Tri Hard Win Big

I am a triathlete.  I'm a weekend warrior with aspirations.  I love the sport of triathlon because it is a metaphor for life.  I believe if you try hard at something, then you win big...in so many ways other than just a top finish in a contest.  The definition of Triathlon is an athletic contest in which an athlete competes in three different events: swimming, cycling, and running.  From tri  meaning three and the Greek Athlon meaning contest.  Some say it's grueling, crazy, cultish, liberating, tough, invigorating, but I think most, if not all would agree, that once attempted it changes you and your outlook on life and the way you approach your life's course.

You might say I was a triathlete before triathlons were mainstream.  Well, as a kid in the 70's, my three favorite things to do were swim, bike, and run.  We lived in the city and we had a little pool in our postage stamp sized backyard.  My brother and I would get up in the mornings and swim "laps".  I use that term, liberally because in essence we swam circles around the perimeter of the little galvanized tank we called a pool.  We would swim until a whirlpool formed, or we were so dizzy we were on the verge of puking, and then let the current carry us around.  Once the waters stilled we would start the cycle over in the opposite direction.  At some point my mother realized that we could probably benefit from a larger pool and learning to swim in a straight line, so she enrolled us in swim lessons at the YWCA.  She would take us everyday, whether it was a lesson day or not, just so that we could get our swim fix.  It was here I learned that the only person I really need to compete against was myself and the competition was endless.

Another love back then was running.  I would run everywhere.  To the store, to my friend's house, around the block; walking was just too slow for me. I ran barefoot, in sandals, in my cheap knock-off brand of tennis shoes, it did not matter, I just ran.  We did not have a lot of money, so there were no organized sports for me.  Since running was free and could be done anywhere, it became something I focused on.  I created my own competitions, sometimes enlisting my brother and the other boys in the neighborhood and sometimes just with myself.  I use to run a mile everyday, just to see how much faster I could run it.  Once again, it was me against myself.

And then there was cycling. I lived on my bike....my (what seemed like 300 pound) Huffy counterfeit from Western Auto.  It didn't matter that it was heavy, it had 10 speeds and it was my freedom, my wheels, my way off of the little city block on which I resided.  New horizons were awaiting.  There were miles to ride and hours to do it in.  So much to see and so many places to go. Back then you could leave your house in the morning and go anywhere you wanted without fear...fear of being run over by a texting driver, or fear of being kidnapped...and the only requirements were to check in once in a while and be home by the time the street lights came on.  Summer days provided an abundance of hours to build endurance and proficiency in the saddle.

I guess it was back there in my youth the foundation was set.  I had been training and preparing myself for a sport I really didn't know existed...until one Saturday afternoon in 1980.  I remember tuning into my favorite show, ABC's Wide World of Sports.  There was a new sporting event being televised and it was called The Ironman. I remember being glued to the tv set watching the athletes soldier through the elements and torturous and seemingly unending course.  These athletes were swimming, biking, running, all in the same event!  My little teenaged heart swelled and I thought, "someday I'm going to do that!"

Fast forward to 1990, I'm  25 years old, in the routine of my career life and the only swimming, biking, and running I was doing was sporadic and leisurely at best.  One day my soon to be sister-in-law told me about a local YMCA indoor sprint distance triathlon that was coming up.  Suddenly the voice of the young girl that loved swimming, biking, and running, rose up from within and compelled me to sign up for the race.  I decided I could try it with less than a month of training, how hard could it be?  Let me tell you, while I was not in top aerobic shape, I realized the real obstacle was not necessarily better training...I could push myself physically; no the real obstacle was mental.  I had not foreseen the tediousness and boredom of swimming laps in a pool for 500 yards (seemed like an eternity to me by that age and lack of fitness), riding a stationary bike for 12 miles, and running circles, 55 laps to be exact, on an elevated running track around the Y's gymnasium, until I reached my 3.1 miles.  At least all those circles I swam as a kid helped me from becoming a dizzy mess on that running track.  But after I completed that last lap and crossed the finish line my life was changed.  I learned so much about myself that day and what it means to push yourself mentally and physically.  And I realized that if I could hone that skill, it would be useful in all aspects of life, not just in sporting events, but the real hard events...those that life signs you up for without any notice or any chance to train.  And thus my love affair with triathlon was sealed.

Now let's fast forward again to 2016, I'm 51.  I have 4 children who have grown up on me.  Two are in college and two are finishing up high school.  I am coming to grips with the looming empty nest and the obsolescence of my mothering skill set (see What to Expect When You Are Letting Go if you want to read more on that subject).  I've been facing one of the most arduous and emotionally difficult hills on my course.  Some would call it a mid-life crisis, but I prefer to think of it as finding my new purpose and passion.  I've been searching, studying, seeking my new course and lo and behold, what has presented itself to me, once again, as a way conquer the obstacles that life has to offer?  Triathlon!  

About a month ago, my husband sent me an email with just a link, no explanation or anything.  The link took me to one of the world's finest female athletes, 4x Ironman Champion Leanda Cave's new Team LC's website (see Team LC).  She was seeking two elite women triathletes, and 14 amateur and age group women triathletes to be ambassadors for her foundation.  They would encompass Team LC and compete in races and build a community of active women.  All with the goal of encouraging and empowering women through the sport of triathlon.  



