Goodwill Treasures She Pondered In Her Heart

So I sat in bed typing away on Saturday morning... yet another ohh woe-is-me bah humbug holiday post.  It's been such a struggle for me ... year after year it seems.  Year after year I have continued to stay stuck on this little fact of wanting to be seen, wanting to be recognized and thanked, wanting to be showered upon with grand lavish gifts over the holidays, you know... like what I do for everyone else {wink}.

I am definitely bent on that selfish heart, it's roots trickling deep within the depth of my heart and soul.  And I honestly don't like, I don't like myself for being this way.

I've been wrestling with it, I've been praying about it, I've been just trying to be real, authentic, and aware of my shortcomings and realities.  And then on Saturday I hit post on my last blog, I closed my laptop, and got out of bed.

I opened the door and looked at Isaiah and told him to get ready, we had some errands to run.  I showered, got ready, and we headed out... to the nearest Goodwill.

Money is tight for us right now.  We went to Disney, we adopted a new dog, we have medical bills and grocery bills and an electric bill with a hefty new tax increase on it that I hadn't budgeted for.  (And obviously if we could do Disney and a dog, we don't honestly know the true concept of dealing with a "tight budget" ... I know, I know...)

But I wanted this to be about the giving, not about the money.  So, yes it was Goodwill bound we ventured.

We got a cart (one with a malfunctioning front left tire of course) and we started talking about who we all needed to shop for and we walked up and down the isles... up and down the isles.  We got some ideas, we found a few things, we continued to shop and talk about the people we were shopping for ... what they liked, what they needed, what things could we look for for them.  And then as we were looking through the movies, my son came across a dvd he had just had me on amazon looking up the night before.  A disc holding an entire season of MythBusters episodes.

I looked at him and I looked at the disc, and I decided to say yes instead of no.  I didn't say, no we are shopping for other people, not ourselves...  ok maybe I did, but then I decided he was old enough to have the conversation about sometimes the people who are giving gifts have to sometimes buy their own gifts and carry out the fine art of "surprise."  We talked about what it might look like if he unwrapped a gift that he knew he wanted, and he knew what it was, but not to let everyone else at the party know that.  Sometimes givers just have to give a little something to themselves.  I watched the sparkle dancing in his eyes during the entire conversation and I found my heart filling with an unexpected joy.

He then decided maybe we should also go and look for a "surprise" gift for me as well.  We selected a shirt and a pair of boots and I winked and promised I would never let anyone know that I knew.  These gifts for the the two of us would be our own little "givers secrets."

We pushed a cart full of treasures to the checkout and $52.00 later we walked out with three large bags of gifts and smiles on our faces.  We got home and immediately went to work wrapping.  We wrapped for hours, with rolls and rolls of tape.  He cut, he wrote the tags, I simply guided and held the paper while he tore his foot long strips of tape. :-)  We put some curling ribbons on and I got to show him how to curl the ribbon ends with a scissors.  He was so pleased and so excited.  He was going to be giving each and every one of these gifts from "Secret Santa" - he didn't want anyone to know they were actually from him.

He got a large box from the garage recycling and got all the wrapped gifts organized and all ready for Christmas Day.  He absolutely loved the fact that he was part of something large, something special, something magical.

Somewhere during these precious hours, my heart transformed a little ... maybe even a lot.  For the first time, I stopped feeling bitter about the fact that no one was going shopping for me.  No one was plotting and planning how to make something special and magical for me (which isn't even true, but was merely a lie satan whispers over and over in my ear).  I wasn't sitting back harboring animosity towards my husband who I felt wasn't modeling to our son the gift of giving.

I thought about love languages, and how I know that is not one of my dear husbands gifts, but it is one of mine, and probably one of my sons.  I began turning the tables in my mind.  There is no reason that I need to continue to be the selfish one waiting for someone else to show and model giving on my behalf and for my personal benefit, when there is no reason why I can't be the one to hold hands and do the modeling myself.

And you know, like I had quietly whispered to my son earlier that morning at the Goodwill, sometimes the givers have to just get their own gifts and practice the fine art of surprise.  Which is another thing I did this year.  I bought all of my own gifts and put them in the closet for my husband to wrap.  I originally did this grudgingly, but had decided early on that if I didn't buy a few gifts for myself, I knew I wouldn't probably be opening anything at all on Christmas morning with my family, while they opened box after box that I had purchased and wrapped... all laced with a thick dose of my selfishness and ill will.

So this year I had six gifts that I got to open... four of which that I had picked out, picked up, paid for, and brought home all for myself.  I really really wanted a new treadmill, but I knew that big ticket item wasn't an option for me to purchase for myself.  But.. a quick trip to Maurice's for a sweatshirt, a pair of fancy sparkle pants, and new silver sparkle chucks (converse shoes) would do just fine.  {wink}

For the longest time I carried this grumpy bitterness about having to buy my own gifts.  I shouldn't have to, I should be special enough, worth enough, done enough for everyone else to have deserved to be treated and surprised.  But when your love language is not gift giving... well, no matter how worked up or angry or bitter or black and white I make the issue - it was not going to go away.  It's a reality of our marriage, and simply who we are. I can embrace and figure out how to love that, or I can continue on stomping around year after year in my disappointment and frustration.

I had to chuckle a little to myself as I thought back to my childhood, and how somehow my mom ALWAYS was able to guess what she was getting for Christmas on Christmas morning when we were handing out gifts and opening them together.  "Is it... Visions Cookwear?!?"   WHAT!?! I clearly remember wondering how in the world could she have possible guessed there was Visions Cookwear in that wrapped box, and as the paper was torn away... sure enough - an entire set of brown glass Visions Cookwear for my mom!  Now as a mom, I fully realize she probably was doing the exact same thing - buying herself the gifts she wanted and practicing that fine art of "surprise."

This year I put on lots of "surprise" and was blown away at just how wonderful my family was in their gift giving selections this year.  Everything fit perfect and was exactly what I was wanting!! {wink}.  And I got to watch the sparkle dancing in my little ones eyes as he held a small wrapped package containing that much wanted Mythbusters seasonal dvd.  He could hardly contain himself as he started unwrapping "It's exactly what I wanted!" he beamed at me and I gave him a genuine smile and little wink.

But as we enjoyed a morning of giving together, this year I found my heart utterly filled with a pure joy as I took in the real story and love of giving.  My twenty-year-old sat on the chair with his girlfriend beside him and they gave us all gifts they had carefully chosen, also on their very limited budget.  And I opened my gifts and genuinely was excited and fully joy-filled, the bitterness not there this time.

A few hours later that little boy carefully pulled out a box that somehow magically had appeared by our fireplace this morning from a "Secret Santa".  He handed out the gifts to everyone, and he went from person to person to help them open their gifts. I watched him experience the grand scale of truly giving and it filled my heart.  It changed my heart.  Giving is about giving.  Giving is not about receiving.  Giving is about a servant heart. Giving is not about a selfish heart.  

A small part of the big bitter hole in my heart was patched this weekend as I held my youngest middle child's hand and helped him process who and what it truly all means to give those who are special to him.  And as I modeled and helped him, I found myself changing my view and my expectations.  No, Christmas is not about me... Christmas is about the Christ child and Christmas is about giving.  And whether that means being honestly surprised and being personally showered upon with grand gifts, or if that means simply being the one who gets to help someone else get to be that one who gets to do the surprising and showering upon of the gifts to others, it really all comes down to the state of our hearts and the outlook of our expectations.

