On Pre

Steve Prefontaine. If you are a runner of track or cross country, you know his name and his story. You know that he is from Coos Bay, Oregon and made Hayward Field in Eugene legendary. You know that he was a total guts runner. You know that his running philosophy was to take the lead and hold it. You know that Bill Bowerman, then coach at Oregon, kept giving him shoes he made in his wife’s waffle iron that had a weird swoosh on the side. You know that at one time, Pre held every American distance record from 2,000 meters to 10,000 meters. You know that long before WWJD was popular, What Would Pre Do? was said when you needed inspiration, motivation, or a kick in the pants. You probably dream of running in the Steve Prefontaine Classic or the Eugene Marathon, whose course takes you along the Pre Trail and finishes in that famed stadium of Hayward Field. You know.

I remember three things from the 1972 Olympics: the horrific hostage ordeal; Olga Korbut’s bar routine; and Pre. I remember he raced after the Israeli wrestlers had been killed; a day or so after the games began again. I remember being in another room and hearing my Dad hooting and hollering. I raced in to see what was happening and there was this kid with long hair and a mustache pounding away in the 5000. I remember my Dad saying, “Someone didn’t tell that kid he’s not supposed to win! Look at him go!” I watched in excitement as he led the field, noticing how awkward his gait was, and noticing the look in his eye. Wow! He was super focused and yet so electric. He lost in the last 100 meters or so and placed 4^th…which I still thought was amazing. I was captured by his toughness and grit. What a runner! They talked how he would dominate in the ’76 games and I looked forward to seeing him race again.

And then, the next time I heard about him, it was about how he had died. Three years later, in 1975 at the age of 24, he died in a car accident. I remember feeling so sad for him. Feeling sad that I would never get to see him race again.

In ’77 I went out for my junior high track team; it was my 8^th grade year. I was a sprinter and I was fast. I loved the feeling of running fast…it drove me and fed me in a way nothing else, not even gymnastics, had ever done. I had just won the 110 and 220 in our first meet and had come from behind in the 220 to win. I was wearing a pair of red Nike spikes; borrowed from the boy I loved, at a time when we both wore the same sized shoe. The next day at school, my coach asked me what was going through my mind while I was running; what made me surge past everyone. I really didn’t know how to answer her, but said I knew how fast I could run and if I didn’t run that fast, I wasn’t using my ability right. I finished by saying it would be wrong to not run as fast as I could. And she called me Little Pre. She showed me a poster of him saying something close to what I had said about running. Little Pre. It was one of the best nicknames I have ever had.

When Jon and I were getting to know one another he used a Pre quote. And I waited, my head cocked to the side. Jon: “What?” Me: “Plagiarist!” Jon: “I was quoting Pre.” Me: “I know and you said the quote wrong!” He later told me that was the moment he knew he loved me. Jon loved Pre. They were so similar; both rebels, both gutsy and tenacious.  Jon would ask himself, “What would Pre do?” regularly.  It gave him motivation and courage to stare down the ever present ALS affecting his body. I remember Michael coming home from track practice and telling Jon that his coach was impressed that he knew who Pre was and could quote him. A proud moment, to be sure.

Pre has been brought to my mind these last few days as I am being sent to Eugene, Oregon for work. This is where he lived; where he went to school; where he ran; and where he died. Upon learning I would be spending time there I started texting people who would get it. And their excitement has been infectious. It is thrilling to know that I will be there. I want to run a mile at Hayward Field. I want to run along Pre’s Trail. I might go to Pre’s Rock, the tragic spot where he died…although I am much more interested in going to the places where he lived.

Pre has been dead for 40 years now. 41 next month, actually. And yet, he is still revered; still talked about; still quoted. His feats are still amazing. All those records? The last one fell in 2012. Galen Rupp beat his 5000k record by 0.13 seconds. He changed track and field into what we know today. He fought hard for the sport that he loved and the injustices in it and we all reap the benefits of his battles. If you have ever owned a pair of Nikes…thank Pre. If you have ever run a 5k…thank Pre. His contributions go much, much deeper than that, of course, and yet, I keep asking myself why are we, the people who know, still so enraptured by him? Was it his guts? Was it his youthful swagger? Was it that his life was cut so tragically short? Or was it because he was an everyman who just dug deep inside himself and disregarded the pain digging deep brings and kept going anyway?

