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Thanks for reading,
Jan

What Is That to You?

“C’mon, Jan… cadence!” I reminded myself. Panting, I shifted to an easier gear so I could pedal faster. Sure enough, my speed increased slightly despite the stiff climb.

I was 1.2 miles into the first of two laps on the bicycle course in downtown Austin’s “Capital of Texas Triathlon.” My first race ever, let alone a triathlon. Now, before you go thinking that I’m some kind of “Ironmom” multi-sport athlete, let me assure you that Heather, my daughter-in-law, is the hero in this scene. An experienced swimmer and runner, she had invited me to bike on a relay team with her. We signed up for the short-distance “Sprint” race and I trained as well as I could.

Anyway, that’s how I found myself cycling up Congress Avenue from the Colorado River toward the Texas State capitol building, which I’m sure would have been an impressive sight if I had not been too busy to notice it. My self-coaching (first sentence above) kicked in where the route went around the building on 11th Street. All along the course, whether climbing, descending or flat, I noticed two things:

1) Lots of people passed me.
2) I passed lots of people.

Normally, being passed makes me feel inadequate, while passing other riders (especially younger men) makes me feel like a hotshot. So, most of my mass-start rides amount to a self-esteem roller-coaster.

The thing about a triathlon like this one is that there is no mass start. Everyone starts in “waves” alongside only the people in their distance and age or ability group. Once the first few waves of swimmers are away, no one can tell who started when. By the time the relay teams started swimming (Last category, thanks), all the Olympic-distance people were probably already out on the bike course. They did four laps on the course as opposed to my two. And, when I first rode across the river, plenty of people had done their biking and were already into the running course.

So, some of the people who passed me were experienced racers. I had nothing to be ashamed of.

And I’m sure that some of the people I passed at 1.2 miles had already done the long swim plus 14 miles on the bike. They were probably just catching a quick break, while I was still warming up. I had nothing to brag about. I passed one woman who had two prosthetic legs. Clearly, I had nothing whatsoever to brag about.

We were all together on the same course, doing the same activity. And yet, we were not really in the same race. That is, I wasn’t competing with the Tarzans or the people with the aero bars and $600 helmets. We had started different distances at different times. Just from looking, no one could tell how far an athlete had come, or how far they had yet to go.

Talk about taking the pressure off! I just rode my best and didn’t worry about trying to keep up with anyone else. Those comparisons were simply not relevant.

Heather and I talked about these things as we fought our way through the post-event traffic. Later, I recalled something that Jesus had said about comparisons. First he had told Peter, to paraphrase loosely, “You’re going to be martyred, my friend. So. Follow me.”

Understandably, Peter became uncomfortable and looked around for someone else to focus on. He tried to get Jesus to make a prediction about his buddy John, too. But Jesus wouldn’t even give him a hint, just a non-answer ending in a question. “What is that to you?” he asked Peter. “You follow me.”

Peter and John were not competing against each other, so they had no need to compare themselves to each other. John’s future was irrelevant to Peter’s calling. Like the triathletes in Austin, both men came in with different tasks and faced different challenges. God would use both of them, in different ways, to invite people into his kingdom. He alone knew which would finish his tasks first. He alone knew just when and how each would go home to heaven.

Where is my ultimate finish line compared to yours? I don’t know; but then, what is that to me? He just wants me to follow him.

And leave the comparisons back at the start line.

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds,
Jan
PS: You are invited to hop over to Rachel Anne’s blog party and meet the Company Girls!

Also, visit Jen and the Soli Deo Gloria sisters as we share our questions and stories.

Go Learn What This Means

Today’s “Page From My Journal” post really comes from three days’ worth of my studies, starting last Tuesday. I was reading along in Matthew 12 (click the reference if you’d like to follow along on BibleGateway.com), and started noticing…

The religious leaders of Jesus’ day, the Pharisees, sure gave him a hard time. At every opportunity, too. Here, they pounced on the disciples for grabbing a quick snack when they were hungry. Normally even the Pharisees didn’t criticize people for picking fresh food to eat, but this was on the Sabbath day. When they were supposed to be “resting.”

