All my life, in all I do, Soli Deo Gloria

Pack Yer Bags, We're Movin'

2010-11-09T22:10:00.004-06:00

I've decided to move my blog to another hosting site. It has some cool utilities that I'd been wanting to utilize. Over the next week or so, I'll work on migrating all my journal entries over to the new blog site.

Until then, here's the new blog site if you'd like to update your bookmark:

http://solideogloria.typepad.com/all-my-life-in-all-i-do/#tp

Calamity Behind the Facade

2009-10-04T23:50:00.031-05:00

I attend a rather large church, that in Christian circles would be called a "mega-church".

My church is located in an area where the median income is upper middle class.

Often, I hear comments about how 'megachurches' are shallow, or others will say 'a megachurch is not for me, I get lost, and no one really cares about me.' Or someone will decline my invitation to attend because they feel that they will not 'fit in' socio-economically'.

Over the past few months I've become involved in a home-team, a group of around 20-30 people that meet every other week at someone's home where we fellowship and discuss God's word. The home-team concept is modeled after the early church in the book of Acts. I've built some awesome realtionships with some increcible individuals in the group.

I've also joined a co-ed sports team in the flag football league sponsored by my church. Where, once again, I've had the precious honor of meeting people from asundry backgrounds.

The one thing that has remained a constant in all of the folks God's allowed to cross my path when serving as a volunteer at church to my home-team, to running around pulling flags on the football field, is the pain and brokenness that I find when I invest time in cultivating these relationships.

Outside our faith the common strand seems to be, people that 'present' as 'put-together', but should you take the time to tear away the facade and dig deeper, they're hurting, broken, devastated, longing, reaching out for and finding God's love not only on weekends when they attend service, but also throughout the week as they immere themselves in the life of the church.

I get angry when someone writes my church off as a 'mega-church' that's just about glitz and showiness. I wish those people, so hasty to judge the book by its cover, could see the hearts of the folks I've met through my involvement. I long for them to see that the perceived 'glitz' is not what we're about, not what defines us.

While a fun and creative church service may bring people in, should those same people stay, get involved and get to know the people that make up the church body, I know unquestionably they would see that behind the glitzy facade, we're just a broken group of people daily turning to and trusting God for restoration, leaning on each other for encouragement*.

There is untold, immeasurable calamity behind the facade. Such hopelessness that is only righted by the continual cleansing renewing blood of our Saviour.

*Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
-Ecclesiates 4:12

Radio Silence

2009-09-30T23:50:00.003-05:00

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

Akron Recap

2009-09-27T23:50:00.000-05:00

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!

Akron

2009-09-24T23:50:00.001-05:00

I'm headed north to relay the Akron Marathon with a group of friends.

Your prayers are requested and coveted. Specifically that I would have the courage to make wise decisions that please God.

The Adultery Debate (Airs Tonight, September 24th at 11:35 PM EST/10:35 PM CST)

2009-09-23T23:50:00.003-05:00

From ABC News Nightline's website:

Born to Cheat? Nightline took a look at the debate over adultery in the modern day. Part of the debate will air on September 24th at 11:35pm EST as the first part of Nightline's Ten Commandments series.

Cynthia McFadden moderated the conversation with participants Pastor Ed Young of the Fellowship Church in Dallas, Jonathan Daugherty of Be Broken Ministries, Jenny Block, author of "Open: Love, Sex, and Life in an Open Marriage," and Noel Biderman, CEO f ashleymadison.com, a Web site for people who want to cheat on their partners.

*photos courtesy of ABCNEWS.com

A lil' help from a friend

2009-09-22T23:50:00.001-05:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

It's Better

2009-09-21T23:50:00.009-05:00

A few weeks ago when it came time to share prayer requests at the end of my hometeam meeting, I shared a praise instead. A praise that I was finally “in the light” after having emerged from a dark time in my life. I painted the word picture of being on the back side of a storm in the flatlands of Kansas or Oklahoma, and looking in the rear view mirror and seeing how black and menacing what you’d just driven through actually was. I reminded them that when we drive through storms like that, most times we don’t realize how dark they are until we’ve exited the storm.

Tonight on my way to watch a friend’s son play in a JV football game, I got a text from her saying the game had been cancelled due to severe thunderstorms that were slowly advancing toward the metroplex. So a block away from the stadium, I turned my car around to head the 10 miles south back to my house. The closer I got to my house, the darker the clouds got, the closer the lightening flashed, and in my rearview mirror I watched as the last rays of the sun were slowly engulfed by magnificent, prodigious, bruise colored thunder heads.