I have wrested with these things my entire life, and I am humbled and grateful that God has continued to burden me with these feelings so that I am forced to continue to process and work through these personal issues I have.  I'm thankful that God continues to give me the gift of grace, allowing me to improve and be aware and experience a changing heart and mind over and over again.

I will always remember this Christmas with it's Goodwill treasures given in abundance and love, and I will forever ponder them in my heart.

Previous Blog Post "Selfish Heart vs Servant Heart" HERE }

{ Next Blog Post "Journey Through The Seasons" HERE }

Selfish Heart vs Servant Heart

Earlier this week on my way home for lunch, I was struck with a clear and loud thought as I traveled from the church parking lot where I work to the corner. Interestingly, I have been struck by other transformative thoughts many times during this very same stretch of road.

I’m learning the importance to pay attention to the still voice in my head during these times on this growing sacred stretch of pavement.

This week my mind has been busy processing and mentally (and physically) writing and crossing things off my never ending to-do list. I have a long list needing to be completed at work, and an even longer one at home.

It’s that time of year of endless holiday planning and preparations. Of excessive gift buying and wrapping. Of Christmas party planning. Of holiday treats and multiple menu details to coordinate, shop for, and make. So many details. So many demands and expectations. So many behind the scenes perfections I feel I need to take care of for my family.

Right now I am spending so much of my time and energy simply trying to coordinate and keep all these millions of tiny details straight, making sure nothing is missed, nothing is forgotten, nothing is overlooked or not completed on time.

In all this excessive mayhem I’ve convinced myself I need to merely buckle down and just survive. I need to diligently keep at the tasks at hand so I can get everything crossed off the lists, completion accomplished.

On this little hamster wheel of holiday chaos, I’ve inserted so many selfish thoughts and attitudes, reminding myself over and over how much I’m doing for for everyone else, with a growing bitterness as I allow myself to wallow in all those little voices telling me none of this energy will be returned to me, because of course I deserve to be lavishly showered upon with gifts and accolades for my greatness.

Satan is busy whispering all these lies convincing me that no one else is thinking about what gifts to buy for me. No one else is offering to help me buy, and wrap, coordinate, and create a joy filled holiday. No one else is looking over at me thinking about how appreciative they are of me and all I do, how hard I work and how dedicated I am to all that I love and all whom I love. Satan has yet again this year encouraged me to hate the holidays and convince myself I am actually worth so much more than I actually am, that all of this is somehow all about me, when it actually isn’t.

Satan is busy filling my heart with his staining darkness, a blackness that seems to seep from inside out, infecting my thoughts, my words, and my attitude and actions towards all those around me. I’m allowing him to fill me with a “justified” bitterness and selfishness, an unnatural state of absolute entitlement.

All of these things I’m doing for others, is actually what I should be doing - and doing with a much more grateful servant heart. We were created to live and love others well, deeply, fully. Doing for others is what is the DNA of our existence and purpose. We were created to give, not to receive.The entrance of sin seems to have corrupted all that and is continually trying to turn our hearts to focus on our selves, our wants, our desires, our entitlement, our selfishness.

We are to live and love fully with a servant heart. We are not to live with a selfish heart.
Servant heart vs selfish heart. Extreme ends of the reality spectrum.

It was really a profound thought, a profound moment as I sat at a corner waiting for my turn to enter onto the highway. I sat stopped and waiting, a moment of absolute stillness before entering the full speed traffic of busy lanes of the highway, hurtling forward again at full speed towards my next destination, my next goal, my next thing on my list.

It’s not about me, it’s not about what I want, and what I do, and what I expect from behalf of my family. I should be filled with great joy and excitement at the opportunities to live and love on those near and dear to me during this busy season. This is an opportunity to show what they mean to me, through my giving and my acts of servanthood.

There is no reason that my heart and thoughts are so constantly filled with such negativity and selfishness.

It is this growing discomfort within, this content tension in the midst of the details. This inner battle of what I know to be true and right, and the lies I seem to allow myself to hear and believe over and over again.

I admit it, I am hardwired for drama and selfish extremes and motives. It’s a trait I have always had and battled. It is a personality trait I am in constant battle with, leaving me at war between that which brings out the best in me and that which brings out the worst in me.

I seem to live most of my life living in the reality and simmering in the lies that bring out the worst in me. I don’t want this selfish and bitter heart, I honestly want a full on giving and joy-filled servant heart.

We have such abundance and so many opportunities to display Godly love and giving right now.  And here I am harboring so much bitterness and selfishness. I’m convicted by this sour state of my soul right now. Why do I turn everything inward and allow myself to be filled with the poisons of personal ungratefulness? Why am I wired to so quickly focus on myself rather than on the gifts and opportunities of all those around me?

Heavy sigh. Heavy heart.

I admit… I think ultimately I just want to be seen, loved, appreciated, and thanked by those in my house. I want the holidays to be all about me, even when I know they aren’t. It’s an odd tension that leaves me edgy and exhausted. Why is it so hard to just turn my hands and heart outward and give it all away with a joy-filled attitude? Why is it so hard to joyfully give and celebrate everyone else that I love without having this sharp edge of selfishness always attached to it?And why is it so hard to accept the way that I am in fact already being seen, loved, appreciated and thanked? Why do I have to set these boldly colored expectations so high and so colorful?

Oh Lord, humble me, hold me, harness my utter selfishness in this season of giving and getting.  Continue to remind me and whisper to me that this isn’t about me, that it’s about You - about Your gift of salvation and the story and journey You went through over two thousand years ago, so that one day I would be able to receive that hope and grace.

Oh Lord, open my mind, thoughts, and heart to the servant heart I was created to relish and share, and continue to guard my selfish heart from sabotaging and turning this all around and try to make it all about me.

{ Previous Blog Post "My Word For 2018" HERE }
{ Next Blog Post "Goodwill Treasure She Pondered In Her Heart" HERE }

My word for 2018

The last several years I have had a theme word for the year, a word that I feel God has given me.  Given me to focus on, given me to work on, given me to help guide me through the year.

Last year my word was less.
Do less, have less, weigh less, spend less, talk less.

Yesterday, as I did my morning devotions and was reflecting over a few different conversations and thoughts I'd had the evening before, the word contentment kept quietly cycling through my mind over and over.

At one point I stopped, and wondered if contentment was perhaps the word God was giving me for 2018.

Holidays are hard for me, and I admit I'm a little bah humbug-ish during this time every year... I get so caught up in all I have to do for everyone else and feel all woe-is-me for what everyone isn't doing for me.  I thought about a little instagram meme that had caught my attention as well "There are people who would love to have your bad days."  I had hit the little heart button, and that little phrase and reality kept coming back to me all day.

Reality check.  Wake up call.  Stop feeling so darn sorry for yourself and start being joyful in all you have.  Stop focusing on all the things you have to do and start focusing on all the things you get to do, the time you get to spend with your family, the gifts and love you get to shower on those you love and adore... Christmas isn't all about me. Christmas is about the birth of the Christ child long ago, in a land far away, in a dirty barn stall.  Christmas is about the gift given to us in the form of an infant who would grow, and teach, and model, and ultimately die a painful death on our behalf to save us from our sin and stain, and allow us the gift of grace, forgiveness, and eternal salvation.