So Jesus reminded them that no less a leader than King David had done pretty much the same thing. Centuries earlier, David and his hungry companions ate the priestly bread right from the tabernacle. Of course, they had the priest’s permission. Then Jesus quoted the prophet Hosea: “For I desire compassion, and not a sacrifice…” (Hosea 6:6).

Hadn’t I just read that the week before? I turned back a few pages. Sure enough, almost the same conversation appears in Chapter 9, when the Pharisees complained about Jesus extending grace toward sinners. Jesus had told them to “Go and learn what this means.” Then he had quoted the same verse, and had also pointed out that doctors are for sick people, not healthy ones. In my journal I wrote,

The Pharisees were all about self-righteousness. But Jesus kept telling them that God wants us to show compassion / mercy…
1. If I condemn someone, I’m forgetting that I am just a fellow sinner.
2. Trying to “shame” someone is arrogant and doesn’t work anyway. The bigger picture is that everyone needs a Savior.
3. Jesus loved where there was need, not merit.
4. Compassion keeps you from condemning the innocent (12:7).

A bit later, Jesus went into the synagogue and taught some more about the Sabbath. “It is lawful,” he said, “to do good on the Sabbath” (v. 12). The Pharisees were were not amused. Here are my notes about the point Jesus was making:

Jesus answered the Pharisees by reminding them of the sprit of the Sabbath. Focusing on Christ’s love, emulating his compassion… this puts the “rules” into their proper place in life.

God had indeed established the laws, but while the sacrifices represent the letter of the law, compassion represents its spirit. What God really wants is a relationship with people. He wants us to trust him. Jesus encourages that trust because, as the prophet Isaiah foretold,

He will not quarrel, nor cry out;
Nor will anyone hear His voice in the streets.
A battered reed He will not break off,
And a smoldering wick He will not put out,
Until He leads justice to victory (verses 18-20; Matthew is quoting Isaiah 42).

I’m thankful that when I was battered by my own sin, Jesus didn’t break me off. And when the wick of my faith smoldered, he didn’t snuff it out altogether. I have learned firsthand what compassion looks like. Now I want to pass it along to others.

Thanks for reading,
Jan
PS: Come on over to Rachel Anne’s for some “Company Girl Coffee!” You’re also invited to join the Soli Deo Gloria Sisters over at Jen’s Finding Heaven!

Mrs. Tweedy and her Majestic Dubble-Bubble Hairdo

I guess I should first explain that when I got my new bicycle last year, a Trek Madone 5.2, I wanted to give it a name worthy of its sterling qualities. Black with white lines and lettering, it is lightweight and rather intimidating. Unlike its rider.

Sometimes I choose food or animal names based on the bike’s color scheme; I fondly recall the pearlescent Italian bike I dubbed “Gelato.” But in this case, neither “Licorice” nor “Skunk” seemed adequate somehow. Brent and I stood in the garage staring at the Trek and waiting for inspiration.

On a seemingly unrelated note, one of my favorite movies of all time is Chicken Run, the claymation feature produced by the “Wallace & Gromit” geniuses. One of the characters is the grim, coldhearted chicken farmer, Mrs. Tweedy. She is ridiculously thin; lightweight and rather intimidating.

Hmmmmm…..

“I think I’ll call it ‘Mrs. Tweedy,’” I announced.

“Eh?” Brent blinked at me. Brent never says “Eh?”

“Because she’s lightweight and intimidating,” I answered his implied question. “Besides, there’s a bicycle in the movie. Well, a tricycle.”

“Right.”

So Mrs. Tweedy and I put in mile after mile last summer. I did the pedaling; Brent did the tune-ups and other maintenance.

Then, last month, we were both browsing around our local bike shop, B&B. Brent pointed out some cool padded handlebar tape and reminded me that my original black tape was getting worn and loose. “Would you like to try another color?” he asked.

