Independence

Solo is not a vocabulary word that I use a lot.
In fact, I've done very little on my own over the past 37 years.
I've lived in 13 different houses/apartments with a total of 22 people who were either roommates or family members.
I lived alone for a mere two years.
But it really didn't count because I was approximately three miles away from my parents' house.

You get the idea, right? Independence is not my thing. I'm a pack animal.
I approach my running the same way.
Until lately.
The Tortugas (pictured above) have kept me running the past three years.
Then one moved to Denver. Then there were two.
Lately, those two have had a tough time meshing their schedules. Bummer.

I panicked the first time I headed out for a long run ON MY OWN.
(Have I mentioned that one is a lonely number?)
But then, surprisingly enough, I did it.
Seven miles alone.
The next week, I ran eight.
This weekend, I will embark on my third consecutive solo long run.
If I survive the NC hills of this weekend's run without my faithful companions, I will consider myself independent.
(Girls, don't get the wrong idea. I miss you desperately. But what a good feeling to know that when push comes to shove, I can do it by myself.)


Butterbean is sowing her independent oats lately, as well. This past weekend Geoff went outside to water the flowers in the front yard. Who peeps around the corner of the house?
"The Curly Wonder"
Apparently, she discovered how to unlock the front doors. . . SOLO!

The Patriarch

Tonight while running a three miler, I ran past two older gentlemen shooting the breeze in my neighborhood. As I approached them, I smiled at the easy way they talked and laughed while petting the adorable puppy that one of them was walking.
I bowed my head in greeting as I ran past them huffing and puffing. One of them must have been wearing cologne or vintage soap because the smell that overwhelmed me was the scent of my Great Grandaddy Sam.
I was immediately filled with the memories of the years with the wonderfully sweet soul that was my mother's paternal grandfather. . .

He constantly collected dimes, so that when each grandchild and great-grandchild was born, he could give them a five dollar roll.

He visited the "old folks" at the nursing home at the young age of ninety.

He would sit and talk for hours all while patting his hands softly on the arm of the leather chair in which he sat.

And he was the kindest man that I believe I have ever known.
One to truly be admired.

When I turned twenty-one, my mom asked me to come home and celebrate my birthday with him. Our birthdays were a mere three days and seventy years apart.
I remember pouting because I wanted to stay in Athens and "party" with all of my friends.
My mother said softly, "One day you'll be grateful that you came home for this."

She was right.

Based on my hair color, I am twenty-two and Grandaddy Sam is ninety-two in this photo.

Why?

Annika is currently in that infamous stage of asking "Why?" about a zillion times a day.

I keep reminding myself that this is an important phase in her cognitive development. It's going to improve her reasoning, vocabulary, and allover intelligence, right?

Most of the time. . . yes.

And, let's face it, sometimes she's just trying to annoy me.

It's human nature to ask, "Why?" We like resolution in our lives. Have you ever been watching a fabulous made-for-television movie and had the power go out? Or had a call drop just before a friend was about to tel you some interesting news?

Exasperating, huh?

As a believer, I've always grappled with the question "why?"

Why do small children get terminal cancer?

Why do some people who desperately want children never conceive?

Why do countless humans suffer from starvation, illness, poverty?

Why does a woman lose her husband on their honeymoon when he falls to his death in the Grand Canyon?

Yet, these kinds of things happen every moment of every day.

Yesterday our neighborhood was hit with tragedy, and we all found ourselves asking,

"Why?"

once again.

Why would a loving father/husband/friend/neighbor/church member choose to take his own life?

We'll never know any of the answers to the above questions. At least, not in this life.

But, rest assured, we are being Held.

Crash Course

In April 2006, I walked away from this.
It's a long story that involved hydroplaning across five lanes of traffic on an interstate and landing untouched in the emergency lane. Only to be hit moments later by a truck driving approximately 60 miles per hour while I was on the phone with my husband.

The major point, again, being I walked away.
ALIVE and WELL.

Last Sunday, Pastor Heather, preached on how God recycles. Though he does not cause the trash in our lives, he re-purposes them into something useful.
The moment above is a great example of this.

After flying in an uncontrollable car across five lanes of traffic and landing safely, I had a few moments to revel in the miracle that had just occurred. I thanked God and then picked up the phone to call my husband because I was shaking uncontrollably.

While on the phone, a second accident happened to me-the truck mentioned above slammed into my car, which held me. Geoff's whole car, a Ford Focus, collapsed around me. The windshields both exploded upon impact, but the airbag didn't deploy.
Though I was transferred to the hospital on a backboard, I came home hours later with some small cuts on my face, some back and neck pain, and a large bruise where my leg was pinned between my seat and the door.