I’m not sure I can put into words what he means to me personally. He is so wrapped up in the back story of my life. Too entangled in my love of sport; my love of running; and my love for the people in my life who have loved him, too. Standing where he stood will be powerful for me. And I know this…if I ever get to Israel, I will probably cry the entire time. Standing where Pre stood will be amazing; but standing where Jesus stood? I can barely fathom it.

Running, as most of you know, is not something I can do anymore. My back is twisted and one leg is shorter than the other. And then I remembered. Pre also had a twisted back and one leg was longer than the other. (his description) As I stand in Hayward Field or stand on Pre’s Trail,I will ponder the pain running will do to my back and weigh the pros and cons. Remind myself that I am there to tackle a mountain of work and how back pain could potentially knock me out for a few days.

Then, I will ask myself that famed question…What Would Pre Do?

Well, Pre would run.

Pre would run.

On the Words Women Use

Stuck up. Judgmental. Standoffish. Mean. Ugly. Stupid. Harsh. Annoying. Strict. Uptight. Weird. Hateful. Jesus Freak. Proud. Haughty. Witch with a B. Fat.

These are all words that have been used to describe me.

As troubling as they are, what is more troubling is that they were uttered by women.

This came to mind the other day as I sat sipping an iced latte between appointments and overheard the women sitting next to me take apart another woman. They took her apart for no other reason than for who she was…beautiful, accomplished, and apparently a money grubbing man-eater. “I don’t know much about her, but the way she dresses? There’s only one reason you dress like that,” said with an all knowing eyebrow raise and head flip.

It starts early. For me it was in the 1st grade. Julia Trupeano. I was with my friends at recess and we ran over to where she was sitting with her friends. As I went to sit down, she told me I couldn’t sit with them. My dress wasn’t pretty enough and I was too ugly to be their friend. No one had ever commented on my appearance before so I really didn’t know what to think. I liked my dress, and said so, but ‘ugly’ wasn’t really a word we used in our house, so I wasn’t sure what to do with that. My friend Debbie Farrell piped up and told her I wasn’t ugly and that we didn’t want to be her friend anyway. Julia spent the next year calling me names. And so it goes.

And understandable for little girls. Little girls don’t know any better do they?

Grown women, however, should absolutely, positively know better.

Because the negative words above about me were all spoken by adult women. Most were Christian women, because apparently, proclaiming to love Jesus doesn’t keep us from bad mouthing someone we don’t like.

And is that really it? That we don't like them? I don’t think so. I don’t think we use these type of words on women we don’t like. With women we don’t like, we do that polite ignoring thing. We don’t give them the energy of bestowing words on them.

These negative words and innuendos are spoken when we feel threatened in some way. We may think it is dislike, but it is really that we feel threatened. We compare ourselves to her and come up short and to make our tender little egos feel better, we use our mighty tongue to cut her down. And feel very justified, too. As if saying she is fat will make us skinny. As if saying she is ugly will change what we see in the mirror every day. As if naming that annoying trait she has, will make the same trait in us any less annoying.

Comparing and competing with another woman will never, ever, make you a better woman. Comparing and competing will never, ever, make close relationships. How can we be close when you are sizing me up all the time? So what if someone is a better cook than you? Or garners attention by walking in a room? Or has accomplished more? If you pride yourself on being the best cook, well, why are you priding yourself on being the best cook? If you need to be the belle of the ball in all situations, again, why do you need to be the belle of the ball in all situations? And more importantly, why, why, why does it make you feel small enough to lash out when another woman is better at these things than you?

Do you feel better after calling another woman names? Does it bring back your equilibrium to cut her down to the smallness you feel inside?

Words are powerful. And she hears you, whether you say them behind her back or not. Our collective Spidey-sense tingles when we are being talked about. I've walked in on women talking about me. And I assure you I knew it before I had the concrete evidence. And it is still wrong even if she “did” something to you. Because you should be talking to her, not about her. And certainly not dragging another woman on to your side.

It’s funny how we judge others by their actions and ourselves by our intentions and rationalizations, isn’t it?