World Champion Leanda Cave

When I read over website and the application, my heart began to beat fast and I was so thrilled at this prospect. To be a part of an organization that seeks to encourage women and empower them to be active and strong was right up my alley.   After all encouraging others is a priority to me. Such a small effort can make all the difference in another's life.  There are so many circumstances that can tear down a person in any given day, and to be able to uplift with a kind word, gesture, or to come alongside and help carry the burden is one of the greatest joys in life...not only does it empower the givee, but also the giver.  And so too it goes with physical fitness.  Fitness is a huge part of my life. I believe by participating in athletics, you learn a lot about yourself and it's a catalyst for growth.  You learn to dig deep, to accept disappointment and rise above, to be strong in body, mind, and spirit.  Exercise and competing helps clear the cobwebs from a tired mind, gets the blood flowing to better health and vitality, and gets those creative juices flowing.  You see your body for the beautiful gift of power and promise that it is.  It does amazing feats and carries you to endless heights and it's something that needs to be cherished and cared for.  Those are the concepts that I want women to realize about themselves...to see themselves as strong, capable, and beautiful. To see each other as teammates and comrades in this tiresome and difficult sport of life. To forget about what the culture promotes amongst women...insecurity, jealousy, comparison and a completely unrealistic and unhealthy definition of beauty.....photo-shopped lies. 

But then the voice of self-doubt began to chatter in my mind and I had a million and one reasons why I was not good enough to ever be considered, much less selected.  After all, I'm an age grouper who has competed in a few sprint triathlons with lofty dreams of a 70.3 Iron Man in my future.  I'm a full time mother, who has to exercise around everyone else's schedule.  I have old knees that hurt and a quirky spine condition.  What do I have to offer?  The litany went on for quite a while, but then that young girl's voice began to whisper and it became louder and louder until I heard it...that same voice that overcame the taunts of the boys, the voice that said you can run as fast as those boys, you can throw the ball as good or better than they can, you can run that last mile, can lift that heavy weight, you can do anything you set your mind too, even fill out an application to become an ambassador for women everywhere.  Suddenly, every circle lap I had swum in my backyard pool, every mile I had ever run, every hill I had ever climbed on my 300 pound Huffy knock-off, every middle of the pack finish in the sprint races I had completed had purpose and meaning and they were all leading me to this jumping off place.  So I completed the application and pressed SEND, with a prayer, crossed fingers, and a resolve that even if I would likely never be selected, out of the hundreds of other applications, I tried! I did it! I overcame! 

Then one day, weeks later, I was having one of those days where you think it really can't get any worse, but it does.  One of those days where you go off alone to lick your wounds, because if you don't you will snap and unleash your fury on every innocent bystander in your path.  It was one of those days and I had walked circles around my favorite park until the sun set....going in circles again.  I'm detecting a pattern here.  I got in my car and checked my phone, trying to prolong the inevitable of returning home to try and carry on with a stiff upper lip.  I checked Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, text messages, voicemails, the light was quickly fading and I was in danger of breaking the sunrise/sunset park law.  Wouldn't that be a fine capper, to get a ticket from the park ranger as he was making his last rounds to run off errant park goers?!  So with reckless defiance, I decided to check my email before starting the car.  And right there on the top of the list in my inbox was an email from a man named Lou.  Truth be told I almost deleted it because I did not recognize the name.  But thankfully, I opened it and read these amazing words, "Dear Deanna, Congratulations! You have being selected as one of our fourteen Team LC Ambassadors!

I read it and re-read it four times and then I began to cry.  The day's oppression released.  It was like I had received an affirmation...that all that I believe about being a strong woman overcoming the negative voices and obstacles that life throws is true; that giving up is not the best option.  That engaging in sport is vital and empowering for women, because participating in athletics (no matter the level) unites us and creates a common bond of camaraderie in strength and knowing.  And finally, it buoyed that bubble of hope that starts deep within that says, even though I'm not the best of the best and am a work in progress, I have something to contribute and there are others out there that believe that about me. Truth is, we all are not gifted to be elite athletes, but we all are gifted to be the best self.  And that best self can offer encouragement and inspiration to another who is trying to become their best self.

I noted earlier that triathlon is a metaphor for life.  There are different aspects that must be faced and must be overcome while finishing the course laid out for you.  Life just as triathlon has rough waters that will crash over you...like the grief experienced when losing a loved one...and you can let it wash you away or you can swim through it. In your race, your swim may not be pretty, you may be flailing and get knocked by others who are battling through their own course, but if you focus on the things you can control, like your breathing, or your form, the fear subsides and sooner rather than later you are out of the water.  Training teaches that perseverance.

Once you clear the water you may find a stretch of flat highway where you can cruise along.  Life is good, all your preparation has paid off, only then to round the bend and come upon the hills of life....like those you encounter in raising children or an battling an illness....the daunting hills, the glorious summits, and the terrifying descents, all discouraging, invigorating, and harrowing, in their own right.  But you chip away, dig deep, grind on up, get out of the saddle, change gears till you reach the summit.  There you enjoy the view from the top and experience satisfaction of overcoming, however fleeting. 

 Because you will soon find yourself on the downhill slope where you hang on and pedal furiously. The euphoria you felt a bit ago has now turned to a white-knuckled grip, as you sail downhill on treacherously thin tire treads.  Ironically, it's embracing and pedaling through the fear  that is the very thing that powers you up the next uphill struggle.  Each part of the hill has benefit.

Finally, when you think you may not be able to pedal another mile, you find yourself on the run.  Legs like rubbery blocks, rebelling with each punishing pounce.  You know the end is just close enough to taunt you.  This is where your real mettle is put to the test.   How easy would it be to just quit, give up...like when you hit a rough patch in your marriage or you have a difficult job situation.....your mind says things like what is this all for?  What will be proven by this?  I'm not really happy right now.  This is not fun!  There's no harm, no foul, if you just walk off the course, right? 

