Reflections

I thought I’d talked myself out of working out, but I found myself putting on my running clothes to head to the gym.

When I walked outside, it was stunning. A bit of chill was in the air which we’ve missed this Winter. Bright blue skies and glorious sunshine smiled at me.  I couldn’t resist the loveliness, so, I headed to an outdoor track nearby.

It’s been a while since I stepped on that track. I can’t even remember the last time. So, you can imagine I was a bit unsure of myself.

Before getting out of my car, I surveyed the situation.

There was a tall, slender man with a Mercedes Marathon Finisher shirt sprinting down the track doing speed work.
There was another man with a lady who was speed walking. We’ll call her Speed Walking Sally.

It seemed safe enough.

I eased out of the car and made my way into a lane feeling more than a little self-conscious because of the extra weight I’m carrying.

I started my wog. (That’s where you walk more than you jog for those unfamiliar with Nikolisms.) I struggled at first and was totally out of breath by the time the interval ended.

Negative thoughts bombarded me.

“You’re so fat.”
“How could you let yourself get this out of shape?”
“You did a half Ironman, and now you can’t even run a lap without stopping!”
“You’re never going to get back into shape!”

But I kept going.

By about the third interval, I started to get into a groove. I could feel my runner’s feet beneath me again. After all, there is an athlete in there somewhere trying to get out again.

And then it happened.

I was about half-way into the interval approaching Speed Walking Sally from behind. She turned and looked back. I saw her mouth move and a smile on her face, but I had no idea what she was saying. I took my earbuds out and said, “Pardon?”

She said, “I want to run, and I can’t yet. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” I said gasping for air.

All at once, I was hit by encouragement and shame.

I was encouraged by her words.
But ashamed by my pity party.

There I was running (if only in short intervals) and here was a lady who couldn’t even run, and I was feeling sorry for myself. Instead of relishing in what I could do, I focused on what I couldn’t.

I thought about those I know who cannot run.  I’m going to start running for those people.

I’m going to run for my friend who has nerve pain and can’t be as active as she’d like.
I’m going to run for my friend who has Cystic Fibrosis.
I’m going to run for my friend who in slowly making a comeback from a terrible car accident.
I’m going to run for my co-worker who just had knee surgery.
I’m going to run for Speed Walking Sally.
And I’m going to run for myself simply because I can run.

And when I do run, I’m going to be excited about it no matter how badly my lungs burn or how loud my legs scream.

I’m going to run, and I’m going to be grateful.

I felt like an idiot as I drove down the road with big gigantic tears streaming down my face. I was anxiously and silently holding back a wave of emotion which gripped me. I knew as soon as I opened my mouth the words would be unintelligible for the sobs.

What was I crying about?
What made me feel such emotion?

Well, before I tell the rest of the story, you need to know something about me: I’m a heavy duty crier. I cry for basically any emotion that exists.

Think of an emotion in your head.
Any emotion.

Seriously.
Go ahead.

Do you have it in your mind?

I cry at that.

It’s ridiculous.

I often apologize for my tears because they seem so misplaced, but the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced I need to stop apologizing for who God made me to be: a tender-hearted soul.

Anyway…the rest of the story…

So here we are driving down the road, and I am seriously fighting back some big sobs.

Why?

Well, because I watched my husband teach his youngest son how to change the windshield wiper blades on the car the night before.

Confused yet?

Yea. The hubs was too.

Basically, I was touched by the privilege of being able to witness a dad teaching his son how to be a man. I’d watched it on Christmas Day too:

For Christmas the youngest received a BB gun. His older brother wanted to teach him how to load it; how to make it ready to fire; how best to hold it. It hit me that I was watching something incredibly beautiful: A father watching his oldest son teach his younger son how to do something he taught the eldest to do not too terribly long ago.

It sounds silly to say I was proud, and honored, and privileged to get to witness such pivotal moments. I’m tearing up even now as I remember it [yes, seriously].

I wish I had some spiritual insight for you today, but I don’t. I mainly wanted to share with you part of the joy I have of being a bonus mom. Not even a year ago, I didn’t get to observe such things, or maybe I didn’t pay attention to them.

Maybe you’re a parent worn down by the demands of life.
Maybe you’re a bonus mom too who beats herself up trying to figure out how to do this bonus parenting business.
Maybe you’re single and know exactly what I’m talking about from watching nieces or nephews or cousins.

Whatever your situation, I hope you have moments where you step back and observe the ordinary become extraordinarily beautiful.

Confession: I love the TV show Nashville.

I’ll sit here patiently while you judge me.

Love is, perhaps, a strong word for my feelings toward the show, but I watch it regularly even though it is horribly cheesy at times – particularly when Rayna takes the stage in her seriously overrated voice and her awkward dance moves.

Just don’t get me started on…

Scarlett’s whining which makes me want to put a gag in her mouth…
and Juliette’s self-loathing that makes me want to make bad decisions…
and Avery’s martyrdom which makes me want to shout, “Get off the cross! We need the wood!”

It has some good music {typically not performed by Rayna James}. And it has Deacon who 1) has such a cool name I gave it to my dog and 2) is not unfortunate to look at.  And so I watch it almost every week.

I was watching it recently when Deacon [sigh] said to bemoaning Scarlett:

“You’re fighting because you’re in pain.”

That sentence hit me softly in a familiar place where hurt had landed. I let it roll around in my head.

“You’re fighting because you’re in pain.”

It might be Nashville, but it was truth.

In our inability to constructively communicate hurt in our hearts, it comes boiling to the surface in anger.

We hurt those we love because we are hurting.

We stab them with words we don’t mean.
We injure them with our hate.
We slice them with huffs and puffs and sighs.