As women, we talk a lot about love and friendship and accepting each other for who we are. Woman Power is great in the recesses of our minds. It’s really a great idea. We cling to it. But in the harsh light of reality, well, that’s a different story. The reality is that talking badly about other women is second nature. We say cruel things and laugh with our friends who accept that type of behavior from us. And I get it. It’s hard to hold our tongue. It’s hard to face that green monster that wells up inside us. It’s hard to look inside ourselves and find out why we are so threatened in the first place. It’s hard. But, we do know and understand that our words will knock her around a bit. That we want her Spidey-sense to tingle. We want her off her game. So, we use our words to tear her down. To knock her off the pedestal we’ve inadvertently put her on.

Are you one of those women? Are you?

Why?

And the answer is deep within each of us.

We are all guilty. I encourage you to find out your ‘why’ and then work to change it.

Because we are better than that. Because Woman Power is real and we should be using the power we have to build up, to elevate, to encourage. Or just to give credit where credit is do. "Man, she's a great ________!" Done, and moving on.

We have to stop believing that if we tear another woman down, that will lift us up. That if we politely isolate them, it will keep them from being whatever it is that threatens us.

Here’s some truth. We are showing our small pettiness by bad mouthing another woman. We are showing how jealous, how threatened, how insecure we are within ourselves when we bad mouth or ignore another woman.

God created you to be a unique and incredible woman. He gave you certain gifts and traits. You are a one of a kind. There is no one on the earth just like you. With all the women in this world though, someone will always be taller, skinnier, prettier, younger, a better cook, singer, dancer, writer, party planner, runner, friend, wife, mother. That shouldn’t threaten you. That’s just math.

The next time your feel threatened, stop. Applaud her. Instead of whispering to a friend that she is (insert your negative adjective here), whisper how great she is at whatever is threatening you. Quit sizing yourself up by her. Allow her to be great. And I’m not talking about that false flattery thing that we do. We shower her with words and hold malice in our heart. No. I’m talking about being okay with who we are enough to know that giving some powerful words to another woman won't diminish us.

Proverb 18:21 says:

The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.

We need to use the power of our tongue to build up, to elevate, to encourage and we will then understand that we don't feel so threatened anymore. We can tame the insecurity inside of us and the fruit will be that our relationships with other women will thrive. 

And I have to believe, in our words, our positively powerful words, maybe, just maybe, we can change the world.

On The Whole30

As Americans, we have a very unhealthy relationship with food. It starts in early childhood when we are given food “rewards” for good behavior. Then in our teen years we let the TV tell us what to eat. If we eat or drink their “food” we will be popular, loved, and our life will be an exciting adventure.  Our family years bring the idea of “comfort” food, which likens us back to the food as reward we learned as children. If we’ve had a bad day, ice cream, pizza, cookies, or whatever other food we see as comfort awaits to ease our pain.

We are so brainwashed about “food” that we believe the lie that it is too much trouble to cook our own meals. Pre-packaged food is the ideal. If we can pull it out of the fridge or freezer and be eating in less than five minutes we have reached the pinnacle. Grab and go has fueled a multi-billion dollar fast food industry…and it’s growing.  Soda has gone from an occasional treat to something we are quite addicted to. We guzzle it down like water. Another multi-billion dollar and growing industry. 

When I was in the fifth grade I remember going through the lunch line and seeing a poster of several children in a park. They were drawn in outline and filled with all sorts of good, nutritious food and the caption was “You Are What You Eat”. I remember staring at the poster and then said to my friend behind me, “If we are what we eat, I’m a peanut butter sandwich.”

And it’s true…we are in fact what we eat. A fact that should horrify us with all the chemicals, pseudo food, dyes, fillers, preservatives, sodium and sugar that is in our food. These things are added to addict us...to keep us buying what they are selling. But, we are happy in the lies that are being fed to us on a regular basis. McDonald’s still reigns even though the amount of actual food in their food is minuscule. 

I had heard of the Whole30 about six years ago when I started seeing it pop up on Facebook. Some of my friends were doing it and I gave them hearty cheers, but, I was too busy at the time to even try to ponder what it was about.

