The Last Night of Vacation

And here I am... sitting in the dark stillness as it nears midnight on this last and final night of our vacation. I’m desperately clinging to every remaining minute left here as I watch the seconds and minutes continue to quickly tick by.

I sit in the silence crying out for more time, more rest, more fullness… However did it get to be this day and this hour already? Good Gandhi, time slow down already!!

Tomorrow night I will be back home home (not my camper home), back in my own bed, back at my own house… plowing through stacks of mail and even higher stacks of laundry. The post vacation vomit of clothes, food, souvenirs, brochures, cameras, and traveling bags will move from the car to the middle of the tables, floors, and beds - demanding to be put away immediately while begging to just be left alone and never touched again. I’d left that house days earlier wondering if vacations are worth all the effort and headache, and I’ll return through those same doors again and know I will instantly be struck again with those same thoughts as reality slams into me head on in the doorway.

I’ll soon be heading back to work, back to the world of reality, back to cooking, cleaning, taxi-ing, to-do lists, bills, school shopping, groceries, jury duty… Back to turning on all the smart phone, laptop, and desktop notifications. Checking all the emails, attacking the mounds of work needing to be completed. Back to being needed, back to be being reachable, back to being responsible, back to the old routine of busy and stress. All too soon these few moments of time off, time away, will be but a far off distant memory… silently marked by the hundreds of snapshots we all attempted to capture as the minutes and moments continued to slip right on by us.

I will cling to all of this with tight little fingers, clinching vehemently to the ticking time bomb of its finality as the final minutes continue to fade from the future to the past. Oh I’m not ready. Oh I don’t want it to be over. Oh I just can’t just yet…

This was a vacation unlike any I’ve experience in a long time… I’m guessing since my last childhood family vacation with my brother and parents to be exact. Funny how we all grow and emerge and tweak our vacation rituals and expectations over the years as we move from childhood to adulthood. My husband and I have come to vacation very differently than how I vacationed growing up. Neither way is right or wrong, simply just different.

I’m used to taking a quiet, slow paced week at a cabin at a Minnesota lakeshore resort each summer. Same week, same resort, same lake, same cabin, same families for the last ten years. Oh the magic of Osakis… sigh… This year we gave up that coveted cabin and that prime week reservation for a fast and furious week in the mountains of South Dakota with my parents, my brother and family, and our family.

We aren’t a huge family compared to some… but we still shared a house and mingled and interwove with each other for several days as we dined on eggs, toast, bacon, and fruit every morning and went from one attraction to the next day after day after day. Everyone was a trooper and many many memories were shared and created. I’m fairly certain we all ventured back home utterly exhausted, our hearts and our camera cards equally full.

Hopefully everyone else drove away feeling the same fullness and overall success of the trip as I felt. I unexpectedly found myself a bawling mess as we said our final goodbyes at the airport. I had been able to watch my two boys walk hand in hand at Mt Rushmore, sit cuddled together on the couch under blankets, sleep nestled together in a bed they shared. I hiked to the top of a tall mountain with my dad and brother. I got to interact face-to-face with my brother and his family who live fifteen hours away from me. I watched my parents throughly enjoy soaking in this valuable moment of intentional time together, all of their beloved chickadees under one roof all at the same time. A special time filled with banter, laughter, giggles, casual and deep conversations, and a whole lot of hustle and bustle.

My little family decided to stay one day longer, taking in just a few more attractions before crossing the wide span of the South Dakota plains to the rolling hills and lakes of Minnesota. We arrived at our blessed little camper home at sunset, after a long day of travels. It was sooooo good to be there again. We would stay two more nights at the lake before our final vacation farewell and head back home home.

As I watched the sun set over the glassy water the last two nights, as I sat perfectly still and soaked in the warm sun rays from my chair at the beach the last two afternoons, as I turned the pages of the book I finally had a chance to start reading, as I headed out on my old familiar running routes around the area lakes, as I allowed my body to rest as I turned off my alarm clock and simply granted myself the gift of sleep - I found myself over and over thinking about how grateful I am for these ending days of vacation… a vacation from the vacation of sorts. The real rest and refilling after the stress of a college graduation, and the racing and raging of being full time South Dakota tourists. I wouldn’t trade any part of the past eleven days, as they each played a rich role in this trip, and I am grateful beyond words for God’s provision, safety, and overall experiences.

I’m not ready to go back, I’m not going to lie. I’m not ready to be the responsible, working adult again. I’m not looking forward to being the full time mom, housekeeper, employee again. I don’t want to unpack the car, do the laundry, clean the house, and settle back into the day-to-day route of every day life again. I don’t want to think about doctor and dentist appointments, school registration, and the necessary bank deposits required to pay for the many details and splurges of this trip.

No matter how crazy, how busy, how exhausting vacations might be… they still really are such an amazing gift aren’t they? I’m so grateful for the time with those I love, the time away, the time off, the time to not feel any obligation to anything or anyone back home, the time to set aside the day-to-day mundane of life to simply go, experience, journey, rest, and recharge.

Granted, I maybe didn’t have quite this exact outlook as I slowly inched my way from one large city to the next on our journey across the state just a few short days ago. I had allowed myself to be emptied, but in a good way… and then I allowed myself to be re-filled, re-fueled, also in a good way. And all-in-all it was just a wonderful time of vacation, conversation, family, and revitalization.

It is my earnest hope and prayer that we can all continue to be brave enough to grant ourselves and our families the moments and opportunities necessary to regularly take those trips, make those memories, seize those opportunities, and hold tightly to those cherished memories you’ll create.

Take the time to go, take the time to show, take the time to slow, take the time to allow God’s goodness to fully glow.

