A man on a bike and the best thing that ever happened to me

Fade in: Chirping birds and classical music.

Hot cup of coffee, black. Kids sleeping, quiet house. Early morning stillness that fortifies the day. My Bible and journal lay next to me on the floor where I lean against the faded loveseat. I will drink my coffee, read, pray, jot down those pesky ideas that invade my mind. I want quiet time with God, undistracted. I crawled off my mattress at five this morning to go on a run. Running energizes me, but waking up so early is always met with resistance from my brain and body. I now reward myself with alone time, me time, God time. Peace.

Record scratch. Music abruptly ends. Birdsong ceases.

The phone rings. Hmmm. I see my husband is the caller. How can this be? He left on his bicycle thirty minutes ago for a fifty minute ride to work. I answer, unenthusiastically, expecting he is calling with less than good news.

“I had another flat,” he says.

“Um, okay,” I say. “Good thing you have a repair kit this time.”

“Well, that’s just it. I didn’t buy one. Too bulky to carry with me.” Pause. “I’m in the city. Orange Street. Can you come get me and take me to work?”

“Um, okay,” I say, exaggerating my irritation, lest he not pick up on subtlety.

Here’s the thing. I, as do all logical people, enjoying running. I figured this out about eleven years ago when I started having babies and had an abundance of mommy angst to burn off. I’m not an athlete by any means. I am not fast. I don’t go long distances. I did foolishly complete a marathon several years ago. Got it out of my system and NOT going to pursue such nonsense again. Twenty-six miles? Seriously? I do not have the attention span necessary for distance running. My habit is to go three-ish miles every other day, at my own pace, walking up the hills when I want to. This works for me – just enough sweat to make me feel good.

Despite my relentless adherence to this routine and my gentle, refined attempts to convert my husband to my preferred method of staying fit, Lee continues to despise exercise. Physical labor is not his adversary – he can chop wood, shovel snow, move furniture with the best of them, not at all minding exerting himself. But as his career is maintaining computer networks and his home is in the suburbs, he doesn’t get much chance to bale hay or dig trenches, so he needs some coerced physical activity. He’s goal oriented so treadmills, elliptical trainers, stationary bikes, lifting weights – these all get him nowhere.

For the good of his health, he began running a year or so ago. I had deliberately NOT nagged him to do so, fearing a comeback, such as: “Oh, so you think I should exercise? Well, I think you should stop eating a quart of ice cream every day,” or “Do you think it’s wise to eat that raw cookie dough the day after you were at the doctor complaining of stomach pains?”

Whenever the poor guy finished a jog, he declared, “I hate running!” I assumed he was going about it with the wrong mindset so I coached him by encouraging him to listen to music or a book. He sneered at me. He couldn’t be bothered with lugging around headphones. I mentioned maybe he should use a mapping app on his phone to mark his route and speed, adding intrigue and motivation. More sneers! “Or how about slowing down?” I suggested. “Sometimes when I go too fast, my labored breathing detracts from the joy.” The sneer became a squinty-eyed glare. Grrrrr. Such a difficult man!

Over the years, he has toyed with bicycling as a hobby, but didn’t normally ride for a serious workout. If you want to talk about ridiculous hobbies, biking is one! It’s just too hard, for one. And dangerous. Bikes cruise way too fast down hills for me. Those little rubber brakes can’t possibly be enough to stop such momentum. And running is far superior because one must run FACING traffic. Bikers have to ride WITH traffic. I prefer seeing the cars coming at me so I can jump out of the way when needed.

Various times, biking as a family hobby has been proposed by the hero in the house, Daddy. The kids rallied around him, while I remained a steadfast opponent. Usually I end up staying home alone while they all ride away, carefree, never looking back at me with my crossed arms and scowl as I yell, “Be careful.”

Now, Lee is a smart man. I have never doubted that fact. So when he cooked up the idea to start riding back and forth to work, I didn’t roll my eyes too far back in my head. He had it all figured out – his office is only ten miles away. He would alternate biking and driving, there and back, so he would be riding one way each day. His first ride home was in a thunderstorm.

