Why I Will Never, Ever, Ever Forget My 40th Birthday

There are many reasons actually. 

Hundreds of birthday greetings on Facebook and through texts.

Thoughtful cards in the mail.

Finding signs placed in my yard by a caring friend and also finding a big package on my doorstep sent to me by another generous friend.

A homemade, beyond delicious, key lime cake, baked and carried over to my house by my mom and dad.

And most certainly, spending a wonderful week leading up to my 40th in Destin, Florida with the people I love the most in this world.

 

 

A week doing all the beachy things families sometimes do.  We swam in the water.  We played in the sand.  We ate seafood.  We put on headlamps, grabbed our flashlights and found 100 sand crabs in the dark.  We went to the Gulfarium, a marine park, and watched a dolphin and sea lion show.  We went to the movies and saw Dolphin Tale 2.  We got pedicures.  (Well...the girls and I did.)  We lounged.  We relaxed.  We soaked in all the goodness of God's handiwork.  And had an absolute blast the whole time.

Booties...um...I mean...beauties on the beach. :)

They loved sharing a room together.

After finishing this mermaid, Derek asked,
"Can we count this as art class for the day?"
 

Derek and Grace went kayaking out in the ocean.
I stayed on shore and prayed no sharks would eat them.

What better place to catch the opening night of
"Dolphin Tale 2" than at the beach?

 

Going out to celebrate ME! 

 

Night before birthday dinner.

But by far, the most favorite thing we did at the beach was getting up early and going for morning beach walks.  Taking a stroll, collecting seashells, looking for dolphins.  Cold sand under our feet, sun barely lifting upon the horizon, no need for sunscreen, no crowd.  Nothing compared to it.

The night before waking up to the reality of turning 40 years old, I told Derek I wanted to go for an early morning run on the beach.  Though I've taken too many walks on the beach to count, I've never actually gone running by the water's edge.

For the record, I actually like running, which is why I didn't think this would be a big ordeal at all.  But what happened last Saturday morning is the main reason, among all the previously listed reasons, I'll never forget my 40th birthday.  Because four days later, I still bear the visual reminders on my feet.

When I run here at home, I have on shoes.  Running shoes.  Nice running shoes with lots of cushion and padding. 

But for some reason, feeling feisty, footloose and fancy-free on my birthday, I opted not to wear those cushy running shoes. I chose to run barefoot instead.

When I kicked off my flops and stepped onto the sand, I felt energized and ready.  I told myself since it was my 40th birthday, I would run for 40 minutes, 20 minutes to the right, turn around, and then run 20 minutes back to the condo.  Easy peasy.

From the moment I picked up the pace, I felt glorious.  My heart felt strong, my lungs felt strong, my legs felt strong.  I felt good.  I felt alive.  Praying as I ran, I gave thanks to God for a multitude of things: His creation, my 40 years of life on this planet, my precious family, my health, for the things I've experienced, for things to come, etc.

But as I approached the 20-minute mark on my watch, I noticed my feet didn't quite feel right.  I looked down, didn't see anything unusual, no blood or visible wounds, so I kept going.  When I hit 20 minutes and turned around to go back, my feet really didn't feel right.  But because I was still a fair distance from the condo, I kept running.

Soon my run turned to a jog, then to a walk, as I realized what was happening.  I was getting blisters. Not blisters from the sun, but from the sand. The last day of vacation, my 40th birthday, I was getting blisters on the bottom of my feet.  Great.

I had to force myself to keep going because the pain had really intensified by now.  I didn't have my phone, so I couldn't call Derek to ask him to come give me a piggy back all the way back to the condo, which would probably have given him blisters, or even for him to get the car, drive down the strip and pick me up.

So I started talking to the Lord again.  But this time, the prayers had changed.  They were more like, "You know that Footprints in the Sand poem, Lord?  You know the one where You carried the person when she was in anguish or suffering?  Well...Lord, any possible way you could physically carry me all the way back to the condo, like right now?  Because I don't think I can take one. more. step."

I was so far away that I couldn't even make out which condo was ours from the shoreline.  My pace got slower and slower as the pain increased.  I tried walking in the water to soothe my sensitive soles.  I tried walking up on the softer sand, but that just slowed me down even more.  The only thing I could do was keep going.  One painful, laborious step at a time. 

