From a Panic Attack to God Singing Over Us at an Airport in India

Two months ago, the night before our flight out of Atlanta, the first physical step in thousands of miles we were to take in the direction of our Pearl, I slept for barely two hours.

The burdensome weight of years of waiting for this moment to come, coupled with the reality of what we were actually doing the following morning, combined with the overwhelming sadness of being separated from Gloria and Grace for two weeks finally caught up...and overtook me.

Every kind of emotion, all the excitement, the anticipation, the fear, the tears, and yes, even nausea came out.

What I know now, but didn't comprehend then, was that I had a panic attack.  And it was bad.  Very bad.

Even though the anxiety inside me was greater than either my body or my mind has ever experienced, even though I was balled up on my bathroom floor, I still heard a very specific, very real command spoken to my spirit.

"Stand firm."

It was one I'd noticed God emphasizing, highlighting to me from His Word for weeks leading up to that moment.

"Finally, be strong in the LORD and in His mighty power.

Put on the full armor of God

so that you can take your STAND against the devil's schemes...

Therefore put on the full armor of God,

so that when the day of evil comes,

you may be able to STAND your ground,

and after you have done everything, to STAND. 

STAND FIRM then..." Ephesians 6:10-14a

 

In those middle of the night moments, I wavered. I doubted. I lost faith. Every promise God had given us, all the miraculous deeds He'd done on our behalf, all the hope of the future nearly flew out the window.  I was weak and crippled by fear.

"Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,

so that Christ's power may rest on me...

For when I am weak, then I am strong."

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

 

The very same One whose powerful words spoke all of creation, all of life into existence, spoke to me, cared enough for His daughter's trembling heart, to speak and to comfort and to infuse courage back into it.

 

And the next morning?

 

Though weeping may remain for a night, rejoicing comes in the morning!

 

 

 

Exhausted, yet elated, we boarded our first flight and left America behind. We flew about nine hours, landed in Frankfurt, Germany, had a six-hour layover and then boarded our second flight. We flew eight hours and finally landed at the Delhi airport in India.

 

It was just after midnight when we arrived. Though beautiful and exotic, nothing was familiar. We truly felt like the foreigners we were in a distant land.

 

 

We stood in line to get our boarding passes for our next flight, the one to Pune, where Pearl's orphanage was located.  We went through security and began our long trek to the other side of the airport where our next departure gate was located. 

 

Since we had several hours before our connecting flight, we decided to find a quiet place to take a moment to collect ourselves. We found just that in a more secluded area of the airport, right in front of a coffee shop.

 

Most of this side of the airport was still asleep. The refreshment stands and restaurants were not open for business, it being 3:00am local time. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful. Just what we needed after all the hustle and bustle through which we'd just come.

 

The coffee shop was just opening their doors for the business of the day.  Derek and I sat down at a table several yards in front of the store. 

 

Derek began looking over some of our important documents, the itinerary, etc., while I put my feet up and reflected over all that we'd been through the past 24+ hours.  All the travel, all the roller coasters of feelings I was still battling, all the requirements that still had to be met to get our girl.

 

We'd only been seated a couple of minutes when someone, somewhere, turned on some music. Just a couple of notes played through the speakers, breaking the eerie silence, when Derek and I looked up from our own personal revelries, locked eyes and gasped.

 

We could not believe what our ears were hearing.

 

In the middle of Indira Gandhi International Airport, in the capital of India, in the midst of all things Indian, this is what we heard from a voice we recognized immediately:

 

"Oh, I've heard a thousand stories of what they think you're like

But I've heard the tender whisper of love in the dead of night

And you tell me that you're pleased

And that I'm never alone.

 

You're a Good, Good Father

It's who You are, it's who You are, it's who You are

And I'm loved by You

It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am

 

Oh, it's love so undeniable

I, I can hardly speak

Peace so unexplainable

I, I can hardly think

As you call me deeper still

Into love, love, love...

 

You're a Good, Good Father

It's who You are, it's who You are, it's who You are

And I'm loved by You

It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am."

