Unanswered Prayers

Its Thanksgiving.  For the last few years I have run the Turkey Day 8k race in my parent's hometown.  However, I played it safe this year, and after a day at the Biltmore House yesterday (including approximately 1000 stairs) my knee is a bit...sore.  Plus, lest you forgot, I ran a Marathon a little over a week ago.  (I am not certain how long I can continue to use that excuse, but for now, I am milking it.)  Its rather unfortunate actually because, I really like this race.  Its a flat course, and I routinely PR, in part because I know that Grandma's sweet potato souffle is waiting not too far from the finish line.  In the weeks before the marathon as I was praying for things like good weather and good GU's at the water stops (I can't stand that orange GU-I was holding my breath for chocolate or vanilla) I asked the Lord to protect my body from injury.  I no longer believe my knee is seriously injured, but in hopes of running again one day, I do not want to risk it, alas no Turkey Day 8k for me.  It was a bit hard to be too sad however, since this morning I slept in until 8:30, watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade cuddled up in my parent's king size bed with my sisters and my coffee, and leisurely prepared green bean casserole for lunch later this afternoon.  When I was a little kid we used to sing a song about God always answering prayers.  The catchy chorus says, "sometimes He may say yes, sometimes He may say no, sometimes He may say wait, wait, wait, but God always answers prayers."  One of my other old favorites is Garth Brooks' "Unanswered Prayers." (I should point out, just in case you forgot my dad is a pastor, I realize that no prayer goes unanswered...I never claimed Garth was a theologian...)  But, my point remains, I am thankful for the fact that the Lord knows better than I do and that there are many things that I think I want or need, and yet the Lord says no.  So, on this Thanksgiving Day I thought I would make a list of "unanswered prayers" for which I am thankful.

1-I always prayed that I would become a successful physical therapist in a big city.  For some reason even when I was 12 that's the vision I had for my life.  Living in Chicago, taking the subway to work...and yet, here I am, living in small-town, VA, and teaching.  Not at all what I planned or prayed for my life.  And yet, I cannot think of anything else that would make me more joyful or more fulfilled. 

2-Ex-boyfriends/relationships...enough said.

3-There was a job opportunity last year that would have taken me out of the state.  It seemed like a dream-come-true situation, there were just a few specifics I had to wait on in order for the job to work out. I continued to wait, faithfully prayed, and believed that this was the Lord's plan for my life.  It came time for my contract at my current job and I realized I had to make a decision.  Without the specifics in place, I did not feel like I could make a logical or wise decision to NOT re-sign at my current place of employment for the following year.  Please don't be confused, I LOVE my current job and truly don't believe there is another school in America like mine, but this other job was just too-good-to-be-true.  However, the details did not pan out, I signed my current contract, and in small-town VA I remain.  What a year 2011-2012 is turning out to be.  The Lord has brought some incredible friends into my life over the last year.  I was just telling my mom last night how blessed I am with the dear friends I have in my hometown.  Not to mention, I probably wouldn't have ever run a marathon-and I certainly wouldn't have had as good of a training partner or support system....

4-Perhaps this one isn't so much my "unanswered prayer" as my "un-prayed prayer."  My sister, Jessica, continually begged my parents to have another child after Ryan was born.  For years she would give them a pacifier for Christmas, in hopes that they would have need for it in the coming year.  Jessica prayed that the Lord would allow her to have a new baby brother or sister.  I didn't.  It's not that I don't like babies, because I do.  But, I was getting older (as in, in high school) and I figured it may be a bit embarrassing if my mom showed up pregnant at my high school graduation.  Don't worry, the Lord saved me from that perceived "embarrassment."  Instead He allowed her to be pregnant at my COLLEGE graduation.  And I am so thankful because I CANNOT imagine life without our Jayden Abigail.  (For the record, Jayden means "God has heard.")  She is the kindest, most generous, joyful kid.  Her love for the Lord and relationship with Him is an encouragement and a challenge to me.  She epidimizes the "child-like faith" that so many of us adults have lost.  She is wise beyond her 9 short years.  I often feel like I am conversing with an adult, and yet, she is so goofy and makes me laugh like not many other people can.  Thank the Lord He knows so much better than me!!

So, Happy Thanksgiving!  Take a minute to thank the Lord for the fact that "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than yours and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:9)  Or in the also wise words of Garth "Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers."

Richmond Race Reflections

I have a confession: I haven’t run since the Marathon.  In my defense, I thought for sure I had seriously injured my knee.  However, after days of comfrey salve, ice packs, IB Profin, and elf shoes (i.e. Dansko clogs) I was able to rock my heels to school today (okay, they were wedges, but close enough).  It was a minor victory-and this close to Thanksgiving something I added to my “give thanks” checklist.  Anyway, haven’t run.  I was all packed and ready to go back to the gym today, but one of my dearest friends extended the offer to meet her and her adorable kids at the playground after school, and well, who can resist kids who have their own song for me??  That’s right, those kids have a “Miss Jackson” song.  Okay, its very likely plagiarized from the somewhat well-known group, Outkast, but who’s counting?!  So, didn’t make it to the gym. 

