13.1 Miles

No, there's no need to rub your eyes or clear the smudges from your glasses. It is really me, blogging once again, back from my two year hiatus--or however long it's been.

And no, it's not that I've suddenly decided to get back into blogging. I wish, but time just doesn't seem to permit for that these days. No; what's pulled me back into the blogosphere has been the several inquiries bout the half marathon I spontaneously participated in back in March; it was a rather sudden decision. So I accepted the challenge of another blog post. And what follows is my story; though I must warn, if you're not a reader, feel free to exit out of this page knowing that she completed a half marathon. Great. For the rest of you, I hope you're comfortable. So without further ado, here's how the story goes.

It was the beginning of January when a bubble appeared over my head: what about running a 5k? It may come as no surprise that I have occasional bizarre ideas, but this has been an old one that keeps rebounding through the years with the guilt of never having embraced the challenge hanging over me. This time, however, the challenge was inspired from a sermon. The overall idea was to not only endure hardness (based on 2 Timothy 2:3) but also embrace it. And so ensued a conversation with myself: Do something hard. Practice self discipline. Something practical, but difficult. And it makes sense doesn't it? Practicing doing difficult things is fit training for when trials hit that are out of your control. I mean, how do you prepare for anything if not by doing the thing? Paul often uses the analogy of running a race to typify our own race in life. Perhaps I can glean something from this. And so I began looking for a local 5k that I could run. As it turns out, Saturdays are very popular for races. I expanded my search to Nashville but to no avail. I investigated other options like mud-runs, colour runs, and even marathons. I saw a half marathon available on a Sunday. Hang on...exactly how long is a half marathon? 13.1 miles. No way. I would be an idiot to attempt that. I ended my search and decided I would just have to come up with a different challenge. 30 minutes later, I couldn't get my mind off of the half marathon. I did another search for shorter races. Still, nothing. All precautions aside, I decided that 13.1 miles isn't so bad and found myself actually getting excited about the idea. I signed up.

One thing I wish I gave more thought to is preparation and education. I have lots of drive and energy, and my vision is really clear about the goal and the end result. In this case, I could envision myself crossing the finish line, but it didn't really cross my mind what this would mean for the time between--the how-to part of things. Once I was signed up for the race, I breathed a sigh of relief--I finally committed! Success! I stared at the date of the race. February 22nd. I started calculating. Oh...that means I only have six weeks till the big day. Ummmm...did I just get ahead of myself? I drafted a quick outline for training using Sarah's Logic as my only guide (mental note for future challenges: seek to properly educate yourself on a subject before jumping in).

I began training at the gym on the elliptical. And I was pumped and I was invincible. In only a couple days, I was running 6 miles in an hour. Just think, Sarah. Do this two times, plus another mile, and you're done! Cake! I kept it up for a week and decided it was time to do some real-road-running. There's difference between running on a treadmill and running on pavement. And so began week two of my real-running phase. I started running up and down the soccer field at the school I was working at. But after only 20 minutes of real-running, I was panting. I kept looking at my watch as if there was some mistake. Come one Sarah. You can do this! As if to combat my internal cheerleading, the wind picked up and it was bitter! I felt sharp pangs on my face. Rain. I ran for another 10 minutes before I decided to call it quits. The following day, I came down with a cold. Based on experience, I made the executive decision to just focus on getting through this cold. Hot lemon and honey was about the only thing I put in my body for the rest of that week. I forfeited my entire week of training to recover. Week 3, I went back to the gym to visit the elliptical. I kept steady with 6 miles per hour (or 1 mile per ten minutes). Week 4 was another bitter weather week; but as much as I needed the practice of real-pavement running, I stuck with the gym to prevent any more sickness. Finally, week 5 came and I hit the pavement, running 6 miles to start. I ran three times a week, and with each run, I increased my distance one extra mile. I literally felt like Forrest Gump, like I could just keep running and never get tired...until I reached mile 10. My 1-mile-per-10-minutes-pace started expanding to 1 mile per 11 minutes, then 1 mile per 12 minutes. Something about that 10 mile mark wore me out! And then it happened: I started to dread running. The day of the race came along with an ice storm. The race was canceled and rescheduled for the following Sunday. Great. Another week of running. Yes, I started to look at this event as something I just wanted to hurry up and get through.

