6710 Grand

I’m wrestling with a difficult truth.  Well, maybe just chewing on it a bit.  Still wrapping my head around it.  I was listening to a Max Lucado book, Never Give Up .  He was telling the story of a young teen who was roughhousing around with his brother.  In their headlocks and arm wrestling, one kicked the other in the stomach—in the gut as he said.  Such a kick yielded acute, severe pain.  The pain led them to the emergency room which uncovered a tumor.  Emergency surgery removed the cancerous mass which, the surgeon said, had only been growing for a few days at most.  This aggressive invasion of the body could have resulted in a more serious outcome.  So, Max said, God saved the boy with a kick in the gut.  Miracle?  Sure.  I guess.  But why would God use such a method? The book is talking about going through hard things and not letting discouragement or pain get the better of you and cause you to “curse God ...

 God is my salvation.  I will trust and not be afraid.  Isaiah 12:2 Success is important to me.   Success in work, parenting, marriage, life in general—I want to be successful.   I work hard at it, sometimes making unrealistic demands of myself.   I set a goal (to burn 1500 calories a day more than I eat; to bake 25 kinds of Christmas cookies during the busiest season of the year; to raise $2500 every day for my organization—because that’s what we spend; to not get frustrated with my kids) and push push push to get it done.   Sometimes I make it (a lot of times actually) and sometimes I don’t.   When I do, I feel good—like I can take on more and keep it going.   But when I don’t, I internalize the failure.   I forget that sometimes the goal isn’t realistic or that there are things beyond my control that keep me from hitting a target.   It’s never easy when it doesn’t work out the way I see it in my head. Sometimes I forget that ...

She sat next to me for 3 hours as we drove together.  I’d never spent so much time with a live chicken before.  Peggy O, as she’d been named, wasn’t going to make it.  We all knew it.  Maybe she knew it too.  She was an elderly bird—one we’d rescued years before.  She’d lived a long and happy life—much longer and happier than anyone might have expected.  But now, her leg was in such pain that her quality of life was almost nothing.  She was in constant pain and there was nothing more that could be done for her.  She needed her pain eased.   The only way to do that was to end her life.   But that, it seemed, was easier said than done.   I’ve had dogs and cats—dogs that needed to be similarly released and a cat whose life ended very suddenly and without explanation.   It’s never easy, but it’s also not hard—not like this was.   Peggy was hurting.   But there was no veterinarian who would see her—they just don’t...

It’s 4:33 and the sunrise alarm clock that is supposed to wake me up naturally is blaring orange light into my bedroom.  I have no idea how to turn it off because the 946 page instruction manual remains unread in my “to read” folder.  But it doesn’t matter.  Ike is crying and it’s time to get up anyway.  I pry myself out of bed, throw on my gym clothes and head downstairs.  The coffee pot is brewing.   I debate having a cup before my run but as I diaper my baby and snuggle him back to bed I know it’s not a smart choice.   One cup leads to seven and that means my morning run won’t happen.   And it MUST happen. Baby is back down for at least another hour so I head to the basement where my office and gym are waiting for me.   I’m immediately reminded of the things I meant to finish last night but didn’t and am momentarily tempted to tackle them now.   No.   You MUST run.   I open the windows in the gym and turn on two fans. ...

I know a thing or two about long distance relationships.  In a lot of ways, I'm still living in one.  When Nick and I were dating after college and he'd gone home to San Diego and I moved to Kansas City, we wrote a lot of letters (ok, I wrote a lot of letters.  He wrote a few.).  We talked on the phone every night (remember free nights and weekends??) but I still wrote him a letter every day.  Just about what was going on.  What I was thinking.  How I was feeling.  None of it was anything monumental (at least I don't think so) but those were the in-betweens.  In between visits.  In between trips.  We were separated by thousands of miles and hours of flight time.  One of us made the trip to see the other about once every three months. And in those moments, we celebrated!  We enjoyed EVERY SECOND together.  Even just being in the same room--the same state--the same time zone!  It didn't matter what we did.  ...

There's a movie the kids used to watch called Monsters Vs. Aliens  or, in kid-speak, Monsters 'n Ellies.  It's your typical animated silliness but in the beginning of the movie, the main character, Susan, is talking to her fiance, Derek, who is a news anchor.  Derek has been planning their honeymoon to Paris and comes to her just before the wedding with great news.  He's taking her somewhere better than Paris! Really???  What could be better than Paris??? "Fresno!" "Fresno!"  She echos.  "In what world is Fresno better than Paris, Derek?" Well Derek got a job offer in Fresno and they'd have to move there right after the wedding.  No Paris.  The rest of the movie isn't important but sometimes I find myself worried about Fresno.  Not the actual Fresno but the symbol it represents here. Jesus said he came that we would have life and live it to the full.  The abundant life.  There are lots of books and sermons and such th...