This time off has given me plenty of time to think, reflect, and process what I learned over 26.2 miles and way too many hours through downtown Richmond. 

1-I could not plan for just how hard that race was going to be.  I am a bit of a control freak.  I like to plan ahead and anticipate everything that may (or may not) happen.  I prefer to be pro-active rather than reactive.  Kristin and I went in with a plan.  We were going to run for 4-6 miles, walk at the next water stop for 2ish minutes and run for another 4-6 miles, “rinse and repeat.”  That plan held for approximately the first 13 miles.  I don’t remember much after that.  But, I do know that I didn’t stick to that plan.  The nerve of those marathon event planners to pick a course that contained hills, and boring neighborhoods.  Oh, and I do remember needing some kind of nourishment and being offered gummy bears and chocolate chip cookies.  Yea, didn’t plan for that either-all I wanted was a banana.  I did manage to locate an apple, which I ran with for a bit until I took a bite and nearly choked on the peel.  As my “plan” fell apart the Lord reminded me that “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.” (Proverbs 16:9).  I had planned my course, I was going to take 2 gummies every 4-6 miles, walk as I refueled, start out so slow that it felt uncomfortable so I could finish strong.  I had planned my course.  The only thing that allowed me to finish that race was the Lord establishing my step after step after step. 

2-I have a little guy in my class this year.  I have had the privilege of being a part of his life for a few years now.  I taught his sister a few years back and his mom is one of my dearest friends (and running buddies-well running encouragers, she is a rockstar runner and I can never keep up.  For the record, she ran Richmond last year.)    Anyway, I know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites, but William has a special place in my heart.  He has been battling Type I Diabetes for the last 5 years.  I watch that boy stick his finger multiple times a day, turn down birthday treats because he is too high, or eat peanut butter crackers or multiple liquid yogurts because he is too low.  I watch him struggle to pay attention because his blood sugar is elevated or it is dropping.  I watch him sit out at recess or P.E. because he is too low to participate, or walk laps in the halls because he is too high and his numbers won’t come down.  There are some nights that I baby-sit and I have to wake him up every few hours to prick his finger to check him-again.  What must it feel like to never get a full night’s sleep?  William never complains.  And I mean that. I have never heard him utter one complaint about his condition or its effects.  When my knee began to hurt, or my calf was severely cramping, or my baby toenail was hurting (sidenote: I just lost that toenail! Gross?  Nah, proud battle wound;)  I complained and groaned and moaned.  Poor Kristin-I am afraid I didn’t make the most positive or optimistic running partner.  Anyway, I realized that my sweet William had internalized the Scripture we memorized at the beginning of the year: Philippians 2:14 “Do everything without complaining or arguing.”  He is a superhero and I am daily challenged by his perspective and attitude.  It is a humbling experience when the Lord reveals that I am doing the learning from my students instead of vice versa.

3-Whenever I was training for the marathon and ran alone I always had my trusty IPOD.  I can’t run (alone) without music.  Without fail, whenever I came to the most trying part of the run my IPOD would break into “His Eye is on the Sparrow.”  I know, not one of the most get up and go songs, but remember, my goal of the marathon was SLOW and steady-that song seemed appropriately placed on my running mix for that purpose.  And, it was always so uplifting and encouraging for me to be reminded that “I know He carries me.” (I could have used that carrying around mile 16 by the way.)  Anyway, around mile 20 I think, I ran across a dead sparrow on the course.  This is not a joke, exaggeration, or lie.  I am not sure what I was supposed to learn from that bird.  I considered the fact that God’s eye was on the sparrow, but it was dead.  I tried to determine if that was a bad omen and perhaps I should have ceased the running immediately.  But, I only had one mile to go until I reached my Tim Tebow sign at mile 21-I wasn’t about to quit before that.  At least if I died, I died happy;)