I looked over the boxes of poufy tape, each roll visible edgewise; that is, turned so the side showed through the little windows. The bright pink caught my eye. Why not? “Ooh. How about pink?” Done.

That same evening Brent had my handlebar re-wrapped. He called me out to the garage to see his handiwork.

Looking at the face of the tape rather than the edge, the pink was not quite as bright as I had thought. It’s a pretty color, but just softer than it looked in the package. And the new tape is more padded than the old. Thick, poufy, soft pink. . .

It looked like. . . bubble gum.

And somehow, the poufy-and-colorful road-bike handlebar shape started reminding me of a swept-back hairdo. The sort of hairdo, in fact, that you might find on a female character in a “Wallace & Gromit” movie. (I still laugh about the woman in Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, whose hair looked like a giant Cheez Doodle.)

Now that it’s had a chance to grow on me, I think Mrs. Tweedy’s new ‘do looks sort of majestic. Even if it is the color of Dubble-Bubble.

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds,
Jan
PS: I am linking up with Jen and the Soli Deo Gloria sisters.
Also, come join me for coffee with Rachel Anne and the Company Girls. Hey, Company Girls, I promise I will write about some thing serious soon. Well, you know… pretty soon…
jj

The Promises She Keeps (Book Review)

Here, for my Soli Deo Gloria sisters & everyone, is a review of one of the latest books I’ve read…

Healy, Erin. The Promises She Keeps. Thomas Nelson, Nashville, 2010.

Image from Amazon.com (link is below)

I would have bought this book just for the cover illustration. It perfectly captures the danger and suspense that the book serves up.

Promise, a singer who expects to die young from cystic fibrosis, wants to be remembered by people. But then she apparently starts cheating death. Can she keep doing so?

Porta, a sorceress who expects to find the secret to immortality, wants power over people. So far she has power only over her son, Zack.

Chase, a man with autism, carries visions and messages — while Chelsea, his twin sister, carries a lot of responsibility.

All four of their paths criss-cross as Healy weaves together seemingly unrelated threads from their pasts. Warning: while most pieces of the puzzle eventually fall into place, don’t expect all your questions to be answered. Still, I found this uncanny suspense story both touching and satisfying.

Click here to see the book on Amazon.

OR, Click here to read more about it at Erin Healy’s Website!

Thanks for reading,
Jan

Eensy Weensy Spider

Several weeks ago Heather, my sweet daughter-in-law, invited me to do the bicycle portion of a sprint (short-distance) relay triathlon. She will do the swim and run parts. It’s pretty exciting… now we’re not just mom/daughter, not just friends… we’re teammates! Ever since then, my view of cycling has changed. In fact, the whole world looks different.

Before: Yeah… bike, fitness, whatever.
Now: What if I get lapped on a two-lap course? How embarrassing!! I better find out a little about time-trialing!

Before: I’ll take this road. It’s flatter than the other way.
Now: Aack! The triathlon is in Austin! I’ve got to pull some hills, people!

Before: Why pedal when you can coast?
Now: Must practice holding a 115-rpm cadence for at least a minute.

Actually, I could use some coaching. Enter Brent. He doesn’t wear a whistle or carry a clipboard, but he does have some competitive experience AND a fancy-schmancy, GPS-enabled bike computer that tells you more than you care to know about your ride. He has suggested some helpful training strategies and fine-tuned my bike.

But then he had to start meddling. Last weekend he invited me to ride with him, and thought it would be good training to ride up an obscure little backroad called Texas Plume Road.

You have to understand: I ride down Texas Plume. I don’t ride up Texas Plume. That thing is steep. I didn’t know how steep; I only knew that when I rode down it like a sensible person, I hit 32 miles an hour. In low humidity, my hair would start to smoulder. At the bottom, where it ends at a four-lane divided road, Texas Plume levels off just enough so you can stop at the stop sign instead of hurtling past it and getting run over by some innocent guy in a pickup.

So, yeah, I scrupulously avoid riding up that particular hill.

