Do you remember your first bicycle? I do. It was a red Schwinn with a kick stand, a chain guard and a banana seat. It had smooth street tires and pedal brakes. What a beauty!

My brother got a new bike about the same time I got mine. He was almost five years older than I was, so his bike was significantly different. His was black and gray. It didn’t have a kick stand. It didn’t even have a chain guard. Instead of a banana seat, his bike had a small, triangular seat. He had tires with tread on them, which allowed him to go off the street if he wanted to. His bike also sported hand brakes.

Oh, and his bike was lighter. My bike weighed about as much as a small bus, but Len’s bike was as light as air. His bike was faster, more maneuverable and capable of jumping.

This difference in our bikes, however, was lost on me. I was sure I could do everything on my bike that Len could do on his. So one day, I set out to prove it.

I was riding on the street in front of the house. I was attempting to either jump a ditch or pop a wheelie — I don’t remember. What I do remember is losing control. And crashing. I banged my knee on the pavement, scraping away some skin in the process.

My father was inside the house. He either saw me wreck, or heard my cries. I remember seeing him running across the yard toward me. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me back inside. He set me on the counter and cleaned my wound. Then he put medicine and a bandage on it.

After dealing with the physical aspects of my injury, he dealt with the emotional. He dried my eyes. He spoke soothing words to me. He reassured me that everything was alright; I was not going to have to go to the hospital and my bicycle wasn’t destroyed.

All was right with the world again.

Crashes and scrapes don’t end when we grow up, do they? We still stumble. We still fall. We still get hurt physically as well as emotionally.

But do you know what I’ve found? Whenever I’m scared or hurting, whenever I’ve tried something and failed, whenever I’m sitting in the street and crying from my injuries, all I have to do is call out to my heavenly father and he’ll come running.

Psalm 107 describes several situations during Israel’s exile in Babylon. In four separate places the psalmist writes, “Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble; he delivered them out of their distresses” (Psalm 107:6, 13, 19, 28).

Sometimes our troubles are because of something or someone else. Sometimes our troubles are our own doing. It makes no difference. Our heavenly father scoops us up, dries our eyes, speaks comforting words to us and tends to our pain. He delivers us from our distresses — not only the physical and emotional ones, but also the spiritual ones.

Have you crashed? Are you hurting? Call out to God. Your heavenly father will hear you. He will answer you. And he will tend to your pain.

Parrish Myers is pastor of Pine Crest Baptist Church in Gainesville.