Which I did, even when I thought to myself, "This really feels like I'm walking on shards of broken glass.  Yes, that's exactly it.  I'm walking on glass.  Wait.  What is sand actually made of?  Broken bits of rock and shells?  Oh my goodness!  It's like I AM walking on shards of broken glass!"

Finally, one hour and five minutes from the time I started my run, I arrived back at our condo.  I've never been so happy to see a building before in my life.  So happy I nearly dropped down and kissed the ground in front of me, but then I stopped.  Well...because this was the very same ground which had given me blisters, so...just no.

Gingerly, I made my way up the stairs, rinsed my feet, put on my flip-flops and walked up to the condo, "Ow-ing" every step of the way.

All I wanted to do was go inside, put my feet up and go back to bed.  But as soon as I got to the door, I remembered it was my birthday (the balloons and the 40th birthday sign my sweet husband had taped outside the door was a big reminder).  I also remembered that we had to pack up to go home.  Ugh.

Of course, they all wanted to know why I looked like I was in pain, so I explained my run...jog...walk...nearly crawling, adventure to them.  To which my husband looked at me and asked, "So...why didn't you wear your running shoes?"

I forgave him quickly, seeing as how he and the girls had so sweetly decorated the condo for me. Hobbling away, I went to get dressed.

Just after my run.

 

After breakfast at the Donut Hole and a 6+ hour drive, in which I nursed my tender toes, we made it back home.  Waiting on my front porch was a package I ordered before we left for vacation.  For my birthday I had ordered myself my very first pair of TOMS shoes.  (Yes, tardy to the party, I know.) 

 

Blisters or no blisters, I just had to try them on to see if they fit.  And the crazy thing is that they felt great.  Amazingly, the soles of my feet didn't hurt quite like they had the rest of the day.

 

It was then that I sifted through the other paperwork in the box and found the picture of impoverished children also wearing TOMS shoes on their feet.  You see, TOMS' mission statement is "One for One".  With every pair of shoes you purchase, they give a new pair of shoes to a child who needs shoes.  According to their website, TOMS has given more than 10 million pairs of shoes to children in need.  That's pretty amazing.

 

Standing in my kitchen with new shoes on my feet, tears welled up in my eyes.  Because the gift I'd just opened meant something very different to me than it would have had I not just experienced what I'd experienced earlier that morning.  In a very, very small way, I could understand.  I had felt pain.  And I now, I had felt comfort.  And I found myself praying the same relief for the child who receives a pair of shoes because of this pair of shoes.

 

I am beyond grateful to have had such a wonderful birthday.  I felt loved in a multitude of ways.  And now that I'm considered "over the hill", I may begin to forget a few things here and there, but I can assure you, I will never (like ever, ever) be able to forget my (very unforgettable) fabulous 40th birthday.

(And I will also never forget to wear shoes the next time I run on the beach...)

Declaration of Dependence for Today

Can't do it.  Not today. 

The moment I do is usually the exact moment it bombs.  You know I'm right, Lord.  You know me full well.

Your own people tried.  They didn't get it right either.  They kept doing whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and to whomever they wanted.

Your Word says it was because they had no king.

"In those days Israel had no king;
everyone did as he saw fit."
Judges 21:25

That's why they did it.  Oblivious to You.

As I look inward and around, I notice how little things have changed.  Thousands of years later, I see moments when we're still trying to do our own thing.  In our own way.  With no profitable results, only substantial heartache and regret.

So much like a toddler, our hearts scream, "I can do it all by myself!" 

In the spirit of independence we think we can or we think we should, so we do.  But independence and self-reliance will eventually fail us in the spiritual realm.

The good news is that we have You.  We have a King.  And You have a kingdom.  Both in our hearts and in the heavenlies.

You have a throne where You sit, where You rule.  You are most definitely on it.  It's Your throne, not ours.  Our only response to Your throne:  bow before it; don't ever attempt to climb up on it.

You have complete dominion and absolute authority.  And only a King has both the privilege and joy of setting captives free.  Free from ourselves.  Free to follow You.  Free to do as You see fit.

Left on our own understanding and our own ways, we will screw up.  Royally. 

I don't want to do as I see fit.  No, I want to do as You see fit.  I want to live according to You and Your ways, not myself and mine. 