Heroically, he pulled into the garage, dripping wet. “I feel great – alive!” He said. “That was so much fun. I’m saving money and time! I’m cutting out my normal exercise time. And the ride doesn’t take much longer than driving! And think of the gas I’ll save!” He was definitely pumped for his ride the next morning.

I brought up the issue of breakfast and a shower and that he might want to get permission from his sister-in-law, who happens to live in a house attached to his business office with her family of seven. Maybe she should be notified if Crazy Uncle Lee is going to be using her shower and eating up all their corn flakes. He took my advice (or so he claims) and got all the recommended clearances from Holly before his first morning ride.

He realized he needed a way to transport his work clothes, so he borrowed Alex’s camouflage backpack. I recommended he take shampoo, soap, a razor, and a towel as well. (My unsolicited advice is endless!) Then, as if the kid backpack wasn’t enough, he wanted to use Emma’s brand new stainless steel water bottle from Bible school, but I nixed that idea and hooked him up with a BPA-heavy plastic bottle from the garage.

This man is a pilot, has two master’s degrees, wisely invests money in rental properties, spends quality time with his children, takes amazing care of his family. He is loaded with sense, so it confounded me why he waited until a minute before his departure to realize he needed water and a bag. But alas, he placed the bottle in his bike’s pink cup holder, donned his jungle-ready backpack, kissed me goodbye, and took off.

A half hour into his journey, he called to say he had a flat tire. Like the compassionate person that I am, I said, “What? Oh. Well, I could come get you but I am supposed to be taking our kids and the neighbor kid to a camp at school. So if I come pick you up, you will be inconveniencing me, our kids, the neighbor and his kids, and the camp instructors. Can’t you call one of your loyal employees to rescue you? Bye now. Love you. Call me if you can’t find anyone to help you.”

He grunted and hung up.

Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again. Lee said he was safe at work (no thanks to you, Wife!). A friend just happened to be driving through the city when he saw a familiar looking figure on the sidewalk talking on his phone. He circled around the block to see if the man in the bright yellow shirt needed help. He did. The heaven-sent neighbor delivered Lee and his bike to work and, being a cyclist himself, gave firm instructions on what to carry along with him in the future. (Hint: Tire repair kit.)

So, days passed, the bike got repaired, and he rode home again yesterday in another thunderstorm. Our six-year-old wonders why Daddy always rides in rain. Lee was again ecstatic. He said the exercise curbed his normal afternoon ravenous hunger, he looked forward to the ride all day, his sore eye felt better. “I can’t wait to ride again in the morning.”

That’s how I feel after a run. But he won’t listen to me. He preached for a good ten minutes about how efficient biking is – saving gas and time. Better for him than running. Blah blah blah.

And that brings us to this morning when I was in the middle of my happy place and the phone rang. He made it a block further than his last flat.

I grunt.

I push the sleeping (one of them with a fever, I might add) children out to the van and tell them that Daddy didn’t plan well and now we have to go rescue him. Sidenote: If our parts in this drama were switched, Lee would have told the kids how great Mommy is to be riding her bike to work. How dedicated and fit she is. How smart she is for choosing to take care of herself. What a fun adventure this is to go and get her. But, can I help it if I play so well the role of martyr? I know it’s unfair to Lee, but if I can’t be mean to him, then who?

“No, kids. We don’t have time to eat or drink anything. No time for shoes. Daddy needs us right away.”

The first thing Lee says when he and his bike are settled in the minivan is, “Sorry.” I grunt. I bite my tongue, because all I want to say is – “WHY don’t you have a tire repair kit? Did you learn nothing from your last flat tire?” Oh wait. Maybe I do say that out loud.

Lee mutters, disappointed, something about needing an emergency plan in case this happens again, because his current plan is grouchy.

I deliver him to work. My sister-in-law doesn’t miss the chance to come out and laugh. After telling us to shut up, he slouches out of the van hauling with him the bike.