Then, last year, my friend Lori walked in to church one day looking like a million bucks. She always looked great but I knew, like myself, she was struggling with the joys of being ‘our age’. The inexplicable weight gain; the stiffness; the dull skin. She seemed to be glowing and I asked how she had achieved this transformation. She explained the Whole30 to me and since I was stuck in the daily struggle of pain, the idea that I could eat to reduce inflammation was like a light-bulb over my head.

So, in a nutshell, the Whole30 is the idea that we truly, truly, are what we eat. By eating whole foods and by eliminating certain foods that are known to cause inflammation, depression, disease, etc., we can change our relationship with food; change how our body uses food; and in essence, change ourselves. You do it for 30 days and then slowly reintroduce the eliminated foods to see how your body reacts. By doing this you will discover what foods cause that dreaded inflammation or depression or joint pain. You discover your body and how it functions and processes the food you feed it. Brilliant.

Now, it was daunting to me at first. I focused on what I couldn’t have…no dairy? Are you kidding? How the heck would I drink my morning coffee without half and half? No sugar? How would I get over that chocolate craving that seemed to strike after every meal? And isn’t dark chocolate good for you? No grains? What about my toast and morning cereal?

Lori encouraged me to go buy “It Starts with Food”* and the “Whole30”* as both would explain the whys and hows of the program. So, my initial conversation with her was in October and I went and bought the books in April…that’s how long it took me to get my brain ready. And I think that is key.

My reason for attempting it was simple. I could no longer deal with the daily pain of my back. I knew that this eating plan was not going to heal my twisted spine, but if it could reduce the inflammation in my body, I knew my pain would lessen. That, in and of itself, was reason enough for me to try it.

In preparation, I did read the books. I cleared my kitchen of anything that wasn’t Whole30 approved. I bought food and outlined what recipes I was going to use for the first week. Their Whole30 cookbook is packed full of great recipes so getting stuck for ideas on what to eat wasn't going to be a problem. I read their ‘what to expect’ so I would know just that, another key issue for me, and on the planned day, I began.

Now, for time’s sake I won’t give you a daily or weekly blow by blow of how I did on the plan. I will say that I followed it to a T. I read labels. I kept going when I had severe tummy troubles. I was not going to be dissuaded. By week two, I had no cravings, didn’t miss any of the eliminated foods, and felt no pain in my back or joints.

I did do one cheat…in week two I stepped on the scale. One of the rules is that, since this is not a diet, you are to banish the scale. But, my clothes were looser, my face looked thinner, and I. Had. To. Know. So, I hopped on the scale and was thrilled to see a 4lb drop.

But, I was more thrilled by the fact that I had no back pain. I had no headaches. My joints were fluid and flexible. I had energy. Someone mentioned that I was glowing. Yeah, baby!

The remaining two weeks went by quickly. I had gotten into a routine of choosing recipes, prepping, cooking, and always being ready. I noticed that since I was eating healthy, whole foods, when my body had burned off what I had fed it, I was hungry. Like stomach growling hungry. Knowing I was giving my body the fuel and energy it needed and it would actually tell me when it needed more was kind of awe inspiring. God knew what He was doing when He created these bodies we live in. And, I was (finally) in control of food, not the other way around.

In the last few days my biggest test came. The Ireland Mission team was holding a bake sale to raise still needed funds. As a member of this team, I steeled myself. I would be baking a ton of goodies and I am a cookie-dough eating, Ineedtotastethistomakesureitsgood type of baker. I decided to make some banana bread muffins with coconut flour and coconut oil and when they came out of the oven they looked like very dense, very hard hockey pucks. Almost without thinking, I ate one to see if they were sell-able. And I felt horrible, not physically, but mentally. I was on day 27 and the rules state I should start over, but I just couldn’t. The issue was the sugar in the muffins. I sent Lori a text and she encouraged me and told me to focus on what I had learned and what I had accomplished.

And it really made me realize I didn’t want to have that food anyway. I baked four dozen cookies and other goodies and wasn’t even tempted. During the whole bake sale I didn’t even lick my fingers when frosting got on them. That one stumble kept me going through the remaining days.

