Backstretches

As any of my former track coaches could attest to, the longer distance races were not my specialty. My high school coach often joked that he would need to pull out a calendar to time my quarter mile. As I progressed to the 800m “dash” in college, I did so with trepidation because it hurt. Whether I ran it in 3:03 or 2:23, the pain always met me along the way. The fear subsided as I grew in confidence that a) I wouldn’t die. b) I could improve each time. c) I only had to run it 2-3 times a year. d) The 800 is way easier than the 400. (It’s not logical and highly disputed by those who run the shorter race, but let them enjoy pools of lactic acid in their butts.)

There is one stretch of the 800 that required a certain amount of extra focus, desire, and guts. At the 500 mark, with just 300 to go, one is faced with a seemingly endless straight backstretch. Due to track construction methods, this stretch is often into the wind and lacking any sort of stadium area for cheering. It is here that one realizes how much more is left. It’s as if the 800 has started over. For me, a curve girl, the straight track simply felt like a desert without an oasis. But of course, once I made it to the corner, I had but 175 meters to go and an end literally in sight.

Why bring up this now, you might ask? A valid question especially since I’m no longer training for such short races but instead want to tackle 26.2 miles. A marathon is just slow, endless and somehow thrilling in its own insane way, but not a proper analogy at this point in time. No, the 800 race reminds me of my current life.

Mac and I have worked out a system so that we’re both as productive as possible (he is succeeding way more than I am) and still attentive to each other despite living in different cities. Every other weekend we visit each other, enjoy a nice dinner or go to a show, and catch up on SEEING each other as we share stories and make plans.

Well, as I’ve come to notice, this is like running an 800 with that middle weekend posing as the looming backstretch. The two weeks fly by when we’re both busy, running the curves I might say, and living for the moment. But the lactic acid build-up and long straight stretch always greet me on the weekend. I know that I’m half way there, but tell that to my heart. Finally on Sunday night, I realize how close we are to reuniting. I’ve hit the curve, see the end in sight, and can’t wait to collapse into his arms.

Like the 800 races I ran, I know I will survive these relationship races. I find way too much joy in a heptathlon and in Mac to let this one little portion of the event keep me down. So instead of looking at my calendar to cross off the days, I’m going to hit the gym and my knees in prayer so the backstretches become a strong part of my race.

Normal days

Jet lag creeps in and out of my day. Since returning late Friday night, I’ve slept just enough to be functioning and yet somehow I can ride my bike everywhere. They say once you’ve lost sleep you can’t get it back. So I am simply trying to sleep a normal amount so I can do normal life again.

Define normal…

This morning I woke up more tired than expected or desired so my psyche was a little off. Little things were irking me. My focus was lost. And I felt like I had never been on vacation. Three weeks of rejuvenating were wasted. By 9am, after taking the car to the shop, riding my bike to work, checking in with some of my volunteers, and reading over an upcoming project, I was exhausted and discouraged, but I couldn’t blame sleep deprivation. Normal had hit me with a bat rather than patting me with encouragement.

So I stopped. Took a deep breath and prayed.

In talking to God, I realized that normal days and vacation are not opposites. Reality and responsibility aren’t antonyms to rest and relaxation. I can find all of these ideas interwoven if I look closely. Apostle Paul told people in Philippi that he really wanted to be with God forever. Talk about a sweet vacation. He also said that in leaving he would miss the important stuff he needed to do on earth. He was torn but resigned to live the normal days in preparing to love the eternal days.

I lived the rest of this Monday with the hope for this normal day and all that would come of it. As it turned out, the issues I had at work ironed out and the timer isn’t buzzing yet. The feelings of loneliness melted away with conversation after conversation, some planned and most spontaneous moments of grace. The uncertainty about commitments or future plans transformed into positive forward momentum.

I can’t take any credit for a change in the day. I didn’t go back to sleep and wake up on the other side. I let God in on my normal day. For him the day is not just normal. It’s a new creation.

Settle(d)

My blue and orange backpack lays piled in the trunk of the airplane, the final baggage fee paid. My shoes sit under my seat without any accompaniment for the next nine hours. And my soul rests securely. All is settled.

Before I left Spokane, a friend who knows me from school, athletics and along the journey to answer the question, “What do I want to be when I grow up?” asked me an interesting question. Perhaps his way and meaning of saying it gave me ponder. With genuine curiosity, perhaps concern, but with wisdom of age and experience, he asked, “Are you ever going to settle?”

At that time and for most of my life, the word settle came with a negative connotation. I only saw the advantage when playing soccer and settling the ball allowed me to be in control. Instead, definitions such as “resignation”, “calm and quiet”, “established with big responsibilities”, “accepting the lesser” crowded my understanding of this complex word.

So my answer might have eluded the question, but with complete sincerity and understanding as I had then, I responded, “I’m more a pioneer and explorer than a settler.”

