God who?

THE LULU CHRONICLES

“The trouble about God is that he is like a person who never acknowledges your letters and so, in time, you come to the conclusion either that he does not exist or that you have got his address wrong.”

C.S. Lewis

Where I live we are having unseasonably warm weather. In March we’re usually still cross-country skiing and stoking the fire in the fireplace. Yet, yesterday had LuLu and I pedaling down the road and windows open in the living room. As my pink bike and I toured the countryside, the above quote popped into my mind. A strange place for my mind to settle, but I never know where my thoughts will roam once I hop on LuLu.

Those words were uttered by a young C.S. Lewis on his way to discovering his own belief in God. It gives me comfort that one, now known for his great faith, could have had such doubts. After the recent run of bad weather and tragedy across the south, I’m sure there are many people left wondering. “God who?”

I’m not sure why horrible things happen. Some are our own doing. Some are not. Nevertheless, the pain is real. And, as the young author once asked, “Will God answer the letter?”

My thoughts on that? It depends on if you check your mailbox. Digging under the rubble of devastated lives to the answers takes great courage. It takes opening oneself up to answers that sometimes we don’t what to hear, doors we don’t want to walk through, and truths we don’t want to face.

Of late, our television screens have made us witness to people crawling out of ruins covered in near-death dust praising God and life. Did they have moments of doubt? As trees were ripped from the ground and school busses were tossed in ditches like mere tin cans, I can only imagine that they did. But, if they can come out of that ragged mess with faith in tact, by God, so can I the next time my own life encounters hardships that whip through with tornado force winds.

Doubting is the first honest step toward truth.

Later,

deb

Fish or cut bait

PHOTO: Just messing with ya. There's not two of me, the world couldn't handle it...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

As many of you know I’m a writer. With two published books under my belt, you’d think it would be easier to get the third one published, right? Not so much. Now, if I were a Grisham, a Lucado or Kingsbury publishers would be lining up for that next book. Alas, I’m not. I’m just me and the truth of the matter is that I haven’t written that ‘breakout’ book yet.

It’s tough being a ‘newbie’ at age 60, but that’s really what I am, at least in the world of publishing. But I heard something today from author Brennan Burchard that has struck a cord with me, and has put me on notice. He says that he’s never met a New York Times Best seller author who just dabbled in their writing; Who just wrote a couple of hours here, and an hour the next week and so on. Nope, the writers he knows, and he knows several NYT Best Seller authors and is one himself, make a commitment to their writing. They do this by “disappearing off the planet” for a while and immersing themselves in their work. They block off huge chunks of time to write to allow the creative flow to happen. Without a true, gritty commitment to what you want in the writing world, you won’t get it.

That’s probably true in any other world a well. If you want to be the best teacher you can be, you have to work at it. If you want to be the best mom, you have to commit to it. If you want to be an individual who when they leave this world want to be known as kind, compassionate and giving, you have to commit to living that kind of life. Just dabbling in what you want, will not make it so.

That goes for commitment to better health and riding a pink bike as well. I’ve got to decide if I’m satisfied to just continue to dabble in my writing, play around with my health, and just ride LuLu when the spirit moves me. All of the above would be okay, if that is what I truly want… to dabble… to play around… to get as much fun out of LuLu sitting in the garage as I do pedaling down the road on her. I’m 60-years-old. It’s time I make up my mind about these things and others.

How about you? Anything you need to fish or cut bait on? As my granny, Ginny Mae, used to say, Pee or get off the pot!

Have a thoughtful weekend, friends,

deb

Get your pink on...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #37: Go. Pack. Go

Picture if you will, me, LuLu and the Green Bay Packers. Yep, LuLu is a fan of the mighty fine Green and Gold. On our ride this morning (yes, we rode in the rain, and yes, we rode in 40 degrees) we rehashed Sunday’s game. Packers won of course. Our team is now 8-0. I’m trying to get LuLu to understand the significance of that stat, but she’s not all that impressed. However, when I told her that some Packer players have been known to ride an exercise bike on the sidelines during the game, her handlebars perked up. That she’s impressed with.

She wondered if the exercise bikes were pink. I hated to disappoint her, so I diverted her attention to my hat. It was pink, a pink Packer ball cap. When the wife of our former Green Bay Packer quarterback, Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless, introduced the pink caps in support of breast cancer research, I was on board. I bought one for my daughter-in-laws and myself. The pink caps were an ingenious idea. That first Sunday a few years ago when our former quarterback-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless stood on the sidelines at Lambeau Field during a game wearing his pink ball cap with the big ‘G’ logo emblazoned on the front, the caps sold out in a matter of hours. Millions were raised for cancer research.

