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 }