The Climb

As I heard the door slam this morning, I knew it had to be about 5:45 a.m. without even looking the clock. That's about the time Nick leaves so that he can make it to work by 6. I wanted nothing more than to throw the covers over my head and roll over, but I knew that if I did, I would be extremely angry with myself. So, by 6:15, I was out of the gravel, threading my ear buds through my shirt and hitting "reset" on my watch. It was time.

Saturdays are usually my long run days. It's the day on which I extend my mileage if I want to challenge myself. This particular Saturday was an important one because in all likelihood, it was going to be the last long run of the summer.

To explain, on Tuesday, I officially go back to work, which essentially means that my personal life and pursuits come to an end for the next nine months. Teaching, at least for me, is very intensive. It means early mornings, full afternoons, and evenings full of either sporting events, concerts, paperwork, or planning. Getting a run in will now become a challenge, and long runs will be an impossibility (as will scrapbooking, reading for fun, and using the restroom without obeying a bell). So far this summer, my longest run had been six miles. Today, I was going to up the ante and go for a personal best: eight miles.

Why eight? Adding two miles would be a challenge but could still be achieved. Likewise, eight miles would be the exact mileage from our house around the lake and back again. I had no particular time in mind; I just wanted to finish without walking.

All went well until I hit mile seven; I fully expected that the last two miles would be the true challenge. The sun was up, and the formidable presence of the heat and humidity was full in my face. Still, as I rounded the corner by the fairgrounds, I pressed on, reminding myself that I had two miles to go. I had already done five, two more was completely do-able.

As transitioned to the last mile, the situation intensified. The heat and humidity were even more oppressive, my feet suddenly felt like cement bricks, and worst of all, I had to scale a serious hill. I have no idea the grade, but I do know that this hill progressively rises for a 1/3 to a 1/2 mile. In short, this hill was going to make or break me.

With that in mind, I slowed my pace. I am already a seriously putzy runner, but my slowed pace probably resembled a brisk walking pace to the average observer. I didn't care; it was still running, and that's all the mattered to me. In considering what I had already accomplished for the day, it would have been completely acceptable to walk up the hill, but it was not acceptable to me.

As I began the climb and looked ahead to the top of the hill, I was instantly overwhelmed and faltered a bit. Since Mile 7, some serious self-talk had motivated me to keep going; now, I wasn't so sure.

Discouraged, I looked down at the paved path. I noticed that someone had finally cut the grass so that sprigs of straw were strewn on the path. The path wasn't covered, but the wind had thrown a few errant pieces here and there.

In order to distract myself from the hill, I trained my focus on the grass. I picked one piece of grass and ran toward it. When I reached that piece, I looked a few feet ahead and picked another to focus on and ran toward it.

If ever I looked up ahead to see how far I was from the crest of the hill, I was instantly overwhelmed and frustrated, so after learning my lesson quickly, I just kept my eyes on the pavement, playing connect the dots with pieces of grass.

Even as I was making my way up the hill (and I swear this is true), I found myself thinking about Francis Chan's book, Forgotten God. One area of anxiety for many people (including me) is knowing and following God's Will. Since we are each given particular talents and gifts and are here in this moment in history for a reason, we feel pressure to seek and fulfill His purpose for our lives.

Chan, however, suggests that knowing the full and whole picture at once is not productive or conducive to growth. "It is easy to use the phrase 'God's will for my life' as an excuse for inaction or even disobedience. ... My hope is that instead of searching for 'God's will for my life' each of us would learn to seek hard after 'the Spirit's leading in my life today.' May we learn to pray for an open and willing heart, to surrender to the Spirit's leading with that friend, child, spouse, circumstance, or decision in our lives right now.”

He continues by saying, “It's much less demanding to think about God's will for your future than it is to ask Him what He wants you to do in the next ten minutes.”

What God really wants is for us to train our ears to His voice so that we do exactly what He asks us to do at the moment He wants us to do it. The result of our obedience will BE the fulfillment of God's Will for our lives.

In essence, focusing on His voice and doing what He asks is like following the straw on the path. As I reached one piece and conquered the distance, my eyes focused on a new piece. As I surpassed each piece of straw, I gained confidence and satisfaction in achieving the smaller goal while ultimately conquering the overall challenge of cresting the large hill. Training my eyes on the hill in the distance would only have resulted in frustration and defeat.

