On Being Who You Are

On Being Who You Are

I was standing in line at the store the other day and there was this boy, maybe 8, dancing around, oblivious to where he was or who was around. His harried Mom scolded him, which didn't seem to faze him at all, so the level of her tone changed until, inevitably, she got his attention and the dancing stopped. She leaned in and spoke words I could not hear, but understood none the less. The boy looked doubtful and I thought, “Yes, kid, never stop dancing!”

It seems from almost the beginning of our lives we are taught to be something other than who we are. Our personalities are chiseled and chipped at until we conform to what our parents and our community thinks we should be. Their values are instilled in us, which can be good, but at the expense of our personalities, I think that can be bad.

Because there is something more about being who we are…I mean the deep down who we are. The person we were created to be, the person we are when no one else is around. The person you are (were) before the world got a hold of you. Do you know who that person is? Are you comfortable with them? Is this the person you show to the world, or do you show a carefully constructed version?

Being a Christian, I am confronted frequently with the carefully constructed versions of who people are. In church, we shouldn't be afraid to just be who we are, right? But there seems to be an unspoken rule that we have to be happy and have it all together when we go to worship God. When I was a fairly new Christian, there was a greeter who would always greet you enthusiastically. She’d ask how you were. “Fine. How are you?” And she’d say, with a small head tilt, “Blessed.” And I always just wanted to poke her in the eye. Because it was so fake. She didn't care how I was doing and maybe her life was blessed, but seriously? That’s your answer every time? Or the classic hand shake pull. You know what I’m talking about if you've ever entered a church. The person at the door extends their hand to you, so you go to shake it, and instead of a warm greeting, they pull you through the doorway. Okaay. And I’m not just bagging on greeters here. I think it’s a symptom of that carefully constructed facade we have for ourselves and others that keeps real interaction from happening.

This is why I appreciate my friend Jim so much. He should really be the poster boy for being who you are. When you ask him how he’s doing…he tells you. Good. Bad. Or anything in between, he’ll tell you. He’s real. When he prays, there is no fuss or muss. He talks to God how he talks to everyone else. The first time I heard him pray was on a mission trip to Rocky Point and I couldn't help but open my eyes and look at him, a huge smile on my face. It went something like this: “God. You love us. Man. How do you do that? That’s so cool. You sent your Son for us? We don’t deserve it, but You did it anyway! Cool!” Jim hates shoes and goes barefoot whenever he can. He is forgetful and mixes stuff up. He does a million things at once and would give you the shirt off his back. He loves his wife and family. He will tell you straight out what he thinks. He is who he is and there is no pretense. He doesn't take your facade either. If he asks how you are and you say, "fine". He asks again. 

If we could all be that comfortable with ourselves, right?

And here’s why; God made us exactly who we are. He made us each different…no two of us are alike, even identical twins have different personalities.  He made me to go out into the world and be…me. Not you, not anyone else, but me. So why do we struggle so with who we are? Is it that distant voice from childhood telling us “don’t”? Why do we look in the mirror and not like what we see? And I’m not just talking about how we look, but that yearning we have for wanting to be different than who we truly are. The Jims of the world are so refreshing aren't they? And how boring would the world be if we were all alike anyway. Nothing would ever get done! We’re all gifted differently Ephesians tells us, and rightly so, so why do we seem to struggle with who we are?

And, I get it. We all have had someone, maybe a close someone, maybe a not so close someone, comment on who we are. “You’re too _____________” and fill in the blank with whatever they said about you. Or we were just being ourselves and were happy doing it, only to have someone rejects us outright. Or we really wanted to fit in with a group and they just never accepted you. They were nice to you, but would walk away to go off and do whatever it was they were going to do, leaving you wondering why they didn't just invite you along as well.

All of these things cause us to doubt ourselves and even if you have a strong self-worth and don’t really care about what others think, these situations causes a sting that we want to fix right away. Because it hurts to think that who we are isn't good enough.

Even the strongest of people will go through points in life where they lose who they are. The loss of a close friendship, a divorce, or a bad break-up can cause us to question everything and make us lose sight of who we are.  And when we are lost, we unfortunately can let others define us. We can let their words or judgments shame us because we, essentially, believe we are divorced or lost that friend because of who we are. Because the underlying theme becomes that because you are who you are, you don’t deserve love.

This is what I believed after my divorce. If only I was someone else, this wouldn't have happened to me. But, no.  I am divorced because my husband broke every vow. He didn't love, honor, or cherish. He bolted at the first signs of sickness and did not forsake all others. And I ended up confusing what I was (a wife, a divorced woman) with who I was.

And I wish I could sit here and tell you that I figured that out quickly and went on my merry way. Um, no. I made soul crushing mistakes putting on that façade and pretending to be who I thought the world wanted me to be. And it was exhausting. Because I would edit myself.  And it was straight up fear. Fear that I would be rejected again for being who I am. And when people do pull away or reject you again, it’s not because you are being who you are, it’s because you aren’t being who you are.  People know when we are not being real with ourselves and with them. All the work we put into these façades and people see right through them anyway.

