (2 Corinthians 5).

That phrase humbles me every time.

God has entrusted ordinary people — people like me, like you — with the message that heals the distance between God and humanity.

We’re not spectators.

We’re not volunteers.

We are ambassadors.

And yet almost all of this ministry happens in the in-between places:

street corners, coffee shops, grocery lines, late-night messages, ordinary moments between friends.

I’ve learned something else along the way — something witnessing Christians rarely talk about:

Most people don’t come to Christ in one conversation.

It’s almost never a straight line.

It’s a long road of nudges.

Memories.

Questions.

Stories.

Quiet seeds.

Slow softening.

And somewhere along that journey — sometimes years later — Romans 10:13 becomes real:

“Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

But long before the call, there were countless touches of grace.

We don’t force people across a finish line.

We escort them down the path.

What Readiness Really Looks Like

Peter said to “be ready always to give an answer.” I used to imagine that meant having every verse memorized and every theological detail polished.

Now I see readiness differently:

• Readiness looks like a tract in your pocket.

• It looks like five simple truths in your heart — God loves us… we’ve all sinned… sin has a penalty… Jesus paid it… anyone can call on Him.

• It looks like practicing the gospel with a friend so fear loses its grip.

• It looks like praying, “Lord, give me one person today.”

But mostly, readiness looks like this:

Seeing the person in front of you as placed there on purpose.

God is the master gardener.

He places seeds.

He waters hearts.

He arranges conversations.

He prepares the soil long before we arrive.

Some seeds spring up quickly.

Most don’t.

But none are wasted.

What the White Bike Keeps Telling Me

That bike — that simple white frame against a dark pole — has become a quiet teacher to me.

It reminds me that life is fragile.

That eternity is real.

That God uses ordinary moments to prepare extraordinary conversations.

It reminds me that every encounter has eternal weight.

Every question.

Every honest comment.

Every tract.

Every prayer.

Every conversation God nudges us into.

Nothing is wasted.

Nothing is forgotten.

Nothing is too small for Him to use.

The longer I stare at that white bike, the more I realize that God is calling me not just to speak when the moment comes, but to live with a heart prepared for that moment.

To live interruptible.

Available.

Sensitive.

Ready.

Ready to speak.

Ready to listen.

Ready to go.

A Quiet, Honest Ending

So let’s be prepared —

for the white bike on the corner,

for the moments when God nudges us to speak,

and for the reality that someday it could be my bike… or yours.

In any case —

be prepared to speak,

and be prepared to go.

God always calls us to both.