Barfing Preaches

Hello again!

Christmas in general is craziness around here (just like everywhere else.) Add into that sickness among all of us and..BLEH.  

I didn't drink coffee for four days.  That's how bad.  

But as I sit here, I'm sporting my 20 oz coffee mug and life is good again.  

Being sick does something really important.  It gives me a big-fat-dose of perspective.  It's like God's reminder to me of how weak I really am.  And how little I really do on my own.  Take my health away and I have little to offer as far as accomplishments.  Nothing actually.  

And this bout of sickness taught me something new.  Barfing preaches.  I got sick very late on Christmas night.  I'll spare you the details, sorta, but it was not nice.  I felt gross all night, and then in the morning the barfing finally came.

*and this is a side-note, but DUDE how does that stuff stay in your stomach for so long?!  I hadn't eaten for a good 15 hours and when the barfing started I thought, "Oh good, I haven't eaten much so I don't have very much to throw up" but NO. I was wrong* 

I feel like we need to talk about barfing for a sec.  There's different kinds of barfing.  The kind where you barf fairly soon after you eat and it's super gross because it's mushed up food and you never wanna eat that food again for as long as you live.  But then two days go by and you find yourself eating pizza again.  And then there is the acid-barfing.  Where you haven't eaten for a long time but your stomach is full of acid and bile and other grossness and when you barf that.  Ouch.  It burns like none other and leaves your throat super sore.

So, I had the acid-barfing.  *shudder*  Aren't you glad you stopped by today?  A few hours afterwards, I was super thirsty, but dreaded the thought of drinking anything.  I grabbed a bottled water out of the fridge, twisted the cap off and took a tiny sip.

It was the worst tasting water ever.  

Of course it wasn't really the water that was the problem.  It was perfectly fine and the same water that I always drink and have no problem with.  If my family were to grab a bottle, and give it a swig, they would think it was great.

The water tasted bad because of my circumstances.  My experience.  It tasted bad because of a very real event:  Acid barfing.  

And then it hit me.  A very real truth that sometimes the Gospel, Jesus...tastes very bad to people.  Believers and unbelievers alike.  Sometimes life circumstances or beliefs or whatever distort what really is.  

The water I was tasting was the same water as usual, its taste hadn't changed literally, but my taste for it had.  Someone could have argued with me about the taste of the water, but would that have changed how it tasted to me?  

Absolutely not.

Sometimes, we have to figure out what's distorting our taste.  Sometimes, we need to love people and give them some time to heal from the acid-barfing of their life so they can taste again.


Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! Psalm 34:8

Because barfing preaches.

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Easton

I am not really very good at "organized thoughts."  Especially when it applies to putting together meaningful words about people I love.  And because my words feel lacking, I just post-pone it.  

I am, after all, a fantastic procrastinator.






For the past eleven months I have failed to introduce this blog to one of my favoritest little guys on the planet.  Easton.  He was only a few months old when I asked his Mama if I could blog about him. She said, "Absolutley!" and then I did...nothing.  Because I couldn't find the words.  That ends now.

Last January ended up being a whacked-out month...the kind of January that makes you sort of freaked out about what the rest of the year might hold.  There were funerals.  There were marriages in crisis.  And there was Easton.








All the details are a little fuzzy now.  The combination of time, and the emotional craziness of all the circumstances seem to blend everything together in my head.  So the exact order of stuff may be off.  

I've done child-care for Easton's big brother, Ryder, for quite some time, and when I found out his Mama was going to have another baby boy I was thrilled.

Baby boys are so very nice.  And I always am up for a baby-fix.

The weather in Iowa last January involved lots of blizzard warnings.  Little Easton entered the world during some of it.  The weather made it impossible for me to get there right away to meet Easton, and then he was put in NICU for some breathing issues.  His Mama had been keeping me posted on how he was doing, and mentioned that they were going to be doing some tests...  

I'll never forget the phone call I got from his Mama.  I was in the middle of packing up the house of one of the crisis' of that month...and decided to take her call while sitting in my van.  The tests had concluded that little Easton had Down Syndrome.   She was doing her best to be brave and strong...but it's shocking news to take in. 

I remember her saying how much she loved him...and I tried to reassure her that he was perfect.  And God designed Him...perfectly.  And the only other thing I could think of was Kelle Hampton's blog.  It felt absurd as I heard it coming out of my mouth...to tell her to go read a blog.  But when the weather causes you to walk through some devastating news all alone in a hospital, I guess you'll take the blog idea. 