Finally, the big day arrived. I'd been up since 3 a.m. that morning as I couldn't sleep due to a miry mix of excitement and apprehension. I shot off an email to the family and got an immediate response from one brother giving advice about keeping in step with the feet just ahead of me if I should get to feeling really tired. It wasn't long after that I received some uplifting words and an inspirational video from another brother. I also got an email from  my mother and sisters. It was exactly what I needed to turn my dread into drive. Family really is everything.

Driving up the trail I read the sign: "Welcome to Dry Creek Trail Marathon and Half." It was named appropriately, just not the "dry" part. But the route was a mix of old dirt roads, a cow-beaten path through old wheat fields, and trails in the forest that weren't really trails. The unbeaten path through the woods was marked with flags, engulfed by leaves, branches and boulders; there was even a creek to be crossed.

After arriving, I made my way to check in at the "register:" a picnic table underneath a pavilion. There, I signed a paper stating I was over 18, blah, blah, blah, aware of potential dangers, skim, skim, skim, and no throwing trash in the forest. No problem! I was given a shirt, a snazzy pair of socks, and a number: 111. Could it have been a sign that I am three times a winner? I chuckled at the idea.

I arrived early, so I had some time to meet some of the other runners. Every single one of them had those skin-tight runner's pants and matching tops, vibrant coloured shoes, and some kind of water pack--very experienced and professional looking runners. But there I was, in my old black pants with a compilation of tops--an old work shirt from which I'd torn the sleeves, a long-sleeved hooded shirt, and a zip up-sweater. I didn't want to be stuck with being too hot or too cold and figured layers were a good option. I had gone to Goodwill a couple weeks before in hopes to find a decent pair of running shoes that I wouldn't mind abusing for 13.1 miles, and I actually found a pair of Puma's--I wasn't completely out of style!

After stating how many half marathons he'd run, one runner asked me how many I'd run. I could tell he was kind of laughing at my amateurish mentality--this was not only my first half marathon, but my first run ever! And I didn't have a water pack to replenish as I ran--I told him my plan was to run straight through the 13.1 miles, non-stop. "You realize, this is a trail run, right? This isn't street running. This is back-in-the-woods, getting dirty running." Yeah, I knew it, though I still wasn't sure exactly what to expect. I had my own ideas of what "trail run" meant, but nothing is like the experience of it. I got a little giddy when only in the 2nd mile, I passed this guy as I saw him break his run and began walking. And as I passed him, I noticed my pace increased, and my steps went from heavy thuds to delicate and graceful lengths! But it wasn't long before my original clomping pace returned. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It was two minutes before the race began that I suddenly had the urge to go to the bathroom. The last thing you want is to have to break your pace with a bathroom break! So I waited in line and by the time I got to start my race, it was 4 minutes passed 8:00 (start time) and everyone else had already taken off. So much for my chances of coming in first! Though it's not like I even had a chance of that anyway. But I started the run with a pep in my step, feeling pumped. I was trusting my 80's playlist to keep me going at a solid pace. Dexy's Midnight Runners had me off to a good start! As I passed the parking lot where Sam was sitting in the car, I waved and he managed to snap a couple pictures.

Mile number one went by so quickly. I passed a few people on the rock road to start the race. Taking a dirt path on the immediate right, in mile two, I passed our braggadocios friend and some others. The path turned into a two-grooved trail through a wheat field, and it wasn't long until the trail disappeared into the woods where running became more like dodging.