But this is where you decide who will be the victor, your heart or your mind.  The heart wants to soar above the heights, to feel the joy of a job well done, to cross the finish line and fight the good fight.  The mind is bored and restless and filled with all the detritus of self doubt and insecurity.  It allows all those negative voices to crowd in and tell you all the reasons why it's best to give up.  And just when it seems that those voices may elevate to a place higher than the cries of the heart, the finish line appears.  The crowd is cheering, the end is in sight, the body is on autopilot, and the heartbeat swells into a thunderous roar, drowning the voices of the mind.  And as you cross the finish line it occurs to you...."I tried hard and I won big!"  Doesn't matter what place you came in, doesn't matter how long it took, because as your foot crosses that line you realize you won:  heart over mind, finish over quitting, pride over pain, substance over circumstance. 

In life, I have found there is a lot of swimming and running in circles, seemingly endless efforts, but nothing could be further from the truth.  They actually come full circle, for that is where you develop patience, performance, and  purpose.  That is where you sharpened the skills needed to meet and overcome the obstacles you will face. The word Triathlon means three contests.  The word Try means to put forth effort.  The word Win means to be victorious in a contest. In my way of thinking, not giving up, but trying any contest, be it an athletic competition or facing life's obstacles head on is a win, a success, and an achievement to be proud of. It's never too late to get your body moving.  Start small and aim high.  Even the greats had to crawl before they could walk. So why not get out there and Tri Hard...Win Big!

What to Expect When You are Letting Go

One day I woke up to find myself in a dry, foreign, and lonely land.  Just as the early pioneers must have felt as they trundled west in search of freedom and prosperity clinging to the promise of creating the new life they had always dreamed of.  The notion of those dreams being enough to embolden them to leave family and friends, to trade the known and predictable for the unknown and unpredictable, and journey hundreds, even thousands of miles in search of this life.  They braved thieving outlaws, hostile Indians, and treacherous terrain….all fueled by that dream.  I am a mother and I now find myself in this parched place but oddly, I am not in complete defeat and despair.  For on the horizon a glimmer of hope crackles, like the lightning that dances in the clouds of a distant thunderstorm. 

The dream began as a young girl, just as I suspect many other young girls dream.....to have children and raise them into a family of friends.  Isn’t that what we all want? To be surrounded by those we love and that love us.  So after being married for five years, my husband and I began to cultivate that dream of children to share our life with.  To show them the wonders of Creation, share adventures, impart our little bit of knowledge, to leave a legacy, and maybe receive a little joy and satisfaction from the intangible blessings that come from sharing and sacrificial love.  And so the journey into parenthood began and along with it the research.  I bought the pregnant woman’s bible, What to Expect When You are Expecting and I lived, breathed, and memorized it for the entire 9 months.  I could not get enough, everyday reading about my specific month of pregnancy, trying to get to know the life that was growing inside of me. And when I had that one memorized and I could not squeeze one more nugget of knowledge out of it, I bought 2 or 3 similar ones.   At 15 weeks after conception, the baby is 4 inches and can sense light even though her eyelids are still fused.  At 24 weeks she is the size of an ear of corn and can hear what’s going on outside the womb.  I was trying to gain insight about who this developing embryo was and what it needed to grow and gain.  I assigned a personality and athletic feats to my baby, as I imagined it performing Olympic level bar routines on my ribs.  How I loved the child that was growing.  I talked to it, played music for it (because you know, music makes babies smart), I read to it.  For nine months I was never alone, and everything I did, I had the health and well-being of that child in my thoughts.  And then the day arrived when I finally got to meet this little person we had created, and that I had come to know as well as I know my own body.  I knew her kicks, I knew when she didn’t like the supper we ate, I knew when she was content, and now I would finally meet her and hold her  in my arms and look her in the eyes and we would love each other and someday, I hoped would be friends.

 I am a mother and the me I was before, the me I was as Paul’s wife, the me I was in my career had suddenly disappeared and I became just Mom.  That quickly, in the time it took for my daughter to appear in the world, I went from all that I was before to just “her mother”.  The same happened for each new baby I delivered and it was just as intense with my little Guatemalan with whom I suffered the longest birth pains awaiting his papers to finalize; and who was almost 6 and kind of big and awkward to swaddle and cuddle like a little baby for the first time.  And it was good, I loved this new persona, this new career of Motherhood.  It fit me and I could use all of my innate talents of organization, time management, research skills, creativity, domestic engineering abilities, all of it.  Somehow I lucked into the best career ever.  I felt totally at home and right where I knew I belonged.  I even found myself puzzled by other women who were struggling and felt they needed some creative outlet, or to keep their career because the duties of motherhood did not fulfill them completely.  I’m not judging at all, but for me, every aspect of motherhood, especially the baby, toddler, and childhood years was more than fulfilling, exciting, and good.  Even on the most boring of days when I found myself reading the same story, or watching the same worn out kiddie video, or sitting up all night with the croup was fine with me.  I wouldn’t have traded it for a million dollars. 

So how do I find myself in the parched land, if this is what I wanted?  Well, the child grew up.  Plain and simple, I have become obsolete, last year’s model, and it seems, no longer relevant.  I’ve lost my shine and I’ve gone from being the first person she wanted to see to the last.  Oh I don’t blame her, she’s not a bad child, an ingrate (well maybe a little), uncaring, no, she has just grown up.  I did my job and I did it well, so well, that now I’m almost completely out of a job.  Thankfully, I still have a few more at home, but honestly they are young adults, and they can reason and make decisions (most good), and they are independent and don’t really need me much either, except maybe to drive them somewhere or give them money.  It’s all due to the Trickle Down Effect.   That scientific phenomena in which each younger sibling becomes exponentially more independent than their successor.  Thankfully, I don’t have 15 children or I’d have to face the fact that the baby would not need me at all.  I wish I would have had a book to prepare me for this point in the grand scheme. 

