I love y'all for emailing to make sure all is well.
As you know the wonderful people of Akron, Ohio sent me home Sunday morning with a horrid cold that turned out to be a sinus infection. Well three days, a doctor's visit, some drugs and a few good night's sleep later, I'm feeling much better. I even tied on the running shoes and hit the road for a slow and steady run today.
All that to say, now that I'm not a comatose zombie who's dead to the world, I'll return back to my daily discipline of keeping you updated on what God's doing in my life and the wonderful messages the Holy Spirit is speaking into my world.
Thanks for the emails and your concern and prayers. See you back here tomorrow.
-N
September 30, 2009
September 27, 2009
Akron Recap
After an exhausting weekend, I am finally home!I spent most of the day today sleeping trying to shake a cold that was a gift to me from the lovely people of Akron, Ohio. Seems damp weather and high 50's/low 60's kinda weather doesn't sit well with this Texan.
Thank you all for your prayers!
I relayed the marathon (26.2 miles) with four other wonderful runners. My leg of the relay was the second leg and it was 5.7 miles. I came out of the hand-off much faster than I'd planned and had to pull way back to get myself back on the pace I was shooting for.
I met some wonderful kickrunners from all over the U.S. and Canada. And I learned some good stuff about my run pacing that will help my coach adjust my training plan as she works to prepare me for my next major race, the Rock 'n Roll 1/2 Marathon (13.1 miles) in November.
It's good to be back home, and I so look forward to the next kickrunners gathering! What awesomely wonderful, crazy, insane, loving, kind, compassionate, neurotic, encouraging, funny, long-suffering, demented, giving folks runners are!
September 22, 2009
A lil' help from a friend
As pathetic as this may sound, when it comes to coordinating clothes, I am a functional illiterate. It is for this reason that I stick to what I know (since Garanimals does not have an ‘adult’ line), I wear all solids. And of those solids, I prefer the colors, red, orange, yellow, brown and white. To give you a better understanding of the depths of my patheticness, I stepped inside my closet and took a pic for a visual illustration.
I’m afraid to buy patterns for fear that I’ll pick something that looks hideous on me and I’m petrified that one of my well meaning friends will submit my name to the television show, “What Not to Wear.” So I stick with what’s safe. Red, Orange, Yellow, brown and white.
A couple months ago, I joined a new home team where I slowly began to meet and make new friends. Although it’s a bit hard to believe, I was petrified to go by myself to someone’s house and sit with a bunch of people I’d never met. That’s just not my style. I avoid those situations like I avoid my bathroom scale on “I feel fat” days. But I continued to attend every meeting faithfully.
I’m afraid to buy patterns for fear that I’ll pick something that looks hideous on me and I’m petrified that one of my well meaning friends will submit my name to the television show, “What Not to Wear.” So I stick with what’s safe. Red, Orange, Yellow, brown and white.I happened to share my shortcomings with a close long-suffering friend of mine who promptly took me under her wing as her own personal ‘project,’ plying me with fashion magazines and suggestions on what to wear. She also reached into her own closet to supplement my monochromatic wardrobe, pulling out pieces that if I were to see them on the rack, I’d never give them a second glance.
One of my prayers when I relocated to North Dallas earlier this year was that I would form deep and meaningful relationships with a handful of women, and that these women would be women I could trust, that would hold me accountable, and that they would be women who followed as hard after God (and even harder) as I did. I had one close female friend, but wanted to relieve her of the daily “Novia” burden and find a few more. A couple of weeks ago that prayer was answered through my home team, a place I’d faithfully (and uncomfortably attended) over the past couple of months.
In that small group I met three amazing women. God placed in my path, a recent college graduate who although she is incredibly beautiful and presents herself as a confident woman, struggles daily with some pretty wicked issues. He added to the college graduate a school teacher who graduated from a state college that I’d rather not mention on my blog for fear that uttering the name would sully the upstanding reputation this blog carries. When I first met her, her gentle and quiet demeanor made me immediately mark her off my list as a potential ‘running mate,’ because I knew I’d never be able to relate to her on any level. And then to show he really has a great sense of humor, he adds to my rag tag group of confidants, a Cajun who when I heard her testimony of what God has done in her life just in the last year, I shake my head in amazement that she’s still standing upright and breathing.
Each one of these women, I’d never have thought I’d be close friends with, but only God could orchestrate such a coming together of four people with such different backgrounds, yet such similar stories. Had I had my druthers, I probably wouldn’t have shared my story with any of them, but it just so happened that one asked another and that other asked another, and we all ended up together around a table one evening. Four misfits that the more we got to know each other, we found out fit perfectly together when joined by God.
Today, I wore a PURPLE PATTERNED top that one of my precious confidants farmed from her own closet and surprisingly enough, it looked GREAT on me! I guess when it comes to clothes, I’ll have to rely on my friends. And when it comes to divine guidance in all things, I’ll continue to rely on God.
September 13, 2009
That's When God Showed Up!
A friend of mine who’s a high school football coach has had a rough couple of weeks. His first game, his team lost 64-0. His second game, his team lost 49-0. Suffice it to say, he wasn’t looking forward to the third game. He’s never started a season 0-2, let alone 0-2 and not having scored any points.
Yesterday morning while catching up with him on what’s going on in his world, I asked him how he was doing and told him that I’d read on Dallasmorningnews.com that his team was down 27-0 at the half on Friday night. His response, “oh girl, I’m fine, ‘cuz at the half, that's when God showed up.” I paused for a moment and then began to laugh as he explained to me that the storms that had cancelled/postponed many of the games in North Texas on Friday night, finally reached their field during half-time, causing the refs to call the game.