(Chris Tomlin)

 

Familiar words from a familiar voice. In a foreign land, far away from all that was familiar to us.

 

We knew the lyrics of the song well. 

 

By heart actually.  We humbly join in worship with other believers, other children of the Most High, to sing that song regularly at our church.

 

We know the Good, Good Father well, too. 

 

Individually, and as a married couple, we've walked with Him for years.  And yet, He still blew us away with this "tender whisper of love in the dead of night".

 

Tears fell. From both of our eyes. We were speechless. And overwhelmed. All we could do was remain still.  His presence so thick we were nearly undone.

 

In a country, in an airport where contemporary praise/worship-filled music most certainly is not the norm, He showed us He was there. Immanuel, God with us. That He sees, that He knows, that He cares about every single detail.

That He goes before us, fights for us and would indeed be our "cloud by day" and "fire by night" on this journey. And most of all, that He is the Father to the fatherless.

 

That moment gave us an unexplainable, incomprehensible peace we hadn't had before, erasing anxiety and fear, causing an immense, all-encompassing, bold-as-lions courage to swell inside our hearts.

 

How could we ever forget that moment?

 

The moment when God proved (once again) how perfect He is in all His ways.  When He took over the sound system, the intercom, in a Hindu-dominated country so that His daughter and His son might be encouraged with familiarity, with Truth, and the closeness of His presence.

 

Only His mighty arm is that strong and only His Father's heart is that personal, that intentional and that attentive to what His children need at just the moment they need it.

 

Only a Good, Good Father does that.

 

"The LORD your God is with you,

He is mighty to save. 

He will take great delight in you,

He will quiet you with His love,

He will rejoice over you with singing."

Zephaniah 3:17

 

 

**For the record (or for any doubting Thomas's out there),we sat and listened to hours of music following this incident while we waited for our next flight.  NEVER was there any other song similar to this (or even sung in English for that matter) played over the airwaves while we were at the airport.**

 

 

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...)

Sunday's Coming, but Today is Friday

I know Sunday is coming.

But today is Friday.

Even though my lips would rather sing and rejoice, my soul must mourn and grieve.

I remember Jesus.

Eating His last meal.
Breaking the bread.
Pouring the wine.
Instructing them to remember Him.
Washing their feet.
Being betrayed.
Agonizing in prayer.
Arrested in the night.
Accused, beaten, bloodied.

Before I can celebrate His resurrection, I have to consider His death.

His brutal, necessary death.  On that infamous cross.

Every morning I wake up, I see this on my bedroom wall.

Every morning it reminds me I live because Jesus died. 
For me, for you.  To save us sinners from ourselves.

Not on a fancy, scrolly, ornate cross, but a massive, splintered tool of execution.

The encompassing darkness of death. Then...the illuminating light of eternal life.
Temporary, hushed hopelessness.  Then...the resounding promise of forever.
Significant, remarkable loss.  Then...triumphant, victorious gain.
The weight of unbearable agony.  Then...the weight of unparalleled glory.

Don't run ahead.  Go there. 
Sit in the horror-filled, blackness of Friday. 

Ponder the Lamb led to slaughter. 
Marvel at the humble obedience to His Father. 
Be engulfed.  Be overwhelmed by His relentless, persistent love.

Yes! Praise the Father that Sunday's coming. 

 

But today... 

Today is Friday.

A Wall That Must Fall

Ever feel like things are going really well in a certain situation in your life?  Actually, better than well?

But then suddenly, and without warning, out of nowhere...BAM!

You run face-first, smack into a wall.  Not just any wall.  But an enormous, unexpected, seemingly-impossible-to-scale wall.

Yeah.  Well...if you have, then we understand.  Completely.  Because we have officially hit our wall. 

Almost three weeks ago we got an email update from our adoption agency.

Our India coordinator had just returned from an international adoption conference in India and from the exact city where our orphanage is located.  Fortunately, she had the opportunity to visit our orphanage and to speak with the caregivers and social workers there. 

