MEET LULU

Meet LuLu. She’s my new bike. I got her for my 60^th birthday even though I’m not quite sixty yet. I will be April 18. I wanted to get a head start with my bike riding since here in Wisconsin if you don’t get outside right when the ground starts to thaw, you’ve missed spring. You may be asking yourself, “Why would a sixty-year- old want a bike anyway?” Good question. My answer: I think it will be a great way to try and get my aching, aging, overweight, almost, practically disabled body back in shape…she said foolishly. So here’s the deal: As of today, I’m starting The LuLu Chronicles. For some reason my new little Schwinn bike has the name “LuLu” painted on her. Go figure. But it fits, I think. I want to ‘record’ my progress or lack of and hopefully learn something along the way about myself, challenges, longsuffering and anything else my new friend, LuLu, thinks I need to know. I’m actually going to write this blog as if someone is reading it. Although I do think I have three faithful readers. Bless your hearts.

Actually, I’m on day two of bike riding after a week of trying to find the perfect bike seat. Three seats later, bingo! I think I’ve found the largest bike seat this side of the Mississippi. I still hang off of it a bit, if you know what I mean, but it will do nicely. Of course, just because my new seat is the size of Montana and Wyoming combined, doesn’t mean it’s comfortable or that I’ve been able to avoid the dreaded ‘bike butt’ phase of my new venture. For the record, from now on, I think I will refer to my butt and all those parts near by as ‘the cowgirl’ (you know, the bike seat being the ‘saddle’ and all). I’m doing this to avoid any shady characters that happen to Google looking for porn the trouble of finding their way to my sight. That just creeps me out. Plus, it sounds more lady-like, sort of. Anyways, the cowgirl has bike butt after two days of being in the saddle.

Here are my challenges:

I’m middle aged. (Yes, I plan on living to be 120)

I’m over weight.

I have an artificial knee that is a HUGE whiner.

And… I have a terrible track record of sustaining anything that’s good for me for longer than, let’s say, three and a half minutes.

So there you have it. Day Three of bike riding will start tomorrow. If you’d like, join me along the way. I’d like company. Let’s see what we can learn…

deb

PS. The dog in the picture with LuLu and me is Murphy. Little does he know that I've order a little 'doggie basket' for him that fits on my handle bars. Aren't we going to have fun (heh-heh).

LIFE HAPPENS...

PHOTO: Papa and Cian share their first
moments together.


On Tuesday Gary and I were blessed by the birth of our seventh grandchild- Cian (pronounced KEEN) Maccrae Cleveland. On Sunday, Gary was readmitted into the hospital with a raging infection exasperated by his radiation treatments. How can one go from pure joy to heartache all in a matter of days?

When I held that sweet baby boy in my arms a few days ago my life was perfect. God smiled on us with this little guy. I stood in that hospital room watching my tired but beautiful daughter-in-law cuddle her child. I beamed at my son as he stood over them proud and and full of love. I watched my husband of 39 years welcome this new baby into our family with a gentle kiss. Life was good.

Then... Sunday night I stood in another hospital room and joy wasn't to be found. Fear, confusion, and dread filled the air as I watched nurses and doctors hover over Gary. Life was not good.

Life... it just is. We can go from mountain tops to deep, dark valleys in warp speed without warning. How do we survive these pendulum swings without our hearts stopping and our bones caving in? How do we do it?

Well, my training on the job is teaching me is that WE don't do it at all. We can't. We aren't capable. The only way we are left standing when life throws its punches is that something else or Someone else does it for us... holds us up ... shelters us from the icy rain ... Someone else takes the blows for us.

In both of those hospital rooms, the happy one that held this precious newborn, and the scary one filled with tubes and bandages, a Presence entered. A Presence filled each of those rooms with wall-to-wall protection, strength, and guardianship. Life happened and God stood near.

I'm happy to report both Cian and Papa are doing okay. Cian is home with his parents and big brother, Cormac. And Papa, well, he's still in the hospital, but it isn't as scary as it was.

Life is good except when it isn't, but with God near it's all do-able.

blessings dear ones...

Minister shares experience in civil rights movement

Minister shares experience in civil rights movement

Counting Blessings

PHOTO: Some say I look a little bit like cooking mogul Paula Dean. You be the judge…

The three ‘C’s’ of Christmas are: 1) Cooking 2) Cooking, and 3) Cooking. I think between the nine adults sleeping at my house over the holidays, the little space in front of my stove was the most used real estate in the whole house, and that includes the bathrooms. We took turns, baking bread, pies, cookies, candy, turkey, sweet potatoes, dressing, and the list goes on. It was fun, but if I don’t have to stand in front of my stove for the next month boiling water or anything else that resembles cooking, I’ll be a happy woman.

The Clevelands had a lovely Christmas together. We had much to celebrate and much to be thankful for. We had our Papa/father/husband with us, strong and celebrating a victory over cancer. We had my parents, 2Pops and Granny Jane, 83-years young, sitting on the couch in their furry robes opening presents with us on Christmas morning. We had six little people sitting on the floor in footie-jammies, oohing and awing their way through wrapping paper and toys. We had a crackling fire keeping us warm, a white Christmas outside to keep us in the spirit and of course, food. We had food. Lots of food.