I laughed because so many times in my life, that’s exactly what happens! It may have taken 2½ games for God to ‘show up’ with thunder and lightening to have mercy on a group of high-school football players that have yet to score this season, but hey, what counts is that He showed up!
I smile now as I think about the countless times I’ve begged God for mercy, beat my head against numerous walls, thought He’d forgotten me, but then when I least expected it, my 11:59:59 PM God shows up in high fashion with thunder and lightening and I (like those football players) with much relief, hustle off the field to refresh and regroup.
On my iPhone, my signature line includes the scripture Isaiah 49:15-16 as a personal reminder that God has not and will not forget me, that he will ALWAYS show up. Something I need to hear sometimes at least three times a day.
I encourage you, if you’re struggling, and the ‘other team’ seems to be using you as their proverbial mop, stay on the field, don’t give up, you may lose a few, but know that you know that you know, that God WILL show up!
Heavens, raise the roof! Earth, wake the dead! Mountains, send up cheers! God has comforted his people. He has tenderly nursed his beaten-up, beaten-down people. But Zion said, "I don't get it. God has left me. My Master has forgotten I even exist."
"Can a mother forget the infant at her breast, walk away from the baby she bore? But even if mothers forget, I'd never forget you—never. Look, I've written your names on the palms of my hands."
Isaiah 49:13-16 (MSG)
Yesterday morning while catching up with him on what’s going on in his world, I asked him how he was doing and told him that I’d read on Dallasmorningnews.com that his team was down 27-0 at the half on Friday night. His response, “oh girl, I’m fine, ‘cuz at the half, that's when God showed up.” I paused for a moment and then began to laugh as he explained to me that the storms that had cancelled/postponed many of the games in North Texas on Friday night, finally reached their field during half-time, causing the refs to call the game.
I laughed because so many times in my life, that’s exactly what happens! It may have taken 2½ games for God to ‘show up’ with thunder and lightening to have mercy on a group of high-school football players that have yet to score this season, but hey, what counts is that He showed up!
I smile now as I think about the countless times I’ve begged God for mercy, beat my head against numerous walls, thought He’d forgotten me, but then when I least expected it, my 11:59:59 PM God shows up in high fashion with thunder and lightening and I (like those football players) with much relief, hustle off the field to refresh and regroup.
On my iPhone, my signature line includes the scripture Isaiah 49:15-16 as a personal reminder that God has not and will not forget me, that he will ALWAYS show up. Something I need to hear sometimes at least three times a day.
I encourage you, if you’re struggling, and the ‘other team’ seems to be using you as their proverbial mop, stay on the field, don’t give up, you may lose a few, but know that you know that you know, that God WILL show up!
Heavens, raise the roof! Earth, wake the dead! Mountains, send up cheers! God has comforted his people. He has tenderly nursed his beaten-up, beaten-down people. But Zion said, "I don't get it. God has left me. My Master has forgotten I even exist."
"Can a mother forget the infant at her breast, walk away from the baby she bore? But even if mothers forget, I'd never forget you—never. Look, I've written your names on the palms of my hands."
Isaiah 49:13-16 (MSG)
September 10, 2009
Ugly Praise
As you know, I’m not one to post other folks’ words in my blog too often, but when I do, it’d be best if you sat up and took notice.
The following is an excerpt from Jentezen Franklin's sermon "Ugly Praise" a deep soul-wrenching teaching on Rachel and Leah and the line of the Lion of Judah.
I listened to this on the way home from work a couple of days ago, and almost had to pull my car over to raise some Judah of my own!
Click Here to Hear the whole message, or enjoy an excerpt of the message below.
Now I will praise him. You cannot produce enough works or self-righteousness to get God to join you. When you can’t see God, when you can’t hear God, when you can’t feel God there’s one thing you’re supposed to do, you’re supposed to give birth to Judah which means praise.
When you make up your mind now, not when things get better, or when it looks like you’ve got the majority on your side. No, Now, you make up your mind that you’re going to give birth to praise, then suddenly God hears you, he sees you. As long as you tell God about all that you’ve been doing right, he’s going to say “it’s not by works.”
But when you shift and say “I’m going to give birth to Judah,” when you say “I’m gonna praise the Lord,” God the husband will then see you, hear you, join himself to you.
He is your source your healer, your deliver your God. Notice the pretty sister didn’t give birth to Judah. It was the ugly situation that brought out Judah.
When life is pretty and pleasant, you can praise God then and that’s a good thing to do. But when everything is ugly and you’ve been rejected and put down, but right in the middle of it you say, “NOW I will praise the Lord, I’m not going to be depressed, or go around talking about how miserable I am, or how bad things are. But I’m going to go around talking about the fact that you’re my God and you died for me and you’re coming back for me and you are all I need.”
You can praise him when life is pretty, but it took the ugly to give birth to Judah. After she gave birth to Judah, Judah had a son named Jesse and Jesse had a son named David and David had a son named Nathan and Nathan had a daughter named Mary and Mary had a baby named Jesus, the Lion of the tribe of Judah.
Inside your praise is your deliverance, your victory, your needs met and the worst thing you can do when you have a need is to sit around waiting to see something, or waiting to hear something before you praise, or waiting for everything you need to hook up. Now if you wanna give birth to a miracle. If you want our heavenly Father
to join himself to you, then you have to in ugly situations in life be like Job, the Lord gives, children dead, family dead, finances messed up. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away, now I will praise the Lord, blessed be the name of the Lord.
