I Finished

This weekend, during the RnR 1/2 marathon in San Antonio, I saw several GREAT signs, but the best one, the one that still sticks with me, was on the back of a guy's shirt:

"'Dead Last Finish' is Better Than 'Did Not Finish'"

Although I didn't finish anywhere close to dead least in the sea of 35,000 runners, it still made me smile, and even propelled me across the finish line with a time that I'm not happy with, but I know I'll surely build on from here.

Fourteen years ago, I started running distances longer than 200 meters.

Ten years ago, I ran my first 10K.

Seven years ago, I started this wacky journey to conquer the 1/2 marathon.

Four years ago, weary from the mental beating I had endured during marathon training, I decided to hang up my running shoes for good.

Two years ago, I tentatively dusted off my running shoes and reentered the world of distance running.

Four days ago, was a culmination of the last two years, and a rebirth of my love for the distance race.

I finished mid-pack...I was half-way home to Dallas by the time the course closed...I didn't finish last...but I finished!

Next race: Bandera 25K

Inheritance

I’m a woman.

I’m black.

I’m a black woman.

From the founding of the land of the free and the home of the brave, women could not vote, nor could a black person dream of expressing their opinion by casting their ballot.

In the early 1900s, women in America began to take a stand for their inalienable right to vote on those who would shape the laws governing their lives, liberties and pursuits of happiness. Many were alienated by family and friends, jailed, humiliated.

Around the globe, women have surrendered their lives for generations to come, to be able to stand in a booth and mark a ballot, tap a computer screen, punch out a chad, to stand up and be counted.

The battle for voting rights, was also fought in the community of black America where people of every shade were beaten, hung, killed, spat on, humiliated, marred physically, emotionally and spiritually. However, the cause of wanting to be heard would not be thwarted.

Sam Cooke sang of these times when he sang, "there have been times that I thought I couldn't last for long, but now I think I'm able to carry on, It's been a long time coming, but I know a change is gonna come."

Knowing just that small bit of information, how can I, as a woman, a black woman, not make the time to go cast my vote today? How can you, as a person who was born in a free country not take advantage of such a precious legacy, an inheritance penned with the blood of thousands of women and men, sealed by the tears of those they left to carry on their struggle, to profit from their loss?

Likewise, from the founding of the universe, man had to rely on priests to take their requests before God. The only people that could enter into God’s holiest place were those who were appointed by God, anyone needing to relay a need to God had to go thru an intermediary.

However, a few thousand years ago, in a gut-wrenching decision that would turn the tides of the universe, God surrendered his Son’s life. A gift (to millions that would come after him) that would alleviate the need for an intermediary, a bequest from the Almighty to you, to me, inscribed in the blood of One whose desire was to leave a legacy, an inheritance for those He would never meet face to face on this side.

Knowing that small bit of information, how can you, God’s creation, the child of Adonai, not take but a moment to enter into the holy of holies and just sit before His throne? How could you not want to take time to enjoy the gift of constant one on one communication with your Maker?

An inheritance written in blood grants me the right for my voice to be heard on a national scale.

An inheritance written in blood grants me the privilege of a private audience with He who tips the eternal scale.

In the Holy of Holies
Behind that heavy veil
Sat the ark of the covenant
Where the Most High dwelt
And only the High Priest
Could enter therein
To offer up a sacrifice
For atonement of sin

But the veil was rent in instant
Revealing that holy place
For on a hill nearby on a rugged cross
Justice met Grace

Now I can go into the Holy of Holies
I can kneel and make my petitions known
I can go into the Holy of Holies
And although I'm just a common man
Because of God's redemption plan
I can boldly approach the throne

Open Letter

Dear fat white guy with the huge beer belly, bald spot and raggedy socks who always wears a tank top (ewwww) at the gym...

I just wanted you to know that I admire you. I don't want to walk up to you and tell you for fear of creeping you out.

But I do admire you because everyday you're in there walking at 3.5 mph on the TM at a steep grade. I can tell you're trying! And I totally admire that. You don't look good in your workout outfit because, well, you're not in shape. Well, I guess you are in shape...round....But your lack of 'good' shape doesn't matter.

Every step you take is one step closer to good health, longer life, lower medical bills, sounder sleep, smaller clothes and improved self-esteem for you...and I admire that. Heck, I'd cheer about that from the highest mountain-top if there were mountaintops in the metroplex.

When I get tired doing my speed intervals and want to quit a couple short, I sneak a peek at you out of the corner of my eye and your consistency/tenacity spurs me own.

Keep hoofin' it!
mooches,
-your secret cheerleader

The Race (Part 1)

Saturday, I ran my first trail race (15K). Even though I’ve run oodles and oodles of road races over the years, I’d never run a trail race (prior to Saturday) and was anxious about what to expect.

The night before a race, I have a routine that I follow, but Friday the routine felt off-kilter somehow, I couldn’t put my finger on what wasn’t right. I kept telling myself that the following day’s race was just like every other race I’ve run except for it would be in the woods with not as many people.