Direct my paths.  Direct the paths of your people.  Grant us the strength to do what is right and the grace when we don't.  Steer us clear of the compromising standards of this world and toward You and Your divine purposes.

Today {once again} I declare my dependence on You.  I fully rely on You for everything.  For in You, I live and move and have my being.  I trust You.  I need You.

I acknowledge You as King and rest in Your Kingship.   You are the King of all kings.  King of our hearts, King of our lives, King of every specific circumstance today.

May our hearts bow to You and Your authority as our King, today.  Because Your Word promises every one of our knees will do it one day.

I pray for my generation.  I pray that we may be a dependent people.  And that it may be said of us,
"In those days, they had a King; everyone did as He (the King) saw fit."

"Your kingdom come,
Your will be done..."

Matthew 6:10

Open Water

I have never been a fan of open water. 

Well, unless...
I'm firmly on the shore gazing out at it.
I'm safely in a vehicle riding by it or over it.
I'm in a very large, stable cruise ship riding upon it.

Otherwise, count me out.  Instead, I'd much prefer a good ol' concrete, rectangular shaped, chlorine-filled swimming pool.

I think my hesitancy and fear stem from watching one too many Jaws movies when I was child back in the 80's.  I would peer through my fingers, which covered my face, and watch the hungry ocean creature attack the poor, helpless victim from under the water without her ever seeing it coming. 

As a result, I've never had an interest in surfing, scuba diving, or even swimming far out into the deep, blue sea.  On the contrary, I have been quite content to enjoy the water, with all its glory, safely from a distance.

So, how was I to respond when our friends, who happen to love being out on a boat, out on the open water, invited us to join them this past week at Lake Lanier? 

Yes, I know the difference between salt water creatures and fresh water creatures.  In my head, I know there are no great white sharks lurking in Lake Lanier.  But what about snakes, giant fish, or even alligators?  Hmm. 

I was faced with a dilemma.  Do I go with them or do I stay home?  Do I get in the boat, face my fears and try something new?  Or do I avoid the boat, stay afraid and refuse to accept the challenge of enlarging my experiences?

In this case, I chose to be brave.  I chose to suck up my fears for the sake of having fun and spending time with friends.  And I did have fun.  Lots of it. 

Not only did I get into the boat, but later in the trip, I even got out of the boat.  I jumped in the water and swam around with my daughters, out in open water. 

And even more surprisingly, I tried kneeboarding for the very first time.  Imagine that.

Being pulled around behind a speeding boat, out in open water.  Then after letting go, waiting for the boat, out in open water, to return to pick you up. Talk about getting over my fear of open water! 

Will I do it again?  Absolutely.  Why? 

Because, thanks to the Lord and some encouraging friends, I've discovered that going out into the deep, open water is much more fulfilling than only observing from a distance or simply staying where it's shallow. 

Peachtree - Take Two!

Running Georgia's very own Peachtree Road Race, the largest 10K in the world, has become one of our newest and most favorite traditions.  We love the thrill of running down the streets of Atlanta, on our nation's birthday, with thousands and thousands of other participants, all striving toward the same goal. 

It's unifying.  It's exhilarating.  It's challenging.  It's fun. 

We cannot wait until our girls have the opportunity to run the race with us sometime in the future.  Until then, we'll cherish running this race together, year after year after year.

Before the race began...

Waiting in a LONG line to use the Port-a-Potty. 

What can I say?  When you gotta go, you gotta go! 

Walking toward the starting line...

Group E is about to run!  Here we go!

The Peachtree is a GIANT race, so it needs a GIANT peach! 

Yay!  We are official finishers of the 2011 Peachtree Road Race! 

 Better yet--we shaved four minutes off last year's time! 

That's what you call, "picking up the pace!"

"Ran" into my friend, Farredeh, before/after the race. 

Considering there over 50,000 runners, that's quite the feat!

Proudly displaying our wearable trophies!

Until next year...



Running a Good Race

In preparation of the upcoming Peachtree Road Race, and in honor of our approaching thirteenth wedding anniversary, I'm posting something I journaled nearly a year ago.