The following is an excerpt from Jentezen Franklin's sermon "Ugly Praise" a deep soul-wrenching teaching on Rachel and Leah and the line of the Lion of Judah.
I listened to this on the way home from work a couple of days ago, and almost had to pull my car over to raise some Judah of my own!
Click Here to Hear the whole message, or enjoy an excerpt of the message below.
Now I will praise him. You cannot produce enough works or self-righteousness to get God to join you. When you can’t see God, when you can’t hear God, when you can’t feel God there’s one thing you’re supposed to do, you’re supposed to give birth to Judah which means praise.
When you make up your mind now, not when things get better, or when it looks like you’ve got the majority on your side. No, Now, you make up your mind that you’re going to give birth to praise, then suddenly God hears you, he sees you. As long as you tell God about all that you’ve been doing right, he’s going to say “it’s not by works.”
But when you shift and say “I’m going to give birth to Judah,” when you say “I’m gonna praise the Lord,” God the husband will then see you, hear you, join himself to you.
He is your source your healer, your deliver your God. Notice the pretty sister didn’t give birth to Judah. It was the ugly situation that brought out Judah.
When life is pretty and pleasant, you can praise God then and that’s a good thing to do. But when everything is ugly and you’ve been rejected and put down, but right in the middle of it you say, “NOW I will praise the Lord, I’m not going to be depressed, or go around talking about how miserable I am, or how bad things are. But I’m going to go around talking about the fact that you’re my God and you died for me and you’re coming back for me and you are all I need.”
You can praise him when life is pretty, but it took the ugly to give birth to Judah. After she gave birth to Judah, Judah had a son named Jesse and Jesse had a son named David and David had a son named Nathan and Nathan had a daughter named Mary and Mary had a baby named Jesus, the Lion of the tribe of Judah.
Inside your praise is your deliverance, your victory, your needs met and the worst thing you can do when you have a need is to sit around waiting to see something, or waiting to hear something before you praise, or waiting for everything you need to hook up. Now if you wanna give birth to a miracle. If you want our heavenly Father
to join himself to you, then you have to in ugly situations in life be like Job, the Lord gives, children dead, family dead, finances messed up. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away, now I will praise the Lord, blessed be the name of the Lord.September 8, 2009
Something Good
When I was 2 months old, my mother packed my sister (18-months older than me) and myself into her VW Bug and fled from her abusive husband (my sperm-donor).
Through the help of family, friends, and an underground network of battered women's shelters and private homes, my mother divorced her husband, left Illinois and relocated to Missouri where she finished her Masters Degree at the University of Missouri.
When I was three, she met my dad, Al Plummer.
When I was five, she married my dad, Al Plummer.
When I was nine, my dad, Al Plummer, legally adopted my sister and I.
This fall my passport comes up for renewal. Because I'm going from a Diplomatic Passport to a regular civilian passport, I have to provide all kinds of documentation that I am who I say I am. One of which is a birth certificate. And because I also need to provide information for an I-9 form at work, that same birth certificate will come in handy.
I've never seen my birth certificate.
Last week I wrote the Madison County Clerk in Edwardsville, Illinois and requested a copy of my birth certificate.
Tonight it came.
Listed on my birth certificate, my mother, Sheila Y Plummer age 22 and my father, Alvin A Plummer age 25.
Seeing that, finally after 30 some odd years of him being the only father I've ever known made it real.
I've put him thru a lot from stealing the family car and wrecking it, to running away, to getting arrested and being put on probation and having to live in a halfway house, to lieing and cheating, to working for the enemy (George Bush)...but every step of the way he's unconditionally loved me as his own.
He's never turned his back on me, or reffered to me as 'her child', nope, he's taken many major lickings from me and for some odd reason he's still ticking.
As I stare at this paper that states "This is to certify that this is a true and correct abstract from the official record filed with the Illinois Department of Public Healthm," I realize that this paper in his mind is thicker than any blood could ever be!
Thank you and love you Daddy!
Through the help of family, friends, and an underground network of battered women's shelters and private homes, my mother divorced her husband, left Illinois and relocated to Missouri where she finished her Masters Degree at the University of Missouri.
When I was three, she met my dad, Al Plummer.
When I was five, she married my dad, Al Plummer.
When I was nine, my dad, Al Plummer, legally adopted my sister and I.
This fall my passport comes up for renewal. Because I'm going from a Diplomatic Passport to a regular civilian passport, I have to provide all kinds of documentation that I am who I say I am. One of which is a birth certificate. And because I also need to provide information for an I-9 form at work, that same birth certificate will come in handy.
I've never seen my birth certificate.
Last week I wrote the Madison County Clerk in Edwardsville, Illinois and requested a copy of my birth certificate.
Tonight it came.
Listed on my birth certificate, my mother, Sheila Y Plummer age 22 and my father, Alvin A Plummer age 25.
Seeing that, finally after 30 some odd years of him being the only father I've ever known made it real.
I've put him thru a lot from stealing the family car and wrecking it, to running away, to getting arrested and being put on probation and having to live in a halfway house, to lieing and cheating, to working for the enemy (George Bush)...but every step of the way he's unconditionally loved me as his own.
He's never turned his back on me, or reffered to me as 'her child', nope, he's taken many major lickings from me and for some odd reason he's still ticking.
As I stare at this paper that states "This is to certify that this is a true and correct abstract from the official record filed with the Illinois Department of Public Healthm," I realize that this paper in his mind is thicker than any blood could ever be!
Thank you and love you Daddy!
September 6, 2009
Words
Tonight, I don't have much to say.
There are a lot of ideas on subjects to write about swimming around in my head, but none that have found purchase in my imagination beyond a couple of sentences.