Saturday morning, I dressed in race garb grabbed my cooler, packed with post-race fuel, my gym bag which held dry clothes and my trail running shoes, directions to the race and headed to my car. I had an hour’s ride to strategize the day’s run, but about fifteen minutes into the drive I gave up strategizing and chose to set a goal of finishing in an upright position.

Throughout the drive, I checked the directions several times, but I still got lost. As I made wrong turns, u-turns and checked and rechecked and rechecked my rechecking, I watched the clock with mounting dismay. The start time for the race was staggered from 7:15 AM to 8:05 AM and the group I was assigned to with was to start at 7:35 AM.

At 7:40 AM, I was still in my car looking for the correct dirt road and I fought within myself not to turn around and call it a wash, go home and crawl back under the comfort of my covers. But I kept telling myself, that no matter how late I got there, I’m still going to run it. Even if I get there at 8:00 AM, I’d still run it. Despite my frustration, I pushed myself to soldier on.

At 7:45 AM, I pulled onto the right road parked my car, grabbed my hydration pack and jogged to the start line, already ten minutes behind my assigned starting group. In the middle of a speedy course briefing by the race director, a more seasoned trail runner interrupted him and said, “I know the route, I’ll get her started.” And off I went. Down a steep hill, a right at the bottom of the hill thru stands of vegetation way taller than me and then out into a field where there were cows…yeah, cows.

I kept up with my guide for the first half mile, but began to pull back my pace, focusing on where I put each foot on the uneven, rock littered path. The field gave way to the cool shade of the woods where I passed a couple of mountain bikers and pulled back my speed even more as I entered the more technical part of the trail.

Forty-five minutes in, I was passed from behind by a group that had started later than me. Didn’t bother me at all. They encouraged me and kept going, I said thanks and kept plodding along at my own pace.

Fifty minutes in, the group I would’ve started with had I been on time, passed me on their way back in. I asked if I was almost there, one yelled over her shoulder, “you know you’re close when the traffic from the highway is louder and you see houses on the top of the rise to your right.”

I set a goal of making it to the turn-around (the race was out and back) in one hour, but fell short by eight minutes. However, my heart skipped a few beats when I saw the houses on the rise to my right, signaling I was close to the turnaround.

After the turnaround, I decided to take it easy on the return trip. I pulled a plastic Ziploc bag with my camera in it out of my hydration pack and ran with it in my right hand stopping to take pictures of different things on the path I’d observed as I came in.

Like the cactus with the pretty pink buds and the tree roots that forced me to pick my feet up and pay attention to the ground that was directly in front of me, not allowing me to look any further than what was immediately in my way. Or, the massive drop off I had to climb up (then scoot down on my rear on the way back).

The trip back was easier because not only did I know that I was over half-way done, but I also was more familiar with the terrain having run it once before and I knew I was headed in a homeward direction.

I finished in a little over two hours and thirty minutes. I’m pretty proud of that. On a paved road in more controlled circumstances, I would take an hour or so off that time, but that’s on the road. I’m totally proud of what I did on the trail and look forward to my next trail race!

You're Not Alone

Ron is a sore loser. I mean a really REALLY sore loser. Wikipedia the two words “sore” and “loser” together and a picture of Ron will pop up. Okay maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but if you give me a few minutes I’ll update the page on Wikipedia and then you’ll see his pic. You would think that after 25 years of coaching he’d be used to the emotions that come with winning and losing. Well quit thinking that way ‘cuz you’re wrong.

When Ron’s players are up against a tough team that they may lose to, he always tells me not to come to the game. Wait, I think I’m downplaying that. He ORDERS me not to go. Yeah right, gimme a break, order me not to do something? He goes on and on about how the team is going to get massacred and how it’ll be way too embarrassing for him and he doesn’t want me sitting in the stands hearing all the people talk bad about the team and the coaches (and oh boy do those fans talk some major smack). He doesn’t want to subject me to what he sees as his personal failure.

The first couple of years, I ignored his edicts and went to the games anyway. I endured the crowd comments by yelling plays at the team…for example: to the quarterback who’s unsuccessfully executed The Option, two consecutive plays in a row by keeping the ball and trying to run it through an offensive line that consistently misses their assignment, I yell “Option means you don’t have to keep the ball, you have an option of giving it off, to someone else.” I mean hey, maybe he was asleep during that part of practice where they run through his options. Or to the defense I’d yell, “you’re supposed to block the other team, not give’em an open alley to run the ball thru.” It's quite possibe they were trying to be polite and let the other team pass, I dunno!

After games I’d head down to the locker rooms with the other coach’s wives and wait for Ron to come off the field. While the other coaches and their wives were hugging and laughing and shaking off the “massacre”, I got to console Eeyore whose 6ft 2in two-hundred some odd pound frame seemed to have shrunk a few feet as he would stand hunched over in defeat. He refused to talk more than a few words and joking around with him was taboo. He’s just not good at losing.