But now I’m training to compete in a triathlon. At least, training to not embarrass my daughter-in-law to death in a triathlon. Either way, for the first time ever, I felt motivated to try climbing that hill. Off we went, along our usual rambling blacktop roads.

The route was familiar enough. At least I knew I wouldn’t get lost. All you do is cross the highway, turn south on the access road for a bit and then turn onto that four-lane road, the one with Innocent Pickup Guy driving past the stop sign. It goes downhill too, but at a more gentle grade. Turning to go up Texas Plume Road, it starts out pretty easy. For about 20 feet. Then you’re climbing. Then it gets steep.

So we turned onto Texas Plume, and I felt pretty strong. For about 20 feet. Then I was climbing. Then it got steep. I looked down to make sure I didn’t have a flat tire.

“Seven percent grade,” Brent called back to me. I gritted my teeth but I was handling it.

After a bit, it seemed to get tougher. I looked down to make sure I didn’t have two flat tires, which is what it felt like. “Ten percent,” Brent said.

When we came to an almost-flat spot, I quickly downed some Hammer Gel and some water. Seconds later, we were climbing again. The tendons in the back of my right knee reminded me that they had recently been strained, so would you please back off, already? But it was too late. I couldn’t have gotten off the bike without falling backward.

What can you do? I shifted to my very, very lowest gear and stood out of the saddle. Seriously, I could have walked faster. My knee started whining in earnest. I joined in. “Twelve percent,” was Brent’s sympathetic response.

“If I don’t make it, ride on home and bring me some ice,” I gasped, “and a car.”

Well, I did make it, to the top of the hill and all the way home where I promptly iced my knee. But that climb nearly did me in. You could have knocked me right back down that steep hill with a squirt gun.

Maybe that is why, every time I think of Texas Plume Road, a little tune runs through my head: “The eensy, weensy spider went up the water spout….”

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds,
Jan
PS: This week I am linked up with Jen and the Soli Deo Gloria sisters!
I also joined the blog party with Rachel Anne and the Company Girls. (Click on over if you’d like to peek at Rachel’s latest professional project.)

Send “Somebody”

I’ve been reading through Matthew’s gospel lately. I’ve already read it several times over the years, but I keep finding things I never noticed before.

That Matthew… he was a tax-collector by occupation, you know. Methodical, detail-oriented, a good record-keeper — exactly like I’m not. Still, I appreciate the detail he put into his accounts of Jesus’ time on earth.

At the end of Chapter 9, he describes a period when Jesus had been healing a lot of sick people and freeing others from demons. Then he logs the words Jesus said to his disciples, while looking over a harassed, helpless crowd. With compassion, Jesus said: “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field” (vv.37-38).

Just between you and me, that has always been my “bailout” verse. Don’t get me wrong; I care about people and all. I will cheerfully fix meals, donate toward charity, run errands or watch a neighbor’s children. But I’m not very good at telling them about God’s love. I tend to stammer. Or I somehow manage to come across as “holier-than-thou,” which I know better than to think I really am. Fear of making a poor impression cements my lips together.

So instead of feeling responsible for sharing God’s love, I can just ask God to send somebody else to do it. Right?

Well, Matthew busted that little bubble for me the other morning. I was about to start Chapter 10, but went back to re-read the verses leading into it, about asking God to send out workers. Then, the very next thing Matthew records is Jesus calling those same twelve disciples together. He reports that Jesus gave them authority to drive out impure spirits and to heal every disease and sickness (Matt. 10:1, emphasis mine. I mean, the word just sort of jumped out at me).

What’s this? Jesus tells the Twelve to pray for more workers, then he turns around and tells them, “You’re it?”

Sure looks like it.

Maybe, when I pray about some need, I should make sure I am willing to be part of the answer.

Thanks for reading,
Jan
PS: At Finding Heaven, Jen shares refreshing thoughts and encouragement with the Soli Deo Gloria sisters and everyone else! Stop by if you have a few minutes.