As I drove into the storm, I couldn’t help but smile as God brought to my remembrance all the storms he’s ferried me out of. When I shared my praise report with my home team, I told them how I’d been playing the song “Better Than Life” all that day. Blasting it in my car, singing equally as loud, hitting the ‘back’ button at the end of the song, and starting all over from the top again.

Your love is everlasting
Its an everlasting love
Your mercy is as new as every rising of the sun
And your loving kindness,
loving kindness is better than life

Fairest of 10,000 of 10,000 you are fair
Nothing in this world could ever measure or compare
And your loving kindness
Loving kindness is better than life

While I agree with the songwriter here, I must take artistic liberty and say, “your loving kindness, loving kindness has given me life”

Lord, I thank for your mercy that renews with every breath you allow me to take. I thank you for the storms that wash away, blow away, tear away what is not of you. I praise you that you set up camp with us in our storms.

I extol you that the storms will not last always. I exalt you because your very words, “Peace Be Still” have the power to extinguish the most violent of storms, and should you choose to remain silent and allow the storm to roll, your lack of vocalization does not mean that you have abandoned us, for you have promised us that you will never leave us, you would never forsake us.

I thank you for reminders, such as today’s storm of your past mercies and providence, and I pray that when those small reminders blow across our paths that we would take a brief moment to remember and celebrate your loving kindness, because it is better, so much better than life itself.

The Adultery Debate

2009-09-16T23:50:00.003-05:00

If you're in the Dallas area, please join me tonight, Thursday September 17, 2009 at 6:30 PM for a live filming of ABC's "Nightline" as my pastor, Ed Young debates two people who advocate for adultery.

From Fellowshipchurch.com:

When it’s the #2 cause of divorce,

Everyone is affected

When the #1 late night television program opens the discussion,

Everyone listens.

But is it really that bad?

Thursday, September 17, Ed Young faces off with one of culture’s most outspoken advocates for adultery. Through this debate, Ed will have a unique opportunity to deliver God's truth about this topic to an international stage.

Bring your spouse, gather your friends, and show up at Fellowship’s Grapevine campus at 6:30pm for a live filming of ABC’s “Nightline.” This is your chance to join in the debate. Don’t go unheard!

Be at Fellowship Church Grapevine at 6:30 PM for the Filming!

...because you can

2009-09-15T23:50:00.000-05:00

As many of you are aware, my running coach, Diane Proud is fighting ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). A couple days ago, I got an email from her responding to my feedback from my workouts last week. In her email she told me about the triathlon she’d just competed in in Australia and how she was headed back to the states to compete in what may be her last duathlon.

Her email talked about how because of the nerve degeneration, her breathing had become way too difficult, and the training to maintain her world class conditioning is making it more and more difficult and taxing for her to talk. She closed by simply saying “keep running…because you can.”

I’ve thought about that simple statement a lot the past couple of days. And the more it gets into me, the harder I’ve worked in my running and my workouts she’s outlined for me. But on a spiritual level, I’ve also internalized those words.

Across the world in many countries, there exists ‘the persecuted church’. Believers who are afraid to worship together in public, believers who ‘disappear’ because their beliefs go against the government’s beliefs, believers imprisoned, churches burned, even worse. Yet, I as a believer who lives in a country that allows me to worship however and whenever I want, can find many valid reasons why I can’t make it to weekend services, why I can’t volunteer my time, why I don’t want to go to my hometeam, why I don’t want to, can’t make the time, don’t have the time/energy to serve/worship/spend time with God.

Diane’s words have made me rethink every one of those excuses. There exists right now someone who cannot worship freely like me. And on behalf of that person, I lift my hands freely and lift my voice in worship.

There exists right now someone who has no group of believers to meet with and on behalf of that person, I set my excuses aside and take advantage of all my opportunities for corporate fellowship and worship.

For the persecuted church I pray and on behalf of the persecuted church, I worship…because I can.

That's When God Showed Up!

2009-09-13T23:50:00.002-05:00

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)

Ugly Praise

2009-09-10T23:50:00.000-05:00

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.

Something Good

2009-09-08T23:50:00.004-05:00

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!