Home.

I am certain that this accident was NOT caused by God. But I know without a doubt, that he re-purposed this moment and used it in my life.
I knew (and know) that I had more to give, more to love, more to write, more to try,
more to share,
more to do.

I've tried to remind myself of that every day since.

Wedding photos

Well, it's official. Butterbean is obsessed with weddings. Brides, veils, flowers, The Wedding March, and the first dance.
Princess Ariel and Prince Eric are the key players in this drama.
Guess which one I have to play?

Tempo Schlempo

I attempted to run my first tempo run last night. Admittedly, I had to actually look up the definition when I saw it on my training schedule. I almost collapsed during the last third, but iTunes and the thought of Butterbean saying, "Run to the beat, Mommy!" spurred me on.

As many of you know, I haven't always been a runner. I half-heartedly ran on my high school's Cross-Country team. Then I didn't run for years. After being certified as a step aerobics (Please don't try to picture this!) instructor in 1998, I picked up running as a form of cross training.

Then I randomly signed up for a half-marthon in 2001 with my then roommate, Amy. We gave it our best shot at the Runner's World Half-Marathon in Allentown, PA. I loved the feeling of pride after completing the race, but then I let my running shoes gather dust in my closet for a few years. I did a few 5ks and even a Peachtree thrown in every couple of years, but I definitely wasn't serious about running as a form of exercise or enjoyment.

I caught the bug again while fighting the side effects of infertility in 2006. In case you don't know these side effects include, but aren't limited to: fear, depression, a total lack of control, weight issues, and personality highs and lows.

Since I could not control conception, I focused on reaching a goal that I had control over. . . the Inaugural ING Atlanta Half-Marathon. I began my training on January 1, 2007.

Unbeknownst to me, I became pregnant just a few weeks later. When I discovered that we were going to have a child, I was overcome with joy. I spoke with my doctor about the perils of running during pregnancy, and she assured me that if I listened to my body, I would be fine.

Well, I ran that half-marathon with my beloved Tortugas (pictured below before another race) while I was 11.5 weeks pregnant. I let them in on my secret the day before the race, so they could help me out if there were any complications.

I finished that race through major pain in my shin from mile seven to mile 13.1. Unfortunately, I was diagnosed with a stress fracture the next day. My running shoes went back to the closet until 2008.

Fast forward to today. Now I have multiple 5ks and 10ks under my belt, four half-marathons, and one marathon.

Now I need more.
I need to challenge myself to PR at the Denver Half in October.
Here goes nothing.

An old friend: A sermon revisited

I'm not sure that pain can become a friend, but faith and hope are often developed during painful times.
Faith and Hope? Well, they are definitely friends of mine. We got to know each other very well during my first bout with infertility. They are loyal, committed, loving, and sometimes even funny. We've been hanging out a lot together lately. It seems I really need them around these days.

This is a sermon that I preached (Yes! From an actual pulpit!) after establishing my kinship with Faith and Hope and rekindling my reliance on God and His Sovereignty.

*This post will officially be my longest, but go ahead and try to summarize 18 months of your life-it's tough! Please forgive the summary of Job's life, but he has an entire book in the Bible; read it if you need to know more.

Thank you notes to God
March 8, 2009
Martha Brown United Methodist Church

Scripture Reading:
1 Thessalonians 5 16-18 Be joyful always, pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
Have you ever given a gift to someone and seen their face fall because it wasn’t what they asked for? I imagine that God feels this pain all of the time.
I’ve never been too good with thank you notes. I’m sure that my mother raised me to write them, but I’ve just never been that good with the follow-through.
Recently, I heard from a couple, Jason and Anna, about the bowls I gave them for their wedding approximately ten years ago. I doubt that these bowls were on their wedding registry. I’m guessing that when they opened that gift, they were probably disappointed to find that it wasn’t the china pattern they asked for, or the bath towels embellished with their new monogram. Their response was probably, “Oh, wow, bowls.” I feel sure that they thanked me for the gift at the time, probably saying how it was a great gift and that they would use often. But now, that gift of bowls has become something they use on a weekly basis. They have been durable and functional gifts. Anna and Jason seem to truly appreciate those bowls.
So I started thinking about how much more sincere a thank-you note would be after you learned to appreciate the gift that was given to you.