May we all see and share the majesty of the wonders of nature and the world around us. May we all allow ourselves the grace to intentionally listen and hear the glories of the whispering wind, the singing birds, the wildlife rustling. Witness the sky vibrantly painted in locations new and old.

I can’t help but believe that the more we see and experience out of our normal day-to-day setting and mindset, will not only help broaden our horizons of our intake and reality of the wide world beyond our own little protected bubblies, but also help bring us back home more filled, more content, more aware of all that we do have, all that we perhaps take for granted, all that we could change, all that we could acquire, all that we could part with, and all that we could still accomplish.

Vacations can be hard… the prep, the packing, the paying… I get the burden, believe you me. I’m honestly one that nearly ever single vacation I’ve taken I’ve almost canceled before actually getting myself and my family into the car and just driving away. And with every driving away, there of course is the dreaded returning, filled with it’s own set of challenges and hard, which can so quickly and easily override the magic of just moments before. But it’s in these sacred breaths of sanity during the actual time away that remind us of their worth and value, and assure us the sacrifice is in fact worth its reward.

So as the clock tells me it’s now 12:05 a.m. and I’m now officially dancing my last slow dance of this trip, I shall simply try to slow and savor each last note of this final love song before the lights come back on and the moment will be gone forever. I will breathe in deep and pray we can end these final few hours well… that I can close my eyes and graceful weather the bumpy ride back into the waiting reality only a few mere hours away.

In the quiet I am grateful. In the stillness my heart is full. In the magnitude of all remembered I am overwhelmed with God’s goodness and grace. May this be the moment I remember and cling to when the vacation magic fades and the worlds mayhem returns.

{ Previous blog post "The Graduate" HERE }

The Graduate

Yesterday I watched my twenty year old cross the stage and get his college diploma. Wow, what bittersweet mama moment. He is now “officially” an adult (at least in my eyes… he has considered himself “officially” an adult since about two minutes after his high school graduation. {wink})

A college graduate. Who knew!?!

Fifteen years ago in October we sat in our first initial meeting with the school about some academic concerns the school had with his progress. We would enter into a year of doctoring and testing and our first ever IEP meeting. He was diagnosed with ADD and dyslexia. He got supplemental help in the resource room, and I became his greatest advocate. We would spend hours together reading and studying and pouring over homework together.  Bless his heart, he always tried so incredibly hard.

IEPs, Resource rooms, children’s speciality clinic appointments, tutors, and diligent work one-on-one at home would continue through his entire elementary, middle school, and high school years. He worked so hard and we were beyond proud and excited to watch him receive his high school diploma.

He went and took the tests needed to enroll in a local tech college. More tutoring would ensue, with re-testing and finally acceptance, and soon fall classes started and he was officially a college student. And he was officially spreading his wings of independence.

I’ve learned that parenting an adult child is just as difficult as trudging through the trenches of toddlerhood and all the craziness of young childhood… it’s only different. Parenting from a afar, from a distance, for me has been hard. Parenting in the present that only relies on what how you’ve parented in the past is trying. To trust all the work, and all the words, you’ve said before is hard.

And all that crazy stuff everyone says about enjoying your kids while they’re young because they grow up so fast and are gone… well it’s actually not a line of BS to roll your eyes at… it’s the God’s honest truth. What I wouldn’t give for a little bit more time to go back and be more intentional, be more involved, be more fully present. But I can’t… I am left to merely sit and pray and patiently wait for him to remember to stop over for a minute or two every once-in-a-while. Pray for him to hopefully remember to go to church, to make wise choices, to be wise with his time, talents, money management, and relationships. I’m left to bite my tongue and wipe my tears in silence, left to rejoice and watch successes from a distance, left to just plead with the Lord that He continues to live and breathe and find happiness and success, whatever that may be through his eyes, not mine.

I never doubted that a college degree was something he couldn’t achieve, but I also never fully allowed myself to clutch tightly to the expectation of completion. He could be successful in life with or without a college degree.  I didn’t want to be disappointed in him if he didn’t make it all the way through college. I didn’t want the hovering shadow of my disappointment to have to lay on his shoulders, so I hoped… and I prayed… but I was also prepared for it to not happen.

But it did happen. He worked hard, he persevered, and low-and-behold, he stood there yesterday in his cap and gown, over his dirty jeans, work boots, and grease stained fingers, and they called his name, and he crossed that stage, was handed that diploma with a firm hand shake - and he officially became a college alum.

Of course I had tears and overflowing emotions as I watched him march in with all the other students, the graduation pomp and circumstance playing over the speakers. Of course I was proud ~ bursting at the seams proud. He had done all of this, all of his college career, on his own. The only time I had contacted the college about anything, was to inquire about the graduation ceremony details (praying the entire time they weren’t going to tell me the reason we hadn’t received any information wasn’t due to the fact that he wasn’t graduating…) Nope, he was on the roster, he had been given the information, he just hadn’t remembered to actually give the information to us, something which didn’t surprise us in the least. {wink} He completed it all on his own. All the loans, all the paperwork, all the homework, all the assignments, all the tests. I didn’t ask, I didn’t log on to check grades and attendance, I just didn’t.

Be he had. He had done it all, and he had done it well enough to achieve his degree. He became a college graduate yesterday. He became an official adult yesterday. He has so very very many challenges, obstacles, decisions, choices, and memories to still make, but knowing the sweet taste of accomplishment and success of being a college graduate is an amazing building block in which to tackle your life with, to firmly stand upon, to build upon, to climb upward from.

Congratulations my dear twenty year old. You have worked so hard, you have accomplished great things, and you have made your dear mama so proud. It is my prayer that you will continue to strive for excellence and greatness, that you will make wise choices and do the right things, even when the wrong things seem so much more exciting, easy, and fun. Live well, love well, and may your days and years continue on and be filled with success, laughter, and joy overflowing.

