I Chose Joy: A Reflection on Biking and a Good Ride

I saw bikers this morning, probably twenty of them riding in close formation down Sandestin Boulevard. I was heading south to Mass when they rolled out of the turn-about heading north. The flash of their colorful jerseys, helmets, and pedaling legs caused my heart to race.

image source: www.real-world-physics-problems.com

As emotions clutched my gut and closed my throat, I lifted my hand off the steering wheel in greeting. The lead biker in the peloton waved back as they rode past.

My father loved to bike. He did so several times a week, both in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and in Phoenix where he moved in retirement. He earned a gold medal in the El Tour de Phoenix Senior Olympics race in April 1998.

His jersey, hat, riding gloves and medal from that race hang on my office wall. A year later, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and given six-to-nine months to live.

Moving the sad emotion out of the way, I reclaimed the joy of knowing that he and mom are enjoying eternal life with Our Lord, Jesus. Both visited me in unique ways shortly after their deaths, bringing great peace and joy as their final gift to me. The depth of their happiness was immediately apparent but unimaginable, exceeding anything our human bodies can experience.

I chose to match my emotions to the faith strong and sure within me. Acting on that faith, I denied the shadow of sorrow that tried to darken the joy my heart knows about the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins and life everlasting. I will continue to choose joy instead of sadness, and life over death, just as my father did. He lived ten years after his diagnosis.

He knew how to have a good ride.

Second Wind

Runners talk about gaining a second wind somewhere during their run.  I'll probably never experience this. I have no desire to run. A heel spur and Achilles tendonitis give me all the excuses I need if I ever decide to change my mind.

I don't know how many times I've edited my spiritual memoir. It doesn't matter really. I never count things that really matter but pursue, persist, and persevere until I accomplish what needs to be done to achieve excellence, to heal, to grow. It's been a slow process. Being a burgeoning writer, I'm pretty sure it's always going to be a slow process. Creative juices have their own ebb and flow to their tide. Each writer observes and walks his or her own beach to learn and breathe its salty air.

Something happened last week that surprised me. I printed out a copy of my manuscript to send to a beta reader. As it sat on my desk to be mailed, I started to page through it to see how the latest version looked on the page. Before I knew it, I was in another line edit.  I'd already sent the MS to my developmental editor. I thought I was done for the moment until I got her feedback. Wrong.

Clarity blew in like a storm out of nowhere. I read through page after page in high adrenaline mode, marking corrections, finding new ways to clean up sentences, avoiding duplicate descriptions as if my life depended on it. If I knew what an upper felt like, I might have been experiencing something like its effects.

Maybe the work was so clean finally, the edits came more easily. Maybe this is what it feels like to be close to a finish line in a race. Who knows? The thrill of this line edit is a new exhilaration for me on my writer's beach and I'm staying with it '

til the sun sets.