So I thought I'd share with you a conversation I had today. A friend shared with me her concerns about her father's obesity. He's been told he'll never walk on his own again due to the degenerative changes in his bone structure, a direct result of his obesity.
I asked my friend if losing the weight, then getting a total knee replacement was a viable option to help him walk on his own again. She told me, that when they discussed that option with five different doctors, her family was told by each doctor they visited, that the doctor didn't believe her father would ever lose the weight thus it was a waste of the family's time to consider other options outside of confinement to a wheelchair.
I was stunned, even angered.
She further shared with me that these comments had caused her father to go into a deep depression which he medicated by eating...thus creating a vicious cycle.
As I listened, I thought about my words, the things I say to others on a daily basis. I'm no doctor, but I am ashamed to even try to count how many times my words alone have cost me friendships, opportunities, and have unintentionally maimed those that I love.
Doing a word search in my bible on the word 'tongue' numerous scriptures came up. Seems God understands that the tongue is difficult to tame. But the scripture that stuck with me was:
"Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing".*
So, that's my goal this week, to work to bring healing not wounds through my words.
If you happen to see me (or hear me) this week, feel free to hold me to task.
*Proverbs 12:18 (NIV)
There are a lot of ideas on subjects to write about swimming around in my head, but none that have found purchase in my imagination beyond a couple of sentences.
So I thought I'd share with you a conversation I had today. A friend shared with me her concerns about her father's obesity. He's been told he'll never walk on his own again due to the degenerative changes in his bone structure, a direct result of his obesity.
I asked my friend if losing the weight, then getting a total knee replacement was a viable option to help him walk on his own again. She told me, that when they discussed that option with five different doctors, her family was told by each doctor they visited, that the doctor didn't believe her father would ever lose the weight thus it was a waste of the family's time to consider other options outside of confinement to a wheelchair.
I was stunned, even angered.
She further shared with me that these comments had caused her father to go into a deep depression which he medicated by eating...thus creating a vicious cycle.
As I listened, I thought about my words, the things I say to others on a daily basis. I'm no doctor, but I am ashamed to even try to count how many times my words alone have cost me friendships, opportunities, and have unintentionally maimed those that I love.
Doing a word search in my bible on the word 'tongue' numerous scriptures came up. Seems God understands that the tongue is difficult to tame. But the scripture that stuck with me was:
"Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing".*
So, that's my goal this week, to work to bring healing not wounds through my words.
If you happen to see me (or hear me) this week, feel free to hold me to task.
*Proverbs 12:18 (NIV)
September 4, 2009
Cares All Past...Home at Last
Late last night, I received an email from a close, dear friend that said
Just wanted to ask for your prayers for my uncle who is in a coma…two weeks ago, he found out he has lung cancer (because he fell through a roof and had broken ribs)
He underwent surgery last week for the cancer and it went very well. They removed the cancer and it was actually benign. He, however, then had a stroke and has been in a coma ever since. They plan on taking him off the ventilator tomorrow to see if he can make it on his own.
My Dad is the eldest of five siblings and just lost his sister, in April…My uncle is a Christian…so the good news is that it is possible he will be meeting our Saviour shortly.
My request is that you pray for his healing, if its God's will…and also for my family who has suffered a loss this year and possibly another shortly.
This afternoon, I received a subsequent text that said:
Thank you all so much for your prayers, my uncle has passed away. We find comfort knowing he is with our Lord.
The older I get, the more I’ve been confronted with death. Deaths of family members, friends, terminal illnesses, and every time its come to claim one more, I’ve always been at a loss as to how to react, what to say, what to do. But this email encouraged me…so the good news is, that it is possible he will be meeting our Saviour shortly.
As believers, we find hope in the final collapse of our lung, the concluding beat of our heart, the moment we drift from our withered earthly husk into our eternal indestructible, unimaginable bodies. That within itself, is good news.
So the good news is, tonight, among the many He’s bid to cross Jordan on this day, stands my dear friend’s uncle. Free of the terresterial chains that bound him, he stands before his Saviour and rejoices.
Tonight, among the many that mourn those who’ve spent their last day on this side, there is a family in a small town in Texas that despite their loss upon loss, rejoices that their kinsman, even now basks in the direct glow of the welcoming smile of his Redeemer.
Oh I want to see him
Look upon his face
There to sing forever
Of his saving grace
On the streets of glory
Let me lift my voice
Cares all past
Home at last
Ever to rejoice
Just wanted to ask for your prayers for my uncle who is in a coma…two weeks ago, he found out he has lung cancer (because he fell through a roof and had broken ribs)
He underwent surgery last week for the cancer and it went very well. They removed the cancer and it was actually benign. He, however, then had a stroke and has been in a coma ever since. They plan on taking him off the ventilator tomorrow to see if he can make it on his own.
My Dad is the eldest of five siblings and just lost his sister, in April…My uncle is a Christian…so the good news is that it is possible he will be meeting our Saviour shortly.
My request is that you pray for his healing, if its God's will…and also for my family who has suffered a loss this year and possibly another shortly.
This afternoon, I received a subsequent text that said:
Thank you all so much for your prayers, my uncle has passed away. We find comfort knowing he is with our Lord.
The older I get, the more I’ve been confronted with death. Deaths of family members, friends, terminal illnesses, and every time its come to claim one more, I’ve always been at a loss as to how to react, what to say, what to do. But this email encouraged me…so the good news is, that it is possible he will be meeting our Saviour shortly.