When The Old Guy Quits

2009-09-07T23:50:00.000-05:00

The line I’d been standing in began to move pouring its way into the darkened room that had been cooled to a blissfully comfortable 65 degrees. I’d just finished a speed workout on the treadmill and was not looking forward to the next thirty minutes, but the class was a part of my training and I knew ‘phoning-it-in’ wouldn’t cut it.

I followed the people in front of me dropping my iPod, headphones and towel on the floor, marking my spot and headed for the wall to grab an exercise mat from the quickly diminishing pile.

Two times a week I find myself in this same room with these same people moaning and groaning, bending, pulsing, extending, flexing, relaxing, retracting molding and strengthening my core muscles. I hate it! Everything we do hurts, and it’s hard! It doesn’t matter how many times I attend the class, the instructor constantly changes the workout, meaning the class never gets easier.

I’ve found that the only way I can make it through the class without crying or getting up and quitting is to find an old guy and position my mat beside his. And my mantra thus becomes “when the old guy quits, you can quit.” I figure if the old dude can do it, I in my spry youthful vigor can cowboy up.

Last week, exhausted from the speedwork I had done previous to the class, I found my old guy, set my mat down, grit my teeth and steeled my way through the night’s workout that focused on the obliques and the erector spinae.

We opened by stretching our backs, so easy, and it felt so good. Then we moved on to our sides where we were told to bend our legs, lifting them sideways and then bend our torsos up to meet our legs. Within the first five reps I was feeling the undeniable searing pain of my obliques being torn up and my lower legs, already fatigued from my run, screamed in protest as I squeezed them together and lifted one, two, three, four…the relentless combinations continued. One after the other, we were on our backs, on our sides, standing up, holding dumbbells.

Halfway through the class, I snuck a peek over at the old guy, and he was still going, he was struggling, but he was still going.

In the past, when I’ve grown fatigued during a race, instead of dwelling on how tired I was or how much further I had to go, I’d focus on those passing me. The woman with the stroller, the overweight guy I’d seen walking back at mile six, the guy with the full rucksack and combat boots, the man that had to be older than my dad and I tell myself, I WILL NOT BE BEATEN BY THEM!

I frantically search around within my fatigued being and smush together the remaining crumbs of energy resolute to finish the race, cross the finish line, all the while yelling in my head, YOU WILL KEEP GOING ‘TIL YOUR LEGS FALL OFF, WHEN THE OLD DUDE QUITS, THEN YOU CAN QUIT! Those words have carried me across many a finish line, over countless hills, thru innumerable rain storms and sub-zero runs.

Last night, as I positioned my mat beside the designated ‘old guy’ I smiled at him, and he at me. He said to me, “you gotta be my motivation tonight, you’re young and full of energy, so if you don’t quit I won’t.”

Pressure old man, PRESSURE!

With ten minutes left in the class, I was close to tears from the discomfort in my core and the weariness of my legs from the squat workout I had done prior to class; the old man snuck a peek over at me and said, “hey young buck, if the old man can do it, you can do it!” I rolled my eyes, said a few choice words in my head and persevered those last few minutes.

At the end of the class as I gathered my iPod, towel, and headphones and replaced my mat the old guy approached me smiling, wiping sweat from his eyes, he said, “hey, young buck, I’ll see ya Wednesday.”

Thanks old guy, I will see ya Wednesday, and when you quit, I’ll quit, but it doesn’t look like that’ll happen anytime soon.

Words

2009-09-06T23:50:00.004-05:00

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)

Cares All Past...Home at Last

2009-09-04T23:50:00.004-05:00

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

Erica and Job

2009-09-03T23:45:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I was going through my morning routine which includes listening to the daily audio bible podcast, a wonderful resource available online and on iTunes. That day, the narrator was reading a portion of the book of Job.

At the end of each podcast, the narrator gives closing remarks/commentary on what he's read, and a comment he made, struck me as an 'aha moment'. He said: "The advice, admonition and criticism that Job's friends were giving him seems wise for the most part. If you were to read it in any other context, you'd realize that in its counsel and scope, its right. But when God shows up, He let's them know they’re all wrong...Conventional wisdom isn’t always wise."

And as I processed what he was saying, I thought back to college where I had a great friend who when I needed advice would always ask, "do you want 'Christian Erica' or 'Regular Erica'?"

'Christian Erica' would tell me what thus saith the Lord!!! While 'Regular Erica' would go get the chips dip and soda and make all the necessary arrangements to throw me a first class pity party. I loved 'Regular Erica', because she said what I wanted to hear.