Now, four weeks the wiser, his question gives me pause.

Pioneers also settled, but did they do that because they found what they wanted or just grew too tired to keep looking? I certainly don’t blame them for stopping and am quite grateful they didn’t all make it to California because the beauty and mysterious majesty of Wyoming might have gone unexplored. But perhaps they stopped in Wyoming not out of fear of the ominous Rocky Mountains or due to exhaustion or overwhelming loss, but simply because they found beauty. They stopped to enjoy the fullness of God’s creation, the big skies for good, healthy breathing, the families that had survived thus far, and the peace giving calm and quiet that only in Wyoming, when they stopped, had they known. These pioneers discovered newness and wholeness like any explorer before them. And these pioneers became settlers on their own positive terms.

Pioneering and settling both have great qualities that bring life and wellness. They both come with fear, uncertainty, disappointment, and require deep discernment.

Have I driven in my homestead stake, concluding that I have found the time and place for the settled life? Yes and no. Now I have a better grasp of what pioneering requires of and provides for my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health. And I am learning through the wisdom of others the pros and cons of settling. What I’ve determined above all is that one is not exclusive of the other. Just as a pioneer has to settle in the winter before proceeding over the unknown mountain range, one has to continue to discover new ways of survival and growth in the settled life.

Settle: to move or adjust to rest in a comfortable position.

This definition seems to embrace both ways of life.

Oslo, not just another big city

Perhaps the end of the trip dimmed my sense of excitement for this new city and country.

But God was not done with me. While this capital city didn’t show me anything too extraordinary except for the crazy hats of the Royal Palace guards and tractor shaped waffle makers, the city did show me people with whom I could connect.
First, a good friend from college is living in Oslo as she works with YWAM. I haven’t seen her since graduation five years ago, but we connected on that familiar level where friends reside when they share a history and faith. We caught up on the details of life: work, boys, living arrangements, joys and struggles, and what we were learning. For both of us, we encountered a slice of heaven. Here were two Rocky Mountain-born girls, educated away from family, now sharing a moment in another foreign place halfway around the world.

Second, I met two ladies who treated me with sweetness and hospitality and asked only that I share my faith with them. Had it been part of the housing agreement, I might have been flustered and artificial despite a real desire to help them understand the mysteries of being a follower of Jesus. Instead, they probed after I had barely opened the door. Sometimes when I tell people that I work for a church, the conversation is closed, but R and G couldn’t get enough. I sensed a longing for answers, something real, and purpose. They were lost and their ways couldn’t get them found. Over dinner, two hours after our first handshake, I talked with R about God and how my faith worked. We had a good conversation that only ended with a comma. We would be back to the subject.

Last night, R and I talked about faith again over food. Jesus knew the power of the table. I questioned some of her assertions and tried to articulate the depth of God’s love, grace and forgiveness. Again, we ended with a comma. Our time together had come to a close, but the topic of faith is still important, and her commitment to God is within reach.

I don’t claim to be any great evangelist. In fact, I shy away from that word and way of life. I’d much rather build a house or tour with a gospel choir to share God’s good news than have personal conversations. Yet, I can talk about myself. And more and more each day, I pray that my self is more like Jesus. So I have conversations with people because through my stumbling words, God can speak clearly, no matter where.

P.S. Before Mac and I left for our trip, the people in a Bible Study we attend prayed for us. We received the typical blessings of safe travel and rest. Just as we were about to say “Amen!” the Pastor added his own postscript, “Let these two people be witnesses to people across the world.” Thanks Pastor for making a reservation for me in Oslo. ☺

being misguided by my own goodness

“Sometimes our greatest gifts can be the quickest way to sin.”

Walking with my dear college roommate brings me great pleasure (not to mention a cute figure) but also challenges my thoughts and actions. She once reminded me that Satan can use what we’re most good at to lead us astray, even if that simply means forgetting about God. I hate to admit it, but I had a taste of that today.

A family from Congo relocated here last July after leaving several years of “captivity” as refugees in camp. Life was hard with two meals a day of rice and beans all year long and no scenery or familiar landscape a part from the red dirt that surrounded the dwelling. So a new life in America seemed like a wonderful new life. Now the mom and kids are but a week away from being homeless.

These realities come with several long stories complicated by government systems, mistranslation, a hard winter, little understanding of the USA, and just life. I have no desire to go into these situations for the wrongs and rights, blessings and disappointments, joys and heartaches are too numerous to explain. The fact remains that this family’s life is broken and most tragically by not knowing where they will lay their head come June.

But don’t worry- here I come to save the day. SPLAT!