So, it becomes a gift when someone likes us just for who we are; a sweet precious gift. And it happens by accident sometimes. Through all the heartache of my divorce, there were some wonderful people who liked me in spite of my intense sadness and self-loathing. Most were from work.  I think that is why work friends seem to really stick…because they see you eight hours a day and really, you can’t fake a personality for forty hours a week. My work friends knew when I was cranky, knew when I was happy, knew when they should just stay out of my way. They knew I was honest, fair, kind. That I like to laugh, don’t like to be interrupted, and that stress kicks my butt. They knew when I needed a break, a hug, or a bag of peanut M&M’s. They knew if I said I was sick, that I was really, really, sick. And they knew they could come to me for anything. They taught me it was okay to be who I was. That just because I was going through this horrible thing, I was still me, and that they liked me. Seriously, a precious gift.

But let’s not confuse being who we truly are with the thought that if we are, everyone will like us. We need to realize that some people just aren't going to like us. They’re just not. Your personality will rub them the wrong way and there is nothing you can do about it. And there is that temptation to try and get them to like you, and sometimes we get lost in that space, don’t we? Because we start to change who we are for someone who doesn't even like us and that is dangerous ground. Someone once told me to be careful not to cross an ocean for someone who wouldn't cross a puddle for me. What wise words. Because we can start to go overboard before we realize what we are doing. We start to compromise who we are for someone who isn't worthy of us.

Why? Because we want to matter. We want to be important to people. We want to matter in their lives. No one likes to hear someone say, “Oh, we’re going to meet our good friends,” as they walk away from you. And that’s the thing about being brave enough to just be who we are. When we become who we are, we will matter to the right people.

At one of my birthday dinners, my dear friend and I were talking about how we got to be 50, the roads that led us to where we are right now and our divorces came up.  She had sent her ex-husband a note about one of their sons and said that he, and the world, wants to pretend that entire marriage never happen and asked what, as a participant in the marriage, did that mean for her? Did those years and those boys not mean anything? I knew exactly what she meant.  They mattered. The marriage had mattered. The ripping apart of a family is excruciating and the ripples extend for a long time. You see the ripples in your kids and there is no pain like that, let me tell you. But that ripping does not take away the marriage or the family it created. It mattered greatly.

And mattering is what I struggle with in my marriage to Jon. Because there are very few who see that it mattered at all. So I have grieved alone in all of it. We met seven years after my divorce and he did give me that precious gift of liking me for just who I was. I had reached the place of knowing, this is who I am, this is what I want, and that is a strong place to be. He liked my quirks, he liked that I spoke my mind. He liked that I saw him, not ALS. We were in love and despite his having that horrible disease, we married. That he left shortly after we married doesn't negate anything. Anything. He regretted it almost as soon as he had left but continued to push me away in an effort to protect me. When the full explanation came, a few months before he died, I wept for us, for what could have been, and for the joy we missed out on. What gave me peace, though, was that I had mattered to him. He had loved me for who I was and I mattered.

Why did it all happen the way it did? I don’t know. But I believe God’s promises. He promises that he can turn a horrible situation into something good for His purpose. I may never know why, this side of heaven, this all happened, but I believe He will, and has, used that situation for His good. And that’s enough. Because when we understand God created and loves us for who we are, and that we matter to Him, oh, is that ever freeing.

On Facebook

I love Facebook. I think I’ve been on it for 5 years now and at first it was mainly to keep me connected to the triathlon club I was in; coordinating workouts, social events within the club, etc. As time went by though, it opened up my past. Friends that I had lost contact with over the years suddenly where sending me friend requests or I was seeing them in the “people you may know” section. Catching up with people and seeing how their lives turned out was wonderful. Sending quick notes or posts, or even better, scheduling time to meet up in person, has been great. Friends of our youth have a certain knowledge about us that, maybe, as time as gone by, we may have forgotten about ourselves.

While I love FB, I know of many people who don’t. They say it is evil; that is a waste of time; that no good can come from it. I clearly don’t agree with those viewpoints at all. As with life, FB is what you make of it.

One of the biggest evils I have heard is that FB breaks up marriages as it causes people to cheat or to otherwise get themselves into trouble. I wholeheartedly disagree with that statement. You know who cheats? Cheaters. You know what makes people cheat? Bad character. If you are looking for trouble, you’re going to find it no matter if it is at work, on FB, or standing in line at Starbucks. I do not believe that an innocent person suddenly gets on FB, gets a friend request and suddenly, through no fault of their own, starts an online affair or flirtation that progresses into a real life affair or flirtation. Why? Because decisions have to be made with FB. (And in real life, too) Do you accept the friend request – yes or no? Do you respond to the overtly sexual comment – yes or no? Do you decide to tell this person something personal about yourself – yes or no? Do you decide to hide the content from your significant other – yes or no? It’s not FB, it’s the person. People were cheating long before FB came around and if someone is using FB to cheat, it’s their bad character, and nothing else.