I am in the reintroduction phase now and it is going well. I find I don’t really want to add back in some food groups. I have gone back to half and half in my coffee, and did treat myself to some good quality ice cream, but food doesn’t have that control over me any longer. I no longer crave sugar. I haven’t bought any chocolate for my daily “treats”. I no longer see food as “treats”. I am treating my body well. At the store the other day, I saw ripe pineapples and my mouth began to water. I look forward to cooking and I look forward to how I feel afterward. Not bloated. Not so full. Not like I need to spend time on the couch to recover.

And the not being in pain is absolutely amazing.

So, here’s what I learned…in no particular order.

·        Learning that food is fuel for your mind and body is powerful information.

·        Eating protein at every meal is the key. I never realized how little protein I actually ate before…no wonder I always felt hungry.

·        Sugar is hidden in our food…from 22g in a Whooper to 15g in sausage.

·        Reading labels is absolutely necessary to know what is actually in our food.

·        Realizing you are using food as a crutch for your emotions is equally powerful information.

·        Avocados are good in everything.

*     I love steak!

·        I eat way more food than I used to.

·        Total weight loss is 6lbs.

·        People don’t like when you try to change your life.

·        People change their minds about not liking you trying to change your life when they see you transform.

·        It took two weeks to develop the habit of planning, cooking, and eating well.

·        Food is not “bad”.

·        You have to decide to do this on your own.

·        Knowledge is power.

 Salmon over mango salsa with roasted veggies.

 Talapia salad with grilled veggies.

Quick lunch of salmon cakes, grilled avocado, tomatoes, and yellow peppers.

So, my Whole30 journey has been very positive. I feel great and my life truly did change in just thirty days. I would encourage everyone to make your life better and it really does start with food.

Happy eating!

*It Starts with Food by Dallas Hartwig & Melissa Hartwig

*The Whole30 by Dallas Hartwig & Melissa Hartwig

On Never Running Again

 I have always known that at last I would take this road.

But, yesterday, I did not know it would be today.

I read that Kenneth Rexroth poem in college (from his book, One Hundred Poems from the Japanese) and it always stuck with me. The inevitability of life. That there were certain roads we would all have to take, but youth or pride or youthful pride, made us think that the road was very far away.

And it is.

Until it isn’t.

Then, you must face it and you must deal with whatever lies on that road.

These musings came to me today as today is the day that I understand and, more importantly accept, that I will never run again. I will never again be a ‘runner’. I will never again know the joy of lacing up my sneaks and hitting the road. Of sprinting. Of pounding out some miles to clear my head. Of feeling that delicious burn in my lungs. Of talking to God as I settle in to my pace.

And, yes, I knew this day would come. But, truly, I thought I would be 77 and running would just not be a good idea anymore. I never thought I would be taken out by a slightly twisted spine.

Know I’ve done everything possible to make this not so. I’ve been to numerous physical therapists, a spine specialist, an acupuncturist, a chiropractor, done massage, and even read a book that was guaranteed to heal me. I’ve heard endless stories of how people beat their own back injury.

But, one leg is shorter than the other and the twist in my spine makes my pelvis splay outward on the opposite side. Each therapist, etc, has told me that running is not a good idea. That if I continue to do it, I will cause irreparable damage. I can honestly say that I hit that space years ago. I am in the irreparable damage now...it is here. So, the goal is to get me to be able to live life with the minimum amount of pain. The list is long of athletic type things I’ll never be able to do again. Everyday stuff, too.

I’ve been in denial for quite a while. I normally bounce back quickly from injury and I just didn’t want to believe that an accumulation of random incidents from my life could take me out. Gymnastics. A bike crash here. A fall there. The way I walk. The way my body adjusted to a shorter leg and a twisted spine.

I don’t want limits on my life! I want my body to do what I ask it to do! I don’t want to be a pudgesicle!

But, alas, today is the day I have to walk on this new road. And I really, really, really don’t want to. It brings up too many questions I have no answers for…who am I if I am not athletic? How will I adjust to a non-athletic body? How will I pump myself up to think of walking as exercise? What am I going to do with all these water bottles? Who invented liquid soap and why? (My undying love and affection if you get the movie reference.)