I struggle with his request for me not to be there when he feels he’s going to lose. Supporting those you love in good and bad times is programmed into my DNA. I was raised, that you should be there with a party-in-a-bag to celebrate when your loved one wins and have a first-aid kit in hand to gently tend to their wounds (or gashes whatever the case may be) when they lose.

At the beginning of the third year, I decided to approach the “don’t come we’re gonna get slaughtered,” thing differently. I resolved that if he didn’t want me to witness his perceived failure, I would go to the games incognito. I’d pull on ball cap, arranging it low on my forehead, then I'd dress in a non-descript outfit and sit in a corner at the very top of the bleachers and quietly cheer him on. Then, as the last minutes ticked away, I’d head toward the parking lot and watch the rest of the game while sitting on the roof of my car and as soon as the scoreboard read 00:00, I slid off the roof, got in my car and headed home, Ron none the wiser.

This year in anticipation of the ‘poor loser’ monster emerging from the murky depths, I’ve been checking out new ball caps and shopping for this year’s lastest fashion in ‘incognito’ clothing. But spiritually, this football season is different for me. Over the last two years, I’ve been walking through a spiritual season where God has been working on an elaborate tattoo for my soul. The tattoo, now finished, reads: “you are not alone.” Now that His season of work is complete, I see and understand more clearly Deuteronomy 3:6 , a passage that is repeated again and again throughout scripture.

Even when I feel like I don’t want anyone around me because I’m ashamed of my failure, my shortcomings, He’s there. Sometimes, I feel that no one will understand a particular issue that I’m working thru, so I clam up and tunnel myself into a hole emotionally, blocking out the world, for fear of being embarrassed or people thinking less of me because of my struggle. Even in my cave I’ve hollowed out for myself God’s there. There’s no where that I can run, hide, tunnel, bike, burrow, fly, or ensconce myself that He’s not there. There’s power in those words, “I will never leave you, nor forsake you.”

HE'S ALWAYS THERE!

Quit trying to push God away. Quit trying to make excuses for why He can’t be a part of your day (the good ones and the bad ones). Quit making excuses for why you can’t spend time with Him.

For better or for worse, He’s there.

Win or lose He’s there.

Face it, even if you push Him out and tell Him not to show up, He’s gonna show up. You may not see Him. He may have a hat and His ‘incognito’ clothing on, but He’s there!

He’s PROMISED that He’ll never leave us. He’s there (He’s looking over your shoulder reading this blog entry with you right now saying “yeah, what she said”).

So buck up!

Quit telling God to forgo those rough spots that you’re afraid of stumbling thru and getting bathed in the funk of failure.

Quit telling Him, that you’ll let him recommence directing your life once you get to a place you know you’ll succeed.

DUDE! He’s coming to the game whether you like it or not. You might as well have him sitting dead center on the 50-yard line yelling plays at you.

As His child, as His investment, you’re NEVER alone!

Don’t look for me at tonight’s game, you'll give away my disguise. I’ll be hiding from Ron in the dark nether regions of the upper most rows of the bleachers.

You may not see me, but trust that I’ll be there.

Indian Winter

As I sit here typing, it is 9:45 PM, the temperature outside is 73 degrees and according to weatherchannel.com, the wind is blowing at 14 mph with gusts in excess of 25 mph. While climates a little further north celebrate "Indian Summers" in the dead of winter, we here in Texas REVEL in freak winters (i.e. temps below 80 degrees in the summer) in lieu of the pit-sweatin' summer and early fall temps that distinguish Texas weather.

My run today was awesome! It was overcast, slightly windy and the temps were cool with low low low humidity. As I ran, I thought about how I wanted to hang onto this weather forever and ever. I don't want it to go away. It's like water for a parched soul. Looking forward to Saturday's race, I whispered a prayer that the conditions would remain the same thru the weekend.

But I can't hold onto today, or earlier today. I can't stop time, nor can I control the weather.

In my walk with Christ, I sometimes hit a comfy spot in the midst of a workhorse of a season. A spot where He's allowed me a lil' break, and I'm sitttin' in the AC, sprawled across an oversized chair, feet propped up on an ottoman, Crystal Light within reach a great book lying on my chest and my eyelids drooping, drooping, drooping as I doze off to a land where all is bliss.

I cherish those times. I call those times my "good time-outs." But they're often short lived and the heat of the task at hand blasts me back into focus sooner than I would like and BAM I'm up and back in the race of life again.

Those precious, scant times make the long hot seasons of what seems like never ending eternal lessons a little more bearable.

Those special stretches, be they days, hours or even just minutes stolen behind closed eyelids and deep breaths, help me to remember that just as the heat of the summer will soon be bullied into hiding by the cool breezes of autumn, so too, my season of learning, changing, growing on whatever truth He's working on in my world will also eventually wind to an end, ushering in much needed rest, relaxation and cool cool breezes.

"...He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul..."

It's Your Burfday!!!!

Happy Birthday Dad!


Man's abiding happiness is not in getting anything
but in giving himself up to what is greater than himself,
to ideas which are larger than his individual life,
the idea of his country,
of humanity,
of God.
- Tagore

Grasshoppers Playing Football

The countdown is ticking.