And never forget, no matter what ~ I will always love you. I will always have an extra seat at the table for you, I will always have have an extra minute, or hour, or day for you. I will always be there with a hug and to back you up, root you on, and have an encouraging word to lift you up. So if you think of it, don’t forget to send me a text every-now-and-again, and stop over to chat every once-in-a-while… Because I also miss you more than you’ll ever realize… or at least more than you’ll ever realize until that one day when you’re sitting at the table missing your own child and remember just how it felt when you were his age and just a little too busy and a little too “adult” to remember or need your mama {wink}…

The entire world is before you right now my son, dare to always dream big and just go for it. Be great, be successful, and most importantly, be filled with a joy-filled soul and a giving-abundant heart.  God has an amazing journey planned for you, and I can't wait to continue to watch your life and loves unfold and blossom in your days and years to come.

Rock the world my rockstar! Rock the world!

{ Next blog post "The Last Night of Vacation" HERE }
( Previous blog post "Satan and Sore Knees" HERE }

Satan and Sore Knees

I went for slow run / walk interval workout this morning at dawn. It was a beautiful morning with no wind and a warm haze already hanging over the cornfields, and my body was feeling pretty good. My muscles weren’t overly sore, my mind seemed to have recovered from the brutal trauma induced from a 5 hour battle of will over ability, mind over matter… It’s the first run I’ve done since my 26.2 marathon distance run on Friday.

As I finished up, I slowly walked into the campground and had this tiny thought…

Hmmmmm, my knee hurts a little…

In the next 100 steps that it took for me to to get to the deck of my camper, I had already convinced myself that I surely must have seriously injured myself running that stupid marathon distance two days ago. I’d pulled something, I’d torn something, I’d surely completely wrecked something… What was I thinking attempting such a crazy thing at my age… in my non-athletic condition?!? Totally serves me right… Now I’m going to end up not being able to run, or walk, or elliptical ever again… I’m not going to be able to hike Harney Peak with my dad next week (and he’s going to be SO disappointed, and he distinctly told me to never think about running a marathon because it did horrible things to your body. ugh.), I’m going to end up needing my knee scoped, I’m going to end up needing physical therapy, I’m going to end up needing surgery, I’m going to end up in a brace and crutches for months and months on end as I slowly recover, and I will never ever reach full recovery. I will have a limp and chronic knee pain for the rest of my life due to this one crazy, foolish, 26.2 distance. I will never get the joy of sunrise runs again, I will never get to push myself, my body, my mind to try accomplish great things again… I will gain back all the weight I have worked so hard on losing… and I’m somehow going to have to figure out how to tell my friend that I won’t be able to run in the DesMoines Half Marathon with her in October, maybe I can cheer her on from the sidelines on my crutches… I will never ever again be at the personal mountaintop of achievement that I was just on yesterday.  My mind took me from strong and accomplished to weak and defeated in the blink of an eye.

Yes, seriously - that all went through my mind in a matter of about 53 seconds. My marathon mental “success” lasted one idiotic small day before instant failure set in and started taking over. What the what??!?!

I took a shower, I took some aleve, I looked for my bio-freeze, I ate two bananas, and made a cup of coffee. As I sat on the couch, my knee cold and tingling with the aftereffects of a heavy massage of bio-freeze, I sipped my hot coffee and closed my eyes.

Granted, I don’t know that I for sure haven’t seriously injured myself, but… the likelihood of this current crazed mind game going on is surly an attack from satan… trying to squeeze his way back into the control seat of my mind and life. He used to be a master controller at the control board of my life, but has been shoved aside over and over again over the last several months as I’m finding more and more confidence and truth to continually kick him to the curb. It’s a tiring task, warring with him day in and day out, he’s persistent, I’ll give him that… but as I’ve been told my whole entire life, my stubbornness and tenacity and determination is also a rather strong force to be reckoned with.

Hopefully today he picked the wrong force to reckon with, the wrong knee to try settle in and call home. Hopefully this twinge of pain in my knee, which instantly caused a crazed sensation of utter defeat to explode within me, is merely a little prick in this current journey I’m on. I pray that it’s only a blink, a moment, a quick fading reminder to simply remain aware of my runaway thoughts, reign in my over-imaginative mind, hold back my immediate desire to respond in fight or flight worst case scenario. All in, all hype, all obsessed is how I’m wired. I zone in, I zero in, I immediately manifest molehills into mountains in my mind. I allow the little to snowball into the immense, the insignificant to explode into the extreme, the tiny to fester into the tremendous.

I immediately stopped and took ownership back of those runaway satan-filled lies rapidly breeding in my mind. I sent a message to my friend, my encourager, my glass-half-empty better half, and openly admitted my thoughts. I turned to my husband and also admitted my thoughts. I allowed all those crazy thoughts to leave my lips, so they hopefully wouldn’t continue to fester and grow and infect my mind with every single step I took, with every little twinge of pain that is going to come with every single step I take for the next little while…

I’m not good at resting, I’m not good at patience, I’m not good at backing off, slowing down, backtracking. I have come to openly admit and know this about myself. I don’t want my knee to hurt, I don’t want to have to be careful, I don’t want to possibly have to allow my body a little extra time for this unidentified inflammation to settle back down… but I know that if I don’t, I run the risk of an even more serious injury and pain. My bend is to just keep going, just push through the pain, irregardless of the damage that may ensue.

I don’t want to allow satan the upper hand in my mind through the little nagging zings going on in my knee right now. I don’t want to allow satan the ability to convince myself to keep pushing it, over-do it, over-analyze it, over-freakout about it. My body ran 26.2 miles exactly 48 hours ago… it is my fervent prayer that this discomfort in my knee is merely a short lived reminder of what I accomplished, rather than a long lived badge I will somehow label as failure.