And I know I will do what I am not supposed to do…I will go for a run. If I can never run again, the last run is going to be on my terms. It is the last bit of control I have in the situation. It will hurt. It will set back my therapy. But, it will be done. I will gather myself and go out alone and run. No dogs. No music. I will say good-bye. I will bid a fond farewell to something I have done all my life. I will let  it go with as much grace as I can muster.

Just me, God, and the pounding of my shoes on the pavement.

On Losing Beth

So, I lost one of my dearest friends to cancer in October and I really didn’t want to write about it because, well, if you’ve read this blog at all, you know I am no stranger to tragedy. And heartache. And I really didn’t want to write one more post about another tragic heartache.

But, I find myself so angry. All. The. Time.

I am trying to get myself in the Christmas spirit; I bought my tree and a beautiful wreath. I’m trying to decorate and start my baking. All things I love…yet, I don’t see any point in it. Why bother? Things that held joy make me mad or worse, apathetic.

I am mad at the season; at people; at God. I ran out of church last week after yet another message telling me that I have not, because I ask not. Or I am asking wrong. Or God just doesn’t want to bless me right now. And, by the way, your back is messed up because you’re not repentant to God.

Okaay.

It is really, really difficult to hear that God doesn’t love me because I am a sinner, when the whole point of my Bible says that God loves me because I am a sinner. I am a sinner. And why doesn’t grace apply to me? Why? Why does the American Church keep telling me I’m not good enough for God?

And I know it seems like I am digressing, but I’m not. It all seems to be one big package, at least in my mind. Because after I ran out of church and was driving myself home, I kept asking God why am I here? Why did He take Beth instead of me?

Why?

It’s a tough place to be when you think you don’t matter. When you think (because you have been repeatedly told and/or shown) that you don’t matter; when everything is pointless; when the simple joys of life evade you; it’s tough.

You see, Beth and I used to talk about things such as these. Our friendship was intentional and purposeful and I could say these things without her recoiling in horror, or worse, placating me with platitudes. She got it. She understood. And she could tell me when I was being overindulgent or lend that hand when I was cut deep.

I am cut deep and she is not here. And, it just makes me so sad. There is a hole a mile wide in my heart and how will it ever be filled again?

Beth gave real friendship. I can’t remember a time, in 20+ years of knowing her ever feeling as if I didn’t matter to her. She was never cruel. Or jealous the way our sex can be. She never talked behind my back. Well, she did, but it was with positive words about me.

That is so rare, right?

In my anger and sadness I have 86’d some people right out of my life and I’m feeling pretty good about it, too. Why and how did I let these people who don’t see me and care for me into my life? I am good natured and easy going and allow people their faults, as I want them to allow me mine. But some people see that as weakness. And because they see me as weak, they treat me in ways that aren’t always nice. They pick on me and strut around like the school yard bullies they really are. What a waste. This behavior is beneath them, but more than that, it makes me realize what a gift Beth was; what a blessing her friendship to me has been all these years.

And it makes me want to be intentional with friends who do treat me well; who would never stoop to such lows; who are nice, not mean. Simple really.

But I know I can’t fill that mile wide hole with friends and think everything is going to be okay. I can’t replace Beth with a new friend. There is no way…she is irreplaceable.

Have I said how much it hurts?

At her funeral, my Gaslight family was there. That is where I know Beth from, a theatre I worked at for ten years. And these people are home to me. They grabbed me and hugged me and let me cry on their shoulders. These people weren’t just work friends…we were so in and out of each other’s lives; we had get togethers, and parties, and weddings, and babies, and shared our lives in one big dysfunctional family. Another in our family has lost his wife to cancer and now we will gather for another funeral this weekend. So, we also grieve together. But, it was great to be among these people again. It was great to belong again. It was great to know that I mattered and that I had a place among them.

I think we all have that need to matter; to have purpose. When that is shaken and questioned, it rocks us to our cores. I Googled ‘what do you do when you feel like you don’t matter’ this week and found a blog by Scott Ginsburg and he says, “Moments of non-mattering are positive reflections of your inherent desire to make the world better…Look: I’ve been there. Inconsequentiality is a bitch. It’s a form of spiritual bankruptcy that feels like an earthquake to your heart. The good news, it’s also a wakeup call that mattering is like oxygen to your soul, and your tank is just a little low right now.”*  He had some good tips…get rid of the people who make you feel invisible…done! And take responsibility for feeling like you don’t matter. Ouch. But, okay.