Story of Job
Job was a very wealthy man. He had land, farm animals, a wife, children, and extended family.
Satan asks God if Job fears anything. God says that Job is a blameless and upright believer.
Satan challenges that it is because God had blessed him significantly. Satan tells God that if Job loses everything, he would probably curse God to His face. Satan takes EVERYTHING-his land, farm animals, wife, children, grandchildren, servants, all of it.
Job responds to this devastation by saying, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” Satan dares God again that if Job’s actual flesh is affected, then he will begin to curse God. Satan does this to Job. He covers his body with oozing painful sores. In fact, the Bible says that it was so painful that Job took broken clay pots and scraped at the sores. After many hours and days of discomfort, Job eventually curses the day he was born. Job begs God to alleviate his suffering and pain, but seemingly, God doesn’t answer. The Book of Job goes on to describe a discussion between Job and two other men regarding his tribulations. Eventually Job is healed, and all of his wealth is returned. He is blessed beyond belief with a new family and anything he could ever want. In the last chapter, after his many trials, Job offers up a thank-you note to God.
Job 42: 2-5
I know that you can do all things. No plan of yours can be thwarted. You asked, “Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?” Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.
You said, “Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me. My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you.

I’m certainly not comparing myself to Job, but I have some experience in asking God for things and not receiving them. We all have wish lists that we offer up to God. We may not write it out and put it in the mailbox, but we definitely know what we want, right?
Over the course of my life, I’ve wanted a lot.
When I was little, I wanted rain boots and a coat to match.
I wanted to live in a neighborhood with lots of kids around instead of on a rural farm.
I wanted to go to the University of Georgia even though my dad wanted me at Jacksonville State.
I wanted a teaching job.
I wanted a husband.
The list goes on and on.
Some of these things I received from God, and some of them I didn’t.

Well, in August of 2005, I decided that I wanted a child. Geoff and I were looking forward to beginning a family right here in East Atlanta Village.
I lifted this request to heaven and asked God to grant it.
The following months brought disappointment. It seemed that God didn’t add this gift to my list. So I made a big point to be very straightforward with Him. I reminded Him that I always wanted to be a mother. I even threw in a few reminders to Him that I would certainly commit the baby to His care as soon as he or she arrived.
God must have said no, because the following months brought even more heartache.
After a year, the heartache turned to despair, frustration, and anger. While I was thrilled for those friends and acquaintances around me who were being blessed by babies, I was angry with God for not granting me the same.
It was during this time, that as Martha Brown United Methodist’s children’s council chairperson, I was asked to help prepare a nursery for the church. No one at Martha Brown knew of my ungranted gift. I agreed with a smile on my face, but when I got home, I fell to my knees in tears to ask God why He would ask this of me in the middle of this anguish that I was feeling. He told me to push forward, but I was not thankful. In fact, I was angry and distraught.
By December of 2006, I was not a fun person to live with. (Too bad my husband, Geoff, left for Puerto Rico this morning and can’t chime in with specific examples. I’m sure he has plenty!) All of my prayers were about having a child. I found it more and more difficult to be thankful to God for all of the gifts he HAD blessed me with over the last year and a few months. After a particularly big emotional explosion, I saw my reflection in a mirror, and I realized who I had become, and I wasn’t pleased. I fell to my knees once again, this time to beg for forgiveness for being oblivious to the many blessings around me.
God assured me that night of His forgiveness, and He threw it into the Sea of Forgotten sins. I began to focus on the joys in my life-my family, my friends, my job, my 5th grade coworkers, my church family, and my wonderfully humorous, loving, forgiving, husband. I also began training for a half-marathon in January of 2007 in order to give myself a goal on which to focus.
At that point, I changed from a someone who spewed a lot of rhetoric about trusting in God to a woman who was simply trusting God, as my Father who loved me and intended to bless me with the gifts from His list, not mine.
In the beginning of February, Martha Brown dedicated the Firefly Nursery that I had helped put together. I had tears in my eyes that morning, but I was happy and content with the life that God had given me.
Two days later, on February 13th, I found out that Geoff and I were expecting Baby Butterbean. The first thing I did? I fell to my knees in tears, once again, and thanked God first and foremost for the lessons he had taught me over the previous 18 months. Then, of course, I thanked Him for that precious tiny baby and I woke up my sleeping husband.
A few days later, we held our Ash Wednesday service here at Martha Brown. That night, David Collins, our pastor, passed out index cards, on which to write what was on our hearts.
This is the actual thank-you note I wrote to God on that night:
2-21-07
Thank you, Father, for the faith and hope that you have been building within me over the past eighteen months. I am so grateful for the journey that I have taken with you. Forgive me for doubting your plans for me. Please use me as a witness. Help me communicate with others. Give others the same hope and strength that You granted me with. Thank you for my loving and humorous husband and my supportive family. Thank You!

There are thank-you notes at the end of your pews. Please take one and pass them on. We will have a few moments to write a thank-you note to God if you are so moved.

Then, during the Hymn of Invitation, please feel free to bring your note to the altar if you’d like and someone will pray over them after the service.