Bicycle

Bicycle

Sunday, January 18, 2015

5:45 PM

I remember the first time I got angry. I mean really, really angry. As in red-faced, fist-in-the-air,

I-hate-you-angry. Something of mine had been taken away. My rights had been violated. I was not happy.

It was my very first "big girl" bike, the bike on which I had learned to ride without training

wheels, the first mode of transportation that carried me away from our home and property into the world beyond, a few dozen yards anyway. It was mine. And now I watched, horrified, as my bicycle was crushed under the back tires of a big yellow school bus.

I wasn't expecting the bike when it was given to me for Christmas a few years before. The

Tricycle I rode as a toddler was assembled before it was presented to me on a Christmas I don't remember, as was the pink bike with the plastic training wheels and the Minnie Mouse doll perched on the handle bars. When I opened the gift from my grandparents that Christmas morning, however, I was greeted by the pieces of what would become my first twenty-inch bicycle. I was dumbfounded. What would I do with pieces of a bike I didn’t know how to ride? Fortunately, I didn’t have to try and put it together myself. If I had, I never would have learned to ride. For the first few years of riding that sky-blue twenty-inch, I didn’t learn, but relied instead on training wheels. I don't mean the plastic kind of training wheels that were on my Minnie Mouse bike. These were more heavy-duty. Now that I think about it, I am convinced that no other kid in the world ever had training wheels quite like mine. I'm still not sure where my dad got the idea of taking the front wheels off of  a lawn mower and attaching them to my bike, but that's what he did. They held me up as I pedaled up and down our gravel driveway and occasionally around the parking lot of Davy Crockett State Park.

I remember the day I came home from school determined that I was going to ride my bike

without those training wheels. It was something I just had to do. I still smile when I think of that surreal moment when I looked back and realized that my dad was no longer holding on the back of the seat as I peddled, but was standing a few feet behind me with mom, both of them clapping and cheering.

That bike went through a lot with me. We took our share of tumbles, but we kept going. The act

of riding a bike is a great adventure for a child. In some ways, it's more difficult than driving a car. There you are, sitting on a seat barely the size of or smaller than your own seat, balancing on two wheels, peddling fast enough to keep moving so you don't crash and slow enough to keep from losing control and crashing. It wasn’t easy for me, but I did it. I loved that bike.

My bicycling days changed that fateful morning. I didn’t ride the bus to school. My brother and I

went to a private school back then. My aunt and cousin lived across the driveway at the time, and the bus driver would pick up my cousin and then turn around at the end of our driveway before heading back up the road. For some reason, I had left my bike in that turn-around-spot the night before. I'm sure the bus driver had no way of seeing my little bicycle as she backed up. I can only imagine the response inside the bus as they heard the crunch. All I could think of, though, was that she had no right to run over that bike, my bike. My world had been turned upside down. I was mad.

Fortunately, my anger dissipated when my parents took me to Wal-Mart and bought me a new

bike. I picked out a hot-pink and purple twenty-inch with streamers on the handle bars. My mom protested that it was time for a bigger bike. She was right. In a short time, I got tire of my new "cool" bike and was ready for a larger one. Fortunately, we were given some money by the school system's insurance with which we bought a twenty-four Inch. I must have really gone through a growth spurt, because I quickly grew out of that bike and into a dark purple twenty-six inch ten-speed.

It's been a long time since I've ridden a bike. I no longer have the time or the interest. Our

bikes are all flat-tired and rusting behind the shed, their days of adventure and usefulness  over. But I've never forgotten that first real bike, or the first time I got really, really mad.

I didn't want to let go of that bike. I rebelled at it being snatched from me, being crushed before

my eyes. It reminds me of other times in my life, when things I had come to rely upon were ripped from me; circumstances, comfort zones, people. It's all too easy to get mad at God, like I got mad at that poor bus driver. Now that I'm older, I can see that it was time for a change. I didn’t need that bike anymore. I'm learning that when God takes something away, often, we’re in need of something new, ready to brave a new trail in our walk with Him.

Walking with God and riding a bike have something in common. They both require trust. The

journey isn't always easy. There are bumps in the trial and scraped knees. But the wind in our ears as we rush past and the view of what lies ahead make the journey worth it.

There's a saying that goes, "When God closes a door, He opens a window." I would like to add

on to that by saying that God doesn’t ask us to surrender something without having something better for us. His plan for us is greater than we can imagine. He wants to take us to new heights. That can't happen if we don’t let go of the twenty-inch and get ready for the twenty-four inch, or the four cylinder, or whatever comes next.

The Apostle Paul writes in Philippians 3:14: "I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward

call  of God in Christ Jesus." Paul knew that he lived for a purpose greater than himself, that God had greater things for him to do than He could imagine. Not only did he have to leave Saul behind, and become Paul, but he went through numerous hardships, all for the sake of that higher calling. It wasn’t easy, the calling rarely is, but it was worth it.