Mile three, enter: STEEP HILL. The grade on this hill was so steep (first, down hill) people were stopping to take care that they didn't fall or get out of control of their speed. I was able to push my way to the front of the pack; on a grade like that, instead of stopping, sometimes you can lean back just enough to control your speed and work against gravity. But again, at this point on the trail, there was no beaten path; leaves were about 4 inches thick. Stones and branches were hiding, ready to trip you up at any minute; there were fairly large crevices in the ground formed by rushing springs from a former time. And it got worse. Once reaching the bottom, there was a creek to get around or jump over. I saw a girl stop and try to scout out a way around it. I had been adamant about not stopping, and I didn't have much time to think. If you stop, Sarah, you're not going to be able to get going again. I did a quick scan of the surroundings. I didn't see any apparent way around the creek...so I jumped. Not far enough. I landed right in the middle of it. It was only ankle deep, but the moment I came out on the other side, my feet were yelling at me; very unhappy they were. But I couldn't give them attention for too much longer because there was the other side of the hill to conquer: the uphill. And just as steep as the grade was going down, it was UP as well. It's as if the path could read my mind; I was chanting don't stop, don't stop, to the beat of my pace, but with each step, the hill kept getting steeper and steeper. In fact, I changed my mind about this even being a hill. No, this was a mountain! I tilted my head to look up to the top of the mountain. Every single person was strenuously walking, pressing their hands against their thighs. Some stopped to be aided by trees. Perhaps it was a mistake to consider how everyone else handled the challenge because it's as if my mind slipped my own track and fell right into step with theirs. My run suddenly became a walk, as if I had no control over it. In a matter of seconds, my breathing intensified, and my lung capacity seemed to shorten; it's like I couldn't take a breath that was deep enough. So there I was, mile 4, forced by nature to break my run with a walk, but it wasn't a rejuvenating break. It wasn't like I was catching my wind and taking a break. As soon as I could feel the mountain lessen it's grade, I went right back into my run, passing another two runners.

Once at the top of the mountain, mile 5 leveled out presenting a new challenge: mud. I dodged puddle after puddle, sank into mud pits, but still continued to pass other runners. There's something about passing others that feels almost empowering. It sounds terrible, I know, but there is something to healthy competition. I have an app on my phone that keeps track of my miles, and in the first 6 miles, after passing several runners, I noticed that my pace was pretty quick. I was clocking about 9.45 minutes per mile. My average time in training had been 11 minutes per mile--I have to believe that the difference had something to do with the fact that I had competition. Mile 7 to 13 was a good stretch of just me. I saw people in front of me, but couldn't manage to pass them. It's also when I noticed my pace slowed down.

Now, once I made it to mile 7, there was an "aid station" trying to lure me in to get me to stop. There were two big coolers of water with some kind of electrolyte-replenisher drink, and snacks. Just keep running, Sarah. There was a girl in front of me that I'd been trying to pass, but she kept finding the strength to push on--that is, until the stations' powers proved too strong for her. She caved-in to the temptations and stopped for a drink. Passing her and the station, I suddenly got my second wind! But not even 3 minutes into mile 8, the same girl was passing me, resuming her position about 10 paces ahead of me. I only knew her as Number 209 and all I could think for the next two miles was how 111 should be before 209. 

At this point in the race, the trail turned into a road of rocks, mud, and puddles. It was a stretch of about three miles leading to a dead end where we were to turn around and retrace those same three miles to finish out the race. Meanwhile, some of my training wounds began to whine and burn. That's when the video my brother sent me started playing in my head again. Pain is temporary, it said. Once gone, something else will take it's place. Quitting, however, lasts forever! Sacrifice what you ARE for what you will BECOME! It's not about how hard you can hit, but about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward! Pretty soon, my mind won, proving the truth behind "mind over matter."