Yea, and I'm sitting here worried about gifts, and decorations, and food, and credit card bills.  Thanks satan, but sorry, not today.

As I thought over my theme and word for 2017, I started weighing in on how the year is ending.  I did a good job doing less this year. I did an ok job purging and having less. I managed to continue my health and wellness and weighing less. I'm not quite sure how I did on the talking less... but on the spending less... well, that one I have not quite fully come to grips with yet.

I also couldn't help but smile, because really, contentment (at least for me) largely plays a part in the whole avenue of less.  I'm quite certain that my 2017's "less" was the beginning legwork for what I'm going to need to be tackling in 2018 in the area of contentment.

I have always struggled with contentment.  I have always been one who has wanted more, bigger, greater, nicer, newer... I have always been one who wants what I want, when I want it, how I want it.  I have always been one who strives for perfection and isn't happy until I reach it ... which is never, because we all know perfection is ultimately unattainable here on earth.

I'm one of those go big or go home people.  One of those you either love me or you hate me, and you never quite know what to do with me or expect from me.

And all of my life I have never felt enough.

I have always battled not being enough, not having enough, and it's often left me on this hamster wheel of crazed overachievement expectations and unattainable realities.  It's left me fallen short and harder on myself (and others) than feasibly necessary.  It's a hard flux to live within quite honestly.

I need to learn to accept myself the way that I am.  I need to learn to accept my life the way that it has been granted to me.  I need to learn to accept where I am and what I am doing as what God has in His plans for me.  I need to stop being so hard on myself, and I need to stop being so hard on everyone around me.

I wonder why it is so hard for us to simply just be enough?  To just be fully present in the moment, fully accepting in the reality, fully ok with whatever the circumstances and outcome?  Why are we so hard wired for hard things? Why is our first response to over dramatize and turn it all inward?

I know I can't be alone in this inner daily battle.  I'm betting that on some level, nearly everyone struggles at least a little with all this.  There has to be others out there that as also wanting to stop and smell the roses ... but not just some of the roses, stopping life entirely for just a few moments on occasion to smell all of the roses.  I long and ache to find true happiness from within, from slowing down, from being ok with everything life is currently handing me... I long to stop trying to become enough through the endless doing of more and more and more in an attempt to be, and do, and become more and more and more.

Embrace less to be enough.  Embrace less to have enough.

Contentment ... my word ... my theme ... my hope for 2018.  I am excited to see what God all has in store for me over the next twelve and a half months.  How about I promise to keep you posted on that?!  [wink]

con·tent·ment

noun  a state of happiness and satisfaction.

1. synonyms:

   contentedness, content, satisfaction, gratification, fulfillment, happiness, pleasure, cheerfulness;  ease, comfort, well-being, peace, equanimity, serenity, tranquility { Previous Post "Bah-Humbug" HERE } {Next Blog Post "Selfish Heart vs Servant Heart" HERE }

Bah Humbug

You know what... I admit it... I'm a bit of a bah humbug when it comes to the holidays.

This fact is not something I've really hidden over the years, but I am one that has always tried to do a pretty good job of just putting on the happy face, diving in, and just getting through.

It's not that I don't want to celebrate the holidays ... because I do. I enjoy time with my family, but does it have to be so ... planned?!? I just want to somehow figure out how to fully celebrate the birth and grand mystery of the birth of Christ - without having to fall victim to the over-advertised, materialistic, ho ho ho santa clause version of holiday celebrations.

I know I have myself to blame, because just today I ventured over to the local library and ushered my nine-year-old in to sit on santa's lap and tell him what he wants for Christmas.  An iPhone 8 of all things I heard him say.  I'm assuming if he already hasn't figured out that santa isn't real, this is going to be the year of reality - cuz sorry charlie, there will not be an iPhone 8 wrapped neatly under the tree waiting for you Christmas morning.

I've struggled through this, year after year with a hopeless and overwhelmed "holiday cheer" through the lens of a divorced person, a co-parenting divorced person at that, and now married to a child of a divorced family.  I've traveled through endless holidays clutching the shirttails of miscarriage and infertility, with a spicy mix of adoption and all the micro and macro intricacies all that brings to the mix.  I've attempted to balance through the traditional uber high, absolutely unattainable, expectation of perfection lens as well. And through an exhausted mom lens, as one who has taken care of nearly all the details from dates, to cards, to cleaning, to food, to shopping, to gifts, to wrapping, to going, to coming back home, to cleaning it all up, to putting it all back away.  I've also traveled the holidays with a raging empathetic heart through the lens of dear friends who are still single as yet another Christmas looms closer and closer.  The cribs are still empty, the relationships still not begun, the reality and dreams still far from perfect, far from wished for.  It all just breaks my heart a little and leaves me emotional and physically overwhelmed.

In this house, if the holidays are to arrive, the details will basically have all had to have gone through me.

And I won't even touch on the fact that I don't think the others in this house never quite realize the giving thing should probably go both ways.  Meaning - don't forget to go shopping for mom, cuz I guarantee she's the one that has gone shopping for you all and stayed up until 1:00am wrapping them all.  But please don't let that make you actually feel bad, she merely loves you and it's what all moms do.  (What's a holiday without a thick ol layer of mom guilt, hu?)

Yes, the gifts and extravagance is a statement of love and gratitude.  Yes it is a moment for memories and merriment.  Yes it is seeded in tradition and generational family heritage.  But I can't help but continue to ask why!?!  Why do we do holidays the way we do?!?  Why all the crazy, the chaos, the credit card bills, the expectations, the excess, the calories, the overbooked schedules, the under stated true reason, the unseen, nearly forgotten story of a baby in the barn over two thousand years ago?

I don't want the advertised, high glam, super sparkly holidays portrayed on tv and social media.  I want a silent, quiet, matte finish holiday inside the walls of my house, next to the few near and dear to me.  Nothing more, nothing less.

So, every year about this time of year I find myself stomping around my house being moody and grumpy, feeling overwhelmed and overlooked.  Oh woe is me. I dislike Hallmark christmas movies.  I can't stomach listening to the radio as they feature five christmas songs sung by fifty different artists.  I battle feeling utterly selfish knowing no one in my house is shopping or thinking about my gifts, yet at the same time also feeling angst about having to shop and spend all this money to buy gifts for people that don't need anything, and I, of course, am the most un-needy of anyone.  Honestly, there is nothing on my list, on any of our lists, that we honestly and truly need.  We are really merely buying gifts simply to buy each other gifts.  And as much as I don't want to have to do it, I do enjoy the giving, and I do enjoy watching those I love receiving, and I do, in all honestly and full discloser and selfishness, also enjoy receiving.  Heck yea I love tearing the paper off a brand new pad of beautiful and bright scrapbooking paper, and fun earrings, and massage gift certificates, and...

But why?? ... I again pause and ponder this why of it all.

As I sit here evaluating all my feelings and thoughts on the inside, as I silently sit and mildly simmer in my continued frustration, as I mire through yet another year of the same ol thing, as the days on the calendar continue to cross themselves off more quickly than slowly, leaving this year's Christmas arrival really only days away any more.