Now, as I got into FB, I developed rules for myself. I (generally) don’t accept a friend request from someone I don’t know, even if we went to the same high school and we share 20 friends. I truly want my “friends” to be friends. I will also de-friend you if your content is not what I want to be seeing in my news feed or if we have stopped being friends in real life. I have had friend requests that I have mulled over before accepting or declining and I have mulled over sending a friend request to someone. The point being, I am in control of what I am doing within FB. Just as I am in control over where I go on the Internet or what I watch on TV, I have made my FB life an extension of my real life. As far as an evil aspect goes, as stated, I believe any situation has the potential for evil. But, your character is what guides you, right? If you’re a person with bad character, your bad character will come through. If you want to use people and manipulate them or bully them on FB, I am most certain that is what you do in real life as well.

If you go to my page you will see, I believe, that I am a Christian; that my friends and family are extremely important to me; that I have good days and bad days but I am generally an upbeat person; that I love music and movies; that I am athletic; and that I have two dogs that I love but drive me crazy. (cough, Timber). If you see me in real life, you will see, I believe, that I am a Christian; that my friends and family are extremely important to me; that I have good days and bad days but I am generally an upbeat person; that I love music and movies; that I am athletic; and that I have two dogs that I love but drive me crazy. (cough, Timber).

One of the things I love about FB is just being able to catch up with people from different aspects of my life. I had great high school and college experiences and seeing those friends, even if only on FB, makes me happy. I think when we are young, we take for granted that we see these people every day and that they become the backbone of our lives, so to speak. The familiarity of their presence, the way they know you, the way they stick up for you. And once we graduate and life takes us in different directions, you feel an absence that you can’t put your finger on. Until you see that face again, smiling at you from a FB request. For me, it answers the questions…how are they going to turn out? I love seeing their page and what they’ve done with the time they’ve had between now and the last time I saw them. Some of these people were so very important to me and time and distance doesn’t necessarily take any of that away.

Keeping up with friends who have moved away is also something I love about FB. Tucson is a transient town and people come and go so quickly around here. (Two points if you get the movie reference) Seeing where life is leading them and what is happening to them is something I look forward to and it makes my day to know they are following me as well. As yet another close friend packs up to leave, I’m glad I’ll have FB to watch her kidlets grow, and to see her new life in a state far, far away.

Another thing I love about FB are the clips people post. Some are funny, some are inspirational, and some are thought provoking. Some are of food. I’ve been introduced to new bands, new books, new blogs, and new websites. Some clips I disagree with, some I don’t bother to click on, some go un-noticed. I love pet pictures, I love Tj’s posts, I love the randomness of what comes up at any given time. I love that I can express my thoughts on subjects of the day, or just my day. If I’m down in the dumps, people can support me; if I’m having a great day, people can celebrate with me. I can tease you about your song choices or love of certain McDonald’s gastro sandwiches. I can watch your children grow and hear all about your vacation. On my page, you can see endless pictures of Timber staring at me. Hound.

I have heard that FB is time suckage. For me, that is not the case. I don’t do Farmville or Mafiaville or Jewelville or any of that sort of thing. And I don’t accept requests from you on that stuff. No judgments, that’s just not my thing. I don’t labor over writing posts or responses. I’m not on it 24/7. Now, since I’m not working, I’m certainly on it more than when I was working, but for the most part, I don’t have it open all day long and am not checking it every few minutes. For me, it truly is just another way to connect with the people in my life, whether they live across town or across the country.

Not that I haven’t had bad or weird experiences. I’ve had old boyfriends send me messages and get uppity when I didn’t rekindle feelings we had when we were sixteen; I’ve had people send me lengthy messages asking why I de-friended them; I’ve had someone pretend to be a well know Pastor and send me personal messages. All of these situations just let me understand how to use the “block” and “delete” tools, as well as the privacy settings. But, just as I have bad or weird experiences in real life, I’m not ready to throw the baby out with the bathwater.
So, thanks for your posts and inviting me in to a slice of your life. And thanks for never getting tired of photos of my dogs.

On Having a Full Plate

My thoughts have been quite jumbled lately. It is hard for me to collect my thoughts as so many seem to be swirling through my head at any given time. I have sat down to write many times, but there are too many directions to go in. I have had more loss since Phil’s death; the loss of several friendships at once; the loss of a church; my son will more than likely be moving away; and dammit, but my health just seems to be further declining, now with some pretty severe stomach pains.

There is a lot on my plate…the plate is so full, I just can’t seem to even see it anymore. There is too much and everything seems to have settled into a haze just beyond my grasp. Which is fine. I can’t find the energy to even deal with it all, anyway. When something comes up, I pull it forward, deal with it alone, then push the plate back into its hazy place. It is emptying slowly but surely.

The loss of friendships is probably the most difficult for me. I am heartbroken over it. It is baffling and I swing from immense pain to being quite pissed off. I was encouraged to share my thoughts but instead of solutions or apologizes, their position was defended. Two simple words could heal all, but, they will not be forthcoming. A declaration to never give up on the friendship by them was taken back within a week. “Peace” was claimed on their end, and that was that. And, I wonder why? If you hurt me, whether you meant to or not, whether you have a good excuse or not, and we have a ten-plus year friendship, and I tell you that you have hurt me, why wouldn’t you make amends? Why wouldn’t you use those two magic words? I have no answers for those questions and the situation has just become one more thing that I have to get through.