Mile 8 was rough. I kept thinking, when is this path going to turn around? With each step, I could feel a sharp pain in my left foot. The moment just before my foot hit the ground, I was anticipating the pain in my calves. I started to dread each step. I realized I had to get my mind off the pain. I tried to focus on the words in my music: Here comes the rain again/ falling on my head like a memory/ falling on my head like a new emotion....It only made me think about the rain that was running down and into my eyes despite my preventative swipes with my sleeve. And that's when I started thinking about the email my other brother had sent with his advice: focus on the two feet ahead of you and try to keep in step. IT WORKED! I started focusing on Miss 209's rhythm. It turns out she was keeping with 4/4 time. I attempted to create a 3/4 pace in hopes to pass, but for some reason, it didn't work and the energy I put into trying to compete with her beat was exhausting. Instead, I continued to follow the advice and it took me all the way to mile 9.

Somewhere in mile 9, Miss 209 stopped. She bent over to look at her ankle (I think she was bluffing). It was then I passed her and never saw her again until she was running across the finish line long after I did. Meanwhile, some of the first runners to take off (while I was in the bathroom, remember) had reached the "turn-around" point (the 3-miles-to-go marker) and were now coming towards me. The first one to pass me was a young man, skinny as a rail and he didn't just pass me, he whizzed by; I could literally feel the wind behind him. He was FAST! I made a note to myself just then: find out what music is on that guy's playlist! A few minutes later, there were a few more speeding by. It had me hopeful for that turn-around point, and just beyond the bend, I could see the final temptation: Aid Station Number 3. I saw four people standing at the station getting refreshments. I could see the cup reach their mouth, their heads tilted back, and as if I were for a moment transposed into their being, I could feel the liquid going down my own throat. No Sarah! Don't stop! You're almost there! As if I wanted a bigger challenge, I took one of the buds out of my ear to hear the man at the station ask: "How about some tasty lemon water, or--" I wouldn't even let him finish or I might be wooed into stopping. "No thanks!" I said. I tried to be pleasant about it, but it probably came out sounding more like a wheezy Gollum. But turning down that final obstacle, making the turn, beginning to trace back over my same steps gave me a thrill! Only three miles to go--the very same last three miles I just ran--and I was feeling more energetic than ever.

About half way into my 11th mile, a short little hobbit-size woman passed me. To be honest, I was taken off guard by this. I mean, I was feeling pretty good...until this number 115. She made me feel slow. I started following her rhythm and was baffled that her pace was no faster than mine. That could only mean one thing: her strides were longer. And this woman, I'm telling you, was the shortest thing! And really, no offense. I like short people. It was the science of it: how could she have longer strides than me? But here I was, mile 11, and I started thinking, if only I had trained with longer strides, I could be done already! I suddenly felt tired. Then I saw 115 stop. She reached the bottom of a hill and started to walk up the other side. I regained composure. I can catch her. And I did. But before I knew it, she was passing me again. Looking back on it all, I'm surprised at just how competitive I really am. I mean, you'd think I was running for a prize or something.

In mile 12, I came across another woman walking. She wore her number on her front, so my only identifier for her is The Teaser. Of all of them, she was the one to beat! Keep reading; you will find out why. She would walk, I would pass her; then not even a minute later, she would pass me, running. This process was on repeat all throughout mile 12. It's as if she was teasing me. I finally got tired of her teasing and slowed down. I could feel my feet dragging. I could feel my legs wobble with every thud of my feet.

Beginning mile 13, my breathing started to turn into gasping. My mind started saying, you've pushed too far. In mind-over-matter, matter started to gain the upper hand. With one mile to go, instead of feeling relieved like I anticipated--because come on, Sarah, what's 1 mile?-- I was feeling heavy. My pains kept shouting that 13 miles was just too many and my mind was getting ready to agree. I looked down at my muddy Pumas and listened to the aching of my feet. But what's it worth if you stop just one mile short? Pain is temporary, quitting lasts forever. When I raised my head, I saw the final bend. It was just what I needed. I saw The Teaser reaching the bend. With about a quarter mile to go, I forced my mind to ignore the wobble in my legs. You're not tired. You're on fire! And Jenny, I was running! Not limping. Not jogging. But running. Before long, I was on the heels of The Teaser, and just seconds after she crossed the finish line, I expelled the last of my energy with a grunt and a grimace. FINISHED!!!