But, my most favorite moments were when I was able to just sit quietly and listen to the sounds around me. Children chattering with sweet voices that came straight from angels; My parents having quiet conversations with their grown grandsons; my daughter-in-laws laughing together in the kitchen-- in front of the stove, of course; And, toddlers squeaking and squealing around our knees like soft squeeze toys. Could a cup be any fuller?

These are the moments I want to breathe in and hold inside of me. It will be these moments I will return to when the snow melts and the mud starts clinging to my shoes. When the days wear on and I feel afraid or stressed or beaten down, I will remember the health on my husband’s face, the giggles of my grandchildren, the light in my mother’s eyes, and the goodness in my sons’ hearts. And, I will once again be reminded how gracious God has been to me.

It’s a new year, dear friends. I’m counting my blessings. I hope you are too.

deb

Below are a few family photos from the holidays... Thanks for stopping by...

JOY TO THE WORLD

I don't believe that Jesus Christ was born on December 25. I believe that if you did a little historical snooping, you'd find that that date probably isn't anywhere close. However, I do believe in Jesus. I do believe He was born… sometime, and that there is probably a really good reason why we don't know the exact date.

It's not the date that’s important anyway-- it's the event. Isn't it amazing how just the thought of a little baby, wrapped in simply cloth and asleep in a hewn-out trough compels us to be more courteous and thoughtful over 2,000 years later?

In remembering His birth, hopefully, I will remember His life. Jesus not only toddled, He walked on water; His mother fed him. He fed thousands; As a baby, He cried when He was in need. As an adult, He prayed; As an infant, He snuggled on his dad's lap. As a man, children snuggled on his; As a baby he needed. As a Savior, He gave; As a child, He played hide & seek. As God, He doesn't.

His birth was a miracle. His life was a challenge. His death was a triumph. Jesus is to be celebrated on all three counts, not simply one day a year, but everyday… with joy!

Blessed Christmas, dear ones…

deb

HOMECOMINGS...

PHOTO CAPTION: 2Pops & Granny Jane last summer with two of their great-granddaughters, Paisly & Zella.

We survived the big snowstorm last weekend. Lots of scary moments in the car traveling back from a friend’s wedding in IL, but we finally made it home safe and sound. When we walked through the door, never had a homecoming been so sweet. The house was warm, air tight and welcoming. Of course the fact that our car got stuck in the driveway and we had to trek through waist-high drifts to make it to the front door, made it all the sweeter.

Homecoming.

We are in the season of Homecoming. Whether we travel there physically or just in our minds, we will go there. We can’t help it. This year the physical homecoming is at our house. Today, we pick my folks up from the Chicago airport. Then come Christmas Eve our house will become even noisier when the three kids, wives and the six grandchildren bound through the door. Ahh, homecoming.

And, then there is the homecoming in my mind. I will look at my grown sons and see only little guys who once delighted in dipping pretzels in chocolate and who helped pick our Christmas trees at some lot followed by a trip to the donut shop. Our tradition was to decorate the tree while eating donuts and drinking chocolate milk.

I will look at my folks and see them younger. I will remember eating Christmas dinner on the picnic table dressed in shorts (I was raised in Florida) and the excitement of Christmas mornings with my aunts, uncles and a whole slew of cousins.

Homecomings. Then and now. I will pray that yours will be as loved-filled as God meant them to be… because boy, oh boy, does He have a great one planned for us someday. Until then, may we enjoy the blessings of now…

Love you, friends.

deb

FLORIDA GIRL MEETS SNOW

PHOTO CAPTION: Me & Murphy walking on a beach on Lake Michigan.

I think most of you know that I was raised in Pinellas Park, Florida. I’m no stranger to beaches. I love them. I love everything about them. The walking on the warm sand is like getting a foot massage at one of the best spas. Floating on your back in the salt water as the waves lull you to sleep is the most relaxed you’ll ever get. Watching sand crabs dart in and out is a treat. And, in my day, we would find starfish and sand dollars galore as we walked ankle deep down the shore. Yep, I know beaches.

However, this past week while Gary and I were decompressing in Sister Bay, the beach there threw me a new experience. Snow! I have never been walking on a beach while it was snowing. Being from Florida, you can understand why. What an odd sensation. Think of spaghetti with chocolate sauce. Or brats in your rice pudding. It was two very different sensations at once. And, I had to smile. God knows how to get my attention.

You see, Gary and I have just lived in a world of two sensations. The world of cancer with all its ugly stuff like open wounds, infections, and pain. And, the world of caring and hope where people who love you rally around and lavish their good thoughts, their prayers, their support and time on you in abundance. It was the most horrible of experiences and the most sublime of experiences.

It’s dawned on me that’s how God works best. When something bad happens we wonder where God is. But if you’re paying attention, you will find that He is everywhere in that experience. With the bad, He brings the most thrilling comfort and hope. Sort of like taking a walk in freezing weather, and then you look up and find that you are on this most glorious beach surrounded by great beauty.

I’d be curious to hear from you about your snow/beach experiences if you’d care to share. I’ll talk to you next week.

Blessings,

deb