As believers, we find hope in the final collapse of our lung, the concluding beat of our heart, the moment we drift from our withered earthly husk into our eternal indestructible, unimaginable bodies. That within itself, is good news.
So the good news is, tonight, among the many He’s bid to cross Jordan on this day, stands my dear friend’s uncle. Free of the terresterial chains that bound him, he stands before his Saviour and rejoices.
Tonight, among the many that mourn those who’ve spent their last day on this side, there is a family in a small town in Texas that despite their loss upon loss, rejoices that their kinsman, even now basks in the direct glow of the welcoming smile of his Redeemer.
Oh I want to see him
Look upon his face
There to sing forever
Of his saving grace
On the streets of glory
Let me lift my voice
Cares all past
Home at last
Ever to rejoice
June 27, 2009
Reassess
Six years ago, my name was selected by lottery to gain entry into a famous marathon, yet despite my drive, determination and excitement; I never made it to the start line. A month prior to the marathon, I ran a 20-mile long run and upon completion, mentally and physically collapsed. Since that day, I’ve approached my life as a runner with much trepidation, afraid to commit to the hard races, equally afraid to push myself to find out what lies beyond that cramp, beyond the sore ankles, the bum knees, the humid weather, the stitch in my side, the exercise induced asthma, beyond my mind telling me that I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
A couple months ago, my running coach whose accomplishments include: 25-plus years
running/multisport experience World Duathlon Age Group Gold, Silver, and Bronze Medalist; National Triathlon and Duathlon Age Group Champion, Silver and Bronze
3-time Ironman: Hawaii and New Zealand; 18-time Team USA Triathlon and that’s only naming a few, was diagnosed with ALS, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, better known as Lou Gehrig's Disease. When I learned of the diagnosis, to say I was stunned would do my feelings no justice. My coach, a woman in her prime, doing everything that she’s “supposed” to do to be healthy and fit way into old age, a woman who has invested of herself athletically and emotionally into so many lives, now must regroup, reassess, realign where her priorities lie. And despite the prognosis, her reassessment places her where she was prior to the onset; running, competing and coaching until she can do so no longer.
Faced with the potential loss of my running mentor, I too must reassess. Watching her bullheaded determination to tackle the disease, to ‘fight against the dying of the light’ has constrained me to address my own commitment to the part of my life that encompasses running, to determine how dedicated I really am to the goals I set and too often fall way short of.
In this venture, I’ve begun to unpack the feelings of failure I’d so neatly tucked away as I sat on a curb and wept following a 20-mile run, early one morning in Northern Virginia six very long years ago. I rummage through the ‘baggage’ and tentatively pull out the fatigue that accompanied every long run, the pre-dawn runs to beat the heat, the dogged regiment toward tracking every piece of food that went into my mouth, the long runs done inside on the TM when the weather was too cold, the ugly toenails, the cross-training to cut down on the stress to my knees, one after another, I unpack the memories of what I, as a committed runner, used to look like.
As I’ve participated in this emotional undertaking, I’ve also eased back into the rhythm of a committed training regimen, setting my goals on PRing in one of two half marathons I’ll run this fall.
I’ve fought internal battles with the fear of failure, fear of not hitting my goals and the desire to not even try to return to what once defined me; a committed runner. I’ve also become quite aware that I am capable of manufacturing excuses why I can’t run, won’t run, or didn’t run on any given day that would make even the most jaded furrow their brow in sorrowful compassion for me. But I workout anyway, for those excuses are but pathetic evasion techniques when compared to my coach, a woman who has been given her ‘walking papers’ yet has chosen to run on making no excuses, offering no apologies, just running and competing until she can run no more.
In the time I’ve reassessed, I’ve had this quote engraved on my psyche, “There's a difference between interest and commitment. When you're interested in doing something, you do it only when it's convenient. When you're committed to something, you accept no excuses; only results.”
No more excuses, no more fear, only results.
A couple months ago, my running coach whose accomplishments include: 25-plus years
running/multisport experience World Duathlon Age Group Gold, Silver, and Bronze Medalist; National Triathlon and Duathlon Age Group Champion, Silver and Bronze3-time Ironman: Hawaii and New Zealand; 18-time Team USA Triathlon and that’s only naming a few, was diagnosed with ALS, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, better known as Lou Gehrig's Disease. When I learned of the diagnosis, to say I was stunned would do my feelings no justice. My coach, a woman in her prime, doing everything that she’s “supposed” to do to be healthy and fit way into old age, a woman who has invested of herself athletically and emotionally into so many lives, now must regroup, reassess, realign where her priorities lie. And despite the prognosis, her reassessment places her where she was prior to the onset; running, competing and coaching until she can do so no longer.
Faced with the potential loss of my running mentor, I too must reassess. Watching her bullheaded determination to tackle the disease, to ‘fight against the dying of the light’ has constrained me to address my own commitment to the part of my life that encompasses running, to determine how dedicated I really am to the goals I set and too often fall way short of.
In this venture, I’ve begun to unpack the feelings of failure I’d so neatly tucked away as I sat on a curb and wept following a 20-mile run, early one morning in Northern Virginia six very long years ago. I rummage through the ‘baggage’ and tentatively pull out the fatigue that accompanied every long run, the pre-dawn runs to beat the heat, the dogged regiment toward tracking every piece of food that went into my mouth, the long runs done inside on the TM when the weather was too cold, the ugly toenails, the cross-training to cut down on the stress to my knees, one after another, I unpack the memories of what I, as a committed runner, used to look like.
As I’ve participated in this emotional undertaking, I’ve also eased back into the rhythm of a committed training regimen, setting my goals on PRing in one of two half marathons I’ll run this fall.