The church thing is unfortunate and sad, but judgment and intolerance seem to have a permanent home in our churches. Churches, American churches, preach to marital status. If you are married with children, then the American church is very, very happy to have you. If you are anything but that, you are not their demographic and they truly don’t know what to do with you. This is so far from what the Bible teaches it boggles my mind that they are oh so proud of it all. This particular church has a young pastor who preaches that women are less than. He preaches it, he blogs it, and he, as I found out, lives it. Unless he is related to you, he will treat you with indifference, unless he is being downright rude, each being acceptable behavior for him. And people within the church make excuses for him; that’s just the way he is. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Are you kidding me?

Um, here’s why it’s a problem. He is preaching by the flesh instead of by the Holy Spirit. He is living by fear instead of grace. And, Jesus, who should be his model, treats everyone equally. He loves you no matter who you are; male or female; married or not; childless or not.

1 Timothy 5 teaches us to treat every Christian like mother or father, sister or brother. Jesus also preached and ministers to EVERYONE. This guy has removed words like “whosoever” “all” “the world” and has replaced those words with “only those I feel comfortable with”. So, when a single female (me) asked for much needed prayer when Phil died, I got no response. Ever. Not a “someone will call you as soon as possible” or “I’m sorry for your loss”. This is real, this happened. A pastor of a church ignored a request for prayer. How can you, as a pastor, decide to ignore someone in need? Whom are you truly serving? Ministering to the people in your congregation is a major job description…how can you decide, “ah, I just won’t talk to or pray for women because they might make me stumble?” Pushing your sin on a whole gender is wrong, buddy. Why don’t you know that?

More questions ricochet around my mind; Does he not know the meaning of the word “ministry”? How can he read the Bible and feel comfortable deciding not to minister to certain people? How can he judge like that? How can he add to the Bible, something it teaches us NOT to do? If he has a problem ministering to women, why is he a pastor? And worst of all, how can the people around him let him get away with such unChristlike behavior?

Questions, I again, have no answer for. But I am so thankful, too, that I have wonderful Christian men in my life who ARE doing it right. Who treat me like a sister and support me in good and bad.

Michael leaving is a good thing and I am excited for the opportunities that await him. He has had further loss as well, and I grieve for the place life has him right now. I want him to know that it will all be okay, that he will go on to do great things, and that yes, life will kick him again. I want him to be buoyant and see beyond the pain and sadness to the horizon. Good stuff is waiting; just keep going. Good advice for both of us, I think.

My health. Bleh. I’m sick of talking about it and wondering how I got here. Thoughts of my past and all I have put my body through haunt me a little. Gymnastics, dance, track, running, skiing, ice skating, weight lifting…I swear my body is just rebelling. The days when I could ask my body to do anything and have it respond in kind are long gone. I wonder if I will ever be able to run again? That, is just too much to think about.

As for my stomach issues, it is my gallbladder, which needs to come out. Since I can’t see the surgeon until mid-August, I decided to do a cleanse that some people have had great results with…well, what a disaster! The pre-cleanse has you drink a LOT of apple juice. Like. A. Lot. Plus, no fat or protein. I made it through that just fine and went on to the day of fasting. I was doing great and then bam, a searing headache and nausea so bad I couldn’t hold my head up. I was eventually able to keep an aspirin down and feel okay this morning. The pain is still there but I can at least hold my head up. I don’t know what caused such a brutal headache…no protein? All that sugar from the juice? The funniest thing about all that was when I woke up at 1am, thanking God the nausea had cleared, I found I couldn’t move. I put my hand down to find Timber, all 90lbs of him, snuggled right up next to me with his head across my stomach. The dog knows when I don’t feel good, that’s for sure! So, I’ll bide my time until I see the surgeon and hope the pain doesn’t keep me from missing more fun activities. I missed a reunion, a good friend’s b-day party, and the whole just-not-feeling-good every day does get to me. The days I have energy I’m like a whirling dervish. Hoping those outnumber the bad days!

So, a lot on my plate and I’m just trying to stay positive. I relish the little things throughout the day that are positive; friends calling to check up on me; invitations to get out of the house; time with my son who is staying here until he leaves in a few weeks; the monsoons. God is good, even in this time of trial.

I am so thankful for my faith in times like these. Being able to pour out my heart to God and ask Him these questions that rattle through my brain. He is bigger than all these things and will sort them out in His time. For me, I lean on His comfort and His teaching that this is only a season. And will try to use this time of sorrow to learn His path for me and to have Him strengthen me as I go through it.

Blessings to you.

On Death and Dying

The call came in the wee hours of Wednesday morning. I saw it was Michael and I wondered if his stomach flu had kicked in again. His words were even and monotone. “Mom, Phil’s dead.” He said it so quietly, I asked, “What?” even though I had heard the words. “Phil’s dead.”

Phil is dead. I still can’t believe, or understand, or comprehend that this beautiful boy is no longer here. No longer Michael’s best friend. He and Michael met, if not on the first day of school their freshman year of high school, then a day or two later. And they seemed to be best friends immediately. Two peas in a pod.