Likewise, by doing what He asks me to do when He asks me to do it, I am doing His Will, and I am ultimately fulfilling His purpose for my life. I don't need to know the big picture; He already does. By demanding to see and know the whole thing, once again, I insist that I need to be in control, and therefore, I am only proving how spiritually immature and selfish I am. Obedience in the seemingly small things reaps joy and peace.

It's a win-win all the way around.

On a physical level, this philosophy was certainly proven today as it explains how I made it to the top of the hill. . . and how I managed to run 8 miles without stopping or walking. Undoubtedly, it will also prove to be true as I traverse the miles of hills and valleys in this race called life.

"And your ears will hear a word behind you, "This is the way, walk in it," whenever you turn to the right or to the left." Isaiah 30:21

The Dell From Hell Farce: Either You Laugh or You Cry. I Prefer to Laugh.

Sometimes, the stuff that happens in life is so stupid that you either have to laugh or cry.   Here is the tale of the Dell from hell.

Right before the band and choir trip to New York in March, I spotted a Dell laptop that was reasonably priced in the Best Buy ad, and we decided to buy it.* Mike had recently begun nurturing a relationship with Craigslist and wanted to a laptop so that he could browse while watching TV in the evening. I, on the other hand, had visions of using this laptop to write the G.A.N.** And so, we bought it on March 17 and shoved the box under the bed for safe keeping until we returned from the trip.

Fast forward to April 18. Good thing that we weren't depending on the G.A.N. to pay the bills because that's the day I lost everything I had written thus far. That's the day that the hard drive crashed when Mike was browsing Craigslist.*** On April 24, some dude from St. Cloud made a house call and replaced the hard drive. Mike resumed browsing and then. . .

Today, I went to check the date of expiration for the anti-virus protection on the laptop. . .and the dang thing would not turn on. SERIOUSLY? If you are like me, you would probably prefer a colonoscopy to having to hang on the phone with a customer service specialist. I usually get re-directed at least twice, hung-up on **** once, and end up concentrating on a piece of lint in front of me in order to FOCUS on probable meaning because the customer service agent's heavy foreign accent is throwing me off.

After completing any necessary evening chores*****, I gathered up my receipts, service tags, and a cold beverage, and settled in for what promised to be a headache-inducing conversation with an immigrant (sorry, but true) whom I would probably not understand.

Sure enough, after a couple of false starts ******, Sari (sorry?) started the process. Apparently, he didn't believe that a hard drive could have crashed again, so he had me performing all sorts of computer-related contortions. . .unplug, restart, take out the battery, repeat. Then, I had to find an HDMI cord and check the monitor. Then, I had to find a Phillips screwdriver and remove the screws on the back (top or bottom? What is the top, and what is the bottom?), take out the memory stick (what the heck is a memory stick?), put it in slot blah-blah, then slot la-la, repeat. Who knew that a customer service call would turn into an obstacle course? I was practically breaking a sweat.

As I was trying to keep pace with Sari, it was at this point that my son decided it was time to make himself supper. ******* I believe I touched brain tissue tonight as I stuffed my index finger as far as I could into my ear canal in order to avoid the sound of clanging pots and pans. ********

Then, as I was wielding a screwdriver and focusing on Sari's instructions, Nick wanted to play food charades. . .and tell me that the dessert I had made earlier was (thumbs up) a keeper. Thanks?

Finally, after an hour (for real) of quality time with Sari in trying to complete the Computer Repair 101 course that he had provided, Sari concluded that the motherboard, internal . . . ., ,<insert long list of convoluted computerese> needed to be replaced. They would be sending me a box into which I will deposit my faulty piece of Dell metal, and in 7-10 days, "I promise you, ma'am, that you will never have to call for service again."

Riiiiigggghhhht.

After recording the dispatch number, the case number, etc, etc, etc, Sari explained that he had relayed my issue to his supervisor who wanted to "personally reassure" me that the problem would be taken care of.

Fine. It had already been an hour. What was another two minutes?

So, Sari-er (sorrier?) got on the line and basically repeated the same schpeel as Sari and ended by saying, "I promise you, ma'am, that you will never have to call for service again." Ok, that was creepy. Maybe Borgs really do exist?

After hanging up, I wandered into the office to give Mike an update. As he was scrolling through page after page of motorcycles on Craigslist, I explained that the motherboard and other stuff needed replacing. When I finished, he must have sensed that it was his social responsibility to respond, so without looking from the screen, he said, "What happened to the guy's mother?"

Honestly, I can't even begin to make this stuff up.

*Why a Dell, you may ask? Well, I had really wanted a Mac, but I have kids. Either I feed them, or I get a really expensive laptop.