What is God asking me to surrender today? What greater thing does He have in store for you if

you give up whatever you're holding on to so dearly? It's time to leave the old bike behind and press on.

Cookies and Coffee

God teaches me all kinds of lessons, sometimes through the smallest things. The one that

is the most vivid in my mind right now is an object lesson I learned a few days ago during my

breakfast and devotional time. It started with a cookie, not an Oreo or chocolate chip cookie, but

one of those long round fudge-filled cookies which, quite honestly, looks like a narrow cigar. We

currently have over a dozen of them because I decided to use the tins which they come in for a

Pinterest-inspired Christmas gift.

            I usually carry one of the cookies me to the recliner on my leisure mornings to dip in my

coffee while I read my devotional. That morning, however, I had my coffee in one hand, and the

rest of my breakfast in the other. Without giving it much thought, I put the cookie down in the

coffee cup, with its one end of it poking out. I intended to pull it out and dip it like I had before. I

underestimated the effects the hot coffee would have on it. During the few seconds it took for me

to walk to the recliner, the cookie had almost completely melted into the coffee. A few seconds

later, even the tip of it had succumbed to the steaming liquid and the only evidence of the cookie

was a filmy residue floating on top. So much for a coffee-flavored cookie, now I had cookie-

flavored coffee!

            As I watched the cookie disappear into the coffee, I recognized it as a picture of how time

with God should affect us as Christians. Too often, I want to be simply “dipped” into God’s

truth, and be flavored by Him, when what He really wants is for me to be immersed in Him, to

let Him saturate me with His very essence.

            When I drank my coffee down to the bottom of the cup, I found my cookie, or rather,

what was left of it. The hard, flaky wafer had been melted away and the fudgy inside lay in a

gooey glob at the bottom.

            Romans 12:2 says, “And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the

renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of

God.”

            When we jump into God’s Word and are immersed in His presence, we become forever

changed. The crusty layer of self is melted away, leaving a heart surrendered to God and ready to

show the love of Christ to the world.

            My prayer that morning was that I would be truly changed by God’s power and presence,

that I would not simply be flavored by Him, but be transformed.

Being Content

            “Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content:”                                                     - Philippians 4:11

            Contentment: it’s always seemed very illusive to me. Just when I get used to my circumstances, they change, sometimes to my liking, and sometimes not. Sometimes unpleasant situations stay the same for so long that I beg God to change them. All along, He is reminding me through His Word to trust Him in every situation, because He has a plan for it, no matter how unpleasant the situation may seem.

            I have a very vivid imagination. I like to plan out my life in detail. Whenever something starts to change in my life for the better, my mind runs away with me, and I think I have it all figured out. God often changes my plans. Recently, a quote from a devotional called “Jesus Calling” by Sarah Young opened my eyes to what I should be focusing on instead of the future. It’s Jesus talking and he says, “The reality of My presence with you, now and forevermore, outshines any fantasy you could ever imagine.” That is powerful to me, reminding me that there is always a bright future, and it starts with a bright present, full of the reality of Jesus Christ.

When I graduated from college five months ago, I knew what I wanted my life to be like next, but didn’t know how to get there. All I could do was pray and trust that God had it figured out and be obedient to take the next step. I had a blessed month completing my internship, then the time of testing started. I had several job leads, but one by one, they turned sour. I did start a temporary job helping care for an elderly couple. After a few months, that ended, and I was back to square one, my only employment being a cleaning job every other week. With my loan payment deadline looming near, I knew I had to do something. In the middle of my attempts to enroll in a career services program, another opportunity came up, sitting with a lady in assisted living. I realized what God was doing, giving me jobs in which I could both work and write at the same time. I was excited about the opportunity, but was disappointed when I was not scheduled for the coming week, and was quickly running out of money. I went to bed on a Saturday night with my job situation on my mind, and awoke with it still there. The stress became so great that I started to doubt that I could even trust God. I’ve heard people say that God has never let them down, but in my distress over work and other issues, I couldn’t say that. Finally I realized that even if God never did anything else for me, I couldn’t stop believing in Him because I love Him too much. I know He loves me more than I can begin to imagine.

The following Wednesday, I was called to work two days later. One day a week because two and then three. Yesterday as I sat and wrote in between sitting duties, I finally felt content again. God had not let me down and never would. Then a very unexpected conflict came up, and I had to deal with my attitude toward my situation all over again. Driving home, the sign at New Prospect Baptist Church reminded me to, “Be content in all situations.” That is the key. It doesn’t mean I have to like the situation, but it does mean that I need to keep in mind that no matter what is going on, I can trust that God is working through the situation, pleasant or unpleasant, to work His perfect will, which is for my good and His glory.