Let me interject and give one word of advice to anyone who might decide to run a half marathon or more (or less!). If you are dependent on your music, you might want to go through your playlist before hand. For the entire race, I had awesome music playing--mostly 80's, but most importantly, it had a great beat. However, coming up to the finish line, the song to end my run, my epic finale, was Bread's "Baby I'ma Want You." Talk about a buzz kill! The moment I needed something like "The Final Countdown" or "500 Miles" or Aha, I got Bread.

After crossing the finish line, I was handed a medal. Once I finally stopped running and paced in circles, I was beaming. I felt empowered. I noticed no one else was wearing their medal; like I was really three times a winner, I placed mine around my neck and wore it proudly. I win.


Once the rest of the runners made it back, there were some "surprise" awards handed out. A 3rd place award in the category "Women 45 and under" (that would include me) went to The Teaser. So you see, had I have managed to pass her, I would have won 3rd place in my division. And yet, I'm still so very happy with my unmentioned 4th place win. I'm so proud of myself for finishing, and so thankful for all the support and encouragement I got just before my run.

My nose led me over to the grill where they were providing hot dogs and hamburgers for all of us marathoners. I gobbled up two hamburgers that were cold but somehow satisfying. A few of the runners encouraged me to keep racing in the future, but I'm pretty convinced that while this was my first half marathon, it is also my last. That is, unless someone asks me to run one with them--only then will I reconsider.

Being on this side of the finish line and being able to say I did it, and knowing that no one can take that away from me, is so richly rewarding! The time devoted to training, day in and day out, all the changes required, all the pains that come with it, and finally the race that counted--it was all worth it! It's true: pain is only temporary. "For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us," said Paul. If this is what it feels like to finish a half marathon, how much more rewarding will it be to finish the race that counts? I can only imagine...

Effects of Music

In the cold months, it's hard trying to stay active. It's easy to set goals yet somehow be convinced that it's just not the best day to start the new diet, exercise program, or whatever.

Over the past few months, I've been targeting different areas in my life that I need changing. It's been a few weeks since I've begun cleaning up my diet; time has come to start incorporating some kind of exercise. I've managed to hop on the treadmill for a few minutes a day. A great aid in this goal has been music. I plop the headphones over my ears, plug them into my phone and press play. It seems that music makes my heart rate increase just as much as walking does. Oh wouldn't that be so nice to sit down, play some music and watch yourself get into shape? If only.

Quick digression: headphones are the BEST medium to listen to music. They are suctioned to your ears, cutting out all outside noises and encompass you with music. You not only feel the music, but you feel the instrument, the beat, the notes, the strings, the percussion, the vocals--all of it. It's quite emotional. In fact, it's a little dangerous being on the treadmill at the same time--enactment of the music can't help but come out through your arms and legs flying this way and that, pulling in close to your heart and flinging outward as you lip sink "I give my ALLLLL, to youuu!"



I can't tell you how many times this has happened!

But even when I sit down at the computer to blog or email, I might get a hankering for music. The tv is always on, so adding another noise in the mix is never soothing, only more chaotic. Solution: headphones! I slide them over my ears and get lost in some Kevin Kern, Celtic Thunder, or the like. And most times, I forget that they're up there....

But, back to music. When listening to a new song, I almost always hear the words before the melody. Determining whether I like a song or not, Lyrics trump Melody. It hasn't always been that way, but as I age and the story of the song actually begins to mean something to me, I find I like the song even more because of the words (or not, if I don't like them).

So there I was the other morning, on the treadmill, headphones on, when there came a familiar tune. I almost skipped the song because it's one of those that you wouldn't think you could really "jam" to on a treadmill. It's one of those "inspirationals" that I used to hear all the time--so for me, it's kinda gotten old. But, I hadn't heard it in a while, and it was a different rendition, so I let it play. I forced the original version out of my head and listened to this new one. The soft lyrics began pouring into my ears:

When I am down

and, oh

my soul, so weary;

(At this early moment, my eyes began welling up)

When troubles come

and

my heart burdened be;

(Bawling)

Then, I am still

and

wait here in the silence

 Until you come

and

sit a while with me.