4-In the end, the reward was so worth the pain.  And trust me, there was a LOT of pain.  I have never done anything more physically challenging in my life.  However, the sense of accomplishment I have, the excitement in actually finishing, the sweet medal, they all made it worth it!  Someone pretty wise told me the evening before I ran that there would be a finish line…the race would not last forever.  There were several moments during the race that I wasn’t sure if the end would EVER come, and yet I pushed on, in faith that the finish line actually did exist-after all, others had already made it there, right?  And that was my biggest take away from the race…I think there are times in life that I look around and go, “I could have NEVER anticipated life could be THIS hard.”  I have been blessed to live a relatively “pain free” life.  But, currently I am watching some of my dearest friends go through unthinkable trials.  One of them simply texted me the other day, “This is so hard.”  I bet, in the middle of those trials, it feels like there is no end in sight.  And yet, not only is there an end, there is a reward for finishing.  I have fallen in love with Romans 8 this past week.  (The first part of the chapter I am sure will surface in a later blog.)   However for now, look at Romans 8:18 “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”  And verses 37-39, “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  Regardless of the trials we suffer, the pain we feel, the betrayal, the failures, the loss, the (you fill-in-the-blank), NOTHING can separate us from the love of Christ.  And if you look ahead to the book of Hebrews you will find an entire chapter (11) dedicated to those who have not only run the race, but have also crossed the finish line.  You see, the finish line really DOES exist.  Even if it’s hard to believe at mile 24 when the pregnant lady is urging you on and the tears are starting to fall.  Or if its at age 40 when your future is looking nothing like you imagined it would have 10 years ago-there IS an end to these trials (that’s why they are called temporary)-there IS a finish line, even if you can’t see it from where you are- and when you cross it and look back, I guarantee you the reward will be so worth the pain! 

Suntrust Richmond Marathon: Check

Friday morning I went shopping.  Perhaps I shouldn't admit this, but it's what I do when I am nervous, worried, anxious, etc.  Don't worry, I didn't buy anything.  That would constitute a serious problem.  But, it helped take my mind off of the task at hand.  That small task of running 26.2 miles the following day.  Eh, nothing serious, just a little stroll through Richmond, right?!

My friend Ashley's family lives in Richmond.  They were gracious enough to host my running buddy, Kristin, and myself this weekend.  Ashley even chauffeured me to and from Richmond and all over the city.  We departed our city around noon and ended up in Richmond a few hours later.  We went immediately to the race expo at the Arthur Ashe Center.  I found my race number, picked up my bib, and activated my chip.  All timing is done electronically and there is a strip on the back of the race bibs that are activated by running over these speed bumps.  I am a bit OCD and I walked over that speed bump several times just to make sure my name was showing up on the computer.  Can you imagine running 26.2 miles and there never being a public record that you completed it?  Yea, me neither.  Don't worry, my name showed up every time.  I proceeded through the cattle call to the next "stall."  I was on a mission-I wanted to pick up my t-shirt and goodie bag.  For those of you who don't run races you really should.  You get the best t-shirts and goodie bags full of helpful things like travel band-aids and water bottles and antibacterial hand gel.  It's like Christmas.  And you don't even have to RUN the race to get all of that stuff!  Well, these Suntrust Marathon people were clever.  The inside of the convention center was like a mass flea market full of running gear and it was impossible to get my t-shirt without passing said gear: re-fuel belts, NOT to be confused with fanny packs, shoes that promised to be 40% off, $1 running socks and gloves and hats, and my personal favorite-everything you could possibly imagine stamped with 26.2.  I tried to be strong, but remember I shop when I am nervous and well I didn't buy anything Friday morning, so I confess, I purchased a "few" items that declared the mileage I planned on completing the following day.  Among the items:

• a car magnet and sticker--I figured the magnet may fall off, and the sticker may fade, but between the two of them my car would always declare my accomplishment.
•  a travel coffee mug--Truthfully, I need a new travel coffee mug like I need a hole in the head, but I can carry that thing with me everywhere-full or empty-I don't care.  I just care that when I put on the lid I position it carefully enough so that the part of the mug that says 26.2 faces out for everyone else to see.
• a Christmas ornament--Well, because they didn't make wall hangings or blankets or anything I could sit around my house for anyone who comes over to see. I figure if it isn't Christmas time I will just make sure my coffee mug is in plain sight whenever I have company.

After my (impulsive) purchases I signed the "I Run Richmond" sign.  My message was simple...26.2 and DONE!  In other words, you Mr. Marathon Training, will no longer control my life! 

I finally found the place to pick up my t-shirt and goodie bag.  The race shirt was great, but the goodie bag would have been sorely disappointing if it hadn't included another 26.2 sticker.  (I am still trying to decide where to put that one.)  They did include a course map and Ashley agreed to drive me through it.

It was about mile 11 when I realized we had been driving for a REALLY long time and we weren't even half way through the race course.  I still don't know what the right choice was-run it blind and not have any idea what was coming, or feel somewhat "prepared" by seeing the course, and by course I mean the hills, before I ran.  Regardless, as we continued to drive I became more and more nauseous.  I sent out a text to a friend or two simply declaring, "I may puke."  After the course Ashley and I made our way to Kroger to pick up a few last minute items (pre-race carboyhdrates, Advil, etc.).  Upon entering Kroger I immediately made my way to the restroom and proceeded to undo all of the helpful hydrating I had done throughout the day.  In the midst of losing my lunch a nice male Kroger employee chose to do a "restroom check."  I tried to tell him someone was in there, but I think he figured it out the hard way.  Believe it or not, I felt better after that minor incident, did my shopping, and headed back to Ashley's for a quiet evening of pasta, ESPN, and poster making.  I received some much-needed encouragement Friday evening from some great friends via phone calls and texts and got a decent night's sleep. 