I love this man. When my friend calls to hear what was going on with me this morning – she sensed some distress when I began texting her at 6:30, she listens to this whole story and just laughs. She also loves Lee. She sees him with his kids all the time doing silly things like walking around the block barefoot at 10 p.m., cleaning off animal bones for Alex’s collection, baking pies for people in Cambodia and South Africa. She sees him treating me like a princess all the time. (Though I am a low-maintenance princess, who shops at Goodwill and clips coupons, doesn’t like make-up, prefers burgers to steak, hates the mall…)

My friend says, “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

She is correct. The man should be honored – Father of the Year, Husband of the Year, Business Owner of the Year, Cub Scout Leader of the Year, Sunday School Teacher of the Year, Youth Group Leader of the Year. (Can I get an Amen?)

Whenever I start huffing about one of his crazy ideas (Hey JJ, I’m going to get my pilot’s license; I’m going to make thirty pies today; I’m going to put fish in the bathtub with the kids; I’m going wear a sombrero to Bible school; Oh look – if I cut my jeans, they turn into shorts!), he just says he is helping me out by giving me blog material. For that, I am grateful.

Applause. Fade out.

On being rich

I tucked my two-year-old into bed. Many years ago, my first child. Our bedtime ritual – we would read a devotional and say a prayer. Sometimes a sippy cup of water was placed by her head for any nighttime thirst that might arise. (The second and third children never received such pampering. They had to suffer with a dry mouth till morning.) My daughter grew daring with age and developed a sense of want, knowing how to bargain with me. “Mama, can I have coke?” she asked. Stifling a laugh, I handed her water. She took a sip. “Mama, can I have juice?” She bravely asked, handing the cup back to me as she worked her way down the list of preferred beverages. Again, no. “Milk?” No. Out of options, she accepted the water.

“He is richest who is content with least,” said Socrates. Am I content with little? The basics? Water is purest, simplest. Healthiest. Those who can appreciate the “water” of their lives are rich. It is true that I am most content when I recognize the goodness of what I have instead of longing for something I don’t have. Even so, sometimes I get pangs of jealousy as I covet things I see other people enjoying. Don’t we all do this?

Paul wrote in Philippians 4:11-12:

“I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.”

His phrase “learned the secret” tells us contentment does not just happen, but rather it’s a learned attitude. Our path to happiness and fulfillment is not the one through the land of consumerism, material wealth, and full bellies, but rather the lesser known road of acceptance and appreciation.

How about you? Can we be content with scarcity? Not just accepting the water over the soda, but actually embracing the nourishing meekness of the simple?

I am rich.

Electronics, Elephants, and Lasting Happiness

Our purple minivan carried us between our home in Pennsylvania to a speck of a town in Indiana once or twice a year to visit my family. The drive, depending on age and neediness of our kids and the ever-changing capabilities of my bladder, took us anywhere from ten to twelve hours. Boring! Some parents, normal modern parents perhaps, would cure the road trip doldrums by popping in a DVD. Happy Feet, Madagascar, Toy Story. Anything to shut the kids up (did I just say that?) and kill two hours of monotonous highway driving.

But, who are we to be normal? We’re the family who gave their kid real tools when he was four, built a snake pit in their backyard, wrapped a deer skull for a Christmas present, wears a Sombrero in public (only husband does that), posed on the moon for a Christmas card. Nope, far be it for us to conform to the current societal practice of viewing television in vehicles.

Four-year-old boy receives dangerous tools.

Suburban father builds reptile habitat. Neighborhood kids flock to backyard. 

Sombreros gaining popularity in United States.

Parents opt for environmentally-friendly gifts.

Family of five misses their home on earth.

For the record, I love me some TV. An ideal day would be me on the couch watching a twelve-hour King of Queens marathon. But while driving, what is so wrong with looking at trees or telephone poles? Playing the ABC game? Spotting license plates from different states? As a kid, I spent hours in the backseat watching raindrops dance on the windshield. Boredom is paradoxically mind-numbing and strengthening. 

We parents are so afraid of our darlings being bored. We can’t handle when they whine so we placate them with screens. We don’t want the sweetie-pies to be unhappy for one second so we entertain them constantly. This is NOT a HEALTHY habit! Being bored is good for a brain. Kids barely have time to think anymore. Thinking, quietly, alone – good for us. (Don’t get me started on the elementary age kids riding in the basket of a shopping cart at Target while playing on a DS. Too lazy to walk through a store and too uninterested, yawn, with anything besides blinking lights, buttons, beeps, ooohhh neat.)