Being content? I can’t say I quite figured it out, but I’m getting there. Maybe it’s as simple as looking past my feelings long enough to see God at work.   

GOOGLE OR GRANDPA?

               Whenever I need answers, information, or input, I have two reliable sources on which I can depend: Google, that little bar on the top left of my computer screen, or grandpa, the easy going, common sense expert who has lived and learned for over 70 years.  

            I have to admit that when I need information, I often choose Google, especially when I need information for a school paper or other project. It’s faster, and often more easily accessible.

            Yet some internet sources are not always correct. Websites give us the cold hard facts. In essence, there is something missing from the treasure trove of information we know as the internet, something real and personal; an element that can only come from someone who has been there.

One experience that opened my eyes to this was a phone conversation I had with my grandpa a few years ago. I was driving home for Christmas break, relying on my GPS to lead me there because I am rather poor with directions. As we were talking, I told my grandpa where I was based on the signs that were coming up. With just those few details, road signs and various things I drove past, he was able to tell me exactly where I was, what signs I should see next, and how much time it would take to get there. It was like he was seeing it all in his head from hundreds of miles away.

I was amazed. I had known my grandpa was good with directions, but I didn’t realize how good. This discovery changed my perspective and helped me value him even more. “Who needs a Tom-Tom when you have Grandpa?” I asked myself.

M grandpa is not a walking, talking road atlas. Nor did he sit and memorize all these mile markers and road signs. He learned his way around by driving a semi for over half of his life. He knows all the roads, towns, and signposts in the area because he navigated them every week, five days a week for over forty years.

            Personal experience: that, in my conclusion, is the missing element. Web sites can give us information, but they can’t tell us how they gained this information or what they learned along the way.

            All of us younger folks, including me, catch ourselves occasionally thinking that older people are out of touch with the times. We think that we know better than they do in some areas because we are more technologically advanced, more street smart, and more stylish.

Yet, if we stop to think about it, our grandpas and grandmas are, in a sense, pieces of living history. They lived back in the days when folks had to wash clothes by hand and plant and

harvest crops the old fashioned way. They were there during World War II, the Kennedy assassination, and so much more. I think we would all be amazed by how much we could learn by taking a notebook and a pencil and asking Grandpa what the world was like when he was growing up.

            Yes, search engines are helpful. Web sites give us a wealth of information. But, as my experiences with both Cyberspace and senior citizens has taught me, while Google is probably not disappearing from our lives anytime soon, Grandpa’s time is running out.

           

The Mission of a Caregiver

“All right, Miss Dorothy, let's go to the bathroom. Walk toward that light.”

I held my arm firmly under hers and guided her and her walker toward the bathroom. Later, I

guided her to the table for lunch. I am still learning to do this, with help from those who have been

doing it longer, but I am getting there.

I give Miss Dorothy her plate, and she talks to me in broken words as she eats. Sometimes I

can understand, sometimes I can't. Mom comes over and asks Miss Dorothy who I am. “J-Jessica,” she

replies. I ask Miss Dorothy who Mom is, and she can't remember. Strange, considering the fact that I

have been working here for a few months and mom has for three years. Mom says Miss Dorothy likes

me. Miss Dorothy's memory comes and goes, but she always has a smile. And she loves her husband,

Jim Mack.

A week later, after trying to get up by herself twice, narrowly avoiding a fall, Miss Dorothy is

finally convinced to settle back down in her chair. “Do you want your baby?” My co-worker, Martha,

asks. She picks up a baby doll wrapped in a pink blanket.

“Ooh, a b-baby! I wish I h-had one.” Miss Dorothy croons.

“Well, this is your baby.”

Miss Dorothy takes the doll with tenderness, and I can almost see tears in her eyes as she she

lifts it to her breast. “Oh, my baby.”

I almost start crying myself as I watch hints of memory cross over her face. In her mind, is she

holding Kenneth or Homer Dee, giving them a bottle or nursing them through a cold? She holds the

doll for several moments, then is ready to rest again.

As I take care of Miss Dorothy, I am constantly reminded that even though her mind is not

what it used to be, she is precious and to be treated with dignity. Even though her years of working

hard and raising her babies are over, she has her memories. They may be locked up somewhere in her

mind due to her Alzheimer’s, but they are there. Being a caregiver is not only a job, it is fulfilling a

mission to help safeguard these people in their sunset years, to treat them with respect even when they

have to be taught the same things over and over again, to hold their hand when they are weak, and once

in a while, when possible, to help them remember.

A Bigger Landscape

A Bigger Landscape

There is a small framed picture on my bookcase. It is a small print on a purple background,

featuring a breathtaking landscape, with fields and hills, a village below, and up on a hill, a medieval

castle. The caption reads, “there is a landscape bigger than the one you see.”