Kelle walked through very similar circumstances, finding out after birth that her baby had Down Syndrome.  And sometimes, you just need words from someone who really knows the pain.  And to see them survive and thrive through it.  

Last week I finished reading Kelle's book Bloom.  Easton's Mama bought it, read it, and then donated it to Tiny Town's library...where I meant to check it out for months.  Months!  *shake my head*  I read it in two days, bawling my way through it.  The first time I had read Kelle's story, was before Easton.  My perspective is so much different now, after having this little guy around.  

I am smitten.  He is changing all of us that are blessed to be around him.  That extra chromosome makes him extra awesome.  He lights up a room.  His life is a blessing.  I'm amazed at all the ways God has already drawn people to Himself through this little guy.   I see Easton, and can't help but think, God is good.  I am so thankful his Mama shares him with me.

Today, he had a cardiac catheterization, which determined he will need surgery.  So, if you're some of my praying friends, I know his family would appreciate those prayers.  

And there will most definitely be more of that sweet little guy on this blog.  He's the only one that likes to do selfies with me. 

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In Your Face

I started blogging in February of 2008.  I had barely figured out facebook at that time.  

Boy time changes things, eh?  Pinterest was the beginning of the decline of my blogging and then Instagram came along...and the rest is "once-a-month-blog-posting" history.  Pretty pictures are way too distracting for my distractable brain.  

Social media changed the way of blogging too.  Back in the day, you could read blogs, comment and form relationship and then your readership grew.  Feed readers have become sort of outdated, and now much of the way blogs are "seen" is through social media.  

And I've been resisting that movement.  Why?  Because I'm 80 years old and I liked the old way of doing it.  How dare those young people go and innovate.  

But now, I've conceded.  I'm the old-lady learning a new game...which means I'll be asking annoying questions about "the computer thingy" an awful lot.  Bear with me. 

I'm 36 and not 80.  I slightly exaggerate sometimes.  You'll have to deal.

And, I miss writing.  *see yesterday's post*

It takes courage to try new things.  *little kitty roar*

SO.  If we are only internet friends and not real-life Facebook friends (although you're still very important to me) then you can now go join my Life in the Parsonage Facebook page where I can be in your face all the time.  And in case you're 80, like me, you go to the page and hit 'like' to "like" me.   I mean, who wouldn't want to sign up for that?  

Suckers.

I was trying to set up the camera for our "automatic timer Christmas Card Pictures"  I repeated this process about 30 times before it was right for all six of us and the dog to fit in.  The dog photo bombed my awkward self portraits every time.  I feel like if I die, this is the picture that will be in the paper.  *This is just bonus info for you*

It's gonna be fun.  I hope.  Maybe.  We'll see....

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Courage

I turned 36 on Monday.  I'm only a few days in to the thirty-six gig, but I gotta say: Lovin' it.

Thirty five was a good year.  It was a time of resetting-back-into-position. And although that's ultimately a good thing, the process of it is sometimes painful...and messy.  

Life has a way of getting out of order.  Suddenly non-important issues work their way up the priority scale.  And people and relationships of value slide down...because there's only room for so many at the top.  

It's amusing for me to look back.  I knew God was leading in the shake-up, but I obeyed so very timidly.  

People pleasing tendencies became exposed.  Unhealthy relationships became exposed.  I learned that dealing with both of  those, once you've allowed them to take root for awhile is...ugly.  I really don't have any other word for it.  Whenever we make changes in our lives, there is fall-out.  And usually it involves a mix of good and bad.  I wasn't quite prepared for the bad to be so bad.   

There were countless times I wanted to flee back into the false-comfort of my familiar old-way of operating.  So very many times.  And in that, God exposed my pride.  Again.  And even as I write this, part of me wants to flee back to the familiar.  To appease. To appease others to make them happier.  To shut them up.  Because it seems like a quick and easy fix.

And God is not into quick and easy.  Because quick and easy is dumb and useless.

So much of my year 35....my timid obedience of 35, was to prepare me for what He's calling me to in my 36th year of life.  And that is courage.

I  managed the obedience to the shake-up that was required, not without many mis-steps on my part, but now....this year, is about the courage to own them.