Saturday morning I was nervous, excited, anxious, terrified, giddy, and my stomach felt like Bella's must have when hers and Edward's vampire baby tried to eat its way out of her womb. (Twilight reference in honor of the release of "Breaking Dawn.") I knew I had a few friends waiting at specific mile markers, and I knew Ashley was making a fabulous poster that would await me at mile 21.  I had my Goodwill "throw-away clothes" (don't worry I washed them in hot water and added some bleach) so that as the weather warmed and I got too hot I could shed layers without having to worry about retrieving those clothes later.  My gels and gummies were packed, my water bottle was filled (half water, half Powerade), my race number was pinned to my shirt...I was ready to go. 

As we approached the start line the weather was beautiful, blue skies, crisp air, sunshine.  When I say crisp I mean freezing-as in below 32*.  People were all standing around, huddled in groups, attempting to stay warm.  I noticed an alarming trend-people were wearing garbage bags.  Apparently I missed the memo that black plastic garbage bags with a hole cut in the bottom and then draped over your head like a trendy poncho keep out the cold air.  Kristin and I found the man changing the trash bags in the city trash cans, but his bags were clear, and because I was a marathon newbie, I wasn't sure if the clear trash bags served the same purpose.  So, I refrained from asking him for a bag and chose to keep moving to stay warm.  Next time I will remember to pack a black trash bag.  (Haha, as if there might be a next time!)

We found our Corral (4) as in the slow pokes and waited for the rest of the pack to start.  I should have known this was not going to go as I had planned when the pack was running long before the start line.  By long before I mean about 100 yards, but come on, when you have 26.2 miles to go that extra 100 yards is significant!  We were off and we were freezing.  But, it was only about 2 miles in that I shed the black Goodwill fleece.  We made a friend at the beginning of the race.  I don't remember her name, I just remember she had 3 children and had run the Baltimore marathon a few weekends before.  Good for her!  For the first 13.1 miles Kristin and I had a blast.  It was like paparazzi with all of the cameras, we smiled and waved to each of them and even did a little dance when we ran by the bands, singing along with the music and smiling-yes, smiling. 



Mile 4

I can't wait to see the professional photographs from the race.  The first half I will look like a crazy person, the second half-I will look like the dead walking/running.  It wasn't a wall I hit, I don't know what happened, I just know that about half way through I was no longer having fun.  I was less than impressed with the course, less than impressed with the bands (Apparently they stopped playing after 13.1-or we had a sign on our shirts that said take a break when we run by...towards the end I believe I may have even questioned one band if "anyone around here actually PLAYS music??"), less than impressed by the water stops-really only one flavor of Powerade-my tongue will be blue for days from stinkin' blue mountain berry, I was just less than impressed and I was DONE.  Problem was we had half way to go.  I got sick at 13.1 and by 15.5 my knee was no longer functioning.  Apparently it had been hurting me for awhile (although, everything hurt so badly it wasn't as if the knee stood out) and I had altered my running form.  Therefore, not only was my knee hurting, my calf began to charlie horse with each step.  At mile 19 there was a wonderful surprise...my friend Amy and her little beauty, Katie.  I considered asking Amy if I could borrow Katie's baby stroller and trust me I would have figured out how to ride that thing to the finish line.  There was a hill right past 19 so I hugged Katie, got a picture with Kristin, and on we went.  I should point out, I have no recollection of how I got from mile 15.5 to 19.  At mile 21 Ashley met me with her sign.  For those who don't know, my favorite football player is Tim Tebow (and for those who do know you are all chuckling and rolling your eyes as to what an understatement THAT is).  Anyway, Timmy was waiting for me at Mile 21.  Well, at least a photograph of Timmy with some encouraging words. 

"Tebow says 5 Mo' to Go"

That (and the banana she brought me) spurred me on for a bit, and by bit I mean approximately a quarter of a mile more.  Again, I don't remember 22-24, but I do know at about 24 I told Kristin to go on.  My calf was in knots, my mental condition was rapidly deteriorating, and I knew she could have gone for miles more (she is a rockstar and I am so proud of her:).  About that time a pregnant lady who had been near us the entire race leaned over to "encourage" me by telling me if she could finish this thing then so could I.  I am certain she meant well, but it DID NOT encourage me.  It ticked me off.  I would like to think it was the low blood sugar irritability talking, but I am just not sure-after all I had recently eaten a banana. 