That picture and caption reminds me of a time when God taught me that lesson. I was in my

dorm room a few years ago, praying, trying to get the mind of God and really listen to what He had

to say. I was led to the window and God showed me how limited my perspective is. I only see the here

and now, just as I could only see the rooftops of buildings outside my dorm room window. He sees

the whole world in the blink of an eye, all of space and time. He knows my life from beginning to

end. His perspective is eternal, while mine is so limited.

Whenever I struggle with the direction my life is going, I only have to look at that little picture I

found at Goodwill to remember that God sees the bigger landscape. Life seems like a puzzle

sometimes. We only have a few pieces, and some of them don't seem to fit. Someday all the pieces will

fit together and I will see the bigger landscape. When I look at that picture, it reminds me of my

conversation with God, and gives me hope that all my needs will be met because I have a big God, a

God who sees far beyond my perspective, a God who is greater than I could ever imagine. A God who

sees beyond this life to the landscape that is flawless and beautiful beyond imagination; the place where

there will be no more worry or fear, because that landscape is the place he’s prepared for us; the place

he saw us in the moment we let him in our hearts. It’s the perfect place where we will be with him

forever, where our eyes of flesh will be made eyes of the spirit and we can finally see in awe and

wonder; what his eternal eyes already see; a landscape bigger and more beautiful than we could ever

imagine.

A memorial garden, a wooded area that has recently been logged, an old glass Coca-Cola bottle. These images and more have made me realize today that not only are memories something to be treasured, we make and preserve them every single day by the things we choose to do, the things we choose to say, the people we choose to spend time with.

For the past week, I have been looking forward to picking my PawPaw’s brain for the memories of his past so that I can write the story of his life. Each day that I have put it in my plans, something has come up. Either I have been too busy, or he hasn't been in the talking mood. During the process, I have been reminded that I have to be patient and let the memories come in his time. In the meantime, I pulled out an old cassette tape of him telling stories eleven years ago and typed up most of it. I learned that I already have a lot of material to get me started.

I talked to PawPaw on Saturday, and set up today, my only day off this week, as our interview day. Before we got started, though, he had another project to do. I had a prescription to pick up, so I rode to Lawrenceburg with him and Nanny. We went to a nursery in Lawrenceburg and picked out four miniature pine trees, the kind that will stay small. By the time we arrived home, I had already decided to help with the project, a memorial rock garden for PawPaw and Nanny’s son, my Uncle Kevin. The finished project will be a square shaped rock garden, with a small pine in each corner, a bush in the back, and Kevin’s memorial stone in the middle.

I took a turn with the post-hole-diggers and pulled a couple of the trees out of their plastic pots, but mostly, I took pictures to capture the moment. PawPaw’s mind was on his work, but I can’t help but imagine him remembering his son as a boy, see him riding his first motorcycle, remembering their last conversation together. All those memories will be represented in this simple yet heartfelt reminder of his life in my grandparents yard.

Behind both my grandparents home and our home is a wooded area of about 100 acres. A

creek used to run back there and my brother, cousin and I used to hike in the woods and play in the creek. A few years ago, the present owner dammed up the creek and made it into a pond. This helped prevent some of the previously frequent flooding down in the hollow below us, but I was saddened by the loss of the creek that held so many happy memories. Last week, logging began on that land. The trees were cut back as far as our property line. The forest that has been there for as long as I can remember is now mostly gone. My sister remarked as she got out of the car, “Is it just my imagination, or can I see more of the sky?”

As I helped and took pictures of the memorial garden process, I noticed an old Coca-Cola bottle sitting on a bin behind the shed. It too, seemed to be a reminder of what used to be: old drugstores with soda counters, neighbors gathered on the front porch enjoying a chat, hard-working, yet simpler times. The kind of things I hope to capture in the book about my PawPaw.

Against the backdrop of these things that are no more is something new, the memorial garden. As we dug, planted and watered, we were not only honoring memories, we were creating new ones.

In case my readers haven’t guessed by now, I am a very sentimental person. Through helping with the memorial garden project, and working on my PawPaw’s story, I am realizing that memories live on even when the reminder of them is gone. As we create new reminders, we create memories. The logged forests will likely grow back, and the memories made there will live on. The memories created around the old soda counters can now be shared on Facebook and other social media. Uncle Kevin’s legacy will live on in his three children and soon to be five grandchildren. It will also live on in the memorial garden we planted with love.

PawPaw and I did get that interview in. I have a lot more material to work with. I have learned a lot from him and want to continue to spend as much time with him as I can, listening, learning and interacting. Through “Charlie” I hope to help capture the legacy that he will someday leave.

Each day is a gift, a chance to make memories. What legacy will you help build today?