I wonder what God would've said if Job's friends had kept their conventional wisdom to themselves and simply said to him, "you know what Job, we don't know why this is happening to you, but we love you, we're here for whatever you need, we'll hang with you, we'll wait right here on this ash pile with you and all your scaaby, stinky, torn clothedness, until God comes."

Not espousing their perceived wisdom or even moping or bring chips to the pity party, but doing just as Hur and Aaron did for Moses, simply coming alongside and holding up Moses' hands when he could no longer do so himself, until the war had been won.

Sometimes we need our 'Christian Ericas' to go all upside our spiritual heads. And yes, sometimes we crave 'Regular Erica' to sit and lament and commiserate with us. But sometimes God simply asks our Ericas to come alongside, wrapping our arm around their necks, placing their arm around our waists, not saying one word, just helping us limp our way thru our fires.

When Job's mantel finds rests on someone close to you, which Erica will you be?

Reassess

2009-06-27T11:31:00.000-05:00

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.

All Crawl

2009-06-25T10:56:00.003-05:00

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?

Pipeline

Thank You

2009-05-25T12:41:00.003-05:00

When I lived in D.C., I had a steady stream of visitors who came for the 'exclusive' tour of the White House granted to Presidential appointees and to see the history that so defines that city.I can't begin to count how many times I've walked the mall with friends or ran the 6 mile loop between the Capitol and the Lincoln Monument, yet everytime I took a moment to pause at the War Memorials, I always fought back tears.

As a child of a Vietnam Vet, who got to come home, I realize that I am fortunate that my father made it home to participate in every happy and painful aspect of the last 30 some odd years of my life.

One July 4th weekend, a teenager I had discipled at my home church in Texas came to visit me, and as we stood silently at the Korean War Memorial, she turned to me and repeated the words engraved there "freedom is not free." She paused, looked back at the plaque and told me she'd never thought of her liberties that way.

When we crossed in front of the reflecting pool to The Wall, I promised myself that this time, I would not cry. I silently followed her as she slowly walked the crescendo/decrescendo that personifies The Wall. Trailing behind her, I watched a couple further down the wall, the female, tissue paper and charcoal in hand searching for a name, she kept saying, "I can't find it, I can't find it." Then she paused, craned her head and pointed to almost the highest point of the crescendo of The Wall and her companion, possibly 6 ft. 4 in. stooped down so she could mount his shoulders.

Carefully he stood up elevating her reach as she stretched her arms over her head, placed the tissue paper on the wall and used the charcoal to rub the name onto the tissue paper. As if in reluctance, she slowly lowered her arms, gently kissed one hand and laid it back on The Wall, where the name she had just shaded onto her flimsy piece of paper was eternally etched. And she sat there, atop her companion's shoulders unmoving.

I fought back tears, ashamed I had intruded on such an intimate moment.

My teenage friend had moved on down the wall while I had watched the discovery of another loved ones name. Wiping at my tears with my t-shirt, I quietly walked down the path to stand beside her where she had stopped, tears running down her face. Without looking at me, she reached out and gently intertwined her fingers with mine. In the space between the wall and the path someone had wedged a small Texas flag. She turned to me and told me that somehow seeing the flag of our home state, made it real, made all the names real.

One afternoon, I found myself back at the wall with my parents. My mom had wanted to see it, but hadn't wanted to suggest it to dad wanting to protect the emotions he still carried from his return from Vietnam so long ago. While he read the various historical postings at the Lincoln Monument, we snuck away to see The Wall.

I was stoic. She was quiet. We walked the monument without speaking, and as we turned to return to the Lincoln Monument to join my father, my tears could be dammed no longer, for my father, who knew some of the engraved names, stood a few feet away, hand on the wall.

I know that I am fortunate that each time I walked away from that wall, I walked away without a charcoal etching of my father's name. But for those whose names are there, and whose names aren't there. I say thank you.

For those watchman on our borders at night who stand guard so that I may sleep unafraid, I say thank you.

For those who have walked roads I fear to tread so that my freedom may continue unhindered, I say thank you.

For those who have paid with their lives, the ransom for me to enjoy unhindered life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, I say thank you.

For those who leave these hallowed shores to bring the hope of "freedom" to so many oppressed peoples, on behalf of those that cannot speak, I say thank you.