As I told that story, LuLu got very giddy and strutted her pink, shiny self, as well as a bicycle can strut.

As many of you know, my sweet hubs has been fighting cancer. He wears an additional color in support of cancer research. His yellow Live Strong bracelet rarely leaves his wrist. He got it from donating money to cancer research.

Pink. Yellow. They’re just colors, but creatively placed, they can be a great reminder that there’s a big, ugly, fierce fight going on to stop a killer, a killer that has taken way too many lives. If you get a chance, put your pink where your mouth is, and your yellow where it counts. Let’s cure cancer in our lifetime… and for the Cleveland family, the sooner the better.

Get your pink on…

deb

Ride On!

The LuLu Chronicles

LuLu-ism #15- If you don’t put your *cowgirl in the saddle for over two weeks, she’s gonna pay…

We’re home. Our travels to the South were sweltering but fun. Now it’s back home to Wisconsin. And, finally, after a two-week absence, LuLu and I are reunited. She’s classier than I remembered, with her pink fenders and shiny basket and all.

As I hopped on and started pedaling down the driveway, I felt light and young and ready for a long ride. Of course a three-mile ride wasn’t going to happen, not if my cowgirl had her way. It seemed she didn’t remember LuLu at all and it didn’t take long before she was complaining like a diva rock star.

And, if the whining cowgirl wasn’t bad enough, about a quarter of a mile down the road, my eyes started itching as if someone had rubbed poison ivy on my eyelids. Next my throat started closing up as tight as an elevator door. What was happening? The fact that my white shirt had turned a dingy, spotty yellow should have been a clue. I’d been pollened! Before I could even squeeze out a sneeze, dusty, mustard-looking spores shellacked my eyelashes, nose hairs, and contacts. Benadryl here I come!

Will there ever be a day when I can hop on LuLu and not have something or go wrong? Is there such a thing as a perfect bike ride? You know, a day when I don’t swallow bugs, get chased by a chicken, almost get hit in the head by a duck, have my pedal fall off, given the evil eye by a honking peacock , or discover a hole chewed in my bike shorts half way through my ride.

I don’t remember ever having these troubles as a kid riding my old Ward’s Hawthorne. Back then you couldn’t tell where I ended and my bicycle began. I don’t really want to recapture my youth. I’d settle for just not doing half bad for my age.

I will pedal on. After all, what else could go wrong? Well, I guess if a dragon flies over and drops poop on my head, I might consider that a sign that maybe bicycling isn’t for me. But until then, tomorrow is another day. Get a good night’s rest, LuLu. In the morning, I’m strapping a pillow to the cowgirl, a mask over my nose, goggles over my eyes and carrying a squirt bottle in my basket just in case some wild life longs to attack my head.

Ride on!

deb

* cowgirl means 'butt'

SOMEDAYS...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #7: Somedays they ain’t nothing go right.

Ever have those days when nothing seems to go your way? When every step is like pulling your feet out of mud? Can’t you hear that messy, suction-y slurp right now? You know what I’m saying. Well, that was my yesterday. I was anxious. I couldn’t stick with anything. And, I kept dropping stuff and stumbling over stuff and running into stuff. When I laid my head down last night on my pillow, I thanked the good Lord that I got through the day without losing a limb or accidently putting the dog in the refrigerator.

Today has been much better. I’m on task and I’ve even been able to check a few items off of my ‘to do’ list. So, I figured it was safe to hop on LuLu and go for a spin. I mean, I hadn’t bumped into a wall today or lost anything. So, here I am peddling, against a blustery wind by the way, but still enjoying the scenery, when all of a sudden, I guess my peddling startled this duck floating in the ditch beside me, and wouldn’t you know, that silly duck flapped so close to my head I lost my balance and almost toppled over into the ditch myself. Who knew it was so dangerous out there? Suddenly, all of yesterday’s mishaps and anxieties dropped before my eyes like a projection screen and I felt my confidence leave. What should I do? Turn around and walk LuLu home? I was about a mile from the house. Or bravely trudge on?

I got right back in the saddle, my friends and started peddling. As I turned the corner on to Old Country Club road, I was humming the theme song to Chariots of Fire at the top of my lungs. Da da da da da dum… da da da da da! No duck was going to keep me from accomplishing my goal of a three-mile ride! No brisk wind was going to make me skip my date with LuLu! The only thing that could have defeated me… was me.