The gifts are nearly all bought (thank you online shopping. If you asked for something I cannot order it online, well, then sorry but you won't be getting that said item from me)  Over half the gifts are already carefully wrapped. We're wresting through the many issues about what dates to do where and with which family.  We're fighting over who is getting to get what gift off who's list.  We are attempting to discuss menu for each gathering and assigning who needs to bring what.  Oh yes, we are in full on holiday mode ... while my husband sits by clueless on his phone on the couch in front of the tv.  While my children are off doing and playing and adding to their wish-lists.

Does no one see me over here running around like a crazy fool?!?  Does no one care that I'm exhausted and overwhelmed and I don't want to do all of this?!?

Maybe it's me, maybe it's everyone, but every year at about this time I seriously just want to throw in the towel and be done with it.  I want to curse and scream and swear I will not be lifting one figure next year.  Next year, mom is going to be MIA, mom is going to be cashing in PTO, and mom is going to be OMG don't LMK bc I am not available and I am not going to make anyone's holidays become magically delicious.  Every year I swear that this year is the last year... that next year everyone else can just  all have at it - it's all up to you, mom is checking out, will not be available, and will not even be showing up.

You clean and decorate the entire house, you set the dates, plan the menus, pass along the lists, coordinate with everyone else who has also gotten that same list, shop, purchase, pay for, hide, wrap, organize all the wrapped gifts per party, get the food, make the food, pack the car, pack the family and drive us there, load the car, unload the car, go through all old things in the house, clean, put all new things away, take down all the decorations, put them all back away, re clean the house, be sure the recycling and trash get taken to the curb on their proper days.  Now that ... that would be thee best gift ever that anyone could give me (well, next to a massage gift certificate anyways).  The simple gift of simplicity.  The gift of nothing, which really would actually be the gift of everything to me.

Why yes, I do love this idea, don't you?

Ok, so maybe all that is a bit extreme, a bit drama queen-ish, and in full reality, every year my family usually does manage to come across with at least a gift or two for me (that I'm sure if bought on Christmas eve and rarely wrapped)(and last year my hubby did rock it out of the park with a fireplace and custom surround). And I do deep down enjoy the time spent with family and watching the excitement they all carry.  But amid all of that I do find it all a little hard, a little frustrating, a little stressful, a little well... bah humbug-ish.

So my apologies if I'm a little grumpy and short tempered, my apologies if I'm a little weepy and emotional, my apologies if I'm a little quiet and disappear for a while.  I do love you, I do love the holidays (at least to a small degree) and I do love the art of giving, it's just that all the rest of it is well ... tricky.  And tricky for me is hard.

I'm doing the best I can... just like I'm sure so many others out there are doing the best they can.  I have a sneaky suspicion that there are a whole lot of us walking around with large smiles on the outside but feeling pretty similar on the inside.

Holidays are hard on many levels for many people.  Holidays are also magical on many levels for many people.  And for some, holiday are just a crazy mix of hard and magical all rolled up in one lumpy bumpy roller coaster ride of emotions, moments, and memories.

So... 'Tiz the Season one and all.  Best of luck.  Cheers. Tally Ho. Mazel Tov. Feliz Navidad.
And happy Bah Humbugging! xoxo 

{ Next Blog Post "My Word for 2018" HERE }

{ Previous Blog Post "Boston Marathon of All Things" HERE }

Boston Marathon ... Of All Things

It’s Sunday morning and I’m laying in bed.

I got up early and got a #sevenmilesunday workout in and did my devotions. But, then I climbed back in bed and I let myself sit on my phone for a while, mindlessly scrolling through endless posts and photos of everyone else’s great moments and stellar perfections.

And you know what it ultimately led me to ~ I actually google searched what time you need to finish a full marathon in to qualify for the Boston Marathon. Then I googled when the Boston Marathon even is.

I have zero desire to ever run a real marathon, so what in the world just possessed me to do that?!?! I’m obviously still not a real runner, because those are two facts that I’m sure real runners already all know. Two facts real runners already are diligently working towards, not sitting in bed merely dreaming about.

Wait - what?!? Suddenly I’m allowing my mind to tell me I’m not a real runner because I will never be able to run 26.2 miles at a 7 minute mile (or less) pace?!? Good Gandhi Sara! My brain might not directly be telling me this, but social media is surely trying to convince my brain otherwise… At lease Instagram is. Or at least I am allowing instagram to…

I do love instagram. I follow adorable yorkies, and amazing cake artists, great Bible quotes and spiritual truths, and inspirational writers, and stunning photographers, and home decorators, and inspirational, hard working people wrestling the same beast of getting healthy and in shape as I am. But, I also follow several runners and running associated pages, you know - real runners, serious athletes, that run for.a.living. They have sponsors, and trainers, and whatever else real runners all have.

Saturday and Sunday posts are always full of runners updates and race results and garmin watch shots and tiny, toned, sweaty bodies with huge smiles and metals around their necks. Several qualified for the Boston Marathon this weekend. Some didn’t. Most had amazing times attached to amazing distances that they absolutely dominated. I can get done with my own workout feeling pretty darn good about myself and my accomplishments, and then I see someone post something and they just went twice as far in less than half the time. Ugh.

Instagram - it’s one of the places I go to find encouragement and motivation, but it’s also one of the places that often leaves me feeling utterly defeated and worthless.

I know I can’t be the only one who struggles with this whole social media mayhem. Why in the world do we allow this to happen to us every single day?!? Why in the world do I sometimes post and probably even feed into it all?!?

Most days I have hard time just getting on my treadmill every morning. I haven’t run outside hardly at all since I ran my half marathon nearly a month ago. It’s cold out, and I’m using that as my great excuse right now. So I’m back on my treadmill, and I run at a slower pace and find it much harder than it was when I was half marathon training outside (and I thought running outside was crazy hard, if that gives you any perspective). I feel I’ve lost an incredible amount of speed and distance by moving from the outdoors to the basement, all that work for all those months outside, all for nothing. But, so far anyway, I am still faithfully getting up and getting it done, but I am feeling a little lost, a little aimless, a little worthless, a little restless as I sit here right now. And it’s only November. I cannot imagine what I’m going to be battling by the time March and April finally arrive.

I am signed up for several virtual races coming up through the winter. Most are 10k’s and I know I’m going to have to do them on my treadmill, and I already know I’m going to be super disappointed in my completion time and overall performance. But, it is giving me something to continue onward with, something to continue training for. In a few weeks I will also officially reenter into into half marathon training again. I am hoping the first thing I do on my 43rd birthday is complete my second official half marathon. But time will have to tell on the actuality of that hope.

As I sit here and look back at what I’m thinking and writing right now, I can’t help but laugh a little… I feel as all over the place and as lost and in circles as I do every morning battling away on my treadmill. Going around and around but not actually getting anywhere.

So what am I trying to put together here, what exactly am I trying to say or think or process??

I think transition is hard. I think I am a little lost in the “less” of not officially half marathon training right now, while also gratefully basking in the rest from the intensity of all that that was.

I also think there is a fine line between inspiration and utter deflation, and that we need to be careful where we turn to and who we get our support and ultimate direction and determination from. I think social media has a time and a place and can be a wonderful tool to help keep one going forward, keep one accountable, keep one motivated by those who are out there also doing it, who are also being strong, and brave, and vulnerable. I also think we have to sooo guard our minds and our hearts from the obsessive reverse attack that it can also cause and overtake.