Friday night I'll assume my position perched on the edge of an aluminum bleacher in a high school stadium (this year a little closer to the field so the coaching staff and Ron can hear my play calls more clearly).

What does the year hold for the Dragons? I dunno. According to Ron, they suck. But he's never been one to approach the world thru the eyes of an optimist.

However, when it comes to me, I choose to believe in the impossible and dare anyone to challenge my beliefs.

This past weekend, Ed started a great series called "Living the Dream" I loved how he talked about the children of Israel and what happened to the naysayers that complained about being 'grasshoppers' in a land of giants.

I feel like telling Ron, "quit with the grasshopper talk, and encourage the kids to play with all they've got. Instill in them the belief that THEY ARE the giants, not the grasshoppers. Give them some mental/emotional RAID and let 'em loose!"

In the same vain, I must examine my own life and pinpoint even the smallest areas in my day-to-day living where I find it easier to "go grasshopper" (you gotta listen to Ed's sermon to understand) than the harder road of electing to move toward faith.

According to Joshua, I'm 'sposed to be strong and courageous no matter what I'm doing or what task I'm taking on.

Should Ron choose to take the non-grasshopper approach with the players over the next couple of days before they face their first opponent on Friday night, does that mean they'll win? Nope. Can't find that promise in The Word.

However, I am certain that every time I make the decision to be a magnet and stick myself to God's plan/will (another sermon reference that you won't understand unless you listen to Ed's sermon) my visions of wearing green and hoping not to end up a yellow smear on the windshield of life will fade away. And my timid yet determined steps toward faith will be empowered by the knowledge that God is with me.

If I have seen further than other men, it's because I have stood on the shoulders of giants

Sir Issac Newton

....(or because I am a giant!)

Novia Plummer

Keep Your Fork

A group of runners that I run with is wrapped in a 'death-watch' for a dear friend. For the last few days, the updates have been coming via email a couple times an hour of how he is doing and what the doctors are saying.

Many have shared their memories of him and his crazy antics via the email list serve. The following was just sent to the email list, with a note "Keep your fork Big Red."

Although Big Red is very close to breathing his last and will not read the email that was sent, the sentiment hit me deep, and I would be remiss not to share it with y'all.

Woman And A Fork

There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had bene given three months to live. So as she was getting her things, 'in order,' she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

"There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What's that?" came the Pastor's reply. "This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" The young woman asked.

"Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the Pastor.

The young woman explained, "My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement."

"In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.'"

"It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!" "So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder, 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Keep your fork...the best is yet to come.'"

The Pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew tha thte young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral, people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, 'What's with the fork?' And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right.

So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.

Keep your fork.

Notes From the Farm (Day 6 - Family is Way More Important)

It's my last night here at the farm.

It's been an uber long day. Filled with yard work, birthday cakes and bonfire pj parties. But you'll have to wait to hear all the saucy details, becasue spending a few more moments with my fam before I head back to Texas is much more important than writing.

Headed south tomorrow morning. Sad to go, but glad I came!

Notes From the Farm (Day 5 - Movin' Right Along)

It's been a really good day. I spent much of the day outside working on tearing down the white picket fence surrounding the front yard. Check out the before and after pics. Originally mom wanted to paint it, but after much thought, we agreed that the front yard would look better if we pulled it out. And I got the nod to be the demo-chica!

It was very soothing to swing the heavy sledge hammer into the fence and its supports. There was just something about steadying myself by staggering my stance and then swinging from my hips and waist and then hearing the crack as the sledge hammer hit the wood and then reverberating back at me as it echoed across the property.

There were several humorous swings when I missed the post and my body, unable to fight the centrigugal force of a extremely heavy sledge hammer in flight, spun around, causing my legs to get tangled and me to fall hard on my rear. Why is the girl that chose to be a runner becasue she has no hand-eye coordination allowed to swing a sledgehammer? That my friends, is a question for the ages!!!

Or when I was trying to separate a portion of the fence from the post and I leaned into that particular secion of the fence, which after having the top brace loosened from one of the posts, the bottom brace gave way, and I went head over heels across the gravel drive. I've got a beautiful raspberry on my right arm to commemorate the hilarity!

My folks agree that it looks awesome now. The yard no longer looks chopped up, the new look gives the property more continuity. I got most of the fence demolished and with the help of my dad who drug the remnants to a burn pile where I'm promised I will be allowed to douse it in kerosene and throw a match on it. My brother will be over after church tomorrow to knock down what my brute strength couldn't.

I don't think my fancy camera is gonna be able to take a picture of the fire, so you'll just have to imagine it in your mind. Me. Allowed to handle flammable liquids AND flame creating instruments! Yeah, you're right, my folks may have lost it!

Dad came out later in the day to help out. We had to repair portions of the deck where I had pulled out banisters and part of the fence. It was pretty cool pounding away with dad. A total father/daughter moment.