May the Almighty Healer, the one who healed and strengthened my body, mind, and soul to the level it was at just a mere two days ago, also kiss this precious little knee and grant it the miracle of returned whole health and function.

And if this is in fact an injury, and Friday was in fact my last day of running, and I do in fact have another long season of healing in front of me… I can only imagine what lessons God has in store for me, what moments of trust and faith and grace I’m going to have to, yet again, lay upon His feet and allow Him to show me and reveal to me. And, unfortunately, that would completely not surprise me. Will it disappoint me, oh you have no idea, I will honestly be crushed… but no, it won’t be something that surprises me in the least.

This is exactly how God has come to work in my life. And He has proven over and over again that He is, in fact, still so very very good despite what I might initial label as so very very bad. I will hope and pray this isn’t a major life injury, and that the pain and discomfort will soon be gone… I will continue to try just trust this journey I am on and attempt to faithfully continue to just obediently listen and obey, with eyes and heart open to hear and receive the love and the lessons intended for me.

Who knew that perhaps the miles after the 26.2 might possibly be an even harder challenge than the marathon moment itself...

{ Previous Blog Post "26.2 ... Who Knew" HERE }

26.2 ... Who Knew

I admit I’m hesitant to write or share anything about this… and I’m not entirely sure why. I think I’m hyper sensitive of not wanting to be one of those annoying social media post-ers, not wanting to put any kind of spotlight on myself, not wanting to come off “better than…” not wanting to make anyone feel bad or “less than”…

I realize the majority of what I’ve been writing and posting about lately has dealt with running, and training, and endurance, and rest, and change… And a little voice inside me is telling me that no one is wanting to read any more of my thoughts on any of that crazy stuff… But you know what, I don’t actually think there are many people even reading this blog {wink}, so to worry about what the people who aren’t even reading this are going to think, is quite absurd really now isn’t it?!?

So I shall tell you about this little experience I had this morning.

This morning was a long run training day for my half marathon training. The official training schedule said 8 miles, but months ago I had already changed it to say 13.1 miles, due to the fact that the scheduled 13.1 miles was going to land next weekend - the day of my son’s college graduation or the day we head out early on a family vacation (as in ALL my family - parents, brother, kiddos all…). Long ago I decide to skip the 8, move up the 13.1 and leave vacation week open to whatever I’m simply able to get in, which also leaves it open to doing nothing at all if I so chose…

And then one morning, about a month ago, I was at the lake putting in an early before dawn run. It was an interval day, a mix of hard running and walking. And I heard this quiet whisper, simply asking the question “I wonder if I could accomplish completing a full marathon distance if I chose to do it in intervals. Run a mile, walk a mile, and try go 26.2 miles.  Of course it wouldn't really count because I'd be walking half of it... but... I wonder...” It was a distinct and defining moment, and I can still vividly see and remember where I was when this thought came to me, and I crinkled my nose a little and inwardly groaned, as I also knew that this was clearly a whisper from God… Because that is just how He works in my life sometimes… I’ve learned it is often easiest to just answer immediately instead of ignoring and fighting Him off…

I have always struggled with walking when it comes to running… it slows me down, it makes me feel like I’m a failure, like I’m not a real runner. Of course all of that is horse malarkey, but it’s taken me until I was forty-two years old to finally comes to grips with the reality of walking and intervals, and their necessity in growth and success when it comes to running, at least for me. This is the first year I have openly allowed myself the grace to walk and taken the failure label off it. Adding in the walking and interval training (and the mental acceptance of it all) has actually allowed me to excel and achieve far greater, faster, longer distances than I ever imagined. But I am still what I would consider on the non-friend level mentally with the concept of walking and intervals.

God has granted me a season of returned health right now, and I am beyond grateful. God has granted me a hard life journey filled with some pain and loss… But He has also granted me so much greatness and goodness, so many vibrant colored gifts, possibilities, and accomplishments, and I am just fervently working on focusing on those good things instead of overshadowing them with the bad, the feel sorry for me’s, the areas that aren’t perfect, aren’t ideal, aren’t what I had planned.

I heard the whisper, and the seed was planted. I thought about it, I thought about it a lot. I got my calculator out and did all sorts of number variables with possible time splits, I even pulled up a Minnesota map and considered possible route options. And then I mentioned it out loud to one person, my “one person” - the one who believes in me and encourages me and whooo-hooo’s me when I conquer and whoooo-hooo’s me even when I fail. I wanted her to tell me I was absolutely nuts in the head and to kick that idea to the curb immediately. She said I was absolutely nuts… but also said to go for it. I then mentioned it to my husband, he also said I was absolutely nuts. So I decided to remain silent about this idea, this challenge, this slowly growing venture in my mind.

But in my silence, I did actually plan to attempt it. I set a date. I arranged childcare and a day entirely to myself at the lake. I set the route, which would bring me back to the campground entrance three different times in case I would need to quit early, in case I wouldn’t be able to do it… And I set four different level of accomplishment goals. 13.1 miles (my scheduled long run - and the distance of a half marathon). 15.5 miles (the distance of a 25K). 20 miles (cuz that’s just a crazy long distance). And… the entire 26.2 (the distance of a full marathon).

I do not consider myself a runner. I do not consider myself an athlete. I should not be even contemplating any of this. Period.