We have to be careful of that fine line… The very thin line between worth and worthlessness. The line between motivation and inspiration-killer. The line between strength and weakness. The line between growth and being completely cut down. The line between moving forward and being drug backward.

If I continue to allow myself to get sucked into the social media lies I let quietly creep in, my house will never be decorated cute enough, my pace will never be fast enough, my miles will never be far enough, my dog will never be young enough, my photos will never be stunning enough, my family will never be perfect enough, my weight will never be low enough, my meals will never be tasty enough, my cakes will never be fancy enough, my story will never be special enough, my journey will never be worthy enough…

But that does not mean that I am never actually not enough exactly the way that I am. Because I am. I am enough, because God created me to be enough exactly the way that I am … only most days I struggle seeing and believing that amid the onslaught of everyone else’s above and beyond enough’s and perceived public perfections.

May I seek my validation and incentive from above and from those around me rather than those through the little rectangle I’m holding in my hand. May I seek my ultimate motivation and direction from above and from those around me rather than the screen of my laptop or computer in front of me. May the light that fills me come above and from those around me rather than from the luminescent glow of an impersonal electronic device, void of any physical interaction, touch, taste, or logical reasoning.

As I read just yesterday (on instagram of course ~LOL) “I am enough. Who I am is enough. What is do is enough. And what I have is enough.” - flexitpink.com

You are enough. Who you are is enough. What you do is enough. What you have is enough.

We. Are. Enough.

Don’t let anything sneak inside you and whisper to you anything different.

(PS - if you travel at a pace that is intentionally faster than a walk, you my friend ARE a real runner!)

{Previous Blog Post "Restless" HERE }

Not Growing By Four Paws

I’ve been trying to figure out how to share this without it getting overly long and wordy.

Actually I’ve been trying to figure out simply how to even put words to all of this period, and I really don’t know where to even start or what to all even share, so I’m just going to start somewhere and hope the best, my sincere apologies if this gets ummmmm … long.

Four years ago we adopted our little yorkie Lily. I won’t get into the details of that adoption, other than that we wrested for quite a while about when to add another four paws to our family and what kind of dog to get and where to get it from. At the very last minute God stepped in and presented us with an opportunity we weren’t actually considering, but it was clearly meant to be. We adopted Lily and didn’t know her real name, her age, her history, or anything about her. I was the one who had gone to meet her, and I basically couldn’t in good faith drive away and leave her.

I would find myself at the vet two days later and felt exactly the same way I did when I took our adopted son to the doctor for the very first time. I had no way of really answering any of their questions. We just didn’t know.

We fell in love with her immediately, and would quickly learn that somewhere along the line she had had a tough beginning. We hadn’t been the ones who had initially raised and trained her, but we would be the ones that would love her well through the last half of her life, and we would love her well despite the emotional baggage she carried with her from her past.

This summer we were quite sure we would lose her before fall. Physically her body was failing her and it was so hard to watch her slowly age and fade. We continued our talk about when we would be adding a second set of four paws to our family (a conversation we’d been having for at least the last year). After a lot of discussion, there was a lot we didn’t know, but there was several things we did. We knew if Lily was still alive, we would have to adopt a small puppy, so that Lily would be able to hopefully feel the “first born” and be able to adjust in time, and not spend the last of her days hidden under the couch cowering in fear. We also knew despite the huge popularity right now - we did not want a mix breed, a “designer” breed. We wanted a full bred yorkie, just like our Lily.

So often our conversations felt so much like how I felt when we were in the process of adopting our son. What age would we consider, what ethnicities would we consider, how far away would we consider having to travel, how were we going to pay for this…

We started contacting breeders and no one was offering pure bred yorkies, everyone was breeding the designer mixed breeds. We decided to put our name on several lists if anyone would ever happen to have a litter of full yorkies and have a female available.

We were officially “in waiting” for our next adoption. We had no idea which place would contact us, if any, and we had no idea when we might hear anything, if ever. But we were an official family in waiting, yet again.

We continued to love on our Lily all summer and continued to wonder just how much longer she was going to be with us.

And then we found ourselves the last weekend in August. It was the angelversary weekend of the original due date we were given when we had found out we were pregnant with our daughter, Faith. We had lost her before her due date due to Trisomy 18, and even through three years had passed, it was still a tough weekend, a tough reminder of all that never came to be…

And then out of the blue I received a message that same weekend. There had been a litter of yorkie puppies just born and there were three females available, and they were wondering if we were still interesting and waiting. I honestly couldn’t quite believe it. There was a photo of all three tiny little newborns attached. They were about five hours away from us.

Well, we basically knew immediately that this was really an amazing answer to our prayers. (Yes, I pray for the fur babies in my family) We agreed and sent off a deposit within a few days. We had officially moved from a family “in waiting" to a family that had been “chosen”. We were matched to our newest member of the family, and now we needed to just wait a little longer until she was old enough, and big enough to get to come home with us to her “forever family.”

We decided to not tell our youngest child, and only decided to tell a very small handful of people. We chose yet again to not publicly announce this upcoming addition to our family beforehand. We hadn’t with Isaiah. We hadn’t with Faith. We knew better than to flippantly live in expectation of perfection and entitlement. We knew better than to celebrate prematurely, because we had learned over and over that life is never quite what you think it’s going to be, and surely not want you are wanting it to ever actually be.

The last ten weeks we have been walking around planning and prepping for this addition, but not able to really talk about it to anyone, and to really not talk about it at all at home. It was very similar to my pregnancy with Faith.

I was registered and training to run a half marathon race near the town they were in, so I was able to stop that race weekend and meet all three of the little puppies. Our family had first pick of the litter. When they were first brought out, my eye immediately picked which one from a glance I liked the most. They were all set on the floor in the room. One went in the opposite direction, one didn’t move at all, and one came zipping right over immediately to me. Of course it was the same one that I had been drawn to as well. I picked her, and she picked me. It was instant love and she nestled right in to my arms.

She needed just a few more weeks of growing before she would be ready for us, so we left that day with a date set for early November.

Somehow the secret remained and I found myself picking up my mom and heading out of town as soon as I had our youngest dropped off at school. I had a little social media announcement all written and an adorable little announcement photo all designed - all ready to blast out on social media after we officially had her, we were so excited to finally share our big news with everyone!

After a five hour drive, we finally arrived. We had stopped for gas before arriving at their kennel, and while I was in the bathroom, I got a text message. It was a copy of our little Piper's papers. It had her birth date. August 20, 2017. Exactly one week before our Faith’s August 27th due date. It had her parents names. Boo Boo and Faith. Her mothers name was Faith. I started to just weep in the bathroom of a dirty Casey’s gas station. I had no words.

We arrived, and there she was. I picked her up and we snuggled and we talked and played for a while and then I handed her to my mom while I was in the process of all the paperwork. And then my mom walked her over to me… and we began to realize that our little Piper, was actually sick.

And it left me with a sick feeling inside. That almost out of body feeling when you slowly breath in a large breath of air and look around you knowing this exact moment in time is going to forever change your life and forever be etched in the memories that you will never forget deep within you.