Courage to live loudly the gospel of Christ that brings hope, rather  than timidly hiding behind meaningless small-talk (which I abhor, by the way)

Courage to speak truth in love in the right moments, rather than nodding my head and smiling.  

Courage to have peace with the fact that in ministry and in life, people will be critical.  And harsh.  I need courage to love them rather than appease them.

Courage to write again.  To write hard instead of over-censoring so that no one reads into something wrongly.  If they do...they do.  Courage.

Courage to obey boldly, rather than timidly or begrudgingly. 

Courage to be me.  The me who God has created, who He wants me to be and not who anyone else thinks I am.  

There's so many other areas I need courage.  I can't begin to know what year 36 will hold...I know that God shows me just a tiny glimpse because it's all my feeble heart and mind can handle.  But I feel that courage He's planted, like a small spark growing.  I'm gonna screw it up sometimes. Without a doubt.  But courage to fail is another area that needs some growth...

Life really is a beautiful mess.

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Will

I was just about to write a new facebook status update when I thought STOP don't waste that on a status update; blog that baby where you can actually read it again someday.

That was likely an unfortunate use of a semi-colon.  Sadly, I could never quite figure those things out, so instead I use commas, and {... }and stuff.  But I now figure, that either way I'm probably getting it wrong, so why not just throw out a semi-colon every now and then too.  Awesome.

I was thinking...that parenting Lucy is like parenting a tiny, blonde version of myself.  She is three, but sister knows what she wants.  And how and when and where she wants it.  Her will is solid steel.  She has an opinion on everything.  It's exhausting to be her mom.  Not a bad exhausting, but exhausting none the less.  Because in parenting her, I don't want to break her will, but rather re-direct it.  I want to help her understand and learn how to live under authority, while still maintaining her own uniqueness.  

I know first hand the complications a strong-will can bring. But I also know, the benefits.  A strong will, that is lined up with God's will, is a force to be reckoned with.   

And lined up with Him, is the cry of my heart for both Lucy and I.  

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I Ran...

So my race has been done for a week.  My intention was to write about it last Monday.  The problem was, that it was such a great experience that I'm not quite sure I can do it justice in words, so instead of writing, I just keep re-playing it in my head.  But it's not safe there...my memory is unreliable.  I mean, if I don't write it down now, how is Ben going to read it back to me when I'm old and can't remember anything?

Here goes more details than any person (other than me) could possibly want to read.  

The race was a couple hours from tiny town, and since it was my first big race, and first half marathon, I really wanted to have Ben and the kids along with me.  So Ben found someone to fill pulpit, we took the dog to the kennel, and we headed out of town on Saturday.  

On the way there, all crammed into our mini van, we tried to explain that this weekend was "all.about.mom."  It's a foreign concept.  We talked about all their sports practices I drive them to, and wait at, and pick them up from.  All the games, events, and stuff that is all about them.  So for two days, this was about mom and her race.  Their blank stares should probably have given us fair warning, but let's just say that Ben and I spent most of Saturday wondering why on earth we thought it was a good idea to haul along our four kids to this thing.  Seriously.

When we got into the city we filed through two different restaurants that were either too busy or too weird for us to eat at.  By the third one we were starving and crabby...but it turns out Outback Steakhouse can make everything better.   I tried to eat light, so that nothing would bother my stomach for the next day.  The kids were anxious to get to the hotel, because truthfully the trip was all about the pool for them.  So we did one of the things we do best:  Have the same conversation 5 million times.  

"When are we going to the hotel?"
"This weekend is about Mom, not the hotel."
"When are we going to the hotel?"
"We still have to go to the expo."
"What's an expo?"
*insert explaining an expo 500 times*
"What's an expo?"

I'm not even kidding.

After Outback we headed to Starbucks for a does of sanity and then back to the downtown area to the expo where there would be different vendors and where I needed to pick up my packet of information.  

The expo was really fun.  For me.  I bought a new bondi band (I love those things) and a bigger/stretchier fanny pack (for fuel and phone.)  The director of the race was giving a presentation, and so we all sat and listened to him talk about the course and they also had time for questions.  I love that sort of thing.  And the kids endured well.  I think the expo helped the kids start to see that this race thing, really was sort of a big deal.  

I remember the girl at the bondi band station asking me what I was running and how I felt.  I remember telling her it was my first half and "I'm ready!" and she smiled and said, "That's a good sign, you'll do great!"  It was reassuring.