**Great American Novel

*** A sign from God? I think so.

**** "disconnected" in custservspeak

***** I knew I was in it for the long haul.

****** including a snarky exchange with technical support vs. customer service. . .Excyuuuusssse me.

******* I had made chicken pot pie earlier, but apparently, he was hungrier for finer cuisine, like, oh say, macaroni and cheese.

******** This could have been a passive-aggressive endeavor as Nick had previously told me that I should hang the pots and pans since they are so friggin' noisy when you are trying to extract them from the cupboard. Point taken, but now, is not the best time to prove your point.

Diary of a Fat Kid: A Seriously Humorous Memoir

Almost a month ago, Trisha Pendill started a Facebook group called "Marathon Before School." In a nutshell, participants would record his/her mileage until the first day of school; the challenge was to accumulate enough mileage to have run a marathon (26.2 miles). Since I was running anyway, I decided to join.

Since July 27, I have tallied 45.6 miles, almost two marathons. Prior to July 27, I had been averaging about 13 miles a week, but I hadn't officially been keeping track either. Today, as I was completing my last mile toward home, I started to do some informal math in my head. The long and short of it is that by the end of the summer, I will have basically run to Minneapolis and back.

Holy crap. Not bad for a recovering fat girl.

Ok, now I have to explain.

In elementary school, I was the fat kid in my class. No, thanks; really, I'm ok. No need to pass the Kleenex box or crank up the sad, after-school-special soundtrack music. It is what it is, and it was what it was. Every class has one, and mine happened to have me.

From the second grade on, I was the one elected to tackle the guys during the ridiculous yet wildly popular (and nowadays, absolutely politically incorrect) game that we called "Girls Catch the Boys and Kiss Them" because, well, I was the biggest girl who could take them down. I was also unofficially given the nickname, Tank, by a particular red-headed classmate *.

During my 5th grade year, I cleverly avoided the playground at recess by volunteering to stay in to correct papers for Mr. Jasper. It was a win-win for both of us.

All fat kids, including me, share a common enemy, however. And that is the dreaded, annual Presidential fitness award requirements. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. . .the chin-up, sit-up, run-a-mile torture tests that kids have to endure just to acquire a circular piece of fabric, aka a patch, that says Presidential Fitness Award **.

The tests themselves, while unpleasant, were an annual torment, but they were nothing compared to the humiliation of having to do them in front of your peers. This degradation was compounded even more by the fact that the tests were done in alphabetical order (more than likely to accommodate the tester and his/her clipboard checklist).

To explain, my second cousin always preceded me in these tests. Where I was fat and infatuated with sedentary activities such as watching TV ***, reading, and doing puzzles, Darice was lithe and athletic and breezed through the tests without breaking a sweat.

On one particular occasion, I remember that we all had to line up by the monkey bars on the playground. Each took a turn (while the others watched, of course) at walking toward the gallows (fine, that' s a little dramatic, I agree) and assuming the chin-up position and hanging there ****.

Check. Check. Check. We were clipping along through the list of my classmates, and then, it was Darice's (second cousin) turn, and of course, as you can probably guess, she set the class record for hanging there the longest at well over a minute.

Neato.

Now, it was my turn.

I made it exactly four seconds. Fail. Hey, cut me some slack. I was fighting more gravity than she did.

Anyway, I lost a bit of chub in junior high, and once I joined volleyball in 10th grade*****, the weight just fell off. For the first time, I was looking good and wanted to stay that way.

Once sports were over, though, I discovered that the pounds would creep on quickly if I didn't stay active, so a stationary bike and I became good friends******, and that's how I stayed relatively (for me) slim throughout high school.

College, however, was a different animal. High carb was life, and I found I had to work relentlessly to keep the weight at bay. This is when I delved into the underworld of eating disorders, which majorly screwed up the next five years of my life (but that's a subject for a different day).

Shortly after we married, I began two love affairs - one with my husband and the other with my cooking*******. I packed on a lot of weight in the first year of our marriage, and after being horrified by a Christmas picture in which a double-chin was a prominent feature on my face, I was on the move again.

Throughout the twenty+ years of marriage, child-raising, and career, walking has been my most effective fitness technique. As an early riser, my early morning walks helped me to clear my head, pray, and keep fit. When the kids were little, we three would bike a lot while Daddy was at work, and in recent years, I have decided to challenge myself by running.