The next hour was a blur of decisions and emotions. The kennel was accommodating and of course wanted to do the right thing, the best thing, and offered us several options. We weighed them, and discussed them, and I called my husband, and I was praying, and I was trying to not break down and cry. Deep inside as I held that little puppy, my heart broke in utter devastation as I knew I was not going to be going home with this precious little life.

I would again have to drive away without a life I so disparately wanted to have added to our family. I had stood in the sun, in the crisp fall breeze, on the phone with my husband, listening to utter silence from his end, so similar to the phone call to him when I first told him about Faith… I stood with my eyes closed, facing the sun, and begged with God to not make me have to choose this again, not make me have to go through this again. And granted, yes I know this was simply a dog - not a child, but it was more the matter of expectation and disappointment. A matter of a broken heart and devastation and knowing I would have to find the strength to have to drive away, and re-enter my house empty handed and broken hearted. There would be no surprise, no bustling of activity and laughter and energy, there would be no middle of the night crying from a scared little one who had been separated from her mama and sisters and all the familiar sounds and smells and comfort of the only home and life she had ever known.

I was very grateful to have my mom there with me. She was a wonderful support, a strong council of information, and able to ask and direct some of the hard questions and decisions on the table in front of us. And she sat quietly next to me in the car as we backed up and had to drive away.

Of course we knew it was all for the best, of course we all knew there was a reason and a purpose and a lesson in and through all of this. I just wished it wasn’t having to happen in this way, to us, yet again.

Restless

I found myself recognizing a feel of feeling a little ... off ... on my way home for lunch today. I thought about it a little and decided restless is the word I’m feeling right now. I’m not even sure why, or what reason is the real underlier for this current unrest…

Is it the change in seasons, the change in weather, the official start of a new month, the official start to a vacation countdown that overwhelms me beyond imagination, the official onslaught of the craa craa of “the holidays”? Is it the transition from half marathon training outside, to not training for anything battling my treadmill in my basement again? Is it that it’s National Adoption Month or the fact that three years ago I was pregnant in November (although I didn’t actually know it until February)? I don’t honestly know. Probably a big ‘ol hodge podge of it all. Little bits of this and that all in a swirl and twirl of something far greater and stronger than I’m able to firmly hold in my hands.

I know I struggle and wrestle with the holidays every year. Hard. November and December are so hard for me… emotionally, spiritually, physically, financially, the whole gamut really. The people, the parties, the food, the gifts, the planning, the scheduling, the shopping, the cards.  Lots of good, lots of yuck, lots of joy, lots of sorrow, lots of tricky. Lots of unattainable expectations, lots of tears, lots of laughter, lots of meltdowns, lots of arguing, lots of reflection, lots of busy. Lots of skewed and messy views of "life" and "family" and "Christianity" and "giving" on social media and tv. The desire to be and show and give perfection while wresting through the actual imperfections of reality.

Consumerism, materialism, lost realism.

I want to give, I want to receive, I want to hide, I want to splash and display the narrow pinteresty worthy window of my life and my family. Actually, no I don’t. I don’t want to put on and put out there the show that I have it all together, that my family is all smiles in our matching camo… Yet I am always conflicted with a feeling that I have to, that I can’t really be completely honest and real, that I can’t really verbalize the 92% of the behind the scenes part of life that isn’t within that narrow pinteresty worthy window of public show.

There are days that there is just a lot of ugly in my life and in my house. Ugly in my head, ugly out of my mouth, ugly within my family. Oh of course there are days and moments of amazing vibrancy, don’t get me wrong or put words in my mouth… But there are a lot of harder days than easier days it seems right now, and that can be taxing, exhausting, endless, draining, debilitating.

My days are full, my hours are full, my life is full… despite my best efforts to guard my family’s margins, and my personal even more precious margins. My life is much less full and overbooked than it once was, but there are still many burdens, requirements, necessities needed to simply get from one day to the next. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, mothering, wifeing, friending, working, resting. I’m not filled with anger or extreme bitterness, but I am weary. Weary with yes, a small thin side of bitterness as I merely battle the day to day, the season to season.

I honestly try really hard to balance my life, and my loves, and my needs, and my desires. I try really hard to be all that I can be for myself, and all those around me. I try really hard to love well, see others well, live fully and authentically well. I try really hard to love well even when that love isn’t always enough.

Yeah, it all just makes my insides edgy and my anxiety rise, leaving me… well… restless. Yes, so so restless... perhaps even a stirring on from status quo. Or perhaps just a simple warning as I continue to step onward through this ticking of the time that refuses to stop or slow down.

I live in a tension of wanting to own my own time, all of my own time. I want to be ruler and dictator and controller of my own time on a completely selfish level micromanaging every single second and minute. I want my life to slow down, to dial back, to make me younger again instead of older. I don’t want unplanned events or interruptions taking up any of MY time.

And yet, every day really is a gift given to us from God. Every day is a chance to open our eyes and open our hands and merely say, Lord fill my day and fill my time with what YOU want ME to be doing, what YOU need ME to be doing, what I can be doing for YOU rather than what YOU should be doing for ME. All we have ~ including our life, our time, our gifts, our talents ~ are from God, given freely to us to enjoy, and we need to stop trying to be so controlling of those minutes and seconds on that internal ticking of our clocks.

May we do a better job filling our days humbly and openly with the weavings and wanderings of that which God has planned for us and in that which will glorify Him with. Our time and our days are really not truly ours for the controlling, ours for the hoarding and ruling. Our time and our days really are in a dance of giving and receiving, in a delicate relationship of pouring out and and pouring into, of emptying and filling back up, a cooperative agreement between nature and nurture.

I’m convinced we aren’t supposed to be pretty and all put together all the time. We aren’t supposed to be entirely booked and scheduled and planned all the time. It’s within these times of pain, and chaos, and ugly, and raw that I think we are actually given the opportunity to witness some of our most beautiful meaning, and direction, and humbling messy grace within our lives.

If we allow the ugly, allow the real, allow the authentic and vulnerable to be, to show, to shine, to be used as a means, a tool, from God to bind together that which is His and that which is still His (but we think is really ours) between ourselves and the entire world around us in a way that is God honoring and God glorifying, I can’t help but think that that is where the real secret of joy and fullness and happiness just might lie.

Complete joy and fulfillment are unattainable realities every single moment of our lives. We think it’s what we are wanting, what we are always aspirating towards, and in a way, yes we are… but it’s also ultimately what is leaving us lost and restless and laced with a silent hopelessness. It’s not the final arrival at some grand destination and over-the-top feeling or achievement that is going to finally grant us our worth and our way. No, it’s in the story and the fabric of our real life journeys and our real life aches and pains that will come to grow into some of our greatest and deepest beauty and light from both within ourselves, and within our spheres of influence and life.

Let's take time to really rest in our restlessness, listen to what is causing the unease within us. Take time to open our eyes and open our hands to the glories and opportunities awaiting us within the unplanned and unguarded minutes and moments of our days.

Yes, we must learn to attempt to manage our own margins well, but we must also be open to the reality that our days and our time really isn’t completely ours to selfishly guard, manage, and hoard… There’s a grand God waiting and working on a grand plan for each and every one of our lives… for the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. May we be open, receptive, accommodating, celebratory, and utterly real and honest in what we say and do, what we plan, and what we remain open for.