A book kind of like the one I studied so fiercely when I was pregnant, except I would call this one,  What to Expect When You are Letting Go.  If I had only known how painful the break would be I may have been able to prepare myself better.  If I could’ve understood how quickly the years would fly…. it’s really not a cliché, it’s a fact….I could have maybe braced myself for it.  Once I heard some wise older mother say to her daughter who was a young mother, “the days go slow, but the years fly”.  She was so right and how does that happen?  If I only had a book that explained, that as you are filling in your calendar in the day to day, raising them to be rockstars, jockstars, and docstars, you become so busy living in the future that you forget to notice the present if you are not careful, and then it has become the past.  All those music lessons, sports teams, and science fairs, scout outings, family vacations somehow cause time to travel at warp speed and then it seems in the difference of one day you find yourself getting sticky kisses from a gooey faced toddler, to waving good bye to your college freshman.

 I have found myself in the odd position of what I imagine it feels to be fired.  I went into work one day with the best laid plans and I am handed a pink slip. “Thanks for your services but no thanks”.  I have been escorted out of the building.  But wait, what did I do wrong?  Can I fix it?  Is there severance package…maybe they could blow me one last kiss????? A gold watch?  Nope, out the door and farewell.  But it’s not the end.  It’s kind of like your worst nightmare, because you’re fired, but they still call you when they have trouble.  It’s like you don’t get any benefits, pay, or the good stuff that came with the job, but you still get to take care of all the problems that arose with the job.  And thanks to modern technology, they can text you 24 hours a day with all the problems that you need to fix but strangely enough, they forget to tell you all the great stuff, because they are so busy living life and having so much fun.  And thanks to technology, you may be fortunate enough to watch from afar through social media and learn of all the fun and great things that are happening. 

It’s not malicious on their part, it’s where they are in their development.  They have just sprouted wings and are learning to fly and it’s an all-consuming effort.  They don’t have children of their own, so they just don’t get it.  They think their life is theirs alone and that they are where they are because of what they did.  They don’t understand all the behind the scenes work and sacrifice that went into getting them to this point.  It’s ok, it’s just the way it is.  I don’t mean to sound bitter or even a little resentful.  I’m not, I’m just learning to acclimate.  I suppose I’m going through the stages of grief, and I may be spinning my wheels in denial a bit long, but it’s just the process.  After all, I had 9 months to get to know and love her with my entire being, surely I deserve at least 9 months notice that I have to let go, maybe even more since I’ve devoted 18, no 20 years. 

So what is the hope that I have?  Well, after being curled in a ball in my closet with my chocolate stash and blankie for a few weeks, I remembered I still have 3 more teen spawns, I mean young adults at home that still need me, at least for a while.  But the greatest truth I realized is that I can get to know me again.  I am certainly not the me I was before I got married, I barely remember that idealistic headstrong girl.  I’m not the me that married and was married to Paul, my knight in shining armor as I recall, for 5 years because we’ve grown, changed, and his armor is a little tarnished...but that’s a whole other blog for another day.  I’m this new me, one with dents and dings, but who is wiser and braver than ever before, because that’s what I’ve had to be for my children all these years.  And that is the hope right there.  I am not obsolete, I’m not useless, I can offer a lot to those around me, because my children raised me to be brave, wise, and selfless and I can face this new chapter with confidence.  I can be whatever and whoever I want to be, just as I taught them about themselves.  It’s a whole new world.  The clouds are separating and the first rays of sunlight are gleaming through.   

The other day my oldest who is now a sophomore in college, texted me out of the blue to say that she loved me and to tell me about her day, and then asked me about mine. It was as exhilarating to me as hearing her say her first words and it gave me hope.  I can see that I don't need to feel lonely or nostalgic because I have a new friend, and we go back a long way.

Message in a Bottle

internet photo

It seems, lately, that I have many people in my circle of life who are struggling with dire illness and personal turmoil. I have so much I want to say to them and I want to say to those who are struggling right along with them, as caretakers and friends. What I'm sharing began as a letter to one dear friend, in particular, but as I was writing I felt like others could read it and hopefully benefit from it as well....because I think the struggle is universal. As a person who is living the trial, they need to hear these words of love and affirmation and as the person who is caretaking, they too may find some reconciliation with the pain and suffering and the redemption that comes later, as they are witnessing and experiencing right along with their loved one. So, I give you my Message in a bottle.....

I just wanted to write you because I wanted you to know that sharing this journey called life and all of its ups and downs, as your friend, is one of the greatest privileges I have. I don't want that to come off like I'm some do-gooder or frankly, some holier-than-thou-saint, because I am surely neither, but I am sincere. You and I have experienced traumatic pain and loss and familial dysfunction early in life. We have had ill parents and had to grow up and face the realities that many, many people never come to realize. It's very painful, and feels unfair when looking around at other's and their circumstances. But as I grow older, I actually thank God for the gift that He gave me through those trials. I think that it makes the preciousness of life abundantly clear, and by experiencing difficulty, loss, and pain at a young age, we can have empathy for others who are going through their own trials. We can rise above our own pain and reach out to others. We can heal our wounds by healing the wounds of others.

Let's face it, this life is hell. There was never a promise anywhere in the Bible, after sin in the Garden of Eden, that would suggest anything different. In fact, Jesus very pointedly tells his disciples (us included, as we are just that in this present age) that life here is and will be miserable, especially the deeper our faith grows and the more we share His love, because we have an enemy that wants to discourage. And the more time I spend in the Bible, the older I get, the more life I live, I have come to realize that the great things in this life, those that the world would say are the sole reason for a fulfilled life are an illusion. Yes, there is fun to be had, and we should enjoy all the blessings we have, the money we can spend, etc. But the money, the fun, the material possession are not fulfillment and if you are honest you recognize that. From a worldly perspective, the fun is in the pursuit, but after you obtain something, its luster fades, rather quickly. Real fulfillment and real treasure is the love we can share, the time we can give to someone else, in happiness or sadness, trial or triumph, pain and suffering. That is real, that is life, that is what Jesus was trying to convey and has been trying to convey...and I think being a mother has driven that home...it's what we do naturally, on a daily basis, with our children.