I'm sad to say that this is possibly the last year that Iris will believe in Santa.  She's 10.  It's time.  But it's still sad.  Most of the time I think her head knows what her heart is hoping isn't true.  As an adult, there are certainly ways I know and fully believe in the magic of Santa.  Stories of selfless generosity and ordinary people doing extraordinary things.  Our own holiday giving to strangers and going out of our ways to make someone's day, all in the name of Christmas--these are the Santa Tracking ways Santa is kept real.  You never know who you might be playing Santa to in an everyday gesture or kindness. For us, that all goes back to Jesus.  And we don't need Christmas for that.  It's easier, sure.  It feels more natural.  People are more likely to just say thank you and accept a gift than at other times of the year.  It is these things for which I choose to believe in Santa--and I hope they are why...

I'm still in denial.  At 30 weeks and 2 days I am not mentally prepared to have a baby.  It STILL doesn't feel real.  Sure, every time I try to stand up or roll over in bed I'm reminded by this ginormous belly but it's only the physical.  At work I keep planning for spring fundraising.  At home I keep thinking about how I'm going to do more this year--like New Year's Resolution planning.  I'm going to run more marathons, take the girls more places, travel more.  Um, probably not. When we had Isabelle I wasn't ready to say "this is my last pregnancy".  Well, I'm definitely ready now.  I do NOT enjoy being pregnant.  It's uncomfortable.  I miss wine.  I miss sleeping on my back.  I'm oh so tired of doctor appointments and blood work.  Well, kiddo, you're it!  Our last one.  That's OK with me.  I'm ready to be done having kids.  People ask me all the time if this one was a surprise.  First--t...

David and Bathsheeba--what a scandal!  I'm reading yet another Max Lucado book, Facing Your Giants .  It's a detailed journey through David's life as runt of the litter, chosen by God, giant slayer, fugitive, king and yes, general sinner. Now, I love Max Lucado (big shock) but in this book he said something that really  got to me.  Hours later, I'm still annoyed.  Here it is: We've gone through most of David's life, past the Goliath thing, past the running from Saul, past the death of his best friend.  I feel like I really know David at this point.  We're now up to his perhaps most famous temptation--Bathsheeba.  She's another man's wife.  So here Max is describing the scene, Bathsheeba taking a bath.  that's really all we know about what she was doing .  But David is enamored.  Max describes what must have been a beautiful woman (at least in David's mind).  A servant is summoned who tells David who she is--Uriah's wif...

I was thinking about this during church this morning.  Our pastor was talking about miracles and how they were documented for us in the Bible.  But that also, miracles still happened.  They shouldn't be something that we thought only happened in Biblical times and he asked if we were taking note of them--reminding ourselves of them--making markers of them.  I'm not sure if this is what he meant, but it got me thinking about how anything was recorded.  People used to journal.  People used to write letters.  That's how we know what past presidents were thinking--they wrote letters and people saved them.  That's how we know what certain historical figures went through--they kept a journal and someone saved it.  My journal is not exciting.  It's jumbled and far too infrequently added to.  I write it mostly for me--to practice and to clear my head.  I wonder what someone will think of it when someday it is found in a heap with o...

March 12, 2017 7:25 AM, Madrid After a fairly restful night, I’m up and ready for coffee.  I’m going for a short run to the Starbucks…except it doesn’t open for another hour!  What’s a gal gotta do to get a cup of coffee in the AM around here?  This is the first hotel since the Waldorf where I haven’t had a coffee pot in my room.  Hopefully the hotel breakfast will do, though those tiny cups are never enough. Breakfast did not disappoint.  It was a buffet, but none like I’d ever seen.  Meats and cheeses, fruits and some kind of yogurt-like substance, pastries, bread and fresh eggs if you wanted them.  And the coffee!  I have decided that I do like Spanish coffee!  It’s thick and rich but not bitter.  I’m re-thinking my earlier impressions of Spain.  We’ll see how long it lasts.  Off to Mass—I haven’t been in years but the words and the ritual never really leave you. Church today was beautiful.  The shortes...