Do less, expect less, and we just might become more... much more than we could ever hope or imagine.

{ Previous Blog Post "A Cake for Autumn" HERE }

A Cake For Autumn

Tonight is the Auction for Autumn Dessert Auction. This is the 3rd year they have put on this event, this is the 3rd year I have donated a decadent cake (or two), and tonight my husband and I have been asked to be honorary guests at this event.

As I’m brushing my hair and attempting to put on some make up, I find my eyes leaking, my throat tightening a little, and my feelings inside a bit of a jumbled mess. There’s a little bit of nerves, dread, humbleness, and utter sadness.

Four years ago this week a beautiful little girl from the small town we live in gained her Heavenly wings. She was beautiful, she was three years old, and she should not have had to come to embrace the arms of Jesus the way she did.

Four years ago this week I was in my first few days of a brand new job as a Communication Manager at a local and growing church. I was in a transition back to part-time work outside our home and having to re-align my full-time, home based cake decorating business. I vividly remember sitting in that new office, at that new desk, in a brand new church facility, hearing the news about little Autumn. I remember laying my head down on my desk and just sobbing, thinking that I had no idea how any family could ever possibly survive the pain of losing a child.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever guessed that within the passing of the next year, a beautiful headstone for our daughter would be carefully placed in the cemetery, a mere fifty feet from the beautiful stone marking where Autumn lay.

Three years ago this week I was a very hurting and grieving mom, who was now transitioning into working full-time at that church, as I had added on the responsibilities of their Facility Manager to my already part-time Communications Manager position.

After losing our daughter earlier that spring, I had canceled all my wedding cakes, I had stopped taking any new cake orders, and I had taken the entire summer off from my slightly out-of-control cake business in hopes to spend time with my family, to grieve, to heal, to try find some sense and direction in my very lost little world.

During that first summer off from cakes, my family had the gift of an amazing little place of rest and healing at a small campground in Minnesota. Over that season I would meet one of our camping neighbors just a few campers down from ours … Autumn’s dear grandma, Shirley. God brought her and I together in that same place, both lost and disparately grasping for healing and hope and understanding. God clearly had us both there for a reason. That summer we began a connection, a friendship, a bond that would only grow throughout the following years.

Three years ago this week I had basically quit cakes entirely, and I had no idea what I would do now that the summer was over. God had been very clear I was to take some time off from my cake business that summer, but He had been very quiet as to for how long and what He was wanting me to do next.

Then one day I was approached and asked if I would consider donating a cake to an Auction for Autumn Dessert Auction. In the year following the loss of little Autumn, the local Season’s Center had begun the work of opening a center in Spencer, Iowa to serve northwest Iowa children and their families. The Season’s Center is dedicated to helping families and children heal from life’s struggles by providing life-changing behavioral health services to those in need. One of the fund raisers to help get the organization off the ground was going to be a fancy dessert auction. I remember desperately wanting to say no, but also knowing I absolutely needed to say yes.

It was the one, lone, single order in my cake schedule. October 31st. As the date got closer and closer I did not want to get out that mixer and those cake pans. I didn’t want to make any frosting or fill any decorator tubes and open my box of decorator tips. But I did. I found myself standing there in my kitchen that day, looking at that naked cake in front of me, wondering what to even do with it.  It was waiting for me to figure out how to decorate it. Waiting for me to figure out what I was going to do with my life when it came to me and my cake business.

Who would even be interested in a Sara Crane Cake any more anyways?

I went through the long ingrained motions that come from over fifteen years of cake decorating, and I simply decorated it as elegantly as I could. I put it in my van, delivered it, and I walked away.

The following Monday at work I overheard a few rumblings at the amount some of the cakes went for at the auction. I was blown away to find out my one little, simple chocolate cake brought in over four figures for the Autumn Center. I again found myself with my head on my desk sobbing. There was no way I would have ever had the means to be able to write out a donation check for that amount… but God had granted me the ability to bake and decorate a really yummy chocolate cake. I had merely handed over this little cake, something small that I had been able to say yes to… and it, in turn, had been the means to something so much bigger.

I was so incredibly humbled and overwhelmed as that reality came to rest on me in that moment.

God had loudly spoken to me right then and there, clearly showing me that I was to continue with my cake decorating business. But … it would absolutely have to look different than it had in the past, when I had allowed myself to work around the clock. I was absolutely not to quit making special sweet treats just yet, but I would need to figure out a different line of boundaries for it in my life.
From that day on, I began trying to figure out what this new cake thing would look like, and it slowly began to evolve into a specialty cupcake line… Cupcakes I could make and sell when it worked for me, amid my time at work and time with my family. I decided I needed to continue to take the summers off in order to fully invest in my rest, my health, my healing, and most importantly - time with my family.

God would continue to bless me and my tiny cake business, and it continued to be evident to me that while my sweet treats were an incredibly small thing, they also were becoming an incredibly meaningful small way of blessing others as well as myself. I am always blown away at the behind the scenes things I get to be a part of. Every week there are people who cover the cost of other peoples cupcakes to bless them. Every week there are people who buy cupcakes to give away, buy cupcakes merely to treat themselves because they are worth celebrating, buy cupcakes to help celebrate the big milestones as well as the ho-hum every day in their lives and their family's lives.

So, here I am, three years later, and there are three fancy cakes that I just delivered to the local Event Center a few hours ago. I am dressed and ready to go be a part of this incredibly hard, incredibly emotional, and incredibly impactful evening for the Autumn Center.

I’m quietly sitting here also knowing this event is in a very small way an incredibly impactful, hard, and emotional evening for what it represents for me, for my family, and for the continue venture and blessing of my tiny little cake business.

Had I not been asked to donate a cake three years ago, there’s a very good chance I would have never taken out a cake or cupcake pan again, I would have never made another batch of frosting, I would have never filled another decorator bag again, I would have never again used the gifts and talents God has gifted me with in a grander scale of meaning and blessing.

But I was asked, and I faithfully obeyed the “yes” that I clearly heard God telling me three years ago. I would also clearly hear the “yes” God was telling me that I needed to continue forward with with my cake business, though slightly different that before (ok maybe “drastically different than before” is a more appropriate term).

Many people continue to ask if I’m still doing cakes… my answer is always a yes, and a no. Yes I am, but no, not to the scale of business I had built and created before. I take a few orders, I make a few cupcakes, and I continue to get to be a very small part of a much larger scale of blessing and opportunity to and through many. I say yes to some things, I say no to a lot of things. I am merely trying to faithfully be a sweet blessing where I can be.

I sit in tears amid the many emotions within me right now as the time ticks closer. I know tonight is going to be a hard night for me, hard for everyone, on many levels.

This is an organization and event that shouldn't even be happening tonight. The dear Autumn this is all in honor and remembrance of should be out enjoying this beautiful autumn day playing in the leaves. We should not be at home getting ready. We should not all be gathering tonight to bid on fancy cakes to raise funds and awareness for child abuse.

But Autumn didn't get to laugh in the leaves this afternoon, and we are going to come together tonight to try make a small impact. I'm sad, I’m incredibly honored, and I’m utterly humbled to be such a small part in their story. I'm sad, I’m incredibly honored, and I’m utterly humbled that they are all also such a large part in my story.