I had no idea what to expect, I had no expectations going in to it. I’d been diligently training to run the distance of a half marathon, but I had never run five steps beyond that amazing 13.1 distance. I’d been struggling with the acceptance of walking and interval training, and I knew it would be a challenge for me to allow myself to, in fact, require myself to walk every other mile. If I let my mind override my body I would not have the endurance to go that long…

I had no idea if I could honestly make it that far, part of me wondered if “just maybe” I actually could… but I was also fairly certain 26.2 was well beyond anything my mind and body could accomplish together.

I was fairly certain that God was merely asking me to try this, so I actually would fail. That I would DNF (Did Not Finish in race terms), that I wouldn’t accomplish it this time, that I wouldn’t arrive at the final destination before having to allow myself to quit. I wondered how I would convince myself to be done before the finish, I wondered if it would be my mind or my body that would finally give way to defeat… I wondered how I would process that ~ and convince myself that I wasn’t actually a failure if I couldn’t accomplish an entire full marathon distance. I wondered what lesson God wanted me to grasp and grow from through all of this craziness.

The week arrived and I was physically and mentally exhausted. I was anxious and nervous, and also oddly calm. I drove my route the evening before, and had myself convinced that I was not going to be able to do the whole thing, and I continued to assure myself that this would be ok… I had also somehow convinced myself to change the intervals to a run 3 miles / walk 1 mile ratio, at least for the first 13.1 miles. Heavens to Betsy I hate that about myself.

And then the alarm was going off this morning, and it was time.

I laced up my shoes, got the apps and garmin watch going, dropped off a water bottle and bucket of all things I might possibly need (banana, granola bars, chap stick, etc)… and was officially off and running.

It was long, it was hard. The weather was cool and the wind was nearly nonexistent,  I could not have ordered a more perfect morning. I watched the sun rise, I then watched the sun blaze off the wind turbines and tall corn stalks. I saw the deer running in front of me… and I made it to goal one… 13.1 miles. I continued on and made it to goal two… 25K. I continued on and made it to goal three… 20 miles. And then a thick fog rolled in and I couldn’t see any of my landmarks in front or around me, and I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere, and it was all getting so so hard.

But I continued on… I continued through the pain, I continued through the intense mind games, and I continued on through the blazing sun that suddenly vaporized that thick fog and left a hot blanket on my head and shoulders as my feet and hips and calved screamed at me to just stop… But I didn’t… even through Lord knows I wanted to.

Six miles to go... Five miles to go… Four miles to go… I was back at the campground entrance at this point, and it took every ounce in me to continue on. Three miles to go… two miles to go… and then there I was, back on the hot black asphalt with the end in sight.

At mile 25.75 I randomly glanced down… and there was a PENNY, on the road, in the middle of nowhere. This was not random, oh no sir! I am a firm believer in Pennies From Heaven - and I KNOW that penny was our little Faith MaryJo saying - “Mom, you got this, finish strong!”

I bent down, every muscle screaming at me, and I picked up that penny, looked to Heaven and said “Thank you Lord - this is exactly what I needed right here, right now… Let’s finish this - bring me in… bring me in…” And He did. And He did.

It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t easy, but my tired feet and my exhausted body crossed that elusive 26.2 mile mark and Jesus and our little Faith I am sure were leaping for joy from above watching me accomplish this incredibly personal feat. There was no finish line crowd of onlookers and official race time clocks, there was no race tshirts, no corporate sponsor booths wanting to pedal their goods, there was no water tables and towels waiting at the finish line. It was just me and God. Interesting enough, I finished at almost exactly the same exact place I finished my 13.1 Half Marathon in May. It was an entirely different distance and route… and yet, now I have a double special spot at the little mailbox in the middle of nowhere, on that great road to somewhere…

I type this now with tears streaming down my cheeks… knowing now more than ever that God took that one thing I so desperately wanted and longed for for so very many many years, that tiny baby, that tiny life, and in the taking of all of those hopes and dreams… in all the sorrow and loss of all that… And He in turn extended me His hands, looked me in the eyes, and merely said, “Trust me… I know what I’m doing, even though it’s hard. Follow me… and I will heal you for a new season, and I will grant you a new path on your journey to follow. I will make you strong, and bring you so much farther than you can ever dream of or imagine on your own. Love me… and I will continue to faithfully provide for you, bless you, and love you for all that I created you to be. Embrace me… and I will show you bounty and goodness beyond what you could possibly imagine.”

God may have taken away and caused great hardship and difficulty, for reasons I will never fathom or understand… but in that loss, I am now also clearly starting to see how much He is giving back to me… once I merely allowed myself to stop being so blinded by the pain and hurt, and allowing myself to see beyond all of that dark, to the good and the grace.

I have no doubt that the crazy whisper to attempt a 26.2 marathon distance, with allowable walking and running intervals, and the openness that it may not even be achievable today, and that I more than likely would not be able to finish but that would not make me a failure, is clearly a whisper I know that was from the Lord. It was a challenge, it was a test, it was an opportunity for Him to show me just how far I have come since the loss of Faith.

Life is worth seeking, life is worth living, and God is so very very good, if we let ourselves really see Him.

I’m not sure if I’m actually an “official” marathon runner now or not, since I wasn’t at an “actual” marathon event, I didn’t have a chipped bib and number, I didn’t have anyone cheering me on along the sidelines (heck there was only five total people that even knew I was going to attempt this), and I did in fact have to walk small portions of it (although much less than I had originally planned).

Ok technically, I am not a “real” marathon runner, I know this… but, for a forty-two year old non-running, non-athletic mom with bunions, bad feet, and cellulite… I think I’m going to personally give myself the credit for in fact running, and completing, a full marathon today.

26.2 miles… who knew.

God is so very very good.

{Previous post "The Fine Art of Rest" HERE }

The Fine Art of Rest

I have a love hate relationship with rest.