Kristin left at a litle over 24.  I remember passing "Wonderland" with her.  And about that time some man said we had 1.5 miles to go.  But he was a liar and so were the "Wonderland" signs (which we assumed meant we were in the "1.whatever" miles to go) because we still had 2.5 left.  At least if my calculations were correct, and come to think of it, they very well may not have been since its becoming more and more obvious my brain was oxygen depleted.  Anyway, the tears started with about a mile and a half to go.  I never considered NOT finishing.  Seriously, that thought never crossed my mind.  But, I did consider that I may NEVER reach the finish line because with every step it felt further and further away.  And, with each step my knee was growing in size.  With approximately 300 yards left I spotted the pregnant lady again-ahead of me-and the last bit of competitive nature I had remaining kicked in.  I took off-well, it felt like I did.  To those spectators looking on it may have appeared as a slow jog, but in my mind I was running with everything I had left so that darn encouraging pregnant lady DID NOT beat me.  (And she didn't I might add;) 

However, the man who jump-roped the entire 26.2 miles, the man who juggled 3 balls the entire 26.2 miles, and the man who juggled 5 balls the entire 26.2 miles-yea, they all beat me.  I crossed the finish line in hysterics.  Seriously sobbing like a child, shoulders heaving, nose running.  I heard my sister and other friends who were so sweet to come support and cheer for me urging me on.  My friend and running buddy, Johnna, met me at the finish line and I collapsed into her arms. 

Johnna and me at the finish line (look closely and you'll see my tear-stained face...)

She thought these were tears of relief and extreme emotion until I "politely" informed her that "These were not tears of joy...these were tears of get me to the freaking medic tent."  Which she did-pronto. 

Looks like I am doing better than the person on the ground beside me.  At least I made it to a cot!

In the midst of the tears I told everyone that was "AWFUL" and I will "NEVER" do another one "EVER AGAIN." Apparently some people are deliriously happy from runner's high when they finish.  I was just horribly mad and had stopped having fun hours ago.  Which, in all actuality, wasn't true.  And, even in the 2 short days I have had to think on it, my feelings have changed a bit.  I am still processing exactly what it is that I did on Saturday.  It hits a little more moment by moment, especially those moments where I have to get up from my couch or climb my stairs:)  Give me a bit longer to gather my thoughts (and I'll give you a few days to recover from that long post) and I will share the incredible things I learned from running for an ungodly amount of time.  For now, I am going to take 4 more Advil and get my ice packs from the freezer. 

My sis, Jessica, me, and my medal

Jesus in the Clouds

Sunday morning on the way to church… (Have I mentioned how much I LOVE Sundays??  Sleeping in, church, football…hear my contented sigh?)… anyway, on the way to church I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful fall foliage, the perfect blue skies, and the puffy cumulus clouds (cumulus clouds are the ones that look like cotton balls by the way-always a teacher;)  I had the praise music cranked up in my car and was preparing my heart for the service ahead.  And, it was about that time that I remembered another day, years before, when I had been on my way back from a church service and took special notice of the clouds.  And, because my last post was a bit heavy, I thought my blogger friends may enjoy a bit of a lighter post. 

It was the summer after 7th grade I was 12 years old. My dad was a preacher at a summer camp, a ranch specifically.  It was set in the middle of nowhere, literally in the middle of a cornfield. There was a "teen ranch" that was the main camp, and then up this gigantic hill was the "junior ranch." You had to go to the junior ranch until you turned 13. So, that summer, our cabin ruled the junior camp. We were the oldest girls, the alpha cabin…and we thought we were IT.  Every evening we would descend the hill on big yellow school busses to attend the service at the “teen ranch” where my dad would deliver the sermon.

On this particular evening we had finished our evening service and were on our way back up the hill on the cheese wagon. Summer church camp tends to bring out some fanatical emotions, not to mention we were all pre-teens, thus hormonal as it was. One of the girls in the back of the bus began hysterically crying, claiming she saw “Jesus in the clouds.” Please keep in mind, my daddy is a southern Baptist preacher, I grew up at a southern Baptist church where Tim LaHaye was an annual visitor and once a year at minimum we heard the “signs of the end times” sermons.  So when I heard Jesus was in the clouds I pictured Him descending on a fluffy cloud in the blink of an eye (If my teenage hormones hadn’t been the main force behind my thinking/logic skills at that time I would have realized several blinks of the eye had already passed).  Alas, I was certain the rapture was happening-right then.