Freedom is truly not free, thank you for paying what I cannot.

Holy Thursday

2009-04-09T13:18:00.002-05:00

Fan into Flame

2009-04-07T13:19:00.005-05:00

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!

Another Seat Filled at The Banqueting Table

2009-02-27T22:20:00.006-06:00

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

Window Dressing

2009-02-24T10:44:00.003-06:00

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'm Workin' on It

2009-01-15T17:57:00.001-06:00

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.

I Finished

2008-11-20T12:44:00.006-06:00

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

2008-11-04T09:02:00.001-06:00

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

Fighting my genes

2008-10-13T09:25:00.002-05:00

I come from a long line of ‘sturdy’ women. That’s my nice way of saying that as their age increases, their waist lines increase exponentially. Diabetes, high blood pressure and digestive problems are also a part of the aging package that is the female thread of my heritage.

However, I refuse to give into what has mercilessly been inscribed into my genes. I will not go gently into that larger pair of pants. I will not be okay with watching my blood sugar or taking medication for hypertension. No I say, NO!

My rage against the machine of aging and spreading is powered by four pre-dawn trips to the gym a week, where I do some type of cardio and lift weights until my muscles quiver from exhaustion. I find myself on the road or on the treadmill running long miles five afternoons a week a rogue for osteoporosis prevention.

Intermittently, I work on my weak swimming skills at the pool both to become a stronger swimmer and to shove in more cardio which in turn will release endorphins that make me feel great about myself, which also lowers my blood pressure and strengthens my heart.

I’m constantly buying magazines and books and doing research on the web to stay up to date on the latest fitness trends or American Medical Association findings related to obesity and cardiovascular fitness. The battle against my inherited bulge takes a lot of energy and time.

Likewise, I come from a long line of sinners, as far back as I can trace my lineage. All the way back to the first chapters of The Word, my ancestors have sinned. But why am I less enthused about using all that is at my disposal to counteract the spiritual aging of sin?

Not that I don’t work on walking the straight and narrow, but I’ve got to be honest and say that getting up at 4:25 AM every morning to exercise my spirit man ain’t gonna happen. I’m barely awake enough to drive myself to the gym let alone concentrate on what The Holy Spirit is working on within me. Yet, The Word says: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God.”

Since I left Austin, my cross-training workouts in what is important to God tend not to be as numerous. My excuse…well I could come up with many, too many to list here.

A couple of weeks ago, I shared with you my emergence from the darkness of depression and anxiety disorder to the light of self-assured renewal. And how that three year walk thru the pall of emotional uncertainty opened my eyes to what lies beyond the tip of my nose.

This week, I’ve challenged myself to breathe life into that realization. To go beyond myself and commit to one spiritual cross-training work-out with God. I’m not sure what it’ll be. I’ve got a great church with many opportunities for service and much need for hands to help further Kingdom causes.

I challenge you to do the same this week. Fellowship Church encourages its members to Spread the Change. Use what we’ve done as a church as a jumping off point to your pearly gates cross-training session. Or better yet, dig into your local church to find out how you can spread the change beyond the tip of your nose.

Let’s cross-train and rage against the machine of sin together.

Open Letter

2008-10-07T21:50:00.002-05:00

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)

2008-09-08T09:35:00.000-05:00

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

2008-09-05T09:34:00.007-05:00

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

2008-09-04T11:00:00.004-05:00

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!!!!

2008-08-29T12:38:00.002-05:00

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

2008-08-27T11:00:00.001-05:00

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

2008-08-21T12:52:00.002-05:00

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)

2008-08-17T22:29:00.005-05:00

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)

2008-08-16T22:37:00.001-05:00

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)

2008-08-15T20:29:00.015-05:00

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)

2008-08-13T21:28:00.000-05:00

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)

2008-08-12T23:53:00.000-05:00

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

2008-07-09T12:05:00.003-05:00

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

2008-06-15T12:47:00.006-05:00

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

St. Augustine Watch, Day 76

2008-05-31T22:57:00.009-05:00

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!

Return

2008-05-14T13:27:00.001-05:00

I have a pet roadrunner. No really, I’m serious!

The last three springs I’ve been in Dallas, he usually shows up around the beginning of May and disappears around mid-November when the temps dip closer to freezing. He hangs out around the house in the early morning and then again around dusk. During the day, he roams the neighborhood, and returns to his nest close to the side yard at dusk.