Memories of their life flood back to me. The video game sleep overs. Coming home from work one day to find my front living room furniture pushed aside with their band equipment in its place and them rocking a song. Phil entering our house with his familiar, “Hi, Mom.”

The crushing effect of Michael’s words hit me hard for so many reasons, because the sad part is, we’ve been here before. Twice before actually.

Michael had five close friends in high school; Phil, Nick, Aaron, Chris and Stephen.

Aaron died first. March 2008. It was devastating. The boys were in their Senior year of high school and Aaron’s death was more than a shock. Michael, Phil and Aaron had just been at the house playing music then ended up at Phil’s for a sleep over and had stayed up all night talking about their futures as well as goofing around at Udall park. Michael and Phil ended up back at my house raiding the fridge and seeing how long they could stay up since they hadn’t sleep the night before. When the call came, I told the person they were wrong, that Aaron had just been here, that they had the wrong Aaron. But, no, they did not have the wrong Aaron; he was killed riding down Mt. Lemmon on his motorcycle. I called out to Michael and carefully told him the news, to which he said the same thing. We just were with him, you’ve got it wrong, Mom. Aaron’s death seemed exceptionally harsh because of the promise before him. He was a tremendously talented musician. He would sit on my couch and casually play a guitar while talking with Michael and the beauty of his riffs were incredible. The boys took it very, very hard and eventually honored him by tattooing his name in Hebrew on their wrists.

Then, in 2011, Stephen died. Stephen was the troubled kid of the group. Bright, funny, smart, but troubled. He was a lethal soccer player, loyal friend, but depression seemed to surround him and in their Junior year, he ran away from home. His Mom would call to see if we had seen him or had heard any news and I would keep her up to date with any tidbits Michael had. I couldn’t stand the thought of him sleeping behind dumpsters so Michael and I would drive the streets at sundown looking for him. Then one day, there he was, walking his bike down Broadway. We pulled alongside and I told him to get in. I fixed them both dinner then went to call his Mom. He stayed maybe two weeks before he left again, eventually joining the Army and asking for infantry. He committed suicide while on leave here and the day I met his Mother face to face was the day of his funeral. I remember standing at his grave with Michael beside me, Phil behind me, and Nick and his parents beside Michael. The boys were sad, of course, but not surprised. Poor Stephen, maybe now he had found some peace.

And now, Phil.

Phil was the happy-go-lucky one of the group…everybody’s friend. His goodness is what strikes me now and what I’ll miss most. Driving his Toaster, wearing his neon, being his funky self and not caring what anybody thought. His friendship to Michael also makes my heart ache because I wonder how Michael will fill that void. Where Michael and Nick have a deep, we-can-share-our-deep-dark-secrets-and-you’ll-understand friendship, Michael and Phil had the everyday friendship. They seemed to do everything together; their band, their jobs, their circle of friends. They each had their own life, but shared everything. Their future was so tied together that Michael’s sense of loss goes to a depth that reaches beyond what he should have to be dealing with at his young age. Phil, from what we understand, was at a party and drown in an apartment complex pool. Michael was supposed to be there but that stomach flu had kept him home. His parents are very private and have asked Michael to help. They are worried about him, as we all are.

We have dealt with death frequently…not only these three boys, but Jon in ’07 and my Dad in ’10. We are familiar with grief. Michael grieves silently, alone. I grieve openly and want people around me. So, we rub each other the wrong way during these times. I want to help and hold and he wants me to leave him alone. He will sit by himself on Sunday, when we go to bury Phil. He may let Chelsea and Nick near. I will sit with Nick’s parents. His Mom and I scared for our sons. How will they cope burying Phil? How will they cope with the loss? How will they cope with being the ones still here? The questions of why are innumerable.

My mind can barely go to his parents. Phil was their only child and how do you go on? How do you bury your only child on Mother’s Day? My heart grieves and breaks for them. My feeble words of what their son meant to me, to Michael, they seen so small. How do you express gratitude for the wonderfulness of their son in our lives?

My prayers have been feeble as well. I have prayed for comfort and the peace that passes all understanding for everyone involved. But, my words fail me after that. My grief is too big right now. I have grief and worry and questions and know this won’t be over after the service on Sunday. I reached out to the Pastor of the church I have been attending and got no response, so now I have anger, too. And the verse on their wall yesterday was… Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. -Galatians 6:2. Apparently practicing what they preach is not their strong suit.

When death comes, I think about life. It is the everyday stuff we all take for granted. And the big ideas and philosophies we hold are all nothing if we do not live them out every day. Tomorrow never, ever comes. Today is the day the Lord has made, let us give thanks and be glad in it. Jesus tells us to love one another. Not judge others, not elevate ourselves, just love everyone. Death makes me think about my life and if I am even making a difference. Do I love? I get so hard on myself because I know how quickly this life can end…am I doing enough? Am I living my words?