We headed to our hotel, which is one we love, and then headed to the pool where I mostly just sat in the hot tub. Don't worry, I made sure not to get any water in my mouth because *nasty* and I could NOT have anything messing with my intestines.  For real.  

For my last long run a couple weeks prior, I had ate pizza for supper the night before, and the run went well.  So pizza was the plan.  We found the name of a cute little pizza place in the hotel menu thing, and then proceeded to get kind of lost finding it.  In the mean time, Lucy took a good 30 minute nap in the van...it was a much needed break, but we paid for it later when she didn't want to go to bed.  The pizza ended up being amazing.  The kids behavior: Not so much. 

As we tried to tuck everyone into bed that night, two kids on the floor, the other two in a full size bed complaining about touching one another, I just thought to myself...tomorrow will be worth it.  I hope. 

The race start time was 8 AM.  My alarm went off at 5:50, but I was already awake.  We got dressed and shuffled everyone along, snagging some breakfast-to-go from the hotel lobby.  I nibbled on a pumpkin bagel from Panera, and a little coffee.  I had stayed very hydrated the days before, and I didn't want to over-hydrate in the morning because it was only in the thirty's for temperature and I was trying to avoid porta potty's.  *nasty*

My brother has an apartment down in the area of the race.   My parents had stayed over-night with him, so the plan was to drop the kids off with them while Ben went with me to get settled in before the start of the race.  I'm so thankful he was there.   We kept laughing about how neither of us really had a clue what we were doing, where we should park, or where we were going.  There was an open YMCA located just beside of the start line, and many of the runners were hanging out in there to stay warm.  We found a corner, and sort of people watched.  I decided that maybe I needed to use the bathroom (if I could find it.)  The line was forever long, so I told Ben I would be fine on my own and he could head back to get the kids and my parents and brother. I also handed off my phone, which meant I was officially on my own.

I kept watching the clock.  It was about 20 minutes to race time, and I was still pretty far back in line.  I listened in to other people's conversations...it was a little weird being by myself...but good at the same time.  As I got into the locker room, I found out there were two flushing toilets and one non-flushing.  The hard-core people were going to the short line with the non-flusher.  There was not a chance I was doing that.  I am not hard core.  I ended up getting to the start line with a good 7 minutes to spare.  I had overcome the first hurdle. 

There are pace markers that you can line up with, and my plan was to run the first several miles well below my goal time.  Starting slow is key for me.  It's how I trained.  Negative splits.  I lined up with the 10:30 per mile pace and waited.  The race had over 10,000 athletes, and it was a sea of brightly colored people everywhere.  There was a nervous excitement in the air.  They played the national anthem and I got a little choked up.  All the training, all the lonely runs, mile after mile were all for these coming moments.  

We all started inching forward, kind of starting and stopping again until getting to the start line.  I was in the middle of the road, and kept checking my pace on my watch.  It felt like I was running slow, because people on both sides were passing me by, but my watch said 9:00 and that was way too fast.  I kept slowing and slowing and s-l-o-w-i-n-g.  In my head I was silently telling all of them "I'll pass you later." That adrenaline is powerful.  But running is as much or more about your brain than your body. I needed to stick to my plan.

The first few miles were all down-town and it went quickly.  Lot's of people had signs and were cheering.  I had my headphones on but it was still awesome to watch them.  At mile 2.5 a man held a sign that said "Smile if you've peed yourself."  It made me smile, because if you've peed yourself at mile 2.5 then it's gonna be a long race. 

I knew my family would be waiting around mile 4 somewhere.  And as we got closer to mile 4 the Elite half-marathoners were starting to come back from the loop and we got to see them, and others runners cheered them on.  It choked me up again.  I love runners.

Lucy and her cow bell

Waiting.  My brother wants me to wear a cape next time so I'm easier to spot. My mom is the one taking pictures with her ipad.  Thanks Mom :)  

I saw my family and their signs, and it was awesome.  I knew I would see them again in the same spot around mile 8.  I ran conservatively until about mile 6 and I knew I was feeling really good (from going out slow) so I started picking up the pace slightly.  I drank a few sips of water at about every station, just because.  It helped, and I ended up using less fuel (honey stingers) than I had in practice, simply because I had more access to fluids, I think.  There were bands and people playing guitars throughout the race.  I tried to pause my ipod to take a quick listen every now and then.  