As a pro-active, driven, solution oriented person all I want to do is fix this circumstance. The family needs a new apartment? Here’s an application. Oh, she needs a reference? Let me send that to her work. A co-signer is necessary? With the ability to back her financially? With a mortgage? Um…I. I. Let me think.
And HERE is where I remain, thinking. I cannot afford to be her co-signer. I cannot move her into my place. I cannot even guarantee another place for her to live in six days. I cannot.

So even though my skills of networking, problem solving, and providing remedies seemed so necessary and sufficient, I know now what my roommate was saying. These talents distracted me from seeking out and relying on God. Instead I began to worship an idol of power and call on the name of organizational crisis management to rule over this issue.

God has to be in control. I can do what I can, but I cannot be God. He will fix or mold or handle this situation. I can be obedient, but I cannot decide for God. He will not grow weary of details or negate his promises. I can be bold, but I cannot be the strength of God.

God created the earth in six days and he didn’t call me for floor plans, operations management, and strategy consulting or even to fill up his coffee cup. Thus I’m letting God’s talents, untouched or obstructed by Satan, bring about utter goodness.

And I’ll use my talents to follow his lead.

The importance of seeing the Sunrise

I wasn’t under any obligation and received no other incentive beyond spending 30 minutes of a very early morning with a friend on the way to the airport.
But then the sun rose.

Seeing the sunrise post-daylight savings time in Spokane is a unique experience. At 5:03am the sherbet colors of pink and orange hues from morning light crept up on the horizon as I drove east on I-90. The few clouds floated with their blue cotton candy fluff. I felt like I arrived at a wonderful birthday party and my sweet-tooth found satisfaction.

The rest of Monday was marvelous: productive, fulfilling and thought provoking. Thus I am left to muse:
1) Is a 4:03 wake up time the answer?
2) How crucial is it to experience the sunrise?
3) What can I do to make everyday start out with a selfless act?
4) Can I remember that God offers is smile and sweetness all the daylong?

Just like the morning sun, I am realizing gradually that my growth and beauty and deep love for the world, which can shine as bright as the rays, comes day after day.

prepositions are in.

Tonight at church I became fixated on prepositions. These tiny words hold so much meaning and can offer an encouraging embrace or dismissing declaration. But the prepositions used in the Bible, especially concerning Jesus, brought great power and insight to me this evening.

In Christ Jesus: The place I can rest, find peace, experience direction and assurance, and know salvation. To be in him makes all the difference because outside of him, I’m lost. In the world is scary, difficult, and simply purposeless.
With Christ: My friend, guide, and partner in life. While I follow Jesus’ example and move physically on my own, Christ still gives me the power and breath to bring his hopes of heaven to earth. We’re co-workers.

For Christ: Thanksgiving. Service. My life. They’re all for him. I don’t need it for my own good, but he wants it all to use for my good and the good he wants on earth.
Beneath God: My authority. When I seek control and independence, I realize that I’m still beneath my Lord’s sovereignty. I’ve never seen this position as a dominating one, but instead a liberating one. I can do what is in my human ability to do, knowing God will take care of the rest.

Near God: Where I want to be. I often hear prayers that say, “Be with me, God.” I understand those sentiments and pleas, but I want to lean on God’s promise that he repeated over and over to his people. “Do not fear. I am with you.” So as God stands by me, I desire to know his nearness and remain there with courage and boldness.

I haven’t posted anything for several months. I’m not sure if it was because I fell IN love, came UP short WITH stories, found other priorities TO occupy my time, or just forgot the joy OF writing, but I’m back. Little words to begin but certainly not to end with.

this just in...

Developments in a friend’s life can leave a person searching for the right sentiments. Am I supposed to be happy or sad, excited or nervous, honest or just superficial? If I know the person well, I’m as truthful as I can be which often matches his or her sentiments. When my friends hurt, I hurt and when they bounce off the walls, I’m a pinball with them.

Today I shared some exciting news with my friend Rosette from the Congo. I told her I was planning a trip to Africa next summer. She cried out with great joy and delight, but just as suddenly, her cries brought tears. I’ve only ever seen this transformation in the movies, and I think the actors were holding onions. Rosette held nothing back; she didn’t fake a countenance of pure elation. Instead, she internalized the news and what it meant to her. It meant that her home seemed even further away, only to be visited by those who could afford in every way with time, money, and the liberties of US citizenship to go across the ocean. Well, that put me in another frame of mind, praying a pipe-dream of a prayer that she could go see her home and family someday soon. With God anything is possible, but in that small apartment with laundry to fold and lunch to make, that dream didn’t seem all that realistic.

I’m grateful the Bible tells us to mourn with those who mourn and dance with those who dance. Sometimes, when I’m not in the mood I need to just act in obedience to what God asked me to do. Go alongside a person in whatever state he or she might be in at present. I seek to be genuine and honest with my emotions and responses to news, and hopefully where my sentiments fall short God will fill in the gap with his own comfort or confirmation of exaltation.