And I look at Phil’s life, cut too short, and I see all the people he affected. The words people have written are of his goodness; of how nice he was; of his friendship. And it makes it easier somehow to know of the legacy of goodness he left behind. He did not talk about being a good person, he was a good person.

So, rest in peace, beautiful Phil. Your legacy lies before all of us and we are all better for knowing you. While we grieve your passing, Heaven rejoices at your entrance. I’m sure you and Aaron are riffing with Stephen bobbing his head in time. Thank you for showing us what love is. Miss you and love you always.

On Boston

On Boston

This past Monday, something unimaginable happened. Bombs exploded at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. I knew several people who were running, but was not watching it on line like I do Kona. I had a busy day and had just got back from running several errands. I fixed myself some lunch and turned on the TV to watch some DVR’d shows. But what was on the screen I didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. As what I was seeing caught up to what I was hearing, I started to cry uncontrollably. They played the tape over and over again and I still couldn’t understand…my brain could not wrap itself around what was happening. I pulled my lap top from the office, lunch forgotten, and tried to search for my friends. Were they safe? Thank God for FB because one by one they posted that they were okay. Prayer requests poured in for their friends who had gotten hurt; people were frantically searching for their loved ones. The Hoyts (teamhoyt.com) were running their 31^st Boston Marathon and the four hour mark is when they normally finish. Where were they? Their FB page was full of people pleading for info on their whereabouts and safety. Finally it was posted that they had been near the 25 mile mark when the bombs went off and were safe.

As the coverage continued and the injuries explained my mind became numb. I knew instinctively that it wasn’t the same terrorists as 9/11. I knew they were young and from here…they had to be. No one but people from either the running community and/or Boston knows the significance of that day; of that race. It was specific, what they did. It was intentional. It was cruel. I know that sounds like I am stating the obvious, but the way it felt was personal. To me, to everyone. More so than Newtown or Aurora, because they targeted everyone.

And maybe I feel it is personal because this is my community. My peeps. I am a runner. I run…injured back notwithstanding. I race. I’ve done 5k’s, 10k’s and a few ½ marathons and I’ve spectated at just as many. The running (and triathlon) communities are simply the most positive, encouraging, fun, open, accepting communities out there. Everyone is happy on race day; everyone is smiling; everyone is cheering on strangers. Even if you have a bad race or get injured or bonk, there are people there to build you up, cheer you up, and support you. People cheer you in whether you are first or last. And as Boston is the mecca, well, it just cut me to the core. Those bastards.

As the investigation got going I just didn’t want to hear about the people responsible. I thought it was one guy, young, as I said. Once they announced that it was two, I understood that and just hoped the media would not name them, would not tell us all about them, not plaster their high school year book photos for all of us to see. Then they released the video of them walking with the bombs on their backs and it just made my heart hurt. And the questions just popped into my head…what happened to you two to make you hate your fellow man so much that you’d lay a bag at their feet to explode? They were so young…and everyone had such nice things to say about them. Which makes it harder somehow. And eerie, as reports that the younger brother went back to school as if nothing had happened and that the older had a wife and young daughter.  

The answer to the whys, for me, is always the same; we live in a fallen world and in a fallen world, until Jesus comes again, evil exists, reigns even. We are a people that kill each other. If we feel hurt, or forgotten, or tossed aside, as our culture loves to do, or people disagree with our point of view, we let our anger build, we focus on ourselves, and in our hurt and anger, we take it out on the people who we perceive as hurting us. Cain killed Abel because he was jealous of God’s praise to his brother and God’s rebuke to him. Why did these two brothers turn their hate on the people of their own community? Only the coming days will tell us that…but quite frankly, I don’t care.

Because there are a million other ways they could have handled their anger, disillusionment, or self-loathing. A million other ways to share their point of view. I don’t believe there is any good explanation or justification. Bad childhood? Wah. Ignored by people? Welcome to planet Earth. People don’t like your point of view? Try being a Christian. Led astray by some subversive terrorist group? Yawn. It’s almost a cliché now isn’t it? And knowing why won’t un-shatter the lives of those lost, maimed and injured. It won’t undo that they brought their stupid violence into an event that has been around for over a hundred years. Into an event that celebrates the wonderful spirit of human competition from world class runners to the weekend warrior who busts his or her respective butt to train and push themselves to qualify. It won't undo that we now live in a world where people bomb sporting events.

I know a lot has been said about the city of Boston and the wonderful, heroic people who rushed to the fallen, seeing things no one should ever have to see, in their eagerness to help. My words fall short in my admiration for these people. What I feel for what they did cannot be expressed adequately. There is no way to honor them properly, but my heart swells to a fullness I can’t describe when I think of what they did. And the fallen and injured themselves. The little boy who died and his sister and mother both gravely injured; the two brothers, who each lost a leg. A newlywed couple, each losing a leg. The one man who lost both legs but was able to help identify the suspects. Such bravery. Such heroism. Such an example of that human spirit that no bomb can ever, ever shatter. The Yankees playing ‘Sweet Caroline’; Chicago posting in their paper that they were the Chicago Red Sox, Chicago Bruins, Chicago Patriots, etc. Beautiful examples of ways to love each other. Simple really.