I long for it, I know the value and need for it, and yet I fight granting it to myself tooth and nail. I dangle the concept of it in front of me over and over, like a treat for a dog… but rarely, if ever, actually allow myself to consume, partake, ingest it. I just keep chasing it around and around, like a dog chasing his tail. It’s always in front of me, but I never can quite catch it, grab it, hold on to it.

I allowed myself to cash in a few more hours of PTO, and arranged to go in a little late to work this fine Monday morning. For a few more glorious hours my son and I are here enjoying the stillness of morning at the lake. Summer is flying by, and while we’ve enjoyed lots of regular weekend time up at the lake, I’m finding it hard to squeeze in a little bit extra time, bonus time, intentional “me” time. I’ve tried a few different times and have had to either cancel and go back due to various work needs, or the weather has been uncooperative and has sent me home early.

I should have probably canceled my time off request for this morning and gone in early due to some things at work, but I choose not it… I choose to stay a few extra hours, and I was blessed with the most amazing evening with my family last night. God blessed my decision to not pack up early and rush in to work, and I am grateful.

I ended up staying up until midnight just enjoying the quiet, enjoying the aftermath of thee most amazing sunset experience, enjoying looking at all my photos from the weekend, enjoying some alone time after a few sacred hours of chatter and laughter with just the three of us, after a day of fun and sun, boating, tubing, biking, and being with friends.

I’m half marathon training (sorry, I realize I mention this a lot lately… I honestly hesitate every single time I write or say those words, wondering what people are thinking and how hard they are having to try not roll their eyes and outwardly groan… but unfortunately, it’s what’s taking up a huge chunk of both my time and my brain space right now, so I simply apologize). Next weekend is another huge running weekend for me - another 13.1 on the calendar, and I spent a lot of time this weekend in my tennis shoes out on the road. I got up early every single morning and got every single mile in… and by last night, my body was tired. My mind was tired and I decided that maybe I would let myself sleep in in the morning.

Maybe I would allow myself this gift of rest. Lord knows I wanted to… but I confess, I struggle with rest. I’m a list maker, a people pleaser, and a highly motivated goal achiever. And I am on a mission right now… a mission to run, to rest, to relax, to be filled, and to enjoy every tiny little second of this season of summer. And this season is flying by, so I feel like I need to be crazy intentional with each and every one of these remaining minutes and moments as to not waste a single one.

This “restful” summer mission has left both a little rested, and a little exhausted.

I read a book this weekend, Unstuffed - Decluttering Your Home, Mind, & Soul by Ruth Soukup. In it she had a section on rest that really struck me. (The entire book struck me, but that is another entire blog post {wink}). As I read it I knew it was speaking to me, it was about me, it was about my current lack of success in this area, despite all the effort and emphasis I’ve been trying to put towards it.

Here’s just a few words that I underlined in her book…

“I don’t think there is any one factor that can contribute more to stress than a lack of sleep, and no one solution can help alleviate stress more than a good night’s sleep. Many of us - especially those of us under a lot of stress - are chronically sleep deprived. There aren’t enough hours in the day to get it all done, so we chip away at our resting hours, staying up too late, getting up too early, and never allowing ourselves a full night of sleep…”

“An area to focus on in the battle against stress and fatigue has to do with adding more downtime, and it’s hard work to simply learn how to rest and do nothing. When there is always so much to do and not enough time to get it done, allowing ourselves real downtime - unstructured, unscheduled time in our day to simply relax - can actually be really difficult. We live in a busy world that is constantly calling us to do something…”

I am so guilty of all of this. I immediately thought of an earlier blog I’d written about why I get up early… to give myself more time in my day, and how the math and logic in my mind is actually allowing me extra days in my life. And I grew up in a home where rest, true rest, and doing nothing, was never modeled well. I don’t honestly think I have ever once in my life witnessed my father actually sitting and resting. (I do not blame him by any means for any of my calamities.)

Rest for me is a mind game… a battle between need and want, logic and desire, realistic expectations and accomplishments. I want to rest, but I want to achieve, and resting might equal lazy, resting might equal quitting, resting might equal failure. So I feel guilt, and shame, and I deny and under play these needed moments.

I know I wrestle with allowing my body and mind to truely rest, even though I know they need it. I have a hard time even with the concept of yoga. I did it once and really enjoyed it, but in my mind it didn’t actually constitute as “exercise” so I haven’t allowed myself to explore it beyond that one time, because I hardly have enough time getting my training runs in, so surely I will not have enough time to add yet something else,  no matter how beneficial it may actually be…

I know I can’t be the only one out there battling this war with rest. I know I can’t be the only one walking around weary from lack of sleep and overworked, overstressed schedules, despite my greatest effort to remain aware and balanced. I can’t be the only one doing all the things, drinking all the coffee, while tackling all the to-do lists in hopes of tricking myself to actually think I’m resting, really resting.

Resting is not a natural strand structure in my DNA. For whatever reason it’s hard, it’s unnatural, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s something I deeply deeply desire to be able to do more gracefully.

If I look back over my life, I can see how far I have come in the last several years when it comes to scaling back, delegating, saying no to, walking away from, not committing to… but as I sit here this morning fighting an inner battle over if I should be proud of myself or utterly disappointed that I didn’t force myself to get up and get my five mile Monday morning run in… I realize that perhaps I still have quite a ways still to go when it comes to this whole rest thing.

This actually makes me smile… grateful that God is continuing to whisper and direct what I need but don’t always see or hear clearly. As I’ve come to learn and love these past few years, my life is about the process, about the journey, about the trusting, releasing, and simply enjoying of what is gifted and granted to me. And apparently I need more rest, real rest, true, deep, honest rest…

So today I will again attempt to simply rest for a few minutes longer before packing up and heading back to face the reality of life beyond the morning silence of this sacred little campground, in the middle of no where, in this amazing season of summer.