You raise me up,

(My enactment begins!)

so I can stand on mountains;

 You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

 I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up

To more than I can be.

With headphones, you can hear everything so clearly. You can hear the quiet moments, you feel the building crescendo; the soft and almost silent "s" on the end of words tugs on my heart strings and pushes out of my skin through the hairs on my arm, leaving me with goosebumps. The drums set the beat for my heart while I passionately stomp one foot after the other, truly feeling that I am being raised to more than I really am; that I am standing on mountains seeing this life for what it really is; that I am sitting atop shoulders, raised to see from Another's perspective the little specks we are in the grand scheme of things. And I am no longer feeling weary; no longer burdened, but comforted.  

As the song ended with a blast, a new one began. Engines starting. Engines revving. Suddenly, the keyboard blasts: "bah bu-bah buh!...ba-buh bah bah buh!" The Final Countdown. I could not have planned the sequence any better myself!

Icy Day

Last week, the west pushed some ice our way that stuck for almost a day.

Before the trees from our Oak had a chance to fall, the ice kept them frozen in time.

Treecicles!

Carcicles

The dogs don't think about being cold, wet or dirty. They only think about playing.

 

 

 

One of my favourite views.



 

 

"Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak."

 

At the Crossroads

It was recommended that "Mystery of the Ages" be read every 6 months. I can't truthfully say that I have faithfully followed that recommendation, but my studies have finally led me to it once more. I've only made it through the Authors Statement, Preface, and Introduction, but I already see just why the recommendation! 

Mr. Armstrong briefly mentions a crossroads in his life--a fork in the road. At a crossroads, there isn't just one road anymore, but there also isn't more than 2. Left or right; that's it. As Christ plainly said, "He that is not with me is against me." It's at this crossroad that you see how you have been living, and how you should be living. It's not just seeing that you've been breaking the Sabbath all these years, but you've been breaking every other commandment too! You see that your way of living has been wrong! Yes, you've not only been partially wrong, but you are wrong to the tens! You have been so wrong, that you feel horrid. You feel rank. You feel disgusting. You feel ugly. You feel worthless. And that's when you realize that something can be done
about it! There are, after all, two roads. Two ways of life. Two trees. So there you are, standing at your crossroads, knowing that a conscious decision must be made. It only takes one decision to change the course, but it doesn't stop there. It really means making those decisions for the remainder of your life. God makes it plain that He would rather someone be on fire for Him, or completely against Him. God says those who dabble, those who are half-hearted, those who keep parts of the law but not all of it, those who compromise with the law, "because you are lukewarm and not cold or hot, I will spit you out of My mouth." So, you're either all in, or all out.

 Mr. Armstrong continues in his book:

"I came to realize that accepting God's truth meant

FORSAKING THIS WORLD."...

"This surrender to God...this

GIVING UP OF THE WORLD...WAS THE ONLY MEDICINE

IN ALL MY LIFE THAT EVER BROUGHT A HEALING!...

I was finding

JOY

beyond words in this

TOTAL DEFEAT."

Can it be? Can giving up this world really bring healing? And can there really be joy in this defeat? Mr. Armstrong also said that this surrender and defeat was "the most bitter pill I ever swallowed." So, it will hurt more than anything, but isn't that worth the MOST joy you'll ever experience?

Oh how I miss this book! It's been too long. Don't ever let me wait so long to be reminded of this precious truth, and the decision I made at my own crossroad. I am all in!

Selah...

I was reading an old blog post of mine ("Between a Rock and a Hard Place"), and it really took me back to those same emotions, the same feelings, the same heart rendering prayers, and the very lesson I learned at the time: the lesson of God's very presence in our lives. Simply, that GOD EXISTS.

