My husband bought me a bicycle last Christmas.  He also bought himself one, with visions of us riding off into the countryside sunset together.  The beautiful new bikes have been sitting in the basement all winter.  The wheels were fastened into a plastic thingy (I don’t know bike lingo yet) so we could pedal away the snowy days while watching television.  I did that once…..or twice.   No, once.

Now that the days are finally longer and warmer, it’s time to bring the bikes upstairs, clip on the helmet and take off.  It’s true that you never forget how to ride a bike.  I hop on and maneuver around the driveway nicely, shifting gears and gripping the brakes.  There is only one problem.   We live on a hill.

No matter if we go north, south, or east, it’s a downhill ride.  (We don’t go west.)  I love flying past the houses in our neighborhood on my cool new bike.  I feel sporty and athletic, which is a new sensation for me.   As I race along I shout over to my husband, “Thanks so much for getting these bikes, honey!  This is so much fun!”  He is beaming.

We coast along for several blocks before leveling off.  Then we pedal along the river pathway, soaking in the sights, smells and sounds of nature.   It is glorious.  And totally flat.  We stop after a while to take our water bottles out of our cool new water bottle holders and take a few sips.  I love this new thing we can do together, I love my husband, I love my bike.

Perhaps being caught up in the exhilarating feel of the wind in my face outweighed common sense.  But realizing the only way home was to climb a mountain made me want to cry.  My honey wouldn’t consider going back by himself  and bringing the car down to pick me up.  I made it one-half of a block before my thighs began to burn.  From now on, I’ve gotta remember: what goes down, must come up.

When all the kids were home in January, we did some after-Christmas gift giving.  One of the presents was the entire first season of the television series “Glee” on DVD.  We packed the entire 13 episodes into a marathon of TV watching over a couple of days. (We did have to stop occasionally to eat.)  As soon as everyone was up in the morning, someone would say, “Glee?” and in moments we were transfixed in front of the screen.  At midnight someone would say, “Just one more episode?” and we’d all nod our glassy-eyed heads.

The story line was sometimes quirky, sometimes compelling.  The characters developed before our eyes and we began to feel for these make-believe teenagers. The music was never disappointing and the humor began to grow on us.  One thing I noticed as I immersed myself in the story: it was on my mind all the time.  I woke up in the morning with a song from the show going through my head; I often thought about the story line during the day; I even had dreams at night about the episodes we watched.  Once, one of the kids started humming the show’s theme song and we all spontaneously joined in.

I thought, “What if?”  What if I was that purposeful in prayer and study of God’s Word?  What effect would consistently devoting time with God have on my waking moments in the morning, my thoughts during the day, and my dreams at night?  Perhaps that’s what “being filled up with God Himself” really means: immersing ourselves in The Story so that it affects every aspect of our lives.   Perhaps that’s what true worship really is: hearing God’s theme song and joining in with each other.

“This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Savior all the day long!”

“Words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.”   Lord Byron

I love words. Words swirl around in my head. I think about words and play with words. I’m taking a chance that a few of my words might fall like dew upon a thought and make a few, perhaps, think. My offering here is nothing more than a small drop of ink.

My life is dedicated to serving The Word, who became flesh and lived among us.  May He inspire every drop.