{ Previous blog post "Already Half Way Through Summer" HERE }
{ Next blog post "26.2 ... Who Knew" HERE }

Already Half Way Through Summer

How in the ever loven’ world is it JULY already?!? JULY people!!! We celebrated the 4th of July this week.

Summer is officially already half over!!

Thinking about this makes me inwardly groan, leaving me with an almost panicked inner beast attacking me. It’s scratching and clawing like a caged animal in desperate need of escape. I breathe deep and attempt to smile, try remain calm on the exterior, but inside there is a million thoughts and lists and grievances flying around out-of-control.

Try as I might, I cannot hold time within the grasp of my closed hand. Minutes seep though my fingers like grains of sand, falling at my feet in bits of tiny moments and memories that just continue to spill forth and accumulate at my feet. My toes slowly become buried in the coolness of days past, while the sun continues to beat it’s sweltering rays upon my forehead and sun kissed shoulders, leaving a hot, heavy uncomfortableness within me.

We waded slowly through the winter season… and actually, truth-be-told, winter also flew by much quicker than I ever anticipated. I didn’t think April and May would ever arrive… and then they did, and then they were gone in a blink, and apparently took June right along with them.

The calendar pages continue to flip faster and faster, and I have no idea how I got to this point. How did my life reach this moment of epic speed in which I feel I am completely out-of-control of right now? And what in the world do I do to attempt to tame it, to slow it down, to control its out-of-controlness?

Oh I diligently try to remain slow, under-booked, and overly-selfish with my time and my family’s commitments in the summer. We purposely don’t do summer rec, summer ball, summer sports of any kind. We purposely don’t commit to anything other than ourselves and our family during these few precious weeks of summer. In our attempt to grasp and hold and manage this blink of time every year, we somehow end up causing the clock to just speed up faster and faster with every passing day. Then, on a day like to today, I stop and really think about it, and it all crashes around on me.

The dog is dying, my son is graduating from college, my family is planning a vacation (like my ENTIRE family is going on a vacation TOGETHER), my friends are planning Saturday night potluck menus, my church job is teetering right on the still-quiet edge of crazy change, my cake job is a balancing act of available time and commitment obligations (which include weekends at the lake), and I’m giving large chunks of my time and mental stamina this summer to half marathon training…

Oh my gosh… just stop already… slow down… let me breathe… let me rest… let me relax… let me just be filled without having to eek or drip anything out in return. But that isn’t a realistic reality I realize. The ebb and flow of my internal filling and my emptying has never been balanced, no matter how aware I try remain about it.

I used to spend every single day with my inner tank empty to the bare bottom, and have since spent the last two years diligently trying to re-fill me, care for me a little more… and in my diligence to remain aware, to remain a little more full, I know I’m still fighting to open my hands to release this stupid perfection complex I carry so closely to my soul. I want to control, I want to dictate, I want to choose, I want to fix, I want to monitor, I want to know, I want to achieve.

I’ve come to realize, and have told myself, that summer is my season to be intentionally filled. The family time, the camper, the lake, the coffee on the deck, the books, the sunshine, the cool breezes after dark, the campfires, the water, the sunsets, the friendships, the photos, the memories… And I guess it’s not that I’m NOT being filled this summer, because I am - or at least I am diligently doing all of those things I’ve told myself SHOULD be filling me… but I’m just yet again at a loss with how FAST this intentional time of slow and rest is slipping by. This same thing happened to me last summer…

Perhaps I need to stop raising the bar of relaxation expectations, stop trying to measure and micromanage my level of “filling” and “filled” and “rest” and “relaxation.” I think I’ve somehow entered into a state of trying to plan and accomplish and control my inner state of calm and rest, which is actually just causing me more stress and angst.

No, I don’t want it to be August in a matter of days. No, I don’t want school to be starting in a matter of weeks. No, I don’t want fall schedules and decor and temperatures to return just yet. I want to hang out in the heat and the slightly less chaotic just a little longer… but wait, I CAN. This isn’t the LAST weekend, the LAST day I’ll have at the lake, the LAST hurray of the season before packing it all up and driving away.

I need to open my hand and just let it all go. I need to stop looking over my shoulder and grieving all the time that’s already gone. I need to keep looking forward and celebrating the time that is still left, still to come, still to enjoy. I need to just stop and reflect, scroll through the hundreds of photos I’ve already captured, read through the camping logs I’ve already filled out, look at the running logs I’ve already ticked off my training schedule.  Remember and laugh and love over the already moments this summer has granted me.

I need to simply continue teetering on this tricky balance beam between intentionally seeking slowness, purposely honoring family time, and simply surviving the daily commitments of day-to-day life between jobs, hobbies, dreams, goals, hopes, and the ordinary mundane.

Yes, let’s continue to try live life fully, for we only get this one life, this one chance, this one right-now. Let’s work to balance it all well. Let’s love both ourselves and others equally and passionately. And let’s ultimately give thanks to our amazing God for these moments, these memories, these days of summer life.

Stop, breathe, remember yesterday, anticipate tomorrow, worship fully in the moment, release the perfectionism no one will ever be able to accomplish. Let’s try open our palms and joyfully let the sands of time continue to slip through our fingers. Stop trying to catch them, hold them, micromanage them… simply enjoy them in their greatness and grander that they were intended to actually be.