I did a lot of other work on a couple of other beds in the yard, but you'll have to wait on pens and needles to see those pics tomorrow.

After these last few days of hard labor, I now understand why folks weren't overweight back in the day. They worked outside from dawn to dark, and burned off all those calories!!!

Daily Nature Update:
Okay, I admit it, I'm wholly obsessed with the manders! After my dad and I finished working on the porch, we sat and chit chatted. While we were chit chatting, a couple of manders peeked up from the cracks in the porch and decided that right then would be a great time to sunbathe

The first pic is the mander right when he got out from the shade and into the sun.

The second pic is of the mander, tucking in his legs preparing to sunbathe. It was quite odd. Why would he tuck in his legs? Okay, no emails, that was a rhetorical question. When I relax, I'm usually splayed across whatever I'm relaxing on...not so for this mander.

That's it for now! I'm a bit sad that my trip is coming to an end (I'll head south on Monday). But I'm so glad that I came. I really should make this a yearly thing. I don't mind the work, it's actually quite therapeutic, I throw on the headphones, turn on the iPod and just work. No one bothers me, my mom makes my dinner in the evening, I don't have to worry about what's happening the next day, because I know it'll have something to do with the property. Plus, it's very satisfying to start a project and see the massive positive changes that project has affected when its completed!

Forget island or resort get-aways, call up your folks tell 'em you're coming home to help them out however they need help. And then follow-through. Its hard work, but the tradeoff is the sense of accomplishment you feel, and the lasting impression on those that mean so much to you that you'll leave behind when you head back to your day-to-day reality away from vacation-land.

Notes From the Farm (Day 4 -- Not much going on)

I didn't get much done today. I was beat from yesterday. My project for tomorrow (tearing down the white picket fence that surrounds the immediate front yard) wasn't started until about an hour before it got dark.

Several set backs with equipment and the like, but I did get a lot of stuff done inside in the way of mending things for my nephews and my folks. I also got a *gasp* very nice nap in!

I found the cord to marry my camera to the computer to dump all the photos I've taken in the yard, so instead of boring you with my mindless chitter chatter, I'll provide you ooooooohing and ahhhhhhhhing pics so here ya go







More to come tomorrow, I just got sick of fighting with the blogspot formatting! Today's nature lesson: Here's a pic of the mander I told y'all about. My nephew caught one yesterday and was kind enough to subdue the mander long enough for me to snap a pic, I wouldn't be surprised if National Geographic was to come a knocking after this GREAT picture taking of mine!


The final pic is of me and the three oldest (Ayron, Jazzmine and Malachi). They worked their rears off (as you can see from the before and after pics). I'm surprised they were still able to smile. Man, I wish I still had that kind of fortitude!

I'm headed off to take a shower and eat some good home cooked grub. My mom just walked in the office and read my entry over my shoulder, and very quickly corrected me, letting me know that they do not live on a farm, they live in the woods....semantics....whatever! They have a dog, deer that roam thru the land, eating their hostas, a couple of owls, some 'manders, a praying mantis and the occasional bunny, I think that's enough animals to constitute a "farm." You say tomato, I say toe-mah-toe. Farm is in the eye of the beholder.

Being home with my folks ROCKS!

Notes From the Farm (Day 2 Re-think)

Before I left for Missouri, I visited with a friend of mine and asked her if she had any advice for me going into my week-long visit with the fam. Her advice...."don't go." We laughed together.

As many of you know, three years ago, my folks left the house I grew up in and moved to a gorgeous 8 acre spread in the country. It's a bit of a cliche, because it has everything a little house in the woods would have down to the white picket fence! But it's 'home' and its more than they ever imagined owning.

I decided to make this trip my vacation because when you own that much land, there's a lot to be done and quite frankly, I'm the cheapest labor they can find. :) I came to work! In hopes of leaving a huge dent in their 'to-do' list around the property.

This morning was BRUTAL! Five AM kicked me outtah the bed and I was hating life. I kept asking myself why I was getting out of bed so early on my vacation to go drip with the other health-nazis at Alex's (my brother) gym. Then I remembered that whole 13.1 mile race thing I'm running in November. Every other 1/2 marathon I've run, there's been no such thing as a 'vacation' so this one is no different.

Somewhere way south of 8:00 AM, I emerged from the gym, drove back to my folks house, grabbed a shower, ate breakfast, talked to my mom as she got ready for a meeting and then went back to bed. I got up around noon and began my first task, weeding the flower beds (there's five of them and they're endless) and prepping them to lay down landscaper's fabric and new pea gravel. I worked and worked and worked some more. Dude, maybe I should've re-thunk this trip...this is vacation? It's hot, I'm sweaty and for every five weeds I pull, six more pop up in my peripheal vision! It was like a sadistic cartoon.