I don’t know why, but I’ve become attached to the roadrunner. I’ve been watching for him for the last couple of weeks, and I’ve been a bit concerned that maybe he had died during the winter because I hadn’t seen him.

Yesterday as I drove the last 100 yards to my driveway, WHOOSH the roadrunner ran in front of my car! He’s back! He’s returned!!!

I honestly wanted to slam on the brakes, jump out of my car and run after him and hug him and tell him “welcome back, welcome home!”…but I didn’t, only because he can run considerably faster than me, and Tuesdays are not my day to be a ‘spectacle’ for my neighbors to mine their entertainment from.

My excitement to see the roadrunner indeed had returned for another season got me thinking about how God must feel when one of His lost returns home.

Outside of my block of the neighborhood, no one is aware that that roadrunner exists. And I’m quite comfortable in saying that no one is as happy as me to see his return. I’m sure no one has held such a diligent vigil in anticipation of his return as I have, peeping out my windows checking the top of my car and the deck every evening around dusk.

I started thinking about the millions of people who think that God doesn’t care about what they do or where they are.

I wish they could feel just a pinch of the excitement I felt when I saw the roadrunner. Then maybe they’d understand on a small scale what their Creator is feeling on a magnanimous scale when he thinks about them.

I wish they could’ve held vigil with me over the last two weeks searching for something, like them, that has no idea that it had been missed. Then possibly they’d know the anticipation their Father has felt for as long as they’ve drawn breath. The vigil he’s posted for them and them alone since the beginning of time.

The dogged vigilance of my “roadrunner watch” over the past couple of weeks is an anemic parallel to the perverse tenacity the Creator has exhibited in his bid to draw each of us believer and non, to the calming certainty of an eternal relationship with him.

Think of it, every time someone lets go, capitulating their reins to Abba, every time they drop their arms, standing aside, to allow the towers they’ve built to topple, every time they trade in their aspirations, their castles in the air for a concrete foundation of truth, every time they return, I betcha God slams both feet on the brakes, stops whatever he’s doing and runs after them giddy with excitement to welcome them home. And I feel pretty safe in saying that creating a spectacle is not on his list of concerns!

Yup, all that from a roadrunner!

Our Deepest Fear

2008-05-05T09:49:00.002-05:00

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brill ant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God
You're playing small does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
Its not just in some of us; Its in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we're liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.
-Marianne Williamson

What Lies Beneath

2008-04-22T15:01:00.005-05:00

I'm a pretty fastidious individual when it comes to keeping a clean house.

I pick up the house before I head to bed every night, make sure the floors are swept/vacuumed and the bathroom is kept clean.

I'm a bit obsessive about keeping a clean/empty sink in the kitchen (the dishwasher is the most used appliance in my house) and I truly believe that the folks in R&D at Proctor & Gamble who created the Swiffer line should be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in Science for the amazing stuff they put on the shelves at Target.

If you were to walk in my humble abode right now, you'd be greeted by a pleasant aroma of my clean home, afforded by the many odoriferous cleaning agents I use and the hundreds of plug-ins scattered around the house (an empty outlet is a cardinal sin)

BUT...

Today, the Orkin man is coming. He's coming to do his monthly treatment and check for termites.

You would think that someone REALLY important was expected at my homestead, because I've been in a frenzy pulling out furniture, vacuuming behind it, cleaning under sinks, cleaning out closets, using the crevice tool, wiping off baseboards, and the list goes on and on and on...

Why the frenzy? Because the Orkin man goes where no one else goes. He goes to those deep dark recesses of my house. He sees the dust balls and crud pileup in those hard to reach places that even I refuse to see 99.9% of the time, my deepest, darkest, cruddiest, ickiest, dirtiest corners....

That got me to thinking.

When you look at me, you see a runner who's obsessed with eating 'clean' foods and getting at least a gallon of fluid in my system everyday. Taking care of myself physically and presenting a "put together" individual is important to me.

Going to the gym three times a week is like unto what purgatory would be if it existed, but I do it anyway. For the most part, I try to get at least seven hours of rest and do more reading than watching television and have become a freakishly-addicted player of Sudoku in an effort to "exercise" my mind.

So when you step back and take a birds eye view of me, you see the clean house with vanilla plug-ins filling every empty socket. Beds made, kitchen and bathrooms clean, you see a facade of tidiness.