Now that one is dead and the other captured and apparently fighting for his life in a hospital, their crime will become a footnote. It has already faded, not because it is insignificant, but because the goodness of people has already out shone their violence. The police, FBI, AFT, and all the other agencies swooped down and made a statement that no one that does wrong will prevail. The crowds that lined the streets to cheer on law enforcement after the capture was unprecedented. And they deserved every, single, cheer.

As I looked at pictures of the day, Farther Along by Josh Garrels came on my IPod and his words and the haunting music brought fresh tears. It’s posted below…his words are true. In this fallen world…”I wonder why, the good man dies, the bad man thrives, and Jesus cries because He loves them both.” It is hard to understand and make sense of this stuff and I do try and look for the miracles, but the idea that my Saviour grieves for those two bombers humbles me and again takes me to a fullness of heart that has no words.

On Being Injured

On Being Injured, or Hurt, or Sick

I injured my back in August trying to pull Timber away from a stray dog that had attacked him. Timber is a good sized dog…86lbs and is tall. When he leans against me, his head it at my rib cage. So, when he got attacked and started pulling, I pulled, he pulled, I pulled and a displaced rib and raised hip later, I have been in a good amount of pain ever since.

And this is just the latest in a long line of injuries and sicknesses that I have endured for most of my life. Right off the bat, I was sick. When I was born, three weeks early, I almost died from RH poisoning. Basically, my parent’s blood did not mix right in me and I had to have a transfusion to keep me alive. I guess I wasn’t supposed to make it…between being a premie and an RH, my time was almost up before it started. But, make it I did and it seems since then, I have gotten more than my fair share of illnesses or injuries.

Let’s see, there was scoliosis in grade school, which I obviously still have; mono in high school; a wrist injury that ended my gymnastic career because I didn’t tell anyone about it until it gave way on the bars during a routine; my big honkin calves started when I ran track in college, swelling so much and into such rocks that I used to have to go to the trainer before and after (sometimes during) practice to get icy hot massaged into them; debilitating migraines; Fifth Disease in my mid 30’s, which is basically a childhood disease but when you get it as an adult it knocks you out for 3-6 years. And it took them 3 years to diagnose me; severe tendinitis in my rt elbow, which I still deal with; plantar fasciitis; a stress induced rash on my hands that was so bad I had swollen bubbles on my hands and fingers; injuries from my 70.3 crash; various pulled muscles, strains, and the like just from running and being active; pneumonia; and now this back injury that just won’t go away.

And, this being my 50^th year, I’m getting tired of it. All of it. It is hard for me to remember a time when I haven’t been in pain in some way or another; a time when I haven’t had to endure something to just freakin exercise. For years I’ve had no sustainable fitness and that is majorly frustrating for me. I barely train for races because, let’s face it, the odds of me getting hurt in some way is so high, I really just can’t stand the disappointment anymore. So, for the past few years, I train just enough to get me through the race and always wonder what I could do if I could actually train to my full potential. I wonder if I’ll ever know.

It’s not just the physical pain; it is the emotional pain, the shame, the embarrassment, and the enduring of what people think of you. Because people think less of you when you are hurt. Maybe not at first, but eventually they do. They believe somehow that you aren’t doing all you should, or you are milking it for attention, or you are weak. Their actions and attitude toward you shows you exactly what they think of your little injury or sickness…and sometimes that judgment hurts worse than the injury itself. If I come to your house and my back hurts to the point where I can’t get off your couch, and you go and leave me, well, that speaks volumes. And I wonder…do you want to shame me into getting better? Do you honestly think I’m doing this on purpose? The actions would say yes to those questions. You think it is my fault and if you are just mean enough, in a nice sort of way, I’ll understand you don’t like me injured and bounce off the couch healed.

Or, I’ll grab the next plane out of there and now have the added pain of broken trust to deal with as well as an aching back.

And I wonder why we are like this? Why do we look down on people who are hurting? Be it emotional or physical, our noses get really long when looking at people with either of these maladies. Unless you break your leg spectacularly on national television and get the support of a nation, you will have to go it alone and endure the judgment that comes with it. My yard is a mess and the neighbors judge; my house is a mess and people judge; my body is expanding and people judge; I am not as happy go lucky as usual and people judge. I complain about my circumstance and people judge. I’m cranky and people judge.

So, what I do is push. I push too hard too soon because I have been taught since childhood that no one likes you when you are a less than. And if you are injured, you are a less than. The second I start to feel better I walk farther. I add in some sprints. I’ll do burpees, pull ups, and hold a plank for two minutes. I’ll start planning how long it will be until I can run and calculate when I’ll be able to race again. I’ll start to feel like I belong again, only to have my body tell me otherwise and I’ll be back on the couch resting and dreading the coming judgments. Because the other side of all this is how isolating being injured or sick can be. And this is just one more thing you have to deal with. No wonder I push.