God is good. God is still good even in the incredibly hard and unfair things. God is good and He's still clearly at work in the lives and journeys of all of us, as He continues to weave together so many of our stories, our lives, and our journeys in ways and reasonings we will never fully know, or grasp, or understand.

I’ve witnessed God continually create good out of that which isn’t always so good. Tonight I take a few moments to fully thank Him again for His blessings amid the pain, amid the hard, amid the hurt.

I realize a fancy cake filled with chocolate and calories and flavorful decadence won’t miraculously change the world, but it hopefully will help sweeten some of those many many messy blessings.

{ Previous blog post "Here's What's Next" HERE }

Here's What's Next

For the last week I’ve kind of been wresting with that infamous “What’s next?!?” question in my mind.

For nine months I focused and diligently trained to run a half marathon. I am not a runner and I’m not an athlete, but I actually completed a 13.1 run one week ago today. I got up and conquered so many things that morning, and that night I went to bed asking the quiet question “What’s next?!?”

No one other than myself is really expecting an answer from me, and to be honest I have a feeling my husband and family and friends are almost holding their breath in dread as to what my next big “what’s next” is actually going to be. What am I going to think I have to do… have to accomplish… have to prove… have to commit to next? What kind of time commitment and expense is it going to require? What kind of inconvenience and annoyance am I going to impose this time?

Ok, I don’t actually know if that’s what my husband and family and friends are thinking, but in my mind it’s what I’ve convinced myself is going on in their minds. My husband has been a rockstar supporter of me since I’ve met him. My family has been rockstar supporters of me since I took my first breath of life nearly forty-three years ago. But I’m never quite sure just how far or how long they are willing to go with and give me… Diving in, digging into, hurting, healing, changing, growing, training, all take in incredible amount of time and attention to the one embarked upon the journey… it also takes an incredible amount of time and attention from those supporting those embarking upon that journey.

Everyone around me is probably all praying, pleading, begging that I finally start moving on to something else, something different… something beyond my health, beyond my running, beyond myself.

While in my head I have myself convinced what everyone is hoping I do (or don’t do) next, I myself honestly didn’t know what I really wanted to do next. The more I thought about it, the more I just kept coming back to the thought that I know I’m not going to be able to run forever, I’m not going to be strong and healthy forever. I’m not going to be this dedicated and disciplined forever. But for some reason for today, for this current season, God has in fact granted me health and determination. He has allowed me to taste accomplishment and achievement at a degree and level in which I’ve never experienced before.

While I realize I’ve more than likely already topped out at my peak, my finest, my greatest, my highest… I still deep within feel a continued drive to merely continue on as I have been for the past year. Continue forward with my perseverance, continue forward with what simply seems to be currently working for me.  Continue on with the healing, the processing, the finding of who I really am, what I'm really made of, and what my full purpose is in life.

While I was in the bath two nights ago a thought came to me (I cannot tell you how many of my life's grand whispers happen to me in the bathroom... eyeroll I know, but it's the truth)... Well, my next date and distance goal just randomly popped into my mind. This is usually how it works for me… I hear the small still voice, and I just know that’s what the next plan needs to be. I’ve decided to set a few new time frames, a few new dates to schedule my days and thoughts around, and it came to me quite clearly what my next plans and goals for 2018 are going to be.

First, I am going to rest from race training for a little while. I will still run, I will still elliptical, but I will not follow a training schedule for a few weeks. No double digit mileages, no racing against the clock and my mind vs body for speed and endurance for the next two months.

After my Friday night bathtub epiphany, I went online yesterday and signed up to run a half marathon on Saturday, March 10, 2018. I will hopefully be able to celebrate my forty-third birthday with a half marathon completion metal around my neck and a running bib pinned to my shirt. This morning I printed out blank calendar pages from today through March 2018. I sat down and filled out each and every day from today until March 10th. I first did this back in February and filled in all the days through October 15th. I have daily looked, completed, and crossed off my training goals every day since.

I plugged in short runs, long runs, interval days, walk days, rest days, elliptical days… similar to what I’ve been successfully doing for the last nine months. The only tricky part is… well, I live in Iowa. And in case you aren’t familiar with winter in Iowa, it’s well… cold and entirely unpredictable weather-wise. I don’t enjoy running outside in the cold, and I don’t enjoy running inside on my treadmill. I plan to probably have to train inside, and I’m going to start praying right now for an incredible blessing of sun, no wind, and temps above 52º that March 10th morning. (52º is my magical outside running threshold number ~LOL) I have no idea how I will actually train for a half marathon during the winter.

Approximately twelve weeks after my birthday there is a half marathon in Zimbrota Minnesota that starts and ends at a covered bridge. (My half marathon training is a twelve week schedule, so perfect timing, right?!)  I have an absolute love of covered bridges, and that run has actually been on my bucket list for quite a while now. I haven’t officially registered for that race yet, but that is large goal number two for 2018. My friend and I mayyyy have also possiblyyyy already re-booked our hotel and masseuses for the DesMoines IMT half marathon again for next October. If I run that race again, I will be able to take some training time off during June and July next summer, which sounds divine.

Basically, I guess I’m just going to plan to keep on getting up and doing it. I have been faithfully setting my alarm night after night and getting up morning after morning, day after day, month after month, for the past year now. I am in a rhythm, a pattern, a habit. I feel I need to simply continue on… keep going… keep doin’ what i’ve been doin’ … at least until God shows me another path I’m supposed to turn off on to. I don’t know how long this season will last, I don’t know how long this road will wind and curve and turn, what hills and road blocks I will encounter along the way. I don’t know how long my body will hold the strength and health it currently holds… but for now - I am going to simply continue onward.

Onward with trust and a humble gratefulness. I know this is beyond my own willpower.

Have I come to love running? Hells no. I still hate to run, I still look at the penciled number on my calendar every morning and inwardly groan… dreading having to lace up my shoes and actually get out there and get the miles in, get the workout checked off. No, I do not enjoy running, and I don’t feel I am good at, and honestly the thought of having to run another 13.1 miles makes my insides just utterly groan and recoil… And yet, despite how much I dislike it, I do feel as if it is still my current journey to push to and through, to persevere towards, to fight through, to battle tooth and nail through every thought and every step.

While I may not have come to love running, I have come to love the feeling of determination, and perseverance and trust and humbleness. And I know for some odd reason there is a purpose to this continued journey right now and God is clearly on the road next to me.

I know there are some who are rolling their eyes and thinking, please just be quiet already about your damn running and your darn health. I cover my heart and lower my eyes and ask for your forgiveness… It’s old and annoying, I know… I get it. Believe me - I get it… if you think hearing me talk about it all the time is bad - try be the one getting up and actually doing the dirty work, the blood, sweat, and tears of it all every single day, day after day. Now THAT gets old and annoying! If you don’t believe me, let me challenge you to simply join me! I promise I will be your biggest fan, and I will cheer you on every hard and painful step of the way. {wink}

So I guess here’s what’s next… A few new dates, a few new goals, and hopefully a whole lot more days, miles, and words of vulnerability and encouragement to share with you.

And with that, I bid you a goodnight… my alarm is set for 4:20 a.m. tomorrow morning, and there’s a number four penciled on tomorrow’s calendar date. New day, new goal… same journey, same me.

{ Previous Blog Post "What's Next?" HERE }