But daily, when Christ looks in the deepest recesses of my house, my heart...

...I've gotta go, I've got some corners to clean....

Never Meant to Last Forever

2008-04-16T07:49:00.008-05:00

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

2008-03-14T15:53:00.001-05:00

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

I voted

2008-03-04T13:20:00.004-06:00

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...

...confessions...

2007-10-02T19:04:00.001-05:00

It has been said that “confession is good for the soul.” Well, I need to confess. Now wait, wait, wait, before you grab your phone and start the prayer chain going, spreading the news across The upper 48 that Novia needs a soul-revival, hear me out. I’m set, my soul has been bought and paid for, she (my soul that is) has her bags packed, and her oil lamps filled (with some oil in reserve of course) and she’s waiting at the window for her bridegroom to come sweep her off her feet and take her to his castle in Canaan. So don’t you fret about my soul! I’m re2go!

Let’s just look at this exercise as upkeep for the soul. Like a trip to the dentist twice a year. Get the picture? Good, now let’s move on to my confession.

I find great joy in sprinkling acephate (Ortho Fire Ant Killer) over ant mounds and watching the ants tripping over each other fighting to get out of the mound by the thousands.

There I said it! I find GREAT pleasure in DEATH!!!!!!!!! Death to red ants that bite me. Painful, horrible, suffocating death to red microscopic beasts that make ugly hills in my newly planted St. Augustine.

Yes, I said it! I sprinkle that Ortho Red Ant Killer on the mound and if I bend over far enough, I can hear the agonized screams of those vermin “FORGET YOUR BELONGINGS, SAVE THE QUEEN, SAVE THE QUEEN FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE THE QUEEN!!!!!”

BWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA is my response to their feeble laments. Teach you to build your den of iniquity in my yard. Long live the queen? NO! I say NO!!!!! LONG LIVE ORTHO FIRE ANT KILLER! HOOORAH!

Friday Night Lights -- Blinded Me Tonight

2007-09-21T23:00:00.001-05:00

I really don't mind being a football widow. Sure, it took a little getting used to, but after a while, it becomes old hat. It's all kinds of great to stand in the stands cheering every Friday night. It's a bit frustrating to know the inside scoop of what's going right and what's going wrong with the team, but it comes with the territory.

Every Friday night I look forward to the games. I look forward to the excitement of the crowd and my three cheering buddies. What I don't look forward to is the nail biting that comes with the territory. I don't look forward to those nights like tonight when I lose all words and stand shocked as I watch the clock run down to triple zeros and in a daze stare at the score board which tells me that my team is no longer 3-0. No, they have managed despite my yelling and screaming plays, to gain their first loss. So close to winning, so close. But close to winning tonight means second place, and second place means we didn't win.

This is the part that breaks me. That throws me. I don't show up every Friday braving the heat, allowing the heavy humidity to have its way with my hair to cheer on a group of high school kids who run up and down a field, playing keep away. I show up every Friday because someone I love stands on the sideline instructing those kids, encouraging them, nudging them to mine from deep within themselves strength and endurance to finish what they started. I cheer for him. Now that he has suffered his first loss of the season. A loss that was so close, that it was almost a win, I hurt for him.

I know, I know, it's just the beginning of the season. It's only one loss. The team will bounce back.

I know all of this, however, that doesn't make the the next few hours an iota easier.

I remember losses from past seasons, They weren't like this one. It was almost as if those kids knew they could win, they were convinced, then someone ripped away from them that certainty. A sad thing to be a part of.

I pick up the pieces and will wait until the wee hours of tonight, until he walks in his front door. I'll give him a hug and let him know that come rain or shine, humidity or drought, big win or little loss, I'll still be there cheering for him.

(That's if I ever get my voice back from all the hollerin' I did tonight!)

Summer....BLAH

2007-07-22T14:17:00.001-05:00

Alas summer is in full swing here in happy hollow. I'm not the fan of summer, but I'll suffer thru and eventually summer will pass and my favorite season, Autumn, will be upon us.

I've run out of tolerance for those bugs that make those loud sounds all the time, the spiders that seem to have multiplied by a billion since last summer, and think it's funny to make their webs wherever I might walk. I've grown weary of humidity that takes advantage of the 20 seconds it takes me to walk from my house to the car in the morning to take a very cute hairstyle and make it into something akin to a drowned rat.