Anyway, a couple of the other girls began to cry as they pointed to the sky outlining the cloud that was apparently in the SHAPE of Jesus thus dispelling my rapture/left behind fears. Around that time a mini-revival broke out on the bus, girls were crying, promising to break their secular CDs, burn their Tiger Beat and Star magazines, as they were certain that the Lord Jesus Christ Himself was making a personal appearance in the form of a cloud.  One of the girls then gasped in astonishment announcing, “Look, its transforming into a shepherd, because Jesus is the Great Shepherd.” A few more girls began to cry and then another pubescent girl pointed out that, “Oh my gosh, now it’s a door.” Perhaps Dad had spoken on the names of God from A-Z or something, I don’t really remember. I was half expecting them to shout, “OMG, now it’s the alpha symbol, oh look, omega…”

However, as I was half-way appalled at this ridiculously emotional turn of events, I was also feeling a bit left out.  They were all having this bonding moment in the back of the bus and I couldn’t even find animal shapes in the clouds, much less a cloud in the shape of my Savior.  By this point, EVERYONE was crying but me.  I really don’t like to cry-especially in front of people, but this was totally different.  I NEEDED to cry.  So, I thought of the saddest thing I could think of and pinched myself…hard. I managed to squeeze a few tears out and then got caught up in the wave of emotions and managed to genuinely cry.

Our poor counselors had no idea what to do with a bus full of crying, snotty, overly emotional girls. Once we reached the top of the hill the counselors had already contacted the camp pastor, read…my Father, whom I have NEVER seen cry (although in the last few years I have seen him get a bit “teary”). When we exited the bus the counselors gathered us in this large field and my dad stood in the center. He calmly and kindly reassured the girls that the Lord works in mysterious ways and if they genuinely felt as though the Lord was sending them a message that evening they should first of all, be sure it was Biblical (i.e. don’t do something crazy in this emotional frenzy) and follow through on the promptings of the Holy Spirit. The girls were satisfactorily reassured and began to return to our cabin to destroy the secular music or trashy magazines they had snuck into their bunks. I was in the middle of the pack when I heard my dad politely ask the counselors to allow me to stay back for a few minutes.

Just as soon as the other campers and counselors were out of earshot he took me by the arm, turned me around to face him, and proceeded to ask “WHY are you crying?” I tried to tell him I didn’t know…I was only crying because the other girls were so upset and I didn’t want to feel left out. I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth when he responded in aghast, “JESUS IN THE CLOUDS??  Really???”  But, that wasn’t even what I was crying about.  I tried to tell him again that I was only crying because everyone else was, but he wasn’t buying it. And he again reinforced that crying over Jesus in the clouds was one of the SILLIEST things he had ever heard. Then he “gently” told me, “Now, dry up your tears, and go back to your cabin.”

(Disclaimer: My Dad is a passionate man of the Lord.  He is a man of character and integrity.  I have never doubted his love for me or for the Lord.  However, I was twelve, and being a bit ridiculous, and he knew this was outside of my typical character and I needed a little “pep talk” to return to reality…)

So, I made my way back to the cabin, changed into warmer clothes, and embarked on the haywagon that transported us to the annual bonfire where all of the girls really did break their CDs and burn their magazines. 

Just a few months ago I ran across this picture:

 I sent it to my dad as evidence.  Snopes confirmed the picture was a hoax, and 18 years later my dad confirmed that crying over seeing Jesus in the clouds was indeed still silly. 

Borrowing Husbands

A few days ago I met with my sweet friend, Katie (full disclosure, Katie was at one time my student teacher, but now she is simply my dear friend).  Anyway, Katie entered the blogging world about a year ago.  However, her blog has purpose.  She isn’t just a rambler, or a teacher-wanna-be writer, like yours truly.  She is a crafter, and a really, really talented one at that.  As a matter of fact she is probably being pinned, or pinged, or whatever that pinterest thing is called, as we speak (read?) because apparently that happens on a fairly regular basis these days.  (Don’t worry, I was only a few years behind in the blogging world, I fully plan to continue to the trend and wait for awhile to enter the pinterest world as well.)  I religiously follow her blog because:

 a) I am a blog (and facebook) stalker.

b) I am always inspired.  She makes everyone feel like they can be just as crafty as she is.  Seriously, all of her instructions are so clear and concise, and for those visual learners she always includes step-by-step picture examples (note me patting myself on the back for modeling for her how to reach ALL learners).  Not gonna lie, I even started a few of her crafts myself.  (See her acorn  wreath).  But one of two things always happens: I get really frustrated because mine NEVER looks like her pictures, or I get really frustrated because it takes me entirely too long.  And by entirely too long I mean longer than the current episode of NCIS I have playing for background noise.  (Please note: I teach elementary school and therefore, by default, have the attention span of an average nine year old.)

c)  Her husband is a computer genius.   This is not an exaggeration.  That man is amazing with all of that “technology stuff”.  I remember when I was student teaching (just a “few” years ago) the veteran teachers would always ask me for help with computer issues.  It’s still kind of that way in my current place of employment.  Despite the fact I just turned 30, I am still among the “young” teachers at my school.  So, when someone needs to know how to attach a document to email, or enter grades in their electronic gradebook, or create a power point presentation (complete with animation, oh yea!) I’m their gal.  However, when I go home for holidays my nine year old sister has to show me how to use the IPAD.  And, I should mention, that same nine year old sister entered the blogging world before I did (check her out).  So, while I can hold my own in the basic Microsoft field (my definition of basic=Word, Power Point, Excel, and Office)…well, my computer competence (or lack thereof) ends there.  Subsequently, since her husband is “Bill Gates-esque”, her blog is A-dorable!!  (Not that she couldn’t make it that cute on her own, but she readily admitted to me she has had some help.)