Here's a little tip for ya: I forgot my sunscreen, but mom told me to use the 'skin so soft' in her bathroom as bug repellant. She told me to rub it on every piece of exposed skin (which was about 90% of my body seeing I had on a pair of shorts and a cut-off shirt) and the bugs would not get me...how this relates to sunscreen I dunno. After she left, I trekked to her bathroom, rummaged under the counter and found the 'skin so soft.' I had no idea it was bath oil. I walked out of her bathroom, held up the bottle and asked my dad if "this is what mom was talking about." He told me 'yeah.' A bit perplexed, because I'd never heard of using bath oil as a bug repellant, I shrugged my shoulders and lubbed up my legs and arms and neck and hands and...well every part of exposed flesh. Now, at 9:30 PM, after four or so hours out in a very heavily wooded yard, I have no bug bites to show for it. Hmph! Who'd thunk it? Bath oil better than OFF! I guess the bugs can't bite you when you're too oily for them to get a foot hold! I'm like a giant slide for them. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

That litte tip's a freebie! The next one'll cost ya!

On to the nature report of the day: it seems that their house is a haven for salamanders of all colors and sizes. They're everywhere! Okay, I exaggerate a bit. I've seen five today all at high sprint in the opposite direction of the big brown girl dripping sweat and pulling weeds out from in front of the rocks that they're hiding beneath. There was one that was light green and gray with a very long tail that was solid blue. I'M NOT KIDDING! It looked like a ghetto car where a door had been replaced that was a whole different color than the car. Maybe I should Wikipedia it and give you a report on what kind of salamander it was yesterday. I would've taken pics to share, but the 'manders (my new nickname for the salamanders) were having none of that, huh-uh!!! It was saturday at the races, and they weren't letting up until they got away from me!

That's about it for the day. When my mom got home from her meeting we took a trip to my favorite place...yup, you guessed it! Lowe's!! And bought stuff to finish the beds with.

It's dark, I'm tired and in need of a shower. Day 2, I rethunk it and I'm glad I decided to come, what don't kill me, sunburn me, bite me or slither away from me can only make me stronger.

Notes From The Farm (Day 1-Shame)

I made a commitment to myself that I would take the time to do some writing while I'm on vacation, and it's a bit of a struggle to stay true to my word. Not because I've been really busy, but because now that I'm away from routine, I don't want to do ANYTHING!

As many of you know, I packed up the car and headed north this morning. Off to see the fam. It was the first time in three years that I did the trek without Ron in-tow. It was odd not to have someone griping for nine hours about the drivers around you and how crappy they drive. Actually, the quiet was PURE BLISS! He's still in Dallas, as two-a-days started last week, and now his world revolves around football, and my world has become much more serene.

I spent time catching up with my folks and my brother and I stopped by my sisters house to see her children. I feel so old! Ayron, the oldest, has a goatee and is grown as the day is long! He will graduate from high school in May. The other four are growing faster than the national deficit. I can't believe the changes in them in the last 7 months. I saw them at Christmas, but it seems like YEARS have passed!

I stopped by my Sunday School teacher from 3rd grade's house and sat and chatted with her and her husband. It was so wonderful to see her and talk to her and see how God has really moved and blessed her world over the last 20-some-odd years. While I've kept in touch with her, I haven't been to visit her since high school. She is a tangible example of God's faithfulness to His own. It's a long story, but to remember what she didn't have when I was growing up, and to see how God has materially and immaterially blessed her over the years almost knocked me off my feet.

When my brother dropped me back at my folks' house, it was 10:30 PM and I wanted to make a beeline for the bed because I'm getting up at 5:00 AM in the morning to meet him at the gym. But my dad was still awake so I sat and talked with him. Not about anything big, just 'stuff.' It was a sweet, sweet time. I didn't want to leave him. But the clock is ticking and 5:00 AM and me NEVER got along, and I honestly don't see us being on anything more than nodding terms tomorrow morning.

But before I went to sleep, I wanted to write about the shame that I felt as I was hanging out with my folks and my sunday school teacher this evening. As I sat and listened to them talk and share what was going on in their worlds, I realized how precious each one of them are. I felt such deep shame of how much of a pain in the arse I was growing up. I was ashamed at my desire to flee as far away from this town as was fiscally possible. I felt shame for bad-mouthing my folks and for thinking I was smarter than all those involved in the 'village' that raised and molded me into who I am today. I was in such a hurry to grow up, that the marvels of the well of knowledge that village had was lost on me. Like water off a ducks butt it rolled off.

I want to stop time, make it stand still for a couple of days, a week, maybe a month or so. To delve into that knowledge, that experience. To open a dialogue, maybe even a town meeting to get reacquainted with those that I love.

But time is not mine to control. So I've got to make the best of it and do as Paul said, forget what is behind and press on toward what lies ahead. And what lies ahead of me is a week that I will not squander, where phones, computers, televisions, cars and watches will not dictate nor interfere with my schedule. A week of refamiliarizing myself with what really matters, those that love me and those that I love.

But before all that happens, I must get rest.

Gadget Girl

My beloved significant other often refers to me as his “gadget girl.” When I asked him why this was his chosen nickname for me, he pointed to my video iPod, my Polar heart rate monitor, the docking station (that he bought for me) that connects my iPod to the television and the stereo, my GPS watch that tells me how far I’ve run, where I’ve run, how fast I ran it and then talks to my computer, conveying the same information as soon as I walk in the front door.