A strange mixture of feelings engulfed me as I awoke Sunday morning:  anticipation, excitement, fear, nervousness, hope, uncertainty, and relief.  My feelings were justified.  For you see, Derek and I were about to run in our first-ever 10K race, Georgia's own Peachtree Road Race, to be precise.  Ever since I started working out two years ago, I had this goal in mind—to run down the streets of hot Atlanta, on the fourth of July, with 50,000 other people doing the exact same thing.  Now it was time. 

As our wave of runners approached the starting line, I had already been to the Port-a-Potty five times, because of the amount of water they tell you to drink before running, but mostly because of my hyperactive nerves.  For an ardent observer like me, the visual and auditory stimuli were almost overwhelming at times.  I watched the people intensely—how they prepared, what they were wearing, how they behaved.  I heard the announcer on the loudspeaker, giving instructions, encouraging the crowd, counting down.  I looked up and saw the enormous American flag waving over my head, and most of all, I felt the near-smothering intensity of the runners on every side of me.  Truly, this is a day to celebrate and remember forever.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.  Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.  Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." Hebrews 12:1-3

The crowd started running and we joined them.  I set the timer on my watch, smiled at Derek and we headed off.  We had discussed starting slowly, making sure we paced ourselves for the 6.2 miles looming ahead of us.  In this case, it was easy to do that.  The number of people surrounding us made a quick sprint near impossible.  The feeling was exhilarating.  A friend told me running the Peachtree could be compared to being in a parade.  She was correct.  There were bands playing upbeat music throughout the course.  There were unknown fans on either side cheering for perfect strangers.  And there was a feeling of expectancy in the air.

My prayer leading up to the race was that Derek and I would run the race marked out for us with perseverance and that we would run without growing weary or losing heart.  I also had some personal goals.  I did not want to stop running, unless absolutely necessary.  Even if it was a very slow jog, I wanted to keep moving.  Derek and I had also discussed the possibility of one of us running ahead in case the other one had to stop.  We agreed, for the most part though, to stay with each other throughout the race. 

Sometime after mile four, Derek looked at me, utterly exhausted and clearly struggling with the constant pain in his knee and said, "I have to stop.  You go on."  Really?  Now?  We just made it over the infamous "Cardiac Hill".  We're over half-way there.  We can do anything now.  We're on the down-hill slide.  Come on, Derek.  Don't stop.  Keep running.  As much as he wanted, he couldn't keep going at that moment.  He was in pain.  He was wounded.  He didn't want to fall.  He needed to rest.

So, I had a choice to make in that moment.  Would I run ahead of him, leaving him on his own, or would I stay?  My heart was pumping.  My legs were moving.  I was experiencing what they call, "a second wind".  I wanted to pick up the pace, and Derek needed to slow it down.  

Therefore, in a very uncharacteristic, unselfish move on my part, I chose to slow down my run to a near stagnant jog.  He earnestly tried to wave me on, saying, "Go!"  I kept turning around, saying, "No, come on!"  I stayed just a bit in front of him, constantly looking back over my shoulder to see how he was doing, watching runners who we'd passed earlier, whizzing past us.  It was frustrating and honestly more than this competitive first-born could handle.

After a few minutes passed, I looked back impatiently, and saw Derek running to catch up with me. With huge smiles on our perspiring faces, we pressed on.  Still trying to encourage him, I eagerly sought out the mile five sign up ahead and said, "Come on.  This thing is almost over.  We can do it."  Those words became a mantra in my head, as well as, words I spoke to him as we passed mile six and came closer to the finish line. 

As we sprinted downhill for the last part of the race, the action intensified.  People seemed to be everywhere.  A great cloud of witnesses, spectators, on both sides of the street, cheered us on toward our goal.  I was overwhelmed with emotion at that moment.  I looked over at Derek and said, "Give me your hand."  I wanted to cross the finish line with my husband, hands held high in victory, celebrating our accomplishment. 

"You were running a good race.  Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth?  That kind of persuasion does not come from the One who calls you." Galatians 5:7-8

But as he reached out to grab my hand, out of nowhere, a woman cut in front of him, becoming this huge obstacle for him to avoid.  She and Derek nearly collided so close to the final leg of the race.  By the grace of God, and minus any major stumbles, he managed to get around her without injury and catch back up with me a few steps from the finish line.  Amazingly, we had reached our destination.  Race over.  Mission accomplished.