Alas, this is not a treatise about my virtuous children who are so well-developed they can entertain themselves without gadgets. Ha! Gadgets, we have. Our home is equipped with five computers, two iPhones, three iPods, a Nintendo DSi, an iPad, one TV, and one every-other-month-time-shared Xbox. (That sounds awful. In our defense, my hubby makes his living in IT.) As I write, Lee is furiously working on ironing out some bugs in an online game I purchased. But while my son waits for his turn to construct houses and hunt pigs in his pixelated Minecraft world, he is in the backyard chopping wood with a machete. What I’m saying is – it takes balance.


Several years ago, on hour three of a drive to the Hoosier State, the sweethearts got fidgety, as they are wont to do strapped into car seats. And when I say “fidgety” I mean – grouchy, hungry, carsick, bored, loud, annoying. My genius husband (the man should win awards) said, “I will pay you one dollar for every deer you see.” Suddenly, they all had something to do.


That simple sentence has evolved over the years into this elaborate activity:

Payout for animals:

Groundhog $.25

Deer $1

Fox $1

Turkey $1

Armadillo $5

Alligator $20

Bear $20

Elephant $100

Rules:

1. Animals may be dead or alive.

2. Herd of animals count as one sighting.

3. Sighting must be verified by an adult in the vehicle.

4. Must be in vehicle when animal is spotted.

In the meantime, my relatives relocated to Florida, which is double the distance of our Indiana drive. We now have to endure eighteen to twenty hours in the van (but at least we get an ocean along with the deal). On our most recent trip, the kids saw two gators, one armadillo, along with about five deer. Quite a haul.


We live near Philly. To get to center city, Independence Hall, our favorite restaurant in Chinatown, basically anywhere, we must travel a highway that borders the Philadelphia Zoo. Many times over the years, we’ve prayed for some sort of wildlife escape, eager to see elephants. In 2009, I read this headline: "SUV nearly slams into elephant on Oklahoma highway" and shook my fist, shrieking at the injustice in the world because no circus elephant escaped anywhere near us.


A mere joke at its genesis, this elephant sighting was becoming a family obsession. It just has to happen sometime I thought. Lee promised me that someday we would pad the children's meager bank accounts with elephant money. I know, it sounds crazy, but we maintained hope. Someday…

Friday morning, I found the newspaper carefully folded on my desk. My curiosity piqued as I wondered why it wasn’t strewn about the living room floor as usual. I couldn’t ignore the camel looking up at me, so I read the circled article. The traveling Piccadilly Circus was in town!


Sadly, I had to work that afternoon while our brood accompanied Lee on some errands. Unbeknown to the children, his stop at the bank yielded three brand new hundred dollar bills. Next stop was the mall, where they cruised slowly through the massive parking lot. Here is what happened:  http://youtu.be/wIr06x-xLgA

Disclaimer: He let them remove seat belts in parking lot. Usually, we are all safely buckled.

After years of build-up, finally each child received one hundred dollars for spotting elephants from the van. Finally! Deer and groundhogs, chump change. We have reached the top, seen the stars. Pachyderms in Pennsylvania. Happy dance! The pinnacle achieved!

But notice in the video, they immediately want more – can’t I keep fifty dollars? Can’t I have money for a camel? And later that day, Alex said, “You know, I thought I’d be happier than this.” There you have it. Life. We think it’s going to change if we reach ______ (insert goal here) . But as we all know in our logical minds, lasting happiness doesn’t come with minted currency or material goods. Our emotional selves often forget that. So, the elation of the elephant was a high. But the let-down followed. A lesson for my kids. A lesson for me. What am I setting my eyes on? What are my goals?

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith..." Hebrews 12:2.

On ice cream and gratitude

After our hurried dinner before rushing out to VBS last evening, I offered a small ice cream sandwich to one of my kids. Another child was upstairs so I yelled, “Do you want some ice cream? You must eat it quickly – we need to leave in five minutes.”

The child dashed to the kitchen to retrieve the promised treat. One look at the wrapped sandwich, and said child asked for something else. Something bigger. Granted, what I pulled out of the freezer was a miniature 100-calorie treat – quite small. However, in an hour the dears would be partaking of a snack at Bible School. As the sensible mother, I did not see one reason the unforeseen, free indulgence could not be gratefully accepted with no commentary from the recipient.