He then pointed out that my tiny digital camera which takes (in his words) ‘professional’ looking pictures (he has yet to learn the wonders of PhotoShop) and my pedometer that not only tells me how many steps I’ve taken, but also how many calories I’ve burned, how far I’ve gone, how many of those steps were at an aerobic pace and how many fat grams I’ve burned.

Before he could suck enough air into his gullet to feed his lungs, in order to continue his list, I interrupted and explained to him that I’m not really a ‘gadgety’ individual, that when compared to other people I know, (I won’t name any names imberly-Kay omano-Ray) who have multiple iPods, (I mean really, how many iPods does a person need) and gadgets galore, gadgets unattainable by me on my measly salary, I’m just a mere amateur.

He was not too be swayed, having been given a moment to regroup and refill his lungs, he continued rattling off my collection of ‘gadgets’ effectively lumping me into that group of techno-tards who have to be the first in line, to the point of camping out, to have the latest gadget. But he doesn’t understand that that’s just not me!

This is the reason, I’ve decided not to share with him my latest obsession. The iPhone.

Originally, I guffawed at the zealots that camped out for the initial release of the iPhone over a year ago. I doubled over cramping in laughter when I heard that they paid upwards of $600-$700 dollars FOR A CELLPHONE!

A few months ago, I was minding my own, sitting in the control room at church taking a break between sessions of C3 when a friend of mine sat down beside me and showed me the picture of the elephant (which was standing outside the main entrance of our church to be used as a sermon illustration) she had taken on her iPhone. At first I was enthralled by the fact that there was a real live elephant at church. But then I looked closely at her iPhone and the great picture it had taken, and it’s sleek lines and neat touch screen interactive amenities, and how colorful and pretty and crisp the screen looked and how light it was in my hand and how I could check the internetandgetGPSstepbystepguidanceandwatchamovie(likeonmyiPod)and listentomytunesandmakereservationsatarestaurantandlookatmycalendaranddownloadedfromiTunes……

I was hooked….I had to have one….Nay, I NEEDED TO HAVE ONE! MY LIFE WOULD NOT BE COMPLETE UNTIL I GOT ONE!!!!

I had unwittingly adorned the cloak of “techno-tardum.”

On Friday, the new generation iPhone comes out. It has been updated. And it’s $400 less than the initial offering. I’ve scrimped and pinched over the last five months and set aside the $199 required to purchase one. I’ve been anticipating this FOREVAH! I’ve prepared myself by downloading this and this, and researching the ‘must-have’ accessories I should purchase. I’ve ascertained whether or not it’ll have adequate coverage in my travels throughout Texas, the Midwest and intermittent jaunts back East for races. I’ve learned about that phone inside and out. I’m ready. Yup, bring it on Steve Jobs.

Every couple of months, I’ll answer the knocking on my door to stand face to face with people who wish to espouse their beliefs in hopes of my becoming a pearl in their crown. They never make it past the front door, for I assure them that my fire insurance is paid up and my place at the banqueting table has already been reserved. I don’t invite them in and offer them a seat, nor do I take the time to point out the fallacies in their convictions turning them toward a much brighter Light than the dim imitation that lights the path they currently swagger down.

I’ve got the gadgets, the GPS (my bible) system to tell them where they are and where they should be going. The numerous commentaries that take The Word and dissect it for easier digestion, the bible study books that further help in understanding and drilling home the truths of The Word. I don't take the time, I never really feel ready.

Daily, I walk into an office, sit at a computer and am surrounded by people whose eternal destination I do not know. People who matter to God, whom He loves and for whom He willingly surrendered His rightful majesty for a demotion to a temporal coat of human flesh, and I utter nary a word. I have all the right gadgets, a powerful testimony, a strong walk with my Master, a bible-teaching pastor whom I sit under weekend after weekend after weekend. But, I’m reluctant, I’m hesitant, I’m never ready to speak.

A few weeks ago, I sat in a waiting room, myself and another gentleman the only occupants, waiting for our names to be called, for our turn to walk behind the door. The gentleman openly and loudly proclaimed that having to wait was “hell” followed up with “what does it matter anyway, because I’m going to hell, might as well get used to it.”

I didn’t respond. I had the right gadgets, the intimate knowledge of Christ whose desire is that no man perish. The compassion that wanted to reach out to this sweaty man in dirty rumpled clothes, thick eyeglasses and disheveled hair and ask, “Why do you think you’re going to hell?” A powerful testimony of how I took the ‘death-leap’ off the Damnation Express speeding towards eternal ruin only to fall heartfirst onto the path toward eternal life. But I didn’t want to intrude, I didn’t know if he was ready.

“Be ready to speak up and tell anyone who asks why you're living the way you are, and always with the utmost courtesy.” That’s what Peter says.

Be ready.

Speak Up.

Tell anyone.