It doesn’t matter if the pain is physical, mental, or spiritual: There is friction in our hearts and bodies and minds.

It burns and throbs and aches and screams.
It bites and pounds and smarts and stings.

Relentlessly, it beats down our facades.  We lash out only to then be surprised when the person we just injured retaliates from their own set of pain.

So…how do we handle our pain before it hurts others?

I don’t know the answer, but I’m almost positive it is not easy whatever it is, because, let’s face it, easy is not God’s priority: Refining us is.

Durn it.

And it is in the pain where we are refined.

That makes me want to cuss.

And yet in some weird way, it makes me want to worship because I understand, as does the US Marine Corp who coined it:

Pain in weakness leaving the body.

And when the weakness leaves, strength takes its place.

So, don’t fight the pain.

Feel it.
Scream it.
Shout it.

But direct it to the One who allowed it and to the One who loves you perfectly and completely.

Your words won’t offend Him.
Your sobs won’t surprise Him.
Your grief won’t repulse Him.
He will not think you irreverent.

Let the Healer heal your pain.
Let His word be a balm to Your soul.
Let His character be Your comfort.
Let His Justice be Your confidence.

Maybe by suppressing the pain, we are prolonging it by not giving our wounds space to heal.  The wound remains raw and bleeding. Maybe if we experience the pain, letting it rise and fall, we’ll find the brokenness mended and that strength, indeed, has taken its place.

2016 was a tough one. Full of…

frustrations…
chaos…
change…
and adult conversations.

In general, adult-ing.

The first year of marriage is tough.

Real tough.

Putting 2 forty-something souls together with all their literal and emotional baggage is messy.

Real messy.

Simultaneously learning how to be a wife and a stepmom bonus mom to teenagers is challenging.

Real challenging.

Letting go of things that were “mine” to have things that are “ours” at forty-two is hard.

Real hard.

So, I am bidding a very happy goodbye to the tough, messy, challenging, and hard year that was 2016, but I don’t want to bid it farewell without recapping some of the best it had to offer – and it did have some pretty phenomenal high points.

I married the best man on the planet…

Gained two amazing bonus sons a bonus mom could ever ask for…

(FYI…I’m not a stepmom, I’m a bonus mom. The boys are not stepsons they are bonus sons.)

Sold my house in a single day…

Gained two cats that I (kinda) love…

Traveled…

Attended 2 weddings…

My brother’s…

And my now-nephew’s.

What can I say? 2016 was apparently the year of “I Dos.”

Went sailing in St. Lucia…

Paid off a credit card that has haunted me since my mid-twenties…

Had a fantastic time with family & friends at two VERY last minute parties…

4th of July

and New Year’s Eve

So, let’s get down to some categories.

Best New Year’s Resolution:
I think every one of my resolutions went out the door or beat my butt. I’m just gonna leave this right here until this time next year.

Scariest Moment:
I dropped by a friend’s house to find she had just severed (that’s right, People, severed) the tip of her little finger. I was calm on the outside, but on the inside not so much. After I took her to the ER, I cleaned up the huge drops of blood left behind by her injury.

Nope.
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
Never want to see that again.

Funniest Moment:
When my hubs very seriously accused me of STEALING his underwear shortly after being married. It’s only funny because moments later, he silently walked in from the car with his military “Go” bag only to have mass quantities of underwear come spilling out.

This is my favorite fight ever.  Hands down.

Weirdest Month:
uh…I’m gonna go with all of the them.

Biggest Obsession:
1) Podcasts

My favorites are Serial, Criminal, and Invisibilia.

2) Remodeling our house.

So far we’ve done the kitchen…

and the boys bathroom…

We’re on a roll!

Favorite Read:
Hmmm. Well…let’s go with The Bible because I didn’t do a whole lot of reading in 2016. Maybe in 2017.

Favorite TV Show:
Game of Thrones

“Give me more,” I say!

Favorite Bible Study:
Ruth

After Judges we could only go up.

Best Vacation:
St. Lucia for our Honeymoon.

Favorite New Experience:
Being a wife and bonus mom. Even though it humbles me every day because I don’t know what I’m doing, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Best Decision/Best Purchase:
Wearing red sparkly clogs under my wedding dress.

Biggest Loss:
Singleness.

While I gained something wonderful in return, I had no idea how much I would give up.

Biggest Accomplishment:
Planning and executing our wedding in three months with the Dream Team.

Also…getting teenagers to play a board game.

Best Conference/Concert:
Harry Connick, Jr.

I’ve loved him since my high school days.

Biggest Disappointment:
Impatience.

Dang it.

Biggest Surprise:
I was totally and completely unprepared for the increase in laundry. This could also be in the classification of Biggest Disappointment.

Most Memorable Moment:
Getting married kind of stays with you.

Most Embarrassing Moment:
Somethings just shouldn’t be shared.

Biggest Blessing:
Friends who are still hanging in after all the changes.

They are priceless.

Favorite Gift:
I’ve received some pretty fabulous gifts this year, but hands down my favorite was a birthday card the boys gave me. Here are some snippets:

“thank you for everything you do for all of us…”
“thank you for showing me love…”
“you are part of my family now…”

Y’all. I can’t even type that without ugly girl crying.

Give me a minute.

Favorite Family Activity:
1) Watching the boys perform at concerts & competitions

2) Thanksgiving in Georgia with the most fantastic in-laws a girl could hope for.

Most Awkward Moment:
Attending my first Meet the Teacher event. Middle school as an adult is just as awkward as you remember it.

Adios, 2016.

Your work here is done.

Welcome, 2017.  We cannot be more excited you are here.