I’ve fought internal battles with the fear of failure, fear of not hitting my goals and the desire to not even try to return to what once defined me; a committed runner. I’ve also become quite aware that I am capable of manufacturing excuses why I can’t run, won’t run, or didn’t run on any given day that would make even the most jaded furrow their brow in sorrowful compassion for me. But I workout anyway, for those excuses are but pathetic evasion techniques when compared to my coach, a woman who has been given her ‘walking papers’ yet has chosen to run on making no excuses, offering no apologies, just running and competing until she can run no more.
In the time I’ve reassessed, I’ve had this quote engraved on my psyche, “There's a difference between interest and commitment. When you're interested in doing something, you do it only when it's convenient. When you're committed to something, you accept no excuses; only results.”
No more excuses, no more fear, only results.
June 25, 2009
All Crawl
It's uncomfortable being in the pipeline.
It's hard doing the 'all-crawl'.
I've got bad knees, and it hurts to crawl.
However, God sent this nice man (see the video below) to get all up in my grill and tell me that I need to get down on my knees and crawl thru the pipe and find a need and meet it and find a need and meet it and find a need and meet it and find a need......
Me and my sore knees and puffed-up sense of self worth aren't too happy about that, and its been REALLY difficult but I sludge thru because I know that my King (along with ALL His resources), is right there in the pipe with me.
I wonder if one of those resources is a pair of kneepads?
It's hard doing the 'all-crawl'.
I've got bad knees, and it hurts to crawl.
However, God sent this nice man (see the video below) to get all up in my grill and tell me that I need to get down on my knees and crawl thru the pipe and find a need and meet it and find a need and meet it and find a need and meet it and find a need......
Me and my sore knees and puffed-up sense of self worth aren't too happy about that, and its been REALLY difficult but I sludge thru because I know that my King (along with ALL His resources), is right there in the pipe with me.
I wonder if one of those resources is a pair of kneepads?
Pipeline
April 7, 2009
Fan into Flame
My small group is currently working its way through 2 Timothy, something that I thought wasn’t going to be very fun. Not because its not an interesting book, I love all of Paul’s writings, but because I thought that what the book had to say didn’t apply to where I am right now on life’s race track.
The first week our homework assignment was to read through the first chapter of 2 Timothy five separate times throughout the week, praying that God would open our eyes and ears to what He had to say, showing us what it is He wanted us to think about that particular day.
Day one, I open my bible and before I could get out of Paul’s initial opening greeting, I was bowled over by the words in 2 Timothy 1:6:
“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you…”
Fan into flame.
Even after I’d read through the designated chapter once, twice, I kept coming back to ‘fan into flame’. Its a command that requires action and not just any action, but repetitive, unrelenting, "until you see a return," action.
Using one of my favorite writer’s resources, I went to thesaurus.com to check out synonyms for ‘fan’. I found some good ones, agitate, expand, extend, arouse, enkindle, excite. The one word I honed in on was ‘agitate’. When something is agitated, it provokes a response. Washing machines agitate dirty clothes, the clothes come out clean. A child agitates his/her sibling, the sibling responds. A speaker agitates his audience through his words, the audience reacts.
Agitate + Act on = the results of the agitation.
Paul says to agitate the gifts God has entrusted me with. No more basking in my own creativity, satisfied to stay within the confines of what I enjoy doing. No. He’s telling me to get up and get going, to ‘disturb’ my gifts, move ‘em, use ‘em.
That in itself disturbs me, agitates me, because I’m not good at being uncomfortable. I go to great lengths to do whatever it takes to ensure that the level of comfort I am accustomed to is not disturbed nor lowered…yet, I’m being told to think about, consider, ponder, agitate on, “fanning into flame”.
This isn’t a task, I can source out to someone who is more qualified or doesn’t mind the inconvenience of the work it takes to fan a smoldering fire into an all-consuming, bone warming fire. I’ve gotta do it myself.
My gift, my fanning.
As a sprinter in high school I was given a poster that read:
“Motivation is a fire from within. If someone else tries to light that fire under you, chances are it will burn very briefly.”
No one can light a fire within me (outside of my Savior). It’s something that I’ve gotta do, I’ve gotta work out, I’ve gotta fan.
So what is it that I have to fan?
Remember this?
Yup, my mind may be blank, but I've gotta fan the smoldering embers anyway.
So fair reader, guess you get to be hearing more from me on a daily basis…good, bad, boring…but cheer up, fanning isn’t always fun…hold fast to the hope that eventually it’ll turn into a flame that warms your souls!
The first week our homework assignment was to read through the first chapter of 2 Timothy five separate times throughout the week, praying that God would open our eyes and ears to what He had to say, showing us what it is He wanted us to think about that particular day.
Day one, I open my bible and before I could get out of Paul’s initial opening greeting, I was bowled over by the words in 2 Timothy 1:6:
“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you…”
Fan into flame.
Even after I’d read through the designated chapter once, twice, I kept coming back to ‘fan into flame’. Its a command that requires action and not just any action, but repetitive, unrelenting, "until you see a return," action.
Using one of my favorite writer’s resources, I went to thesaurus.com to check out synonyms for ‘fan’. I found some good ones, agitate, expand, extend, arouse, enkindle, excite. The one word I honed in on was ‘agitate’. When something is agitated, it provokes a response. Washing machines agitate dirty clothes, the clothes come out clean. A child agitates his/her sibling, the sibling responds. A speaker agitates his audience through his words, the audience reacts.
Agitate + Act on = the results of the agitation.