Let’s let ourselves be filled, and allow ourselves the grace to also be emptied all over again when needed. Let’s try simply to enjoy the whole process, with all the feels of the highs and the lows that come with the joys and sorrows, the laughter and the struggle, as we fill our days, re-fill our inner tanks, and turn the calendar and planner pages for just a few more glorious weeks of this wonderful season called summer…

{ Previous Blog Post "I Have This Small Dream" HERE }

I Have This Small Dream

I have this small dream… to write a book.  Not just a few random rambling posts on a blog I don’t think anyone reads, but to write a real book, a fiction book, you know the kind with chapters and amazing covers and a little bio on the inside quarter sleeve. 

But the physical aspect of the book isn’t the reason I want to write it, I want to write it to create something new… something bold and vivid, and a tiny bit edgy, all wrapped up neatly in page after page of black and white type.  The challenge, the magic, the draw to create something in black and white written form that is taken and allowed to become something bright, colorful, imaginative, and real within the mind of the reader excites me.  What's even more exciting – the fact that every single person who would read it would create and cast their very own inner movie of characters and mental visual images played out.

I have had this dream for years now… I have the plot, I have the characters, I have the outline all neatly in this little filing cabinet in my mind.  And... I have a three mile long list of excuses for not writing it. 

The main one – is that I know it will mess.me.up.  I know how I can get when I am writing.  Not how I can get... how I do get.  It chooses when and where, it overtakes my thoughts and can leave me utterly worthless to all other people, tasks, and jobs until those words have left the crazed confines of my mind through the click, click, clicking of my fingers as I pull those words and images from inside out.

A second main reason – is that I don’t actually know how to write a book.  And beyond that, I keep hearing all the little voices in my head simply telling me not to waste my time even trying because I wouldn’t finish it, and no one would read it anyway if I did. Those voices seem to be speaking louder to me than the ones telling me to just dive in and go for it.

Until this moment, I have basically uttered this to no one.  About two month ago I casually attempted to bring it up to my husband, and that same day I mentioned it in an email to a close friend.  I got a whole lot of crazy daring for whatever reason that day.  I actually allowed myself to think about it, to put voice and words to it, to simply entertain it.

I honestly don’t know why these are the words that I am being compelled to write, to share, to type, to confess right now.  I haven’t uttered this out loud to anyone, so why now am I deciding to just put this out there on my blog??  Oh yes, because it’s still relatively safe on my blog because no one is reading it ;-)

But in all seriousness, I can't help but wonder what God has in store with this current bunny trail of momentary crazy coursing through me.  And yet, if it's been in me for years, how momentary actually is it??  I think perhaps He's been whispering this for a while, but I have just not been listening very closely...  Maybe I am still years and years away from ever opening that blank document and actually starting... Maybe I'll never even start... maybe I'll start and never finish... maybe I'll start, finish, and it will be horrible... maybe I'll start, finish, and... well, who knows...

If our words remain unspoken and silent, then no one other than ourselves will ever know where we've actually set the bar for our expectations and hopeful accomplishments.  We justify it by saying if it doesn't happen, we're the only ones that will know, we're the only ones who can tell us we're a failure, we're the only ones who will know the the dream fell short and never came to be.

And there will also be no one else to walk beside us, to encourage us, to help us, to see us, to believe in us.

Every dream has to start somewhere, every dream has to have a tiny seed planted deep within the fertile depths of our very souls.  Every dream needs the fire fanned to grow, intensify, magnify, blaze through to the surface.  Every dream needs to be grasped, hoped for, believed in, breathed into being, grown into fruition.  Every dream needs to be granted the opportunity to evolve from nothing into something, from within our minds to within our hands.

So there you have it... there is a transparent little confession of a small dream that is residing deep within me right now.  I have no idea what I'll do with this silly little writers dream I'm hold within still closed hands, but perhaps it's just time to put voice to it, put it out there for someone other than just myself to know.

Perhaps it's time to merely start to carefully flame the fire around that quietly planted and well hidden little seed of possibility.  I've learned that this is simply how God sometimes works in my life... in little whispers that turn into small dreams, which can cause big waves, and sometimes even ginormous jumps of faith.

Whether this becomes nothing or this becomes one of those crazy leaps, today I shall merely turn my closed palm upward, and slowly... ever so slowly... simply loosen my fingers from their tight grip of all things unknown, slowly allowing them to open, and I will merely stand back and watch what awaits, watch what wonders just might come to land upon that open palm...

Tonight I simply turn and open, palm silently outstretched.

Watch, and wait, and trust... areas I am not familiar or comfortable in.  I'm an all-or-nothing, go-big-or-go-home gal... patience, perseverance, endurance, possible and probable failure... phew big words that are often better to avoid all together than to take on with a vengeance.

I have found it's always easier to contently remain still and silent, merely thinking about our hopes and dreams of what if's and some day's.  It's something entirely else when we decide to stand and perhaps start the process of actually closing the gap between us and our dreams.

Don't stop daring to dream.  Don't sell yourself short on what you are capable of.  Don't consider yourself a failure if all your dreams are not seized, if all your hopes and goals are not attainable or unachievable at the level in which you placed them.  Every dream is placed within us for a purpose, for a plan in the grand design of our lives.

Some dreams are meant to be, some are not.  Some are meant to be fully accomplished and are entirely attainable, some are merely meant to be the starting point, the driving force, the instigation simply needed to be the bridge, the gap, the launching pad to that which we are simply supposed to do next.  A first next step in our journey on the path of our lives.

Listen to the whispers, listen to the desires you carry deep within you.  Let's entertain them, pray over them, give them a voice, and allow them to help us excel, grow, shine, connect, change.  I'm pretty sure there will be more than a few amazing lessons and people found along the way in our quest to attain, accomplish, and conquer.

I have this small dream... to write a book.  What's yours?

{ Next blog post "Already Half Way Through Summer" HERE }
{ Previous blog post "When I Finally Quit Quitting" HERE }