I really want my blog to be as cute as hers.  Yes, I am coveting blogs now.  And, I can say with pride that I need help.  With pride?  Yes, because, well, I am proud of myself for realizing I am not perfect (no, really, I’m not…) and may at times be wrong.  That’s kind of a big step for me.  So, Katie taught me about widgets (gidgets? ah, should’ve taken notes), and links, and uploading, etc.  (But, don’t expect miracles people…)

Anyway, Katie is also the friend I called when my IPOD froze immediately before a 10k about a year ago.  I figured her hubby, Adam,  HAD to know some magical formula to unfreeze it.  I can’t run without music.  Simply cannot do it.  He knew the reset trick and my race tunes were once again successfully humming through my ear buds.  Adam is the husband I “borrow” whenever I need electronic/computer help.

Matt is the husband I “borrow” whenever anything goes wrong with my car.  My AC went out one summer, Matt to the rescue.  My car was leaking fluid (Who knew air conditioners actually condensate and leave water puddles under cars??  Check out my interests-cars or mechanics you will not find…)  Matt assured me this was, in fact, normal.  Matt is also a wonderful waiter and keeps my diet coke filled whenever I am over to visit his wife, my best teaching friend, Cathy.  Cathy and I sip our diet coke while we sit out on the porch and talk about all of the delightful students, our perfect jobs, and the new, exciting changes at school. (Hello to any parents, co-workers, and/or administrators that may have found their way to this blog.)  Matt faithfully gets up from his recliner, removes his attention from his English Premiere League Soccer game, and dutifully refills my soda.  What a guy!

Brandon is the husband I borrow to watch football with.  I am a bit of a sports fanatic.  If I didn’t teach my dream job would be to be a sports commentator or statistician for ESPN.  As I blow dry and straighten my hair (or curl it on a really good morning), put on my make-up (or only mascara on a really bad morning), I have “Mike and Mike in the Morning” on my TV updating me on the latest sports’ news.  Brandon’s wife, Andrea, has been my dear, dear friend since 4^th grade.  Her husband appreciates a good football game, and appreciates a good football conversation.  So, whenever I need to discuss the gridiron, or need someone to watch and analyze the game with, to Brandon and Andrea’s house I go.  Not to mention, they have two adorable children that I love to play with while watching the games.

Halloween night my friend Johnna and I went to see a scary movie, in honor of the holiday, of course!  While I love scary movies this was not a well-thought out plan.  Not surprisingly none of my friends would allow me to borrow their husband to clutch during the scary parts or to come home with me that night to assure me that the monsters in my home were only figments of my imagination.  Selfish brats.  I often tell my mom, “I need to get one of those.”  And by one of those, I mean a husband.

Trust me, it isn’t for lack of asking.  I have spent years begging God for just that.  Since I was little I have always wanted to be a wife and a mother.  I am a pretty independent woman (being 30 and single will do that to a girl), but I long to be a helpmate and raise babies with my best friend.  I know marriage won’t be all rainbows and flowers.  But, Lord knows, being a wife and a mother is the deepest (worldly) desire of my heart.

When I finished grad school I figured it was time.  I had all of my schooling behind me, was employed by my first full-time (benefits included!) job, and I was ready to meet Mr. Right and settle down.  And so, I waited-patiently…at first.  After about two years I began to grow anxious.  After all, I had been actively involved in a church, working at the same job, going out with friends, and had met absolutely no one.  Meanwhile one of my teaching friends was picking up a to-go order at Buffalo Wild Wings, met a guy in line who was also waiting on dinner, and was married 6 months later.  I ate a lot of chicken wings that year….My anxiousness turned to worry: worry that I was not good enough, not loveable, not worthy,  and then to bitterness.  After all, the Lord gave me this desire, He created me, thus He must have placed it in my heart.  And yet, here He was withholding it from me.  I stopped praying.  I’d talk to Mom, she’d say all of the right things, mention her prayers for me, and I would often reply that I was thankful she was praying because I had stopped.  Prayer gave me hope, and I didn’t want hope because I felt like that hope only led to disappointment.  I told Mom if God wanted me to talk to Him, He knew how to “fix this.”  (Thank God His grace prevented me from lightning strikes during all of this!)  My heart became extremely hardened and bitterness ate away at the inside of me.  I was raised in church, I knew all of the right Sunday School answers, and I was really good at going through the motions.  But, my relationship with the Lord was non-existent.  I was stubbornly giving Him the silent treatment.  It was about as effective as the silent treatment usually is in solving disagreements.  My bitterness and anger in no way benefited me, and amazingly enough, it didn’t force God to give me a husband. 