This being my 50^th year, I just have to say, all this is not in my plans. How can I accomplish anything I wanted to do this year if I can’t get off the couch and am seemingly losing friends who are annoyed with my circumstance along the way? Because, as I’ve learned, no one is going to come sit on the couch with me. My visions of being somewhere fabulous as I turn 50 (NYC or Disneyland or the beach) with my friends and family around me are slowing fading away. The 15lbs I want to lose by my 50^th is also getting further and further from reach. Let me tell you it’s quite difficult to lose weight when you can’t do any sustainable cardio…and I’m going on six months without now. What makes turning 50 better is the great things you wanted to do throughout the year; and really, those things aren’t possible from the couch. And I really, really, really don’t want to be in pain anymore. Any. More.

But, short of a miracle, and I’ve prayed diligently for one, the pain is here to stay. I’ll try another doctor for another opinion, I’ll try more physical therapy, but I am starting to lose hope. Because this is all very hard. Being alone, enduring all this alone with no support, is very, very hard.

Luckily, the Bible is filled with people who were cranky and complained or lamented; Moses crabbed about the Israelites, David wailed his sorrows to the heavens, Solomon wrote a whole book bemoaning how meaningless life is, and I actually wondered if maybe he wasn’t suffering from a back ache at the time. Job, well, Job lamented his circumstance and then had three wonderful friends who blamed him for his predicament. Oh, and then there was his wife who told him to just curse God and die. Yowza.

All this to say, I know I am in good company.

I know God is big enough to take what I’m giving Him right now. I’m still praising Him in this storm, but, man, some days it is hard to sing of joy when I’m going on month six of almost daily pain and the curtailed life that goes along with it. And I’m talking PAIN here people. I can take a lot of it, but, I may have reached my limit. It's exhausting, really.

So, what do I do? Where do I go from here? It is the same old thing; I just keep getting up every day. When I get knocked down by all this, I have a good cry and just get back up. Again. Because as hard as this is, I don’t know what it looks like to stay down.

 

And I want it to stay that way.

On Waiting

Waiting is hard for me. 

As a Christian, the Bible is full of situations where someone has to wait. Moses waited for 40 years in the desert, David waited and waited and waited to be King, Abraham and Sarah waited into their nineties for their first born, Isaac. David and Abraham had been told by God that they would be King and that Israel would come from them, respectively, and then endured the wait to glorious results. And after Moses’ wait, he led the Hebrews out of Egypt, parted the Red Sea, spoke w/ God and so much more.

So, why is it so hard for me to wait on God?

And, it is HARD for me to wait on God. Really, really hard. I'm ready, God! Let's go! But, no.

I’ve been waiting for years, it seems. To find…something.  And every time I try to “make something happen” as it were, well, nothing happens. And what I keep hearing from God is, “Wait.” “Stop.” “Rest.”

The situations in my life seem to support those murmurings. I have applied for jobs all over the country and have had few bites. I have been injured since October and can’t run or bike or swim or hike or dance or any of the other physical things I like to do. And I seem to be following Moses in that God hasn’t yet shared His plan for my life.

Not that I am just sitting here twiddling my thumbs…although some days that seems to happen. Everyone is working during the day when I am wanting to go do something and there is only so much cleaning, organizing, TV watching, writing or reading I can do. And sometimes the days do stretch out with nothing to do. I tell myself to be grateful for this time of rest and remind myself how ridiculously busy and crazed I was a year ago when I quit my job. How this time is really for resting of my mind and spirit, and my body as well, so it would seem. Most days are great…I wake up when I want to and have more freedom than I’ve had in 20 or so years. My days are all mine and that is so very sweet.

Yet, I find myself yearning for….something.

When I talk to God I tell Him what I think should be happening right now. “God, wouldn’t it be great if…” and I fill in the blank for Him, like He doesn’t already know what would be great for me. I see Him patting my head and scooting me away. When I lament to friends, the response is either them telling me to shut up as they trudge off to work, or they remind me how gracious God is and that He will provide more than I can ever imagine. And the line from Star Wars always pops into my head; “I don’t know. I can imagine an awful lot.”

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1, KJV).

When I quit my job a year ago, it was truly on faith. Faith that God, in His promises, would take care of me. He has taught me many things in this year, a year that has sped by faster than any other in memory, and I know that I must continue to wait and have faith.

Have I mentioned that is hard?

Here’s why…because when the fears of the world creep into my brain I turn from God and entrust myself. Because it’s scary not knowing what is going to happen. I have hope on one hand and fear on the other and sometimes fear wins out. So I pack up my car and drive to San Diego to interview for a job I know I will hate; a job in a field I just left, but that is in one of my favorite places on earth. And the interview goes well until I ask the question every adjuster out there wants to know of an employer. What is an average pending? (Pending is the open files an adjuster is working). Now, for reference, at my last job my average pending was 90ish. And, as I have said, I was crazed. And the reply is….150. For two full seconds my eyes are wide and my mouth is gaping open. I control my facial features, but not the horror as I calculate just how many claims that is a week. A. Freakin. Lot.

So, I am waiting. And really, not just for a job, or a wonderful man, or friends that are here since all my close ones seem to move away. I’m just waiting for the next chapter of my life because it really, really feels like one is closing.

I just really wish it would hurry up already. In the words of Vizzini…

“I’m Waiting!”