There was a time when I enjoyed summer...okay, no wait, I think that's the heat getting to me because the only thing I ever liked about summer is the invention of the air conditioner.

But now, it's the end of July and all of a sudden I look up and Ron and his players will start two-a-days in a week, which inevitably means the end of this wretched season (for all those that live north of the Red River that is). Summer here in TX will hold on kicking and screaming until at least the end of October. There's no such thing as Indian summers here!

Not that I dislike this awesome state, I'm just tired of summer. I mean hey, I'm already brown what do I need a tan for? Why do I need to lay out? I mean no really, darker colors attract more heat then lighter colors do. I'll leave that sun-worshipping nonsense to you my lighter brothas from another motha. In the meantime, I'll be the happy brown face waving at you from the other side (the air-conditioned side that is) of the window!

Come quickly autumn.......oh please come quickly!

Please oh please will someone vacuum out my chest??

2007-04-11T14:16:00.001-05:00

So there I am, going through my day yesterday, minding my own when somewhere along the way, I came across someone who was carrying the virus o' death virus.

Last night as I was laying in bed reading a book, my nose began to run, and then I started to sneeze, again and again and again. I blew it off as slight allergies I had picked up from working in the yard yesterday afternoon. But NOOOOOOO the virus o' death was not to be denied!!!

In the middle of the night, my dripping nose drove me to sticking rolled up kleenex up my nose in order to sleep.

By this morning, a nice hacking cough had taken up residence in my lungs. By noon, my right ear was clogged, my head was hurting and I had set up a triage tent around my bed.

Sometime around 2:00 I woke up sweating with a fever. Woo-Hoo! It's a freakin' pa-har-tay in my body! Who in the world gets this sick this quickly?

Watch out whoever you are, you evil carrier of the virus o' death, I will be vindicated!!! I will hunt you down and dunk you in a bucket of blistering disinfectant, if it's the last thing I do!!!

Don't let my lack of energy and these cold chills/hot flashes that have caused my covers to be a tangle of multi-colored material, lull you into a false sense of security. As soon as I can hear out of my right ear again, I'm coming for ya. BE AFRAID!!! BE VERILY VERILY AFRAID!!!!!!

...until then, anyone got a vacuum that'll suck this crap outtah my lungs, my ears and my head???

...could someone go get me a slushee from Sonic, I'm sure it'll make my throat feel better and help break the fevah...

never mind, I'm going back to sleep

And still I rise...

2007-03-24T14:13:00.001-05:00

In 2000 I began training to run my first marathon. 8 weeks away from the starting pistol, I was sidelined with a second degree anterior tibial tendon strain (that means the tendon was extremely inflamed and I was put in a walking cast for six weeks. Relegated to watch the marathon from the sidelines, I resigned myself to getting better and pocketed the dream of 26.2 miles.

In 2001, I ran my first half marathon to subsequently be followed by two more 1/2 marathons in 2002 and 2003. In the Spring of 2003 I was selected in the lottery to run the Marine Corps Marathon. I was STOKED.

I began training and was faithful to that training even through the sticky hot summer that plagued the East Coast that year. I was consistent, healthy and strong.

On a Saturday in late September, one month away from the marathon, I rose at my usual time of 4:00 AM to begin my long run. That morning it was 20 miles. A little less than 4 hours later, I sat at the finish line of my 20-mile run in tears and pain, realizing that deep in my heart, I knew I couldn't make it through the 26.2 miles. Mentally, I hit a wall that would prove to be my undoing. When the starters pistol was fired early on a November morning for those runners to begin the famed 26.2 miles that would end at the foot of the Iwo Jima memorial, I was burrowed deep down under my covers in Fairfax, VA lamenting over that wall I had run into.

Fast forward three and a half years, I'm back in Texas, my three years on the East Coast a pleasant yet distant memory. But the spirit of the all mighty 26.2 mile run still haunting me.

Today, I took the first tentative steps towards exorcising that spirit and running down the demons that have over the last two and a half years transformed me from an avid distance runner to an avid hater of all things running, I hired a running coach.

As I huffed and puffed my way around the 1/4 mile track at the Cooper Clinic this afternoon, I began to shake the spirit of doubt. As my new coach yelled encouragement and instruction (to fix my form and footfall cadence) I realized that however long this journey will be, whatever paths I must take to make the dream a reality, whatever I must endure, this time, THIS TIME, the journey will end at the finish line of White Rock.

See you there in December!