Needless to say, LuLu and I got home safely with no more duck malfunctions. And I must say, I was a little bit proud of myself. The old gal still has enough balance in her legs to keep from sprawling into a watery ditch, and the Fake Knee rose to the occasion and kept me upright.

Got challenges? I say, meet them head on and stare the duck down!

Later,

deb

GOOD GRIEF!

LuLu-ism #4: There are days you’re simply not going to be able to do what you want. Whatever! Just don’t let those days pile up on you.

Lovely picture isn’t it? Ah, December in Wisconsin. Wrong! I took this picture of my backyard this morning, April 20, 2011. I want to weep—so do my daffodils and tulips. Can you believe it? Where’s all that global warning they keep telling us about?

Well, LuLu is just shaking her handlebars at me and just daring me to go near her. Looks like it’s Rusty to the rescue. My old exercise bike will have to save the day for me… again. There’s nothing more frustrating than to do all this peddling and go absolutely nowhere. Yikes! Have I stopped talking about bike riding and started preaching? Think about it, how many of us live our lives that way? Spinning, spinning, spinning and going nowhere? I know I have at times. I’m busy. It’s hectic. There’s so much to do. Yet, when I take a moment to look up from all my spinning, I find I’ve done nothing of value, except work up a sweat.

Life’s too short, folks, to allow busy work to rule. Yeah, there’s no getting around the fact that living on this planet requires a certain amount of just running in place. However, shouldn’t we expect more? I want scenery. I want purpose. I want joy. Don’t settle; at least don’t settle for long.

Okay, old Rusty will have to do for today and from the looks of it, tomorrow as well. But I deserve more. And so do you.

Blessings,

deb

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #3: Let's be honest here, they simply don't make a comfortable bike seat. I don't care how big the honking thing is, it's going to hurt your cowgirl, period. And, it's going to hurt for a very long time.




You may have heard that yesterday (April 18) was my birthday. Thanks to so many who e-mailed, Facebook-ed or called with such sweet wishes for the day. As I had hoped, I did get to ride my bike yesterday. The wind died down, the sun popped out and 42 degrees it turns out is okay bike-riding weather. So I jumped on LuLu and did something I always do on my birthday, I visited a graveyard.

I've been snooping around in graveyards on my birthday for many years now. No, it's not the morbid in me, it's the writer in me that calls me to these places. Do you know how many stories are buried there? So much history. Yesterday, I visited with a guy who was born in 1773! He lived almost a hundred years! You might be wondering what he told me, yes? Well, grave stones can tell you a lot about a person. He was a beloved husband, father and German. He lived very close to where my house is now. I know that because this little graveyard is across the road from an old church building that used to be the worship house of a congregation of German Lutherans. Several years ago, the old church building was renovated into a house. A lot of Swiss and German folks settled in this area when they got off the boats. They started farms, built a church, raised their families and lived and died in this ten-mile radius around my house. Cool, huh?

Others folks were lying near by like Heida, Gertrude, Wilhelm and about seventy-five others. I sat there under a tree and wrote a couple of vignettes about a few of them. Someday, one of them might show up in one of my stories.

LuLu looked out of place in the graveyard-- all that pink and those shiny spokes surrounded by all that old, mildewed stone. Yet, she turned into a metaphor right before my eyes: Never forget the past, but don't linger there too long. Visit and remember those who went before and what they can teach you, then hop on your bike and get out there and live. Make your own memories. Tell your own story. Leave your own mark.

So, I did. I paid my respects and then LuLu and I took off. I sang out loud as I peddled. I can do that because I live out in the country and no one can hear me. And, I'm now sixty years old. I've decided that sixty-year-olds can get away with a lot if we look pitiful enough at times. The Fake Knee had a hard time keeping up, but the old gal hung in there. The Cowgirl, on a pain scale of one to ten, with ten being screaming-out loud-painful, was still at about an eight, yet, we peddled on. I spied my first spring Cardinal, a big fluffy guy perched on a branch looking like royalty. A couple of bunnies hopped across the road in front of me. And, a rooster had the audacity to chase me down the road. If looks could kill, I'd be laying in the gravel right now with that feathered bully still picking at my flesh.

All in all, it was a good day. I've decided to make this a birthday week. I'm sixty. I can do anything I want.

love you guys,
deb