Good news.

Unfortunately, everything else she told us after that was the exact opposite.

The bad news is summed up in one line from her email..."...it seems extremely unlikely that there would ever be a potential for a match for your family..."

Discouraging.  Disheartening.  Disappointing.

Following a conversation on the phone, here's what we know for sure:  Our orphanage is tiny.  Extremely tiny.  Like, only 10 kids in the entire orphanage, tiny. 

And only a "few" children there matched the specifics listed in our Home Study.  And then those "few" children would undoubtedly be adopted to one of the hundreds of Indian families on the domestic waiting list, according to Hague Convention law.

The only silver lining we see so far is that we are the only international file in the orphanage at this time.  At least we have no other "competition" and at least we definitely stick out.

So...even though those are the blatant facts staring at us right now, here's why we have not lost heart.  Hang with me as I try to explain.

I started reading the book, The Circle Maker by Mark Batterson, the day before we got the email from our agency.  I am going through it with an amazing group of women from my church.  The premise of the book is the encouragement to pray circles around your biggest dreams and your greatest fears. 

Bold, persistent, specific prayers honor God and God honors bold, persistent specific prayers.

Pertaining to the infamous battle of Jericho in Joshua 6, the author asks this question in chapter 3,

 

"What is your Jericho?" 

In other words,
Like the Israelites, what promise are you praying around? 
What miracle are you marching around? 
What dream does your life revolve around, right now?

When I read this crucial question, I thought to myself, "I don't have a specific wall I'm marching around right now."

The very next day I did. 

BAM.  Hit. The. Wall. 

After our conversation with our agency coordinator, I asked my husband, "So what do we do now?"
He responded, "We pray through.  We gird up our loins and we just keep praying."

When I opened my Bible the next morning, the pages fell to the book of Daniel chapter 10.  Skimming the page, I read these highlighted words spoken to Daniel in verse 12 when God sent a messenger to him, "Do not be afraid, Daniel.  Since the first day your words were heard...." 

The messenger goes on to tell Daniel that even though he was now there, he had been delayed for 21 days by a powerful spiritual being. Daniel's prayers had been hindered by unseen obstacles.

After reading that scripture, I noticed something I had written in the side of my Bible about 10 years ago when I first heard a message about this passage, "Battles exist in the spiritual realms." 

Really.  They do.

At that point, I said out-loud, "Okay, Lord. The battle has now begun."   After a year of "easy" in this adoption journey, here we go.  Game on.

I opened my book, The Circle Maker, to read chapter 4 and nearly choked when I saw the title, "Praying Through".  Remember?  They were the exact words Derek had just said to me the night before.  I mean, seriously?

Then I read Joshua 6:2, printed right there in the middle of the chapter,

"Then the LORD said to Joshua,

'See, I have delivered Jericho into your hands."

 

But when I read it, I did not see the word, "Jericho".  I saw the word, "Pearl", the name we will give our little girl. 

 

God didn't just promise Joshua, "I will deliver."  No.  He used past tense.  "I have delivered."

 

Here were the author's next words in that same chapter:

 

"The battle was won before the battle even began.  God had already given them the city.  All they had to do was circle it."

 

The battle was won before the battle even began.

The battle was won before the battle even began.

The battle was won before the battle even began.

 

Yes.  I typed it 3 times in a larger font because it IS that profound to us!

 

As soon I read those words, the floodgates opened and I went into the ugly cry right there in my very own bed.  I sensed the Lord speaking that promise to me, tenderly, passionately, and fiercely.  Here I had just told Him, "Okay, Lord.  The battle has now begun."  Yet He promised me, "The battle was won before the battle even began."

 

So...yes, while we are disheartened about this latest news with the adoption, we have not lost hope.  God is SO real, y'all.  And He is FOR us.  ALL of us. 

 

Our coordinator gave us three options before we ended our conversation on the phone that night nearly three weeks ago.  We have chosen the last one: hang tight and keep waiting.  And while we wait, we're praying through.  Circling an intimidatingly, gigantic wall, praying it will fall. 