At mile 8 I saw my family again.  So fun.  Ben was trying to take a picture with the camera, and catch up to me so he was running along the side...kinda like a crazy guy.  At one point he hurdled the cable fence.  So I smiled awkwardly at him. :)

5 miles left to go, and I knew I wouldn't see my family again until the finish.  I felt great, and continued to increase my pace.  Weaving in and around people was a good distraction.  Passing people felt pretty good too. At mile 10ish, my family surprised me by being in the crowd and once again, tears.  Seeing their faces and signs was such an encouragement.  

The last couple of miles seemed long to my brain.  My body felt good, and I didn't check my current pace, but I knew my average pace was getting faster.  I only train with my average pace and not current pace and I didn't want to mess with my head by doing anything differently.  It wasn't until I got home to hook my watch to the computer that I would be able to see my splits.  As the finished line approached, I kept thinking "Just keep running, just keep running..."  

I finished strong.  I felt great.  I found my family and chatted about the race.  They knew from my smiles when I saw them during the race that I must have felt pretty good.   After we took some pictures and I got in line for the free food.  I was able to shower and get ready at my brother's and then we headed to the mall.  Because shopping.  We also ate at Champps.  Obviously.

My goal for this first one was to finish in 2:15 or less and no walking.  I finished in 2:14:10 with no walking.  Yay!  My other goal was to enjoy the experience, rather than endure it.  Which is sometimes hard for me in life and in running.  I enjoyed that race.  Every single nugget of it.  

I learned some important things that I can only learn from experience racing.  Things I want to remember for the next one.  One, is that I could have kicked it in gear a little faster a little earlier.  My first few miles were in the 10:40 range, they progressively got faster with my 13th mile being a 9:17 pace.  I'm already setting goals for the next one, but I seriously could not have asked for a better first race!

I told my friend and running mentor, Heather, that the week after the race sort of felt like "the day after Christmas."  All that planning and then *poof* over.  But the running continues.  I could barely move the day after the race, I was so sore.  After a couple days I was fine, and Thursday morning I hit the road again.  The cold, dark, lonely road,  and couldn't help but feel like a warrior still.  For months, the race was the motivating factor for getting out there.  But Thursday morning, that was just for running.  And this morning, when I did 5, and it felt great, and kinda like a warm-up...well that felt pretty great too.

And it turns out, it was totally worth hauling the kids along.  A mom of boys will tell you, that boys seem to automatically look-up to and respect their daddy.  And while I know they love me dearly, I never quite posses that hero-status that Dad does.  But I think I surprised them this race.  I think they realized their mom is a whole lot stronger and tougher than they might have given her credit for...and managing to impress my boys hearts like that is pretty sweet.  The medal helps too.

Towards the end of the race, someone had a sign that read, "The person that starts the race, is not the same person that finishes the race."  And I love that.  So very true.

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Dream On

I'm not generally a dreamer.  At night nor during the day.  I mostly drop into bed and I'm out until my alarm clock or Lucy rudely wake me up. But let life give me a little something to be a tiny bit anxious about and then I become a dreamer.

Right before my wedding, ages ago, I kept having dreams that my teeth were crumbling and falling out.  Over and over I'd have the same dream.  I think it has something to do with stress.  I wasn't stressed over marrying Ben, but rather all the details of a wedding.  Bleh.

The past week I keep having race dreams.  It's like the classic dream where you're late to class, or can't find your class, or get you locker open.  Except it's the running version.  Where I'm at the race but I'm not in my running clothes or the race is starting and I can't find the Start line-up and no matter how I try I just.can't. get.there.  

It's dumb, really.  

I wake up in the morning and feel tired.  Dreaming makes me tired.  That's why I like to stick to realism.    It's brutal, but at least I can sleep.

On a basically unrelated note:  I fell in a pothole this morning during my last taper run.  It is super dark in tiny-town in the mornings and it's not the most well-lit.  I try to wear neon shirts and I bought a little light to wear on my collar and reflector wrist bands.  I sort of think the little light just confuses drivers rather than making me more visible.  It's like they're so distracted trying to figure out where the little light is coming from that they sort of drive right towards me.  The pothole got in my way as I was trying to jump the curb.  The benefit of thick ankles:  Ya just keep on running.  

I need a break from tiny-town drivers.  And they need a break from me.

  

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