My propensity towards techno-tardum sometimes tends towards outshining my reasonable act of service towards my Saviour. Where I count down the days until my newest techno obsession is released for purchase with my saved up pennies, I should be banking the word of God in my heart, my spirit, preparing myself to (with the utmost courtesy) confront the next person who crosses my path promoting lies veiled as truths. My concerns should be as Jude’s when he wrote:

"I felt I had to write and urge you to contend for the faith that was once for all entrusted to the saints. For certain men whose condemnation was written about long ago have secretly slipped in among you. They are godless men, who change the grace of our God into a license for immorality and deny Jesus Christ our only Sovereign and Lord."

Where I’ve chosen to keep my desire for the ‘next-cool’ release of the ‘next-greatest’ thing to make my life easier to myself, I should be focusing on opening my mouth, speaking up as Christ commanded:

"… go and make disciples of all nations…teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you."

Anyone. The only other person in the waiting room. Everyone. My co-workers. All Nations. Everyone who seeks an audience with me by the simple act of knocking on my door.

I need to become better prepared, do more research. I’ve got to be ready for each person who traverses the course He has plotted for me. I must better utilize the ‘gadgets’ (my bible, my relationship with Him, my testimony, my walk, my church, ad infinium) to appease the hunger of the lost. The hunger for The One that will make their lives complete. I need to be so prepared that I’m able to boldly stand and say, “Yup, bring it on God,” and mean it.

Father's Day

No one with so few reasons to love me has ever loved me more.

St. Augustine Watch, Day 76

This is what the purty St. Augustine looked like prior to Tuesday
Then, on Tuesday, the foundation was leveled. And if you remember from my post on Tuesday...it rained...and rained...really hard, but they kept working on the foundation anyway...so you can now see the damage the workers did whilst trampling the new St. Augustine when it was rainy and muddy!

And while we're talking about the St. Augustine and the front yard, here's a pic of some work I did on the front beds. The front of the house is going thru a major curb appeal overhaul! It's a slow process, that'll probably take the next few weekends to complete because there are so many other things vying for my attention right now, but here's what I got done Friday evening.

That's it for the St. Augustine update.

Being the rabid cloud watcher that I am, I'm disappointed to see no rain for the next 10 days is in the forecast, so woo hoo for lining the pockets of the City of Crandall for watering my lawn!

Never Meant to Last Forever

This morning at 5:55 AM I was blasted into the land of the concious by my cell phone chiming that I'd received a text message from my mom (everyone has their own personal ring tones assigned to them on my phone). The message said:

Mike Tolson died this morning. Massive heart attack.

Mike Tolson and his family are members of the church I grew up in and the church my family still attends today.

He was a deacon and had four children that my siblings and I grew up with.

He'd just retired and had enjoyed a huge retirement party thrown by his family and friends this past weekend. I'm sure he was looking forward to getting to spend time with his family and finally having complete say over how he spent his time.

He got up at 2 AM this morning to go to the restroom and died before he got there.

I don't struggle with death, because I am assured of what will happen after my eyes close for the last time.

What I struggle with is the times He choses to to gather His own so suddenly, without warning, without foreboding, without good-byes.

A little less than four years ago, my great-aunt succumbed to cancer. However, she was allowed time to embrace those she loved, to set her house in order, to say good-bye, before He opened the door for her.

Two weeks ago, a girl a couple years younger than me, who attends my church, collapsed, was rushed to the hospital and died a few days later. The culprit, a blood clot in her brain. No warning, no goodbyes, no final "I love yous."

A person could laud on and on about being "ready." That same person would most likely remind me of the ten virgins, five of which didn't have enough oil to keep vigil as they watched for the Bridegroom and five of which had stockpiled extra oil in anticipation of the vigil.

But the person who would open their mouth to deliver the message of being prepared would have to remember, even take into account, that no matter how ready I am to welcome my Bridegroom and His wedding party, those that love me may not be ready to surrender me.

Good bye Mr. Tolson, thank you for all that you've given to my family, the love, the help, the resources, the friendship. We look forward to once again breaking bread with you at The Banqueting Table.

Friday Giggles

Whoever doubts that God works in mysterious ways should check this out Click Here

I voted

I was going to write about the perils of my fight with running hills as I prep for Austin, but my attention has drifted elsewhere (which doesn't say much for someone who should've been a test subject for Ritalin) my mind is going back to November 7, 2000 10:45 AM, Austin, Texas when 125 of us stood in the Sunshine Room and listened to Joe Albaugh tell us that it was going to be a long night, that we probably wouldn't know the winner until the wee hours of the morning.

Today, I've been watching a slew of websites for updates on who's up and who's down. Reading about the excitement across the nation of young voters who finally believe that their vote does count.

Just as in 2000 when Joe told us that it was going to be a long night, the pundits today are saying that it's gonna be another long election night. And most likely, I'll be sitting in my oversized chair, legs crossed remote in hand flipping between the stations trying to get the edge on....well there's no one to get the edge on, but I can't fight the madness, I must give in...