 

Would you consider joining us?  It took a huge army of Israelites, obeying God, believing God, and waiting for God to crash that wall so they could step into their promise.  Even Especially when it seemed impossible. 

Lord, this wall must fall.  It must if we are to move forward in this journey to adopt our little girl.  Make a way where there seems to be no way.  There is no limit to Your power and to Your might.  Set the stage for Your glory to be revealed and allow us the privilege of having a front-row seat.  We believe You have delivered Pearl into our hands.  Give us persistence and perseverance as we keep circling and keep praying for this wall to fall.  Amen.

Sky High

Privileged to be a guest contributor at 5 Minutes for Faith again! 

 

Here's my post for the day:

“Step.  Slide.  Hang on tight.  Breathe. 

Okay.  Good.  Now, repeat. 
One more thing. 
Whatever you do… don’t look down.”

I whispered these words to myself as I stood on a wooden bridge, high in the air.  I was attached by a simple harness and pulley system, facing a fear I didn’t even know I possessed.

Going to Stone Mountain Park was my idea that hot summer day.  Standing in line for Sky Hike, the adventure ropes course, was my idea, too.  But fear was never part of the agenda. 

Following each platform pit-stop is a pair of apparatus.  Each climber must choose which path to take.  One is deemed easier.  One, a tad more challenging.  Every time, I went with the simpler path.  I was determined to take the easy way out.  Literally.

Until Billy saw me. 

 

Billy worked at the park.  His job was to help those with weak and shaky knees cross the ropes.  He came straight toward me, pointed and said, “Try this one.”

I replied, “No thanks.  I’m good.  I like this one.  It’s easier.”

His reply, “I know.  But this one is more fun and you’re almost at the end.  You should know how it feels to cross this rope before you’re done.  Don’t worry.  I’m right here.”

He extended his hand. 

I looked.  I thought.  I refused. 

I shook off his offer of help, but not his suggestion for a challenge.  I took a couple of steps onto the more difficult, one-inch tightrope, and then I froze.  I thought I could do it by myself.  I reasoned that after his pep talk, I was ready to do it by myself.  Wrong. 

Still watching me with extended hand, Billy waited.  As awkward as I felt relying on a perfect stranger for help, I reached for his hand.  Still moving slowly, I let him guide me across the remainder of the rope and onto the safety of the deck. 

I was finished with level one, but not with my lesson for the day.  Throughout the course, I saw that when faced with a decision, I yield to the easy path.  I shun the hard stuff because…well…it’s hard.  And sometimes, I refuse to accept help when I need it most. 

Since then, our little daredevil family has returned to brave Sky Hike two more times.  The last time, I courageously conquered all three levels—climbing, balancing and mastering the course, suspended 40 feet above the ground.  While exiting level three, an employee asked me, “So…how was it?” 

“It was scary, but I finished!  Do I get a sticker?  Or is there a bell I can ring?  A bugle to blow?  Something to announce to everyone that I did it?”

She laughed and said, “We should.  But I’ll shout it for you.  ‘She did it!  She finished!  Great job!’”  Triumphantly, I walked away knowing this was so much more than just a great activity at a great park.  It was also a great life-lesson.

I can choose to face the hard stuff in my life because my God is already there, just ahead of me.  He sees me panic-stricken and trembling in my soul.  He knows the moment my faith freezes and He comes. He sees me looking down at my circumstances instead of up at His face.  He waits for me to take His hand. 

And when I do, He will guide me through it to the other side, declaring, “You did it!  You finished.  Great job!”

With this news…encourage those who have weak knees.
 Say to those with fearful hearts,
“Be strong, & do not fear, for your God is coming…He is coming to save you.”

Is. 35:3-4 (NLT)

 

A Letter to Chick-fil-A

Dear Chick-fil-A,

Since you've been on my heart (and in my tummy) lately, I thought I'd jot down a few words just for you today.