In 2010, when I turned 40, I cranked it up a notch. I decided to complete the Minnewaska Triathlon, which is a 400 yard swim, 11 mile bike ride, and 2.5 mile run. Naturally, on the day of the Tri, it was thundering, lightning, raining, and cold. I was just about crying because I felt so out of my league with all the hard bodies around me. But, my die-hard cheerleader was there (Mike), and he was snapping 8,000 pictures, encouraging me to just go. In the end, it was just the right challenge for me, and I successfully completed the course.  I can remember tearing up during the bike ride because I thought to myself, "You are really doing this, and you're not dying!"

So that brings me to today.

I am 43 years old. By the end of the summer, my running shoes will have covered somewhere between 175 and 200 miles of pavement and gravel. This former fat girl is completely recovered. You know how I know? My first concern is no longer weight; I haven't stepped on a scale all summer.  I am strong. I am healthy. I love to push my body and see what it can do, and isn't that what fitness is all about?

*Funny story. . .years later, I had said red-headed boy's daughter in class. Somehow she learned of the connection between me and her dad, and she seriously thought I was going to fail her because of it. I am so not making that up. Wow.

** Look at this face. Do I LOOK as though I covet said patch? Do I really care if the president thinks I am fit? No, no I do not. Back away with the clipboard, and no one gets hurt.

***Mork and Mindy, Happy Days, Dukes of Hazzard. . .I will totally ROCK you at 80s trivia.

**** Seriously. How is hanging in the chin-up position a test of fitness? How many basketball players do you see hanging on the rim after stuffing the ball? How many volleyball players hang on the net for an indeterminate amount of time? It might be a useful skill if you are Indiana Jones and are hanging on for dear life so that you don't plummet into a rocky cavern below, but yeah, not sure, Mr. President, how you reasoned that one out.

***** Don't judge. Late bloomer. Let's just say I was a rock star setter. . .on the C team. . .where most of my teammates were at least two years younger than me. Don't judge.

******We became BFFs with my old pal, the TV (Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Falcon Crest - see ***)

*******My cooking was not very good. at all. But I think I ate all the leftovers to try to convince myself and Mike that my cooking was good. I think he lost weight that year.

The Simple Life

Even though I should be somewhat hesitant to mention this (I told an English teacher colleague yesterday, and he about laughed himself silly), I have spent the summer re-reading the Little House series - yep, the children's books by Laura Ingalls Wilder about her experiences as a pioneer. The last time I read these books, I was a 2nd or 3rd grader in elementary school. I can't exactly tell you what the impetus for my decision was, but I have spent my summer savoring the pages.

I use the word, "savor," because another friend couldn't believe that it has taken me all summer to get through the series. After all, they are easy-reading children's books, and since I am a fairly speedy reader, there is no reason why I should not have had these books done by the 4th of July. However, "savoring" is what I do best.

In college, in order to break the monotony of studying, a good friend and I would often scrounge up change in order to raid the vending machine, by purchasing two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (a favorite for each of us). My friend's method of eating it was "down the hatch," but I could make my peanut butter cups last a ridiculously long time. First, I would pick off all the chocolate ridges around the edges, then I picked off all the chocolate on the tops and bottoms, and then, I would finally eat the peanut butter part. I know how to make a good thing last.

Naturally, when anyone re-reads books (and I typically do not), s/he tends to pick out details and ideas that s/he missed the first time around.  This was especially true for me since I was reading the Little House series as a 40 something vs. an 8 year old. For example, as a kid, my least favorite book in the series was Farmer Boy, the account of Almanzo's formative years in New York state. As a kid, I was bored to tears with all the description of farming, food preparation, and animal husbandry. However, this time around, this was one of the books in the series that I enjoyed most.

One of the most refreshing aspects of the series is the simplicity of it all. When I read the account of Laura and Almanzo's marriage, I was struck by the lack of fanfare and "hoo-hah." After "courting" for three years (and Laura never even calls it that; she refers to it as "Sunday afternoon horse rides"),they ended up getting married in the middle of the week in the pastor's house because they wanted to avoid Eliza's (Almanzo's sister) and his mother's attempts to turn it into a complicated, expensive event. Laura got married in a black dress, mostly because it was her newest dress, they went back to the Ingalls farm to have a simple wedding supper with Pa, Ma, and the girls, and then, they went home and did chores. There was no saying, "yes to the dress," no expensive venue, DJ, catered meal, floor decal, etc, etc, etc.