I’m sure this too will pass…I will rebound as I usually do. But missing Beth is going to take a lot out of me. It has taken a lot out of me. I have screamed at the top of my lungs on more than one occasion and have cried myself to sleep on several others. I found a Peanuts ornament I bought back in July and sank to my knees. Beth loved Peanuts.

I think the best way to end is to just tell you again how cool a person my Bethy was…and to tell you how much I hurt and how much I miss her and how much my world has changed.

And, I think of my son. How did he do it? How did he get through losing Phil? And Aaron? And Stephen? How did he do it without losing his mind? I am in awe of him.

Simply in awe.

*http://www.hellomynameisblog.com/2010/11/what-to-do-when-you-feel-like-you-dont.html

On The Christian Church’s Obsession with Youth and Families

I heard on a long drive the other day that 50% of the church is made up of people 34 years old and younger. So, math whiz that I am, I deduced then, that 50% of the church is also made up of people that are 34 years old and older.

I also read my Bible on a fairly regular basis and have noted that Jesus never, ever, singled out one group of people over another. He preached to everyone. “Everyone who has ears, let them hear.” Matt 13:9.

Everyone.

The Bible is also full of stories of God working through people of all ages. David was a young boy when he was anointed King. Moses was in his eighties when God first spoke to him.  Abraham and Sarah were in their nineties when Isaac was born; Mary was a teen when she was called to be the mother of Jesus. Paul was middle aged.

By today’s standards, I do believe Moses, Abraham and Sarah, and probably Paul, would have been out of luck. They would have been patted on the head and pushed aside. Or, offered the chair straightening ministry if they really wanted to serve.

Why?

Because the Christian church of today caters, almost exclusively, to the young. Young people and young families. Not all churches, but most. And these churches don’t know what to do with anyone else. So, by the stats above, 50% of the people attending church are left out.

And I wonder why? When the Bible doesn’t teach that, why are Christian churches putting such a focus on youth?

I’ve heard that a large percentage of Christians make their profession of Christ in their youth. I’ve also heard that a large percentage of Christians leave the church when they are no longer young.

Could this be the key?

We live in a culture of youth obsession anyway, and it is sad (and worrisome) to me that the church has jumped on that bandwagon. We are called to be different from this world, not adopt its ways to further our congregations.

So, if we cater to the youth and to young families, they are then under the belief that church is about them. The worship music is loud and resembles a rock concert; there are endless activities for them; whole services are carved out for ‘the family’; whole buildings are built just for them. And yes, Jesus is preached, but to have a whole church catered just for them can give them a false sense of their place within the church. They truly believe it’s all about them. That church is there to serve them, not the other way around.

And anyone who is not in that demographic, is not worthy. Or shouldn’t be there. Or is told to go with the flow. Or, told that maybe they need to go find a different church. And that is a problem.  Because once you start dividing up the people that come to your church into those you think need to be served and those who don’t, well, you’re no longer a Bible serving church. You’re a self-serving church. And, I know, I know, everyone else is doing it, so it must be a “Christian” thing, but it’s not.

So, let’s get back to those who leave the church when they are no longer young. Could it be because they have had the rug pulled out from under them? They have been catered to all their young lives and then, they are put out to pasture. They suddenly don’t matter to the church anymore and if you’ve believed that Jesus only loves the young and the young families, then, well, why would you stay? You are no longer loved. Your perfectly catered to world no longer exists or makes sense.

My Bible is pretty clear that Jesus and his disciples served and preached to everyone. Young, old, married, single, rich, poor. It doesn't say to cater to the young. It doesn't say people with kids matter more than anyone else.

Moses didn’t say, “Let only the young and young families go” he said, “Let my people go”. (Emphasis mine)

John 3:16 doesn’t say, “For God so loved the youth and the young families that He gave His only begotten son that if only they believe in Him they will not perish but have eternal life.” Nope. It says, “For God so loved the world…” (Emphasis again mine) And ‘the world’ means everyone in it. Young , and the not young anymore.