There is no other way to find true fulfillment other than giving sacrificial love, and certainly as a Christian it is not about living a life checking boxes: church - check, Sunday school - check, private education - check, mission trips - check, charity work - check, tithing 10% - check, all the while stepping over and on others, especially in their time of need, because they are inconvenient to the checklist and not part of your plan. THEY are the checklist, THEY are our purpose in this life....to share Christ's unconditional love and unconstrained time in daily life. It's a paradox because through freely offering our time and love we receive more time and love. It's like the miracle story of the loaves and fishes..it sounds cliche' but its true, and I have been fortunate enough to have seen and felt it with my own eyes and heart on many occasions. Just yesterday after leaving you, I had more time than ever to get what I needed done and I felt more love than ever spending those few hours with you. I didn't want to be anywhere else, and I want to thank you for letting me spend that time with you. I know that on your side, it may feel like you are burdening others or making others feel uncomfortable, but you aren't. Let people in, let people love you, it's the greatest gift you can give them.

Although it's not what you would have designed or how you would want, you must believe that you are blessing your children with this trial. It doesn't feel like it, but you are passing along so many tangible lessons...empathy, the value of encouragement, of caring for another, of love, and the realization that time needs to be shared because it is so precious. Even the negative feelings of questioning, frustration, and anger are gifts, because they make you search for something bigger than yourself. They make you question God...the same God who dares you to question Him. He wants you to seek after Him, to hand off your life to Him, for that is when He can show you His power, His grace, His mercy. And when people have it all together, He is the last thing they seek. So yes even this horrible thing can be a gift...just point your children toward God and let Him, through the Holy Spirit, work. They are teenagers and teenagers are by nature struggling with coming to terms with adulthood while still having childish feelings, they can be angry and confused, and these hard life situations are the perfect place to lead by example.

Your bravery is a shining example of hope...your bravery shows when you carry your burden with a stiff upper lip, and it shines when you are curled up in a ball in complete panic and heartbreak. Bravery is not avoiding the difficult and terrifying, bravery is assessing, accepting, and addressing head-on that in which you are facing. And you are equipping them to deal with the realness, the mess, that is this life...you are helping them grow up. You are giving them a greater education than anything any school or university can provide. You are showing them that life is wild and uncontrollable...that they are not the author of life, but they have a Creator who loves them and a Savior who saved them from this seemingly futile existence. And while life will be unfair, unintelligible sometimes, there is always peace to have when we realize where the peace comes from. And the real pursuit in this life should be not be the pursuit of money, prestige, and possessions, but of love, time, and relationships...the most important of those relationships being with Jesus.

This life is but a vapor...I guarantee that even a 90 year old person in pristine health would agree with me...it goes fast, it fades, it withers, but the knowledge of our Savior and the recognition that our whole reason for being is to bring glory to Him by sharing His love with others, does not fade and is what is everlasting. This life is a vapor, but we who are in Him will live eternally together with Him after the mist. How awesome is that...one day we will spend time together without anxiety and worry...but living a life as God originally created it, in pure harmony and peace (maybe even singing Kum by ya :) ) and never again feeling heartache, anxiety, guilt, frustration and above all the loneliness that we feel in this mist. The fog will be lifted and we will be singing in the sun, my friend, in the presence of our Savior, and for that I cannot wait!

I love you more than you know and I am so thankful that God brought us together all those years ago. Keep me in the loop of your struggle, don't shut me out for fear of being a burden, or because in the process of living life a lot of time has lapsed, share your life, it's a beautiful thing.

My Addiction

I’m calling for an intervention! I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown and my Diet Pepsi is the equivalent to the first hit a slack-jawed, jangled nerved, smoker takes. I’m only surmising, as I have never had the desire to smoke. Living with a 3-pack a day smoker father and due to the copious amounts of secondhand smoke I inhaled in my youth, enough to last a lifetime, I have been cured any desire. In fact, now and then I will open my mouth for a yawn and a long trapped smoke ring will find its way to the surface, escaping from my charred and smoke annihilated lungs. But I digress, back to the Diet Pepsi. 

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Hands shaking I twist off the top of one of my miniature bottles. I mean surely if I buy the 12 ounce size, then I don’t really have a problem right? I'm just getting a little taste, at least that’s the rationale. But somehow I don’t think that holds up if I end up drinking the whole six pack at one sitting...but who is counting anyway? It’s all worth it to have the cold, burning rush of bubbles flow down my gullet sending the much needed blanket of calm over my nerves. I have an addiction, I will admit. I’ve been hooked on several soft drinks over the years. 

For many of those years, when my children were young, it was Diet Coke. You should know, I homeschool my children, have since the beginning of time, or so it seems that way to me. Way back when Adam and Eve were out in the Garden. Anyway, when they were young we lived in a subdivision in a rural community, and after a morning of trying to get each to do their lessons, like all the perfect homeschool blogger moms that posted videos of their days, I would begin to crumble. You’ve seen those videos, heard those perfect moms talking, offering advice (unsolicited more often than not, I might add) in a pitying tone to you, about how your kids just lack discipline and routine. Videos showing days filled with little girls in bows and perfectly ironed little dresses and boys in their pressed and creased khakis, proudly reciting the whole book of Genesis, even before breakfast. 