Most delightful of all was Laura's attitude about life. While she didn't enjoy farming as an occupation and begged Almanzo to get out of it, she loved farm life vs. town life. In the book, she addressed her lack of a social life by saying that she regarded her four-legged friends as more valuable than any on two legs. And like her Pa, she valued the open prairie - the vast, unsettled wildness of it all. In short, she conveyed the fact that she loved her life just as it was and did not wish for anything more or different (other than making a steady income and having no "notes" on the house or equipment).
While the pioneer life was harsh, hard, and often deadly, it seems far superior to the lives we lead today.

I realize that statement doesn't make a lot of sense, especially when I think about all the modern conveniences that make life tolerable - washing machines, flushing toilets, Internet shopping, cell phones. But I am still sticking to my original claim.

Since there was no Internet or computer or phones, for that matter, out on the prairie, Laura's world consisted of what was in front of her within a twenty mile radius. Often, when one was married and moved away (depending on how far s/he moved), the marriage ceremony could very well be the last time one saw his/her pa and ma as well as other relatives.

Likewise, since there was no way to get to one, much less see one other than in a book, Laura never had a desire to travel to the ocean. . .or see Europe. . .or do missionary work in a foreign country. She was completely contented with her life as it was and concerned herself with the life and people in her present circumstances. Period.

I suppose, then, it could be argued that it is a blessing to be living in such modern times.   Skype, email, texting, and Facebook help us to stay in contact with the people with whom we have traveled along life's path. Likewise, the Internet and air travel have shrunk our world considerably so that seeing an ocean, jungles, and even Big Ben is easily within the realm of possibility. Even though these are wonderful opportunities (and I'm not dissing them), I still think that, to a certain extent, Laura had us beat.

To explain, with all these opportunities come choice, which generally is a good thing, but choice can also lead to more confusion, or noise, as I like to call it.  Sure, if I don't like my current job, I can quit, fly across the world, and do something else if I want to. . .but what? There are so many possibilities to consider! What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? What was I born to do?

The noise of choice often muddies the waters for us. Rather than seeking God's Will, choice sometimes makes it easier for us to ignore God's voice because, well, if we don't like things the way they are, we can choose a different route with little difficulty.  Choice can also mean walking away from circumstances that could have been specifically orchestrated by God as part of our spiritual growth.

As a pioneer woman, Laura didn't have the privilege of choice. Therefore, she had to rely on the circumstances God had placed her in, the people in her midst, and the values and skills she had been taught.

Lately, I have been reading a book about David, as in King David. While he is one of the most admired of Biblical characters, he certainly wasn't perfect and had to learn the hard way, just like all the rest of us. The point to be underscored is that David learned that he was miserable and made horrible decisions when he didn't have his ear tuned directly toward God. Through many trials and errors, David disciplined himself to put God first whenever a decision needed to be made. In essence, he eliminated the noise around him to do exactly what God required and wanted. It's not surprising that this was God's plan all along. Before God would allow David to replace Saul as king, God needed David to be trained correctly. At times, David was miserable, but he ultimately emerged as the person God wanted him to be.

Therefore, when the situation is carefully examined, it seems as though life today is more difficult than when pioneers such as Laura Ingalls Wilder lived. We are bombarded by choices, and rather than encourage us, we are discouraged and discontented. We see the banquet of careers, places to live, volunteer opportunities, hobbies. . .and worse, we have unlimited access to the choices and lives that others are creating/living, and we get overwhelmed and disappointed by our current state. We worry that life is short, that we've made the wrong choices, that other, better, bigger circumstances would make us happy and fulfilled. In short, the noise of choice can be so overwhelming that God's still, small voice gets swallowed up into the cacophony. We no longer hear it or seek it because based on what we have seen and the choices that the world has exposed us to, we think we know best.

In the 1970s, there was a cheesy phrase that people had hanging on fridges and walls: "Bloom Where You're Planted." Yet, these days, I often find myself muttering it when I get off track. I know that Laura would certainly approve of it, and while it probably wouldn't be flashy enough for David, I am pretty sure he would echo the sentiment. I am where I am at this moment in history for a reason. Rather than get sucked in by the circus of the world, my job is to "bloom," which, in the most basic definition, is to love others and use my gifts, right where I am. If and when the plan changes, God will let me know, but I have to make sure that I can hear Him. This means I have to be diligent about avoiding excessive, distracting noise.

Clearly, the simple life that Laura describes in her books has merit, and when we read about it, we long for it. However, the simple life is completely within our grasp. We don't have to travel 140 years back in time to achieve it. Through Laura's and David's examples, we learn that the simple life is a matter of attitude and a disciplined heart.