You're right.  You didn't invent the chicken.  But, you certainly perfected the chicken sandwich.  No contest.  Best out there.  Whatever you do, don't lose the recipe.

Your regular waffle fries are very tasty.  But...I have a small confession to make.  I am still mourning the loss of your even tastier sweet potato fries.  Maybe, just maybe, you'll consider bringing them back in the future, especially for us Southerners who can't seem to get enough of those orange taters.

The cow calendar you put out each year totally rocks.  The detachable coupons at the bottom of each month are wonderful.  And what's even more wonderful is that expiration dates really don't exist in your world.  Some of us just naturally run late.  In all things.  In all times.  Especially in redeeming our coupons.

How sweet is the option of exchanging the toy or book in the kids' meal for ice cream!  Options are great and even necessary to have in life.  Thank you for giving them to us and our kiddos.

Your character days are a blast.  No other fast-food restaurant I know welcomes its customers in costume and even rewards them with free food.  Brilliant marketing, people.  Just brilliant.

Love the fact that humble service is key in your company.  You teach, train and model that people are always more important than things.  We see it.  We appreciate it.

Keeping my fingers crossed you'll have a couple of openings in 8-10 years.  You see, I have two adorable girls who have their hearts set on working for your company when they join the ranks of the employed.  Keep up the good work, because their little eyes are taking it all in right now, even from the slide in the indoor play area.

Last, it seems you've hit a bit of scrutiny lately.  Seems some people were poised and ready to pounce on you.  And now they have.  Just because you expressed a belief, an opinion.  Last time I checked it was okay to do that in the land of the red, white and blue.  Just keep being you, Chick-fil-A.  Just keep doing what you do.  It's good stuff.  All of it. 

So, I leave you with these words.  The words of Jesus.  You know Him.  I know you do. 

For without Him, you wouldn't have your deliciously famous chicken sandwich, Him being the inventor of the first chicken and all. 

Anyway.  As I was saying,

"Count yourself blessed every time someone cuts you down or throws you out, every time someone smears or blackens your name to discredit me.

What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and that that person is uncomfortable.

You can be glad when that happens—skip like a lamb, if you like!—for even though they don't like it, I do

 . . . and all heaven applauds.

And know that you are in good company;

my preachers and witnesses have always been treated like this." 

Luke 6:22-23 (The Message)

Thank you, Chick-fil-A, for many things.  So many more than I've even touched in this brief, unofficial letter here. 

You purposefully end each of our conversations with, "My pleasure".

The reality is that in being your frequent patron, the pleasure is all mine.

~M

It's Not How You Start

My husband and I like to run.  Not crazy marathon running.  More like simple, leisurely runs.  A couple times a year we might run a six-miler together.  Other than that, we stick to the less strenuous, three-mile outings.  

For a very worthy cause, we chose to participate in another 5K this past Saturday.  This 5K was not in our hometown, nor was it a familiar race to us.  As a matter of fact, this supposedly simple 5K turned out to be the hardest course we've encountered to date. 

In the midst of all my huffing and puffing while running, a few epiphanies struck my mind and heart.  After sorting through them, I thought I'd share five lessons I learned during that brief, but tough, thirty minutes:

1.  Details are important.
As in all the other 5K's we've run, we assumed we would be running on pavement.  But just minutes from arriving at the race, I checked the website and was surprised to find that the race terrain was listed as "dirt, rocks, and wood chips."  

Fact #1: We do not own trail running shoes.  
Fact #2: We wore our newest, cleanest Asics to the race. 
Fact #3: We were less than thrilled about tramping through muddy trails, especially after three days of consecutive rain.
Fact #4: We ran it anyway. 

Mark my word, though.  Next time we'll pay more attention to the details.

2. I can do hard.
From the moment the race began, and I started sloshing through the muck and mire, I had a feeling this was going to be a hard run.  Headed into the second mile of the race, I started up the first of four very large hills.  You know, the kind Jack and Jill probably tumbled down? 