This dessert was an unasked for,

unexpected gift.

My dear angels were innocently going about their business when I impulsively (and quite generously!) suggested something sweet.

Complaining did not sit well with me.

A minute before, no one had dessert. I pointed out to the offending child that all I wanted to hear was a version of: “Thank you, Mommy, for this presentation of creamy ice cream spread smoothly between two chocolate cookies that I would have not received if you were not such a kind parent. Oh, thank you!”

The audacity to complain, unacceptable.

Between growling at my thankless kid

and patting myself on my benevolent back,

I asked myself how many ice cream sandwiches has God given me? Unearned, unwarranted, unanticipated gifts.

Gulp. I’m drowning here. In goodness. My blessings blind me.

My begging for more has crippled me. I want and then want more.

Comfort, decadence, riches, I want in abundance. I want to hoard them.

Forgive me for boorish attitude, Lord.

Thank you for my breath.

My beating heart.

Thank you for the sunshine.

Flowing water.

Thank you for shelter.

A full belly.

For my children.

Precious little ones who prize ice cream.

They are no more selfish than their mother.

Have you paused today to take note of your surroundings? Your blessings? What are some that you have been overlooking? When the selfishness of children rears its head, do you see yourself?

How to NOT write a book

Ambitiously set alarm for 5:15 a.m. to give yourself a good three hours to write before kids need any attention.

Hit snooze button twice to make sure beauty sleep sticks.

Brew six cups of coffee.

Stand and stare at coffee maker while it drips.

Lightly kick the cat at your feet and then shoo her outside before her leg rubbing drives you mad.



Most annoying cat on planet.

Grab the newspaper from the driveway.

Read the paper while drinking first cup of coffee.

Stand to stretch your neck and shoulders that are a little tight from yesterday’s early-morning-avoid-writing workout.

Let the cat in.

Grab a banana to eat.

While you’re up, retrieve laptop and get cozy on couch.

Check email and Facebook.

Decide your profile picture is getting dated (it’s been there for two weeks – time to move on). Search through recent pictures for any attractive shot of yourself.



Yes. I really look THIS good!

When you don’t find any good pictures, give yourself a break. Realize you’re 42 and eye-catching pictures are not abundant. Get more coffee to clear your head.

Kick the cat at your feet again and let her outside.

Resettle with the computer and choose a photo from when you were ten to use as your profile pic.

JJ and Christy

Then spend fifteen minutes finding a cover photo, finally choosing professional pictures of your children, taken last summer.

Julie Davis Photography

Set computer down and walk to kitchen to add “schedule family photo session with Julie D.” on the summer’s to-do list.

Realize you are quite hungry. Two cups of coffee need to be balanced out with food to avoid jitters. Get bowl of cheerios and carry it to desk.

Figuring you can’t be creative or type well while eating cereal, open Facebook again (that you dutifully closed so it wouldn’t distract you from writing) and scroll through news.

Eat second bowl of cereal to justify more time on Facebook.

Walk upstairs to brush the food and milk residue off teeth. No books ever got written with bad breath, surely.

Back at desk, open up calendar and realize a child’s doctor appointment needs rescheduled. Login to health care site and email the office about open dates.

Don’t ignore when a genius organizational thought pops into your head! Act upon it by creating an aesthetically pleasing reminder/schedule to hang up by your computer. Decide to schedule one chapter a week to focus on throughout the summer. This will serve to harness brain power and limit scattered thoughts.

Print and hang up said schedule that is sure to make all the difference in getting your book written.

Since you’re pinning inspiration to your bulletin board, go ahead and print off those inspiring words emailed to you by an editor.  That positive energy is sure to help you keep at the task of writing when it gets burdensome.

Say good morning to and go to couch to cuddle with your son who appears by your side. Realize his snuggling days will soon end so time is to be savored.



Little Boy

While staring into space with child draped over your lap, ruminate on your morning and decide your time would be much better spent writing a blog post about not writing than actually writing anything of value.

Let cat in and write blog post.