The purpose of the church is to preach God’s Word to us, all of us.  It is to get the believers, all the believers, ready for when God calls on us to His purpose. By only focusing on the young or young families, the church is not serving their purpose. And by turning to the world to get people in the door, they are not trusting the perfect Word of God that is sharper than any two edged sword.

You want to reach the young and the young families? Unflinchingly preach the Word of God. It’s not  your job to decide who can come and who matters. Preach God’s Word and let Him take care of the ears it falls on.

You want people to stay? Unflinchingly preach the Word of God and thus equip them as you are told to do. Let Him take care of the ears the Word falls on.

Jesus’ ministry wasn’t for the young. It was for sinners. And we come in all ages.

On My Latest Trip Around the Sun

So, I’m 51 today and as I look back, as I tend to do on the milestone of my Birthday, I think what a good year it was. Yeah, a pretty, darn good year.

Here are some of the good things that happened this past year:

1.      I had my gallbladder removed. I hadn’t realized how badly I was suffering with that, until it was removed and then, Wow! What a difference. Pain free. And the drugs made my back not hurt for two whole weeks. It was good.

2.      I finished my book and started sending it out to literary agents and publishers. Re-editing my book took forever as I kept writing new sections or completely re-writing others, but, finally, it was done. And although I haven’t gotten an agent or a publisher yet, I’ve gotten some great feedback and encouragement from both.

3.      I got a job. After taking two years off, (that really only should have been one), I found a job that I love. My boss is great, the work is challenging, I work from home and set my own schedule, and, most importantly, I learned a lot about myself in the process.

4.      Ireland. The mission trip I took this summer was an amazing time. I fell in love with Ireland and her people and long for it in ways that surprise me. We had a Sunday picnic on the lush grounds of Muckross House that was so beautiful, so relaxing, and so full of fellowship, that in times of stress I think on it and that wonderful feeling of contentment comes flooding over me.

5.      My relationship with God has deepened. I joined a home fellowship, I attended the spring Women’s Bible study on Tuesday mornings, I signed up to serve in a few ministries, and, surprise! When you feed the Spirit, the relationship you have with God deepens. And I have met some truly amazing people. Bonus!

As great as the year has been, there have been a few downers as well, and they are worth mentioning, if only to see how I have grown through them.

1.      I’m still single. This one has been difficult as I dated a few people who ultimately moved on to others. And that part I am okay with…here’s why: I’m not going to be rushed in to anything. A friend set me up with a really nice guy who had lost his wife two years ago. And he was ready, like right now, to move on. I recognized he hadn’t dealt with his grief and pulled back a little, and bam. Three months later he was married to someone else. “That could have been you,” my friend said. “Thank God it’s not me!” I answered. They are now separated and his words of, “I can’t believe I found love again so soon!” haunt him. Cuz, it wasn't love. It was 'thank god I'm no longer alone'.  It’s hard to wait for the right person, but I am determined to do so and to not let my singleness or loneliness make me make a decision I will regret. The only thing worse than being single is being married to the wrong guy. And please stop thinking that because I am single, anybody is better than nothing. So. Not. True.

2.      My back. Enough said.

3.      Christmas. I love Christmas, but my family seems to put such an ugly spin on it that each year it gets harder and harder to find the simple joy of it. Presents are banished as being a pain, get togethers are a chore (for them), and the singleness thing gets to me while I try to pretend it doesn’t. I am determined not to succumb to any of this nonsense this year.

4.      Watching my son struggle. It was a year of mourning Phil and mourn he did. And while that is a good thing, it was hard for this Momma to watch. He is stronger for it and he is starting to move forward again, but oh, gut wrenching to watch him go through it.

5.      My Mom's fall and subsequent brain surgery. Really, enough said.

So, all in all, my year has been good and God has blessed me in many, many ways. As my next trip around the sun begins, I am excited for the promises it holds. I think of the practical things I want to do (new carpet for the house!) and the not so practical (a trip to Alaska!). But more than anything, I want to make a difference for God. I want to deepen existing friendships. I want to be more kind. I want to not sweat the small stuff. I want to be gracious when faced with a difficult person. I want to drive without involuntarily screeching, “Are you kidding me?!” I want my friends to not be sick.

I want Timber to not be such a hound.

Well, we can’t have everything.