Paul says to agitate the gifts God has entrusted me with. No more basking in my own creativity, satisfied to stay within the confines of what I enjoy doing. No. He’s telling me to get up and get going, to ‘disturb’ my gifts, move ‘em, use ‘em.
That in itself disturbs me, agitates me, because I’m not good at being uncomfortable. I go to great lengths to do whatever it takes to ensure that the level of comfort I am accustomed to is not disturbed nor lowered…yet, I’m being told to think about, consider, ponder, agitate on, “fanning into flame”.
This isn’t a task, I can source out to someone who is more qualified or doesn’t mind the inconvenience of the work it takes to fan a smoldering fire into an all-consuming, bone warming fire. I’ve gotta do it myself.
My gift, my fanning.
As a sprinter in high school I was given a poster that read:
“Motivation is a fire from within. If someone else tries to light that fire under you, chances are it will burn very briefly.”
No one can light a fire within me (outside of my Savior). It’s something that I’ve gotta do, I’ve gotta work out, I’ve gotta fan.
So what is it that I have to fan?
Remember this?
Yup, my mind may be blank, but I've gotta fan the smoldering embers anyway.
So fair reader, guess you get to be hearing more from me on a daily basis…good, bad, boring…but cheer up, fanning isn’t always fun…hold fast to the hope that eventually it’ll turn into a flame that warms your souls!
February 27, 2009
Another Seat Filled at The Banqueting Table
Today, on the way to support his nephew-in-law as he put his father in the ground, my uncle was killed in a car wreck.
He left the weight of this world behind to take his seat at The Banqueting Table.
He has become yet another of those who make up the great cloud of witnesses. Hebrews 12:1
I'm extremely sad to let go of you on this side Uncle Cy, but I'll run on.
Look forward to breaking bread with you on the other side of Jordan.
Cyrus E. Johnson 1929-2009
February 24, 2009
Window Dressing
A couple of days ago, I emailed our pastor’s wife (whom I've never met face-to-face) to offer my services as a volunteer on a project that is dear to her heart. Yesterday afternoon, she replied and thanked me for my willingness to be of service and let me know that she would pass my name on to the person in charge of the project.
I didn’t give it another thought, and went on with my day.
Late last night before I went to bed, I checked my email and in my inbox was an email from the person in charge of the project asking if myself and a group of four other ladies were available in the morning to meet with the pastor’s wife to discuss the project. She graciously apologized for the short notice and asked us to reply back and let her know what our schedules were.
STOP!
FROZEN!
DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS!
I DON’T WANT TO MEET WITH LISA YOUNG!
I JUST WANTED TO HELP HER WITH HER PROJECT!
I’M WILLING TO MEET WITH A PROXY.
I CAN’T MEET WITH LISA YOUNG!
I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING CUTE TO WEAR, AND IT’S A BAD HAIR DAY AND IT’S WINDY OUTSIDE AND EVEN IF IT WAS A GOOD HAIR DAY, THE WIND WOULD MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A TROLL DOLL BY THE TIME I GOT INTO CHURCH AND I HAVE THIS BLEMISH ON MY CHEEK THAT I’M HAVING TROUBLE GETTING THE CONCEALER TO COOPERATE WITH AND I’M BLOATED AND MY NAILS AREN’T PAINTED AND ARRRRRRGGGGHHH I CAN’T MEET WITH THE QUEEN, I’M NOT READY!
I’ve been in a bible study on the book of Esther. One of the things we've discussed at length was that prior to going to meet King Xerxes, the women who were ‘auditioning’ to be queen went thru twelve months, TWELVE MONTHS, of beauty treatments before they were even allowed to step into his presence.
I didn’t have 12 months, let alone 12 hours, I wasn’t ready ‘physically’ to have an audience with the pastor’s wife.
This morning, after a fitful night of sleep due to allergies and a bloody nose and exceedingly dry mouth, I hit the alarm, rolled over, took my glasses off the bedside table, got my bible and prayer journal and sleepily, yet confidently walked into the presence of The Most High.
Teeth unbrushed, hair matted in a wild disheveled mess, wearing only a t-shirt, underwear and socks, I sat down in the lap of The King of kings and began to converse. No pretenses, no apologies for the dragon breath, no gussying and readying myself, I just sat and talked to Him.
I am an amalgamation of gratitude and stupefied wonder that the One whose very words created the ground I stand on, whose inexhaustible card-catalog of facts includes the number of hairs on my head (and my hair brush), who delicately holds this universe in its fastidious order, while communing with his half-awake child in a suburb in Dallas, Texas, doesn’t care how my hair looks, what I smell like or even if my socks match (which by happenstance they actually do today). He’s just pleased to meet with me.
He simply wants to spend time with me, the inner me, all the other 'get ready' stuff would be window dressing covering the real view He desires to see when we meet, my heart, my soul, my inner being.
So, if the Lamb of God is kosher with ‘disheveled half-awake’ me, why should I be concerned what I wear when I get an audience with the ‘queen’? It’s the servant’s heart she wants to tap into, the inner me, everything else is just window dressing muting the view.
I didn’t give it another thought, and went on with my day.
Late last night before I went to bed, I checked my email and in my inbox was an email from the person in charge of the project asking if myself and a group of four other ladies were available in the morning to meet with the pastor’s wife to discuss the project. She graciously apologized for the short notice and asked us to reply back and let her know what our schedules were.
STOP!
FROZEN!
DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS!
I DON’T WANT TO MEET WITH LISA YOUNG!
I JUST WANTED TO HELP HER WITH HER PROJECT!
I’M WILLING TO MEET WITH A PROXY.