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However, my mornings never went that way, and by 2 pm I needed a fix, a pick me up, something to soothe the desperation and sense of failure. So I would load all the kids in the van and trundle down the hill, 1.5 miles to the McDonalds. McDonald's, where the Golden Arches glistened and gleamed in the sunlight, making me about as exuberant at the sight, as an old miner ’49er panning in a frigid creek in far off Alaska, chewing on his last hunk of jerky and wondering what was he doing, when suddenly he would spot that first glint of gold in the sunlight. I would drive through order my $1 size Diet Coke. The cup was the size of a 2- Liter soda bottle and held as much, but pity the soda girl if she didn’t get that baby filled to the brim. I was entitled to my full due, by golly, I demanded my dollar's worth! I would not be cheated.

My Diet Coke addiction was cured when we moved. No, we didn’t move because of it. My husband did not put the house up for sale in the middle of the night and pack us up, and haul us away from that sinister McDonald’s, the supplier to my habit. No there were other reasons for the move, but in my gut I knew it was time for a fresh start and the move was a place to begin over. We located a house that was too far from any McDonalds and now was the time to clean house! No more chemicals and caramel coloring to pollute this temple, no sir.

Things were rolling along nicely, and then one miserable August day while waiting in line at my neighborhood WalMart, after another long and endless summer day of kids bickering and the looming school year yawing ahead of me, with the pressure of designing lesson plans and school supplies to acquire, I spied a lovely green bottle in the mini fridge in the checkout aisle. It was wrapped in a captivating label. The logo spoke adventure to me and the name of this beverage shouted MOUNTAIN DEW. 

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Something snapped in me and it was like that old commercial that showed a woman in the tub after a long day whispering, “Calgon take me away…” Except, this was a 20 ounce bottle of freedom, beckoning me, toying with me, teasing me to escape the monotonous days that were rolling one into the next. One whose sublime, fluorescent green elixir looked suspiciously like a toxic flow of chemicals, but certainly it was not. It was called Mountain Dew, what could be healthier than dew from a lovely, majestic mountain? 

I paused, made a few furtive glances around me and opened the door to the fridge. My heart was racing, my thoughts swirling in opposition…”don’t do it, you’ve been good for too long”, the other side whispering, “you know you want it, you deserve it”. I’m ashamed but I caved. I grabbed the bottle put it on the belt and when the checker asked if I wanted it out of the bag I spoke a little too quickly and casually. “NO, NO, that’s not mine, it’s for my husband, you know, after work. He likes a little pick me up after a hard day.” “Ooookayyyy”, she replied kind of puzzled at my shrill response. 

I herded the kids quickly to the car and made my way home. I turned on the Sponge Bob marathon and placed the kids in front of the TV. “Mom’s going to take a little nip, er nap, don’t bother me for at least 15 minutes ok?” Silence, the hypnosis had already taken hold and now I was on my way to experience the pleasurable freedom I had dreamt of upon first seeing that bottle. I closed my door, sat down and cracked open the bottle and swilled like a woman who, after spending months crossing the great Sahara Desert, was given her first cup of water. Ahhhhhh the taste, oh the taste, it had the taste of sunshine captured in a bubbly froth. It was my beloved Diet Mountain Dew.

Oh Diet Dew the wonders of you! It was my new fix. I would drink it and feel as if could actually climb mountains! It was so delicious and irreplaceable. How had I ever missed this wonderful concoction? To top things off, it was also really good for my diet, because in drinking Diet Mountain Dew, I never would dare pair it with chocolate or cake or something so sinister to my waistline. I reasoned it was my one sinful pleasure, but really how sinful can something be that contains real orange juice? Never mind that it contains enough caffeine to power a herd of elephants rampaging across the Serengeti! And so the addiction took hold and the rationalizing and the sneaking became common place. I was hooked once again.

Then one day, I was in the dark, in my closet, surrounded by empty Diet Mountain Dew bottles, having guzzled the last of my stash, hands shaking, the kids yelling for me, my husband yelling for me, “Honey, where are you?” and I knew this was no life. I had to beat this monster’s hold. I told myself that I had done it before I could do it again. And so I began the weaning process, and with much effort and hard work I pried the cold, dead grip of that Diet Mountain Dew from my life. Victory was mine, I had a new lease on life. The sun shone brighter, the birds sang louder, I was free, free indeed!

And now you ask, how is it that you find yourself with a new love, a new carbonated beverage with a foothold? Well, it all comes back to the kids, again! I have almost four teenagers (the youngest will be 13 in a month) and I can’t take it! I am at a cross roads, I am reminded daily that I am losing control of them and in no time they won't even need me. They are beginning to fly on their own, making their own decisions. Decisions that will someday come back to haunt me, because everyone knows it’s always the Mother’s fault! Don’t get me wrong, they are good kids, and it’s not their fault. It’s the nature of the job, the way of the world, the natural progression of these things. But for crying out loud I simply cannot take it! I need a fix and so having kicked Diet Coke to the curb and drowning the Diet Dew I find myself with a new seducer, Diet Pepsi.

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Diet Pepsi, with its patriotic red, white, and blue logo and silver (like the betraying strands of my hair) label. It reminds of everything American…tradition, courage, and good old apple pie, although I’m not sure it would taste good with apple pie. That might be something to try later on. "But oh Diet Pepsi", as I slowly and joyfully twist your lid, "I am anticipating your healing bubbles will soothe my troubled soul, at least till I overcome you, too!"