Not only does God exist, but He makes it known. There are so many prophecies where God says "then you shall know that I am God." God wants our attention--and He will get it; and He might resort to smacking us over the head with a 2 x 4 if that's what it takes.

I can't tell you how many lessons are available to us through this trial. And oh what an opportunity to take hold and learn them! There's always going to be the question: WHY? And the more I think about it, the more I come to the same answer every time: Because I'm building my character in you, My child. I really think it's up to us to decide just how much we will let a trial like this teach us.

Taking the time to reflect on things--on the purpose of anything and everything--is perhaps one major lesson itself: To think. To consider. To ponder. Selah. To meditate on life's purpose. Every time, I'm taken back to the Source of life. The Creator and His plan. What is He doing? "Let all the earth fear the LORD: let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of Him," says the scripture. He is working and building something so amazing that would take our breath away should we truly understand it.

I've started noticing a pattern in life. There are times when you get a kick in the butt, when you have a sudden stare-in-the-face about what you need to be doing, or about what you need to stop doing, and you cry out to God, with real tears, and in the deepest emotion that you've never experienced before. You repent, and start afresh, believing God has forgiven you and is right by your side in your endeavors to a new and different path that you are finally ready to begin. And life is good because there is nothing sweeter than breaking through to God who showers His tender mercies over you. God just worked a miracle, lifting you from the depths of despair--yes, a miracle because even you couldn't have pulled yourself out. Only God. You have never been more grateful. You praise God. Without God, there is no worth, no value, no purpose for anything. You are on fire. On fire for God. You set new goals, along with your newly molded positive outlook, ready to work for God. Ready to give your life, once again, to God in everything you think, say, and especially do. You are ready to go to extremes for God, even if it means cutting off your right arm or plucking out your eye if they are holding you back. And your prayers, strong, bold, and full of His Holy Spirit are being answered right before your eyes.

You are in awe over God's incredible power that gives you strength and confidence. But what's this? A year later, two years later, whatever your time frame, somehow, life isn't so good anymore. You label it just "one of those" days. Nothing changes. You keep ignoring the "bad" feeling. You keep praying because you are duty bound. You keep studying because you know you're suppose to. You keep the Sabbath and go home feeling inspired. But somehow, the next Sabbath arrives and you don't remember what you were inspired about the week before. You suddenly realize you've been a whole week without prayer. You get on your knees to pray and struggle to find the words, the thoughts...anything? You just don't have free time to schedule a fast, and you excuse yourself because you're not in the right attitude anyway. Meditation? You justify "getting that in" on the drive to services.
You quit praying altogether because it's not effectual. They're not riveting prayers. You want back that strong relationship you had with God, but your prayers are not getting answered and you just can't seem to focus. You sit down to read and you can't even remember the sentence you just read. You stop trying. You take a week and then a month to shake this rut you're in. Suddenly, things seem familiar. You've been here before. You're back in the trenches of desperation. How did this happen? When did it start? The epiphany you need, or the major lesson to learn from it all is not so suddenly revealed just because you see there's a problem. It's only the beginning. And whatever that lesson is (I have found, many times it's the same lesson in times past--only to be understood more deeply), you are taken back to square one: repentance. Back to those real tears. Back to God. Somehow, despite the prayers and studying, the fasting and mediation, despite all your efforts, you got away from God and began relying on yourself; your efforts, your good deeds. You lost sight of God's goodness. Isn't this the lesson of Job? Living righteously, keeping God's commandments--yes, good things, but without the "Who Am I" attitude, it is in vain because it is only a man's effort. When will you learn? "Truly every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah." (Psalm 39:5)

God is so merciful and has ways of bringing us back to Him.  It's never as simple as God knocking on your door, or calling your phone to tell you, "here's the problem. Let's work on it." But perhaps all along, God does poke us, and He nudges, pushes, shoves, then finally, smacks us over the head to stop us in our tracks.

Is there one major answer to "why" this trial of ours? I don't know. But I do know, as I mentioned earlier, that there are many things to be gleaned from all this, and all to the glory of God. Selah.