At first glance I thought, "No big deal.  I got this."  But halfway up the hill, I had to stop running and walk.  And I never stop in a race.  I may slow down, but I certainly never stop.  Slowly, but steadily, I made my way to the top and continued my run, despite how hard it was. 

The good news is that I didn't have to stop at the second mountain, er, hill.  Or the third.  On the fourth.  Nope.  I'd convinced myself that I could do it--no matter how hard it was. 

Yes, my heart was beating hard.  Yes, I was breathing hard.  But I did not quit. 

Maybe, just maybe,  I can do hard.

3. It's okay not to know the whole route before you run it.
The planner in both my husband and me wished we knew where we headed when the race began.  The most frustrating part was running up a hill and having no idea what awaited us at the top.  Or around the corner. 

It certainly would have been easier to have had a bird's eye view of the course. 

We could have anticipated the intimidating hills, prepared ourselves for them and conquered them.  We could have avoided the huge mud puddles before we were right upon them. 
We could have side-stepped the large rocks and tree roots protruding from the ground, all silently waiting to trip up an ill-prepared or less vigilant runner, causing him/her to stumble and fall.

Unfortunately, we didn't know the route beforehand.  Nope.  Instead, we had to run by faith. 

4. Don't worry.  Just follow the narrow path marked out for you.
This lesson follows on the heels of #3.  Just into the heavily wooded course, I looked down and noticed bright green, florescent arrows spray-painted on the ground. 

Someone had gone before us.  Someone who knew the way marked out the path for us.  We didn't need to worry about getting lost.  We didn't need to concern ourselves with not knowing where to go.

No worry.  No fear.  All we had to do was trust and follow the path marked out for us, straight to the finish line.

5. It's not how you start.  It's how you finish.
As soon as the announcer said, "Go!", I knew I was going to struggle with this race.  The terrain was unfamiliar, the ground was soggy, and my legs were already sore from a fierce leg workout just days earlier.  My thoughts ranged from "Do the best you can" to "I just don't want to get hurt" to "I am not going to have a good finishing time" to a host of others.  I didn't feel I started well.  I felt nervous, uncertain, and slow. 

Cautious?  Yep.  That's me. 
Calculated?  Guilty. 
Analytical?  Me again.

But typically, it's only in the beginning phase of any given event in my life.  After a slow start, my boldness increases.  Trust takes over.  Faith claims the victory.

Same thing is true in this 5K.  After a hesitant first mile, I got my second wind.  Instead of only looking down, I started to look up and around at my surroundings.  I passed a serene lake and gorgeous foliage.  I felt the warm sunshine and breathed in the cool winter air.  I started to rest, even while I was running.  I began to enjoy the adventure along the way.

As the final leg of the race came into view, I took off.  Faster and faster.  Eager to finish well.  Motivated to come close to the goal I'd set for myself.

I knew my start was less than desirable.  I knew it wasn't picture-perfect.  But I had hope my finish could be better. 

And ultimately in the end, that's the most important lesson for us all.

It's not how you start.  It's how you finish that counts. 

So, here's to life lessons.  Here's to perseverance.  Here's to strong finishes. 

‎"Go with God as He goes after your circumstances. Pursue what you know to be true of God. Continue in worship and trusting. The outcome is God's part; the process is ours."

Graham Cooke

Moving Forward

"I prefer to fall back, not spring forward." 

This was my Facebook status last spring on the eve of Daylight Savings Time.

At the time, it was exactly how I felt.  Not just about physically losing an hour or gaining an hour in my day.  But more about the condition of my heart and mind. 

Ten months ago, I wished to stay where I was in my life.  Falling back to what was familiar and comfortable made me feel safe and secure.  And like most people, I happen to enjoy safe and secure.

Instead, I sensed God was about to move.  He was about to lift the cloud above our family's encampment.  Just like with the Israelites, this would be the signal to move forward.  Following Him.  To a new destination.  (See Numbers 9:15-23)

At the beginning of this month, Daylight Savings Time came again.  Graciously, we accepted an extra hour of sleep as we turned the clocks back in time before retiring for bed.