Beyond just comfort or a God-sized smile, though, I think the greatest gift is Jesus’ promise to be our peace. Both moments of sadness and joy can be coupled with fear and anxiety for what the future holds. Only through the peace of God can I faithfully step forward into the reality of new developments. His peace assures me that I have security and love in him; it’s not a peace from the world that might show happy faces but gossips behind the back. His peace assures me of my worth in his eyes and the value he holds in my friends, especially those who shout with cheer and cry all in one moment.

wonder of narration

I admit it. I have a guilty pleasure. It’s a book on tape. And this one is Harry Potter. Yeah, yeah. I know they’re for children or fantasy players or those with way too much time on their hands. Yippee for all of you! I’m going to join the club. I decided to reread/re-listen to the last book before the movie(s) come out.

What I didn’t realize is how captivating that book is despite it’s dark subjects and plots filled with conflict. Perhaps it was Jim Dale’s narration that kept me connected to my iPod without rest or the clever writing of J.K. Rowling. Either way, I was taken. And I wondered why, despite its similar stories of war and love, good verses evil, humble heroes rising to the top, why does the Bible not captivate me in the same way. I read the Old Testament that includes outrageous tales like David and Goliath or Gideon or the 3 brothers in the furnace. Their adventures and tales are no less “magical” and amazing as Harry thwarting a huge dragon or Dobby the house elf saving wizards. Likewise, the world of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic means as much to me as the land of Canaan or Mesopotamia. So apart from the date of publication, few major themes or literary pieces differ.

I wonder if I read Harry Potter as much as I read the Bible if my eyes would gloss over its pages too as is sometimes the case with my reading of the Bible. Similarly, if the Bible wrapped its stories up in a nice little bow at the end like HP does, I might get bored. But while grasping the clear cut message and sometimes even the character names of the Bible can be difficult, the fact that it’s a living document offers a gift that cannot be matched by any other book. In reading and rereading, messages, lessons, and insights dawn on me without the slightest provocation…in fact sometimes I’d rather keep the book shut to avoid the challenges or convictions the Bible might issue.

In the end I suspect that opening a book is the greatest challenge. If one is willing to read Harry Potter, he can’t help but be mesmerized. If one is willing to open the Bible, he can’t help but be thoroughly changed. Does the book’s cover matter or the collection of other readers? Would a better narration or translation suit a book more? Or do we as readers and believers of the Bible and good literature need to show the accessibility, validity and possibility that lies within the pages?

hope a la mode

My housemate walked in the door this afternoon, dropped her bags and pulled out a bowl that she filled with frozen berries. She proceeded to make a full dinner with broccoli and all…oh and of course the berry crisp! Unless starvation has ensued, neither of us are that commandeering of the kitchen. But she had another mission. It wasn’t just dinner. Or food. Or a new recipe. It was a gift for her friends. Lately her friends have been dealing with the troubles and worries of a complicated pregnancy, one with a lot of questions and few reassuring answers. So my housemate made dinner for the couple and enjoyed a meal and time with them.

A friend from church emailed a bunch of ladies, looking for help. Another church member was undergoing emergency surgery. With boys at home, food had to be provided. So without hesitation, I made dinner for the family. An easy recipe made complete with a warm loaf of French bread was the offering I could deliver in the midst of this precarious time.

A family I love moves to Mississippi in about a month. The couple needed a chance to go out for a “unique” dinner and some time together before packing up their young daughter and heading south. So my sis and I gladly offered to babysit. I brought dinner for us all and then we played with Sesame Street finger puppets.

All these circumstances could have happier parts. My housemate could have gone over to celebrate a couple as they get ready for a new life in their midst. Instead, she just needed to be with them in this less than carefree moment in time. Likewise, surgery or moving don’t wrap me up in warm fuzzies. They are parts of life, kinda the gloomy parts, that have to be lived along with the rainbows and butterflies.

On my way home from babysitting, I thought of how Jesus ate dinner with people who had terrible diseases, women who were shunned from society, and friends who grieved. He could have and often did relieve these people of the heartaches of life, but actually promised to do more. He promised to share a meal, a dinner, with everyone; it was a meal that would help them remember him. This dinner also showed them how life, in all its circumstances, can be endured with perseverance and hope. As the Apostle Paul said, “Hope does not disappoint.”

I realized no amount of ice cream or cards or hugs or petitions to the people in charge can fix a circumstance. I’m good at doing those things. But Jesus didn’t want us to rely on such distractions. He wanted us to remember him because he gives life, and he gives peace unlike any that the world could give. He’s also helps us with perspective which I think is a huge part of persevering. Tomorrow is another day with new possibilities and no mistakes. And when the gloom recedes behind the sun, I’ll take that circumstance in stride, celebrating with a dinner and hope.