 



One Degree

When two people are dating for marriage, one of the last things they might think about is the thermostat setting for the house. Not like it would be a deal-breaker (unless that's your thing!), but I remember talking about "Expectations" in marriage counseling, and this one never came up...

Everywhere we go, be it a hotel, our old home, even our new home, there is always that one degree difference from being comfortable or uncomfortable. Seriously, it's amazing the difference only one degree makes. Raise the thermostat one degree (75) and Sam starts to sweat profusely. Lower it one degree (74) and I'm walking around in a coat, scarf, and boots.You'd think it was a ten degree difference or something.

Occasionally, I might sneak the temperature up--just the one degree. It's like I keep thinking that one of these days, he won't notice. But so far he's noticed...every time. And I should probably put a stop to it because just last night, when I didn't even touch it he asked, "Have you been messing with the thermostat again!?" When I told him "no," he questioned me with his eyes. Zoiks! Does this mean he's getting hot? If he lowers it another degree, who's to say I won't die of pneumonia when stepping out of the shower? Or catch a cold because my immune system is frozen and unable to fight off those pesky pathogens? Best just give him his one degree and be happy it's not two!

 

Really, you'd think a person's body would adjust after five years. Maybe it'll take six. Until then, I'll grab another blanket, an extra pair of socks, and some gloves. 



 

The Only Constant is Change

...that's how Heraclitus put it anyway. Yet, while the "Weeping Philosopher" was referring to change in the universe, I am referring to our own mini universe here in Tennessee.

Five years of marriage now, and Sam and I are checking off still another "first" from our list: moving.

Sam drove...so I guess that makes me the bald one. :)

For the past several weeks, my mind has been in overdrive dealing with all those things that go along with moving. We had about 4 weeks notice to prepare for the move. In hindsight, that was a little too much time. For four weeks, I would walk through the house making a mental list of what needed to be done. I got some boxes out to get an early start on packing when I realized that there were so many things I couldn't pack because I needed them for the next four weeks. I was carrying around this mental checklist ALL the time! Of all the furniture we moved, that checklist was the heaviest. Sam may disagree--we've got an armoire that's been the cause of many bruises, scratches, and more.

But by the time I was finally able to pack everything, it was actually very liberating to get rid of STUFF that we'd been collecting because, well, you never know, this might come in handy one day; or "I haven't worn this since I bought it, but it's so cute I should wear it!" Most of it was stuff that because we had space in the basement, garage, closet (wherever!) why not keep it? I mean, ya just never know, right.

Instead of hiring movers, we braved the task alone (Bill Withers is ringing in my head right now). When under pressure or frustration, I tend to laugh. I don't know how to explain it, but when things take a turn for the worse, my first phase of release is laughter. This was frustrating for Sam--the scratches I left behind, along with my laughter, wasn't a laughing matter for him. It's almost as bad as cracking jokes while he's lifting 250 lbs of weight at the gym.

It's so nice to be on the other side of moving. We've moved already and almost everything has it's new place. Just the tedious things are left. But overall, I feel my life has been simplified. At any point, should I need to "up and go," I'm not held back by a bunch of stuff.

Instead of a mosquitoes dream for a backyard, we've actually got space to throw a baseball, set up a volleyball net, build a pool, kick the soccer ball around. The dogs love the yard too; they've made themselves right at home, digging holes, finding secret places for their bones, and hiding Mama's shoes under the deck.

And check out my new ride!

It turns out that our neighbor (Pam) was selling her mower because her joints aren't handling all the jolts and bumps very well.

Yes, moving has been quite a change. It feels even the same old routine is different--though it's not. It's been refreshing in a way--waking up in a different room, learning a new route to the bathroom in the dark, new appliances to learn--same results (eventually anyway!) just a new way of getting there. It's also been a great motivator to incorporate those things that for so long I've been meaning to; making certain habits and breaking others. Yes...change is refreshing!