The Fixer-Upper

Paul and I looked at a house today, to hopefully pick up at a bargain, in order to clean it up and resell it. I had great plans for this place, a foreclosure that has been on the market for almost a year. I called the realtor to set an appointment for a look-see and he informed me that it was government owned and had mold, so a release would need to be signed. Honestly, the thought of dealing with the government was more daunting that the thought of a little mold.  But we boldly signed the release and set out to buy a house.

We arrived and upon the front door were stickers plastered all over warning:  KEEP OUT, UNINHABITABLE, CAUTION. The realtor handed us face masks to protect and guard against the rogue mold spores that might be lurking, ready to pounce on anyone who dared entered its lair. Like I said, I wasn't afraid of the threat of mold, so I went in maskless and ready to envision all the ways I would breathe new life into the place.

We stepped in and it was clear that any updating and cleaning up would not make a dent, this was going to be a total gut job. I stood in this place, totally aghast at the ruination. If I had to guess, by all appearances, I would say it was some kind of crack house in the ghetto, not a little ranch in suburbia. The walls were filthy, dirty, nasty, and stained with anyone's guess as to what was splattered all over them. The carpets that had once been burnt orange, were now grungy and black having years of filth ground in, until the filth itself had become the very fiber of the carpet. The kitchen was unbelievably squalid. Ripped vinyl flooring, food stuffs ground into the walls, and counters dirty and unwashed. There was even evidence of a rat or two. The grime in glaring contrast to the homey, gingham check and apple border that had so lovingly been lined around the ceiling at some far off distant time. In the family room the floors heaved and buckled and the air was dank and stagnant. Loneliness oozed from every nook and cranny. But curiously, along one wall, was the faded evidence of a parent marking the passage of time and growth of the children that once inhabited this home, also from a far and distant time. I wondered about little Celia and Wade, and the other children, whose names and height had been captured for posterity sake. What had happened to those children? Were they victims of drug addicted parents? What tragedy had ushered them into this neglected atmosphere. Was there a sickness that caused them to fall into poverty? Did they ever have a clean stitch of clothing to wear? Was there ever a clean bed to sleep in?

We made our way to the basement steps and stopped, as if perched on a the edge of a great yawning abyss, the entrance to some monster's den. Peering down we saw the villainous mold that had begun its creep, making its ascension up along the walls, all with the intent to envelop every wall and surface like the kudzu along the highways of the South. I finally relented and put on my mask. I don't know if it was my imagination, but my eyes were itching, actually, I began to itch all over. Down, down, down we carefully trod, determined not to touch the living monster that was swallowing this house. We stood in the basement, mouth agape at the sight. There all around, the walls and ceilings were  plastered with the black furry mold; evil little spores ready to release and attach to any carbon based form that presented itself. It almost breathed a sigh of relief at the new blood that had entered its sanctuary. The feeling was creepy and desolate. I could imagine this being the setting of some horror movie, easily envisioning some poor soul chained in this chamber of doom. The concrete floors were cracked and bulged as if some giant below was trying to make its escape from its entombment. It was obvious that a little elbow grease, paint, and carpet was not going to save this place. Its life was long past due, the foundation completely off kilter; it was DOA, no life, just a growing, seething cancer of mold choking and squeezing its future away. The death knell had rung, and burial by razing was eminent.

We walked out disappointed and I felt a little melancholy. I wondered what grand dreams and schemes were planned in 1971, when this little ranch house was built and its new owners moved in. Did they plan on filling the bedrooms with lots of babies? Did they plant flowers in the yard? How many holiday meals were cooked and served from that kitchen? How did the Christmas tree look in front of the picture window in the living room? When did things start to go wrong? When did the foundation begin to slip and the repairs begin to look daunting and overwhelming? When did the first couple drips of water turn into a constant bombardment of moisture that fed the living, breathing black mold beast? Why didn't anyone try to stop it? Why did they wait too long until things had gotten so far out of hand and unfixable?

While driving home, I couldn't help but feel sadness for that little home that once held the dreams of a life. I started thinking of ways to revive the old girl and save her legacy. But it was obviously beyond saving and the sorrow settled in. And then I awoke from my reverie and realized this was not a living thing, like a person, but an inanimate object. I began to think of this house as a metaphor for a life of poor choices or circumstances. And I began to think about how I had been actually grieving about this house's lost dreams, yet, how many lost and consumed souls had passed me in my day to day, in the grocery store, at the library, or even at church, and I had never even given a second thought to them.

I began to refocus and think about what it is that I could do to help those who hadn't been afraid of the foothold of immorality, or didn't notice that first crack in judgement, or the swallowing vortex that inaction brings. Those who are on the brink of the abyss, those who are going to be swallowed by the beast of sin? Jesus tells His disciples that He will be leaving them soon and that He is sending a Helper (the Holy Spirit).  He defines sin in John 16:7- 11, where He says, "If I do go away, then I will send him to you. And when he comes, he will convict the world of its sin, and of God’s righteousness, and of the coming judgment. The world’s sin is that it refuses to believe in me. Righteousness is available because I go to the Father, and you will see me no more. Judgment will come because the ruler of this world has already been judged."

I made a decision to look and see, listen and hear those around me. To watch for settling and cracks, the faint palor of neglect, a hint of the mold that may be poising itself in a bid to overcome those souls. I want to offer help, comfort, and encouragement.  Provide them with the keys to a new dream, a way for a clean heart, and a new home. Tell them about a hope and a future that can be found in life built upon the firm foundation of a faith in Christ, the one true Cornerstone. And while I'm at it, I'll keep looking for the little fixer-upper that needs some fresh air and new life breathed into, as well.

Why Bad for Those Good?