Actually, all it did was make me obese.  All of this bitterness and anger made me extremely depressed.  I had this gaping hole in my heart that I had hoped a husband would fill.  That didn’t happen.  So, I filled it with food…lots and lots of food.  And it became a vicious cycle; the more I ate, the heavier I became.  The heavier I became, the less I wanted to go out or do anything-with anyone.  The less I went out, the less friends I had, the less things I did, the more depressed I became…the bigger that hole grew….the more food I ate to try to fill it…and the heavier I became…you can see where this is going.  I knew I was getting big…but, I was never the smallest girl in the room, so I was woefully unaware of just how obese I had truly become.  I was really good at positioning myself behind people in pictures.  However, there was a candid shot from summer vacation that I didn’t know had been taken.  Later that fall I was looking through the pictures, saw that particular shot and had no idea who that woman in the picture was.  Seriously.  I did not even recognize myself.  It was a wake-up call.  I made the decision to get through the holidays and begin a new, healthier way of living come January.  And I did.  I lost great amounts of weight quickly.  It was extremely exciting.  However, the hole in my hardened heart remained.  And it was still ice-cold.  I still had no relationship with the Lord and no desire to have a relationship with someone who would withhold my greatest desire from me. 

By the following July I had lost over 70 lbs.  My dad’s church was in the midst of planning their fall women’s conference and they asked me to lead a session on health and wellness.  What a difference 7 months can make.  I agreed, never anticipating what the Lord had in store for me that October weekend.  One evening, during our large group session, one of the sweetest, Godliest women I know spoke on her love and loss.  She had miscarried, heartbreakingly, several times.  She spoke about holding on to that hurt and disappointment, allowing it to grow into bitterness, or allowing the Lord to use it in her life.  To be honest, I don’t remember all of what she said because about ten minutes into her talk I was in tears as the Lord was directly speaking to my heart about the bitterness I was harboring due to my own disappointment.  I was at the altar before the speaker even opened it up, I think.  My tears were flowing (remember, I hate to cry) and my heart was breaking.  The Lord was chiseling away at that hard exterior I had formed.  Oh, how it hurt.  I was giving up all of my pain, all of my anger, all of my worry and anxiety, all of my disappointment, laying it all down.  But, I could not give up my dream or desire.  That was still burning brightly.  I began begging the Lord to not ask me to give that up, please God, don’t make me surrender my desire to be a wife and a mother.  I struggled, I cried, I sobbed.  I felt a huge weight off of my shoulders as I released that bitterness, and a huge internal struggle as I worried that I was still holding onto my selfishness.

I found the speaker after her session.  I had one question for her.  “After your second devastating miscarriage, did you feel like you had to stop asking the Lord for children?”  Her response soothed my heart.  “Absolutely not.  I will continue to ask the Lord for children until He makes it clear the answer is no.  I still desperately want children (and she now has two!!), but more than that, I want the Lord’s best for my life.  I want His will above my own.”  Relieved I went back to my room.  I wanted to read His Word.  It had been so long and my hunger for the Lord and His precious promises was insatiable.  I immediately turned to I Samuel.  I couldn’t think of anyone who desired something more than Hannah’s longing for a child, her wailing at the temple that led others to believe she was intoxicated.  I began reading, sure that when I got to the part of the story where the Lord actually grants Hannah the desire of her heart I would be comforted.  Instead the Lord stopped me very early on in Hannah’s story.  Hannah is crying, begging God (again) and her husband comes to her and simply says, “Am I not better to you than ten sons?”  I could hear the Lord say to me, “Daughter, am I not better to you than a husband,  than children?”  I cried back, “Of course You are, Lord!  Of course You are!”  But then the Lord directed me to the story of His only Son immediately before what had to be the most heart-wrenching day He experienced as a Father.  Jesus was in the garden, praying before His sacrificial death.  And He says (in the Miss J paraphrase), “Father if there is any other way to accomplish your will, please allow it.  But ultimately, Lord, its not my will but your will that I will follow.”  God’ Son, His perfect child, felt the freedom to ask His Father, all-powerful, all-knowing, God, for another way.  But, ultimately He was willing to surrender to the will of His Father.  Because Jesus knew what the Lord had been longing for me to understand: He LOVES me, He created me, He wants what is BEST for me, and He wants to fill that hole in my heart.  His plans are to prosper me and not to harm me, to give me a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). 

What freedom!  I continue to ask the Lord for a husband (not just one to borrow either) and children.  That is still a longing of my heart that I truly believe the Lord placed there.  However, it is no longer my greatest desire.  My greatest desire is to honor and glorify the Lord in whatever He has called me to be.  And as I wait I am extremely grateful for the friends the Lord has given me.  Friends who allow me to “borrow” their husbands-even if its not to chase away the monsters after a particularly frightening film.