But in this season in my life, I struggled with the thought of going backwards.  I found myself wishing to press on.  To continue making forward progress.  Not to put this object in motion to rest.

Watching Lion King last weekend, reminded me of a conversation between two of my favorite Disney characters, Pumba and Timon: 

Pumba: It's like my buddy Timon always says: You got to put your behind in your past.
Timon: No, no, sit down before you hurt yourself. You gotta put your past *behind you*.

Either way, that's sound advice.  Even if it comes from an animated meerkat and warthog. :)

In the New Testament, the apostle Paul says it like this,

"But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."

Paul knew he was in a chase, not just a race.  He was constantly moving forward when it might have been easier to fall back. 

At church we often sing a song entitled, "Moving Forward" by Israel Houghton.  Here are some of the lyrics:

"Not going back, moving ahead 

Here to declare to You, my past is over in You.

All things are made new, Surrendered my life to Christ 

I'm moving, moving forward. 

You make all things new.  Yes, You make all things new.  And I will follow You forward."

Each day as I surrender my life to Christ, I want to be found faithful.  Faithful to heed the lessons I need to learn.  Faithful to obey.

The alternative, as my wise friend once said, may be "another lap around the desert".

Forgive me for not caring to waste my days wandering in circles.  

As I understand it, there's only one way to get to the promised land in our lives.  One step at a time.  Moving forward.

"There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind."
~ C. S. Lewis

Do What You Can Do

I looked down at my right index finger all bandaged up and began to worry.  

Just three days prior, I had sliced it with a freshly sharpened kitchen knife. Even though the doctor said I didn't need stitches, the wound was still fresh and my finger was still tender and sore.  Now I was on my way to play in a softball game and was expected to pitch, nonetheless.  

As we drove along, I voiced my concerns to my husband--concerns that the ball wouldn't flow smoothly out of my hand, or that I might walk more players than I intended, or that I might accidentally hit my finger while trying to field a ball. 

Little did I know my daughters were soaking in every word as I shared my thoughts aloud in the car.  

My youngest interrupted my rambling by making a very serious declaration, "Mama.  Just do what you can do.  That's all."  

"Do what I can do?"  

"Yes, do what you can do."  

Pretty profound words from a four year old, if I must say so myself.  

Selfishly, I'd like to take credit for her words of wisdom, believing that somewhere along the line, she's heard me encourage her with the very same advice.  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.

It seems my little girl offered me the appropriate word at the appropriate time.  It was just what I needed to hear---when I needed to hear it.  
A combination of both encouragement and freedom.  
A push to do my best and forget the rest. 
A suggestion of faith plus action.  

Aptly spoken.  Graciously received.

How many times have I done the same thing?  
Spoken confidence to a hesitant heart?  
Whispered words of mercy versus condemnation? 
Voiced encouragement in place of criticism?

"The right word at the right time is like a custom-made piece of jewelry..." 

Proverbs 25:11 (The Message) 

In others words, the right word will be a perfect fit, made explicitly for the individual and displayed at just the right time.

"Words kill, words give life; they're either poison or fruit—you choose." 

Proverbs 18:21 (The Message)

"Do what you can do" has become a mantra in my head this past week.  I have recited it whenever I've felt anxious or worried about pending circumstances.  My daughter's wise words have helped me put things in perspective when I've felt myself slipping into perfectionistic thoughts or feeling overwhelmed with future responsibilities.  How amazing to learn something so profound from one so young!  So here's my prayer:

Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to You.  I desire to bless instead of curse.  May my tongue express gratitude more than it expresses discontent. I pray my words will be bursting forth with life and honor You.  Thank you for giving my daughter the right words at the right time.  May I learn to do the same.

By the way, despite a shaky first inning, I wound up pitching a good game.  Surprisingly, I even struck out four batters.  All thanks to my little girl who reminded me to, "Do what you can do."  And I did.