Recently, I was asked a tough question by my daughter's friend, who is like a child of my own. I have known this girl for about 10 years now, and have watched her grow and mature, seeking her purpose in life, while always wondering about God's will for her as well. We were driving to lunch, singing to the tunes on the radio and acting silly, and out of the blue she asked me why I thought bad things happened to good people. It's really an age old question...one that is asked by all people, whether they be teens beginning to discover the conundrums of adulthood, or by senior citizens reflecting back upon a lifetime of tangled webs. Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?

I thought about it a minute and my first inclination was to make some type of lame joke or deflect the question with a quick-fix, glib answer, and get back to singing songs and having fun. But then it occurred to me that this girl must be struggling with something and she needed some type of answer. I felt honored that she would seek my opinion on the matter, and a burden to do my best to answer in a helpful way. So I went from singing fake opera, to murmuring a quick prayer, and offered her an answer she could think and pray about.

"Well", I began, "does God really let bad things happen to good people?" I mean, we can agree there is bad in the world, it is called sin. We know that there is sin in the world because man made the decision long ago to disobey God, and as a result of sin, bad things happen. But are there really good people? Sure we like to think we are good, that basically people have a bent toward goodness. We know that people like to think that because they haven't committed some horrible act like rape or robbery, abortion or adultery, that if they follow all the rules, for the most part, and aren't finding themselves on the wrong side of the law, that they are good. In fact, people like to put more qualifications on goodness...if they help the poor, feed the homeless, practice some kind of spirituality, do a good deed now and then, or go on a mission trip...then they should never have to suffer illness, tragedy, and even to some extent, death before a certain age (funny how that age gets farther and farther out the older they get, too). To our way of thinking, that sounds fair.

However, a sin is a sin is a sin. In God's eyes, someone's white lie, is no worse than someone else's murder, someone's drug addiction, someone's defiance, or someone else's gossip; the list is endless. Actually, to the one True, Holy, and Perfect God, all of those sins are equally egregious and they all stem from the one and only sin that He cannot and will not tolerate. This sin is so evil, that we learn in Isaiah 14:12-18, that it was the cause for the removal of God's best angel, Lucifer, from his heavenly realm. Lucifer or Satan, was known as the highest, most beautiful, and wisest angel, the Star of the Morning, who became so enthralled with himself that he began his plot to place his throne above God's and to become god. Satan's sin, "the sin", is the sin of pride.

Yes, I believe all sins can be traced back to that of pride. Pride is defined in the dictionary as "a high or inordinate opinion of one's own dignity, importance, merit, or superiority, whether as cherished in the mind or as displayed in bearing or conduct." God's definition of pride is the act of putting ourselves, our comfort, our desires, our importance above Him. In essence it is idolatry, because we are making ourselves the god of our life, instead of Him. It's our will be done, not His. In our desire to hold on to our high opinion of ourselves, we commit many sins, large and small, and we commit them often. Sins that, we rationalize as necessary and for the most part, consider inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

"So", I offered, "if we all are sinners as defined by God, then the question becomes, are there really good people that bad things happen to?" Ouch, that kind of stings, when you really think about it. I mean, we really don't like to think that harshly of ourselves. My point then is that sin causes terrible consequences to befall us. Whether it is a consequence of our own sinful action, or collateral damage from the sins of those around us, it causes pain and suffering. It even causes sickness, because our bodies are deteriorating and affected by the collective sins of modern man. Those sins that have created havoc with nature and our environment and have introduced disease and dilemma into our lives.

Do I think God targets good people with bad things? Absolutely not! Does God allow sin to take its course in the lives of people. Yes! But does sin have the final victory if we have put our faith in the death and resurrection of Jesus? No! By confessing our sins and giving our lives over to the will of God, we have presented our blame to Him, acknowledged our failings, and allowed God to enact His plan for those bad things, and work them out for good. This He promises in Romans 8:28, which says, "we know in all things God works for the good of those that love him, who have been called according to his purpose".  And if we take notice, usually in hindsight, we can see that some form of good can be found. Moreover, we will likely find that our character has been refined and made stronger through the ordeal. In the end, the "good" may not take the form we, in our limited perspective would choose, but it is the wisest and best from an eternal perspective, because it was worked through His hands and for His purpose.

A perfect metaphor of this very concept, came to me last year, on our trip to Hawaii, during our visit to the USS Arizona Memorial. The Arizona was the ship that was bombed by the Japanese, that early morning on December 7, 1941. The event that became the catalyst that pulled the United States into World War II. As we stood on deck of the of the Memorial, and as I was thinking of the entombed soldiers under my feet, with the smell of diesel fuel thick in the air.....for fuel still bleeds from that 62 year old wound....a thought occurred to me. The ship is a metaphor for a life of faith and an example of the Romans 8:28 verse. The Japanese thought they had destroyed the battleship and from all appearances that day, it seemed true. However, when the smoke cleared our soldiers pulled together, used what parts they could salvage from the ship, and began a rapid defense and plan of attack. The Japanese had not fully removed the American presence in that part of the Pacific theater and the loss of life only strengthened the resolve of our men. And after the endurance of much time and suffering, in the end, good defeated evil. The ship, while appearing lost, not only ended up saving lives then, but is now covered with living coral and a renewed purpose today. Yes, good was worked from bad and for a higher purpose.

So just as we may not understand our situation or things seem irreversibly damaged and lost, even if we still bear the scars, and even when the struggle is lengthy and seemingly endless, we must remember to remain faithful. And even if by our standards or the world's standards, we are good, and bad things happen to us, it is paramount, that we reflect not on the unfairness of our situation, but remember that we are not perfect, we are not "good" people that bad things happen to. We know this because Romans 3:23 tells us that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.

We need to remember and take comfort in the fact that despite our imperfection, that God will work through our bad circumstances for His good. And upon further reflection, I will take His good over mine, any day!