"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize?  Run in such a way as to get the prize." 1 Corinthians 9:24

Exhausted and trying our best to recover from the run, we followed the weary crowd toward the volunteers handing out souvenir bags.  Only the participants who finish the race get their much-anticipated prize, the coveted Peachtree Road Race t-shirt.  As the bag was placed into my hands, I held on to it for dear life.  A feeling of pure exhilaration surged through me.  So proud that we'd run in such a way as to get the prize.  Our desire was to finish well, finish strong.  We did.  Together.  Just the way we imagined when we started this adventure a long time ago.

"But thanks be to God!  He gives us victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

1 Corinthians 15:57

Thank you, Jesus, for setting the ultimate example for us to follow.  You endured the cross and never gave in to the opposition from all sides.  You finished strong and were victorious.  Specifically, today I pray for my marriage.  As Derek and I approach our twelve-year wedding anniversary, may You continue to strengthen us, reminding us to throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles.  Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.  Let us fix our eyes on You, the author and finisher of our faith.  May we run and not grow weary, nor lose heart, knowing that we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses.  Empower us to run in such a way as to get the prize--Your approval, Your affirmation, Your blessings.  We are running a good race.  Protect us from those people and circumstances that might try to cut in on us and keep us from obeying the Truth.  May we finish well and finish strong.  Thanks be to You, God!  You give us victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.  Amen.

July 7, 2010

Summertime

One of my most precious joys of summertime is simply watching my girls play.  Yes, play.  Without the constant rushing around and the expectation of being somewhere at a definite time, they have the opportunity to think, create, and imagine without time restraints.  They can become different people and their toys can take on new identities.   

Without a doubt, playing is what I remember most about being a little girl.  Not necessarily the costly vacations to the beach, the trips to swim in the community pool, or even the ways my parents may have tried to fill our days with entertainment, but the hours I spent just playing—independently and with friends.

“It is a happy talent to know how to play.”

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

I recall spending vast amounts of time playing in my own room with my most cherished toys, my Cabbage Patch dolls, pretending they were my own little babies. I fed them, changed their "soiled" diapers and even put them down for naps.  I remember driving Barbie and Ken around in their pink Corvette, pausing every once in a while for a quick dip in the Barbie pool or a shopping trip to the mall. 

I can call to mind the numerous hours I spent downstairs in our basement playing school, and of course, being the teacher.  An unused, forgotten ping pong table, turned on its side, functioned as my chalkboard.  An old brown desk, purchased at a neighborhood garage sale, provided a place for me to survey my students from the front of the "classroom".  And stacks of surplus worksheets given to me by my elementary school teachers served as the required work for the day.

“Play gives children a chance to practice what they are learning....They have to play with
what they know to be true in order to find out more, and then they can use what they
learn in new forms of play.”

--Fred Rogers of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

I’ll probably never forget all the times I hauled my child-sized furniture from the basement, placed it under the giant Mimosa tree in my backyard, and imagined I had a home of my very own.  Each branch stretched downward, creating a wall, dividing the house into separate rooms.  I would spend hours at hand pretending to be a mother who took care of her family and the place they lived.

I can recall riding my pink Huffy bike, pedaling up and down our steep neighborhood hill all day long or racing my friends until the street light came on, reminding us all the day was done.  On other days I was a bus driver and my bicycle a bus.  I made frequent stops at each of my neighbor’s driveways waiting for passengers to board so I could transport them to school.

I recollect constant, impromptu games of kickball in my backyard, since we had the largest and flattest piece of property in the subdivision.  I also seem to remember countless victories in which the girls triumphed over the boys—at least that's how it's replayed in my mind now.  J

Each year, the summer was guaranteed to provide times of rest, times of relaxation, and times to just be a kid.  What do kids do best?  Play!  It’s what they’re notorious for, it’s how they acquire information, and it’s what they’ll remember well into adulthood.

“My childhood may be over, but that doesn't mean playtime is.”

So, as each long, blistering day of summer goes by, I am perfectly content not to have organized plans.  I want my girls to experience childhood at its fullest—playing, imagining, and creating pretend worlds and pretend situations which will reside within them long after the summertime has passed.  And who knows?  On any given day, you may find me asking them, “Can I play?”