I CAN’T MEET WITH LISA YOUNG!
I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING CUTE TO WEAR, AND IT’S A BAD HAIR DAY AND IT’S WINDY OUTSIDE AND EVEN IF IT WAS A GOOD HAIR DAY, THE WIND WOULD MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A TROLL DOLL BY THE TIME I GOT INTO CHURCH AND I HAVE THIS BLEMISH ON MY CHEEK THAT I’M HAVING TROUBLE GETTING THE CONCEALER TO COOPERATE WITH AND I’M BLOATED AND MY NAILS AREN’T PAINTED AND ARRRRRRGGGGHHH I CAN’T MEET WITH THE QUEEN, I’M NOT READY!
I’ve been in a bible study on the book of Esther. One of the things we've discussed at length was that prior to going to meet King Xerxes, the women who were ‘auditioning’ to be queen went thru twelve months, TWELVE MONTHS, of beauty treatments before they were even allowed to step into his presence.
I didn’t have 12 months, let alone 12 hours, I wasn’t ready ‘physically’ to have an audience with the pastor’s wife.
This morning, after a fitful night of sleep due to allergies and a bloody nose and exceedingly dry mouth, I hit the alarm, rolled over, took my glasses off the bedside table, got my bible and prayer journal and sleepily, yet confidently walked into the presence of The Most High.
Teeth unbrushed, hair matted in a wild disheveled mess, wearing only a t-shirt, underwear and socks, I sat down in the lap of The King of kings and began to converse. No pretenses, no apologies for the dragon breath, no gussying and readying myself, I just sat and talked to Him.
I am an amalgamation of gratitude and stupefied wonder that the One whose very words created the ground I stand on, whose inexhaustible card-catalog of facts includes the number of hairs on my head (and my hair brush), who delicately holds this universe in its fastidious order, while communing with his half-awake child in a suburb in Dallas, Texas, doesn’t care how my hair looks, what I smell like or even if my socks match (which by happenstance they actually do today). He’s just pleased to meet with me.
He simply wants to spend time with me, the inner me, all the other 'get ready' stuff would be window dressing covering the real view He desires to see when we meet, my heart, my soul, my inner being.
So, if the Lamb of God is kosher with ‘disheveled half-awake’ me, why should I be concerned what I wear when I get an audience with the ‘queen’? It’s the servant’s heart she wants to tap into, the inner me, everything else is just window dressing muting the view.
January 15, 2009
I'm Workin' on It
Over the last week, I’ve been working on moving all of my files from paper to computer. I’ve spent anywhere from two to five hours sitting still feeding past bills, bank statements, mutual fund statements, and various other things I deem worthy of keeping for a set amount of time into the scanner, turning them into .pdfs then filing them away on my hard drive.
This afternoon, after spending four tedious hours hanging out with the scanner, I finished shredding the documents I had scanned, cleaned up my work area, then looked back at the two filing boxes overflowing with files that I still had yet to touch. My shoulders slumped in discouragement. The four hours that I’d just spent didn’t seem to have made a dent in my mountain of paper.
I tried to console myself by saying, ‘well, at least you know that you’ve completed something even though no one else can tell.’ It really didn’t work.
But as I was leaving the room, I was gently prodded by the Holy Spirit.
For the last two months or so, I’ve been praying without ceasing for God’s direction and divine discernment concerning a particular issue. I’ve been relentless. I’ve been worse than the widow who came before the judge in Luke 18:1-8, I’ve made her look like a quitter with my bloody kneed tenacity.
But I haven’t received an answer.
But as I was leaving the room after spending all that time scanning this afternoon, I looked back one more time at that pile and the Holy Spirit very quietly said: “I’m working on it, you may not be able to see the changes, or what I’m doing, but I AM working on it.”
Do those words make the wait for the final product (discernment and direction) any easier? Nope. But I’m tickled pink to know that the one time of day that I’m not pestering Him with my need, He uses the most mundane of things to acknowledge my persistence.
It seems like its gonna take forever to get rid of all that paper. But I’m workin’ on it.
It seems like its gonna take forever for my request to come to fruition, but I’m a little bit calmer ‘cuz God’s workin’ on it.
This afternoon, after spending four tedious hours hanging out with the scanner, I finished shredding the documents I had scanned, cleaned up my work area, then looked back at the two filing boxes overflowing with files that I still had yet to touch. My shoulders slumped in discouragement. The four hours that I’d just spent didn’t seem to have made a dent in my mountain of paper.
I tried to console myself by saying, ‘well, at least you know that you’ve completed something even though no one else can tell.’ It really didn’t work.
But as I was leaving the room, I was gently prodded by the Holy Spirit.
For the last two months or so, I’ve been praying without ceasing for God’s direction and divine discernment concerning a particular issue. I’ve been relentless. I’ve been worse than the widow who came before the judge in Luke 18:1-8, I’ve made her look like a quitter with my bloody kneed tenacity.
But I haven’t received an answer.
But as I was leaving the room after spending all that time scanning this afternoon, I looked back one more time at that pile and the Holy Spirit very quietly said: “I’m working on it, you may not be able to see the changes, or what I’m doing, but I AM working on it.”
Do those words make the wait for the final product (discernment and direction) any easier? Nope. But I’m tickled pink to know that the one time of day that I’m not pestering Him with my need, He uses the most mundane of things to acknowledge my persistence.
It seems like its gonna take forever to get rid of all that paper. But I’m workin’ on it.
It seems like its gonna take forever for my request to come to fruition, but I’m a little bit calmer ‘cuz God’s workin’ on it.
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