Rediscovery

I remember being out in Berkeley and beginning the task of riding my bike. I say task because I didn't really want to bike to work. I didn't think it was safe with all the cars buzzing around me. And my legs felt like jelly after the slightly-small to small hills I rode up to get to First Pres. I would have thought I was a chain-smoker who never had a day of exercise. But with the encouragement of my host family and some minor revelations from God; I decided I would try to stick with it.

And I did.

I remember the first day I rediscovered how much I loved biking. I had huffed and puffed my way up past the Claremont Hotel, on one of those bright, clear Berkeley mornings (sometime in March, I think), and I was enjoying the ride downhill to what I began to affectionately call "My Toolshed" ('My' spot on Prince--thanks, Josh, for that one.). The wind was blowing through my helmet and against my shirt, and my tires were humming underneath me with a rhythmic click coming from. . .somewhere. I began to notice the turn-of-the-twentieth-century houses, the unexpected palm trees, the scent of orange blossoms, the bustle of College: and the world seemed reborn.

In that moment, I remembered my Huffy bike with the rose-stickered mud-flaps, the tassles hanging off the handle bars, the basket I got a year later. I remembered the thrill of peddling as fast as I could go, swooping down the driveway and around to the street, then back down again. I remembered attempting 'dangerous feats' of skill and gaining self-confidence with each new endeavor. . .and in that moment of rebirth and memory, I felt pure joy.

I love those moments, when the life I live and all that is truly me collide serendipitously, and the sun no longer has to beam in the sky because it beams from the depth of my soul. All is light, all is fair, all is filled.

And such the week has been here in Memphis--a poetry reading, a Scottish faire, a local dance--a rediscovery of the elements of joy.