Hope is not about proving anything. It’s about choosing to believe that love is bigger than any grim, bleak shit anyone can throw at us. 

-stolen from a friend

running 13.1 miles...

What did it take to run 13.1 miles??

It's only been 36 hours since I finished the Big Sur Half Marathon and I've been quite thoughtful about the whole experience....

For me, running a half marathon took at least 4 months and 134.6 miles of training (I definitely made that number up. I wanted to give you an accurate number, but unfortunately that accurate number is on Lucy, my Macbook that I destroyed two weeks ago). I so appreciate the facebook friends who "liked" my updates and cheered for me along the way.  It takes a friend who will make a commitment to not walk for 13.1 miles with you, no matter how slow we have to run.  It takes 2 days of enjoying the beauty of Pebble Beach and 2 hours and 22 minutes of running along that beautiful coast.  You don't necessarily have to run along the shore of the Pacific Ocean with the waves crashing next to you to finish a half marathon- but why would you want to run 13 miles anywhere else? It takes another friend who jokes about bodily functions, understands chafing, and will enjoy a cup of cold, nasty beer at the finish line with you.   My calves were ever so grateful for the friend who worked her magic on them after the race was over.  It takes a roommate who listens to me complain about running when she knows how secretly proud I am for all I've accomplished in the last year.  It's the friend who runs the last 2 miles of a long run with me, get excited for me in the beginning when I finish 4 miles, and then yells at me for completing all 13 miles four weeks before the race.   It took many hours of stretching, at least 10 appointments at the chiropractor (who also ran her first half marathon this fall!), and a few days of limping from sore calves after those longs runs. Completing a half marathon forced me to sacrifice some of the activities I love (I haven't had time to go on a hike in 4 months!), but forced me to keep running until I learned how to love that too.

A year ago, I couldn't run a full mile without stopping. And yesterday, I ran 13. 

2010 New Year's Resolution #2: Run a 1/2 marathon. Check.

I call this chapter of my life: DISCIPLINE.

I had the day off of work today.  I ran 10 miles.  Who runs 10 miles on a random Monday off work?!?  

I invited a pastor friend of mine along on my run in form of a podcast on my iPod.  As I was browsing through his latest, I randomly chose one called “Soul Sessions” in which he spoke about the beauty of discipline not being in the act itself, but in the result of that discipline.  The words he spoke resonated so strongly with me as I pounded the pavement for almost two hours in the midday sun.  Running for two hours isn’t fun by any means, but every mile I run, I remind myself that I’m one mile closer to running a half marathon along Pebble Beach in Monterey, CA.  In just about a month, I’ll finish 13.1 miles and I can only imagine the joy I’ll feel. My legs will feel very little of that joy, but they’re starting to get used to the abuse I’m putting them through.  

Finishing 13.1 miles isn’t beautiful because I run for two hours on a random Sunday morning at 7am with 2,000 other people.  It’s beautiful because over 100 miles of training has led me to that morning.  It’s beautiful because a year ago, I could barely run a mile without stopping to catch my breath.  It’s beautiful because at least 3 days a week for 4 months, I’ve been disciplined enough to leave the cookie dough in the fridge until I’ve finished my run that night.  It’s beautiful because it’s been a journey.

And isn’t that how all of life is?  

Jesus. Careers. Finances. Friendship. Marathons.

I’m re-learning the beauty of discipline in my spiritual journey.  I can read the Bible every day because as a Christian, that’s what I’m supposed to do, right?  But am I allowing His word to truly feed my soul?  I’ll never be able to understand or savor the full sweetness of this relationship until I do.    

I’m trying to be disciplined with my finances because I’d like to have enough money that someday my discipline won’t be out of necessity but only because I want to be able to give generously to people and causes that are close to my heart.  

And, tonight I’m going to remember to embrace the joy of discipline when I show up for 90 minute yoga class in a 104 degree room....

To the man who hit my car today:

Hello, sir.  I know that I’ve never met you in person before, but I thought that it would be good to write you a little letter.  You see, I own the Chevy Malibu that was sitting on Marsh Rd. today that you hit with your little red paint truck.  I’m still not sure how you managed to hit my car and do so much damage coming around that corner, but you probably don’t even know yet that I can’t open my door and that I am unable to drive my car anymore because YOU DIDN’T EVEN STOP. Thankfully for me, some nice man who works at AT&T saw your ass drive away and left a note on my car for me to call him.  He described your little red truck in much detail and I immediately recognized the description because of your prime parking location directly across the street from my place of employment.  I kept a good eye out for your truck all day, but I was none too surprised to find your little red truck parked a block away.  Side note: if you want to do a hit and run, you shouldn't leave the evidence of  your broken tail lights under my car next time.  I also wasn’t surprised to find that you weren’t home when Officer Gary and I rang your doorbell this evening.  

You know I work in a drug and alcohol treatment facility, right?  That’s right, 16 women who love me dearly live across the street from you.  You should probably start parking your car more than one block away. 

I should let you know some details about my life.  At least about my life pertaining to my car.  First- Two weeks ago, I paid $1100 to fix my engine- an investment that I thought would last me a few more years.  Also, there’s a red 2011 sticker sitting my dresser that I just paid $94 so I could put it on my license plate and allow my car to be a happy resident of California for another year.  Also, I live in San Jose, about  45 minutes away from where my undrivable car is currently sitting.  If you didn’t know this already- there’s no public transportation options to get me to work at 7am tomorrow morning.  Oh yeah, Mom and Dad live 3,000 miles away.  That’s going to be a long drive to take me to work every day.

Could you spare some of that blue painter’s tape that you fixed up your headlight with today? I was hoping it would fix my alignment and maybe cover up the large dent in the side of my car, but since it probably won’t do all of those things, it might make a nice decal for my immovable statue of a car. 

To Live Simply

About 20 minutes ago, I posted a facebook status that said “attemping to live simply.”  After I wrote it, I wondered- what does that even mean?  Is “simple” the same for everyone?  How will I respond if someone asks me what it means to “Live Simply”? 

For me, living simply this week means that I’m going to rest.  I’m eating simple foods (Maker’s Diet, which I’m expecting to kick my butt royally).  I’m going to sleep at least 8 hours.  I’m going to spend time with my dogs.  I’m going to fully enjoy a game of tetris every now and then. I’m going to pray and journal and read and fall in love with Jesus again.

And I couldn’t be more excited. 

Where I'm Supposed to Be

Do you ever have those moments when you feel like you’re right where you’re supposed to be?  When you feel so much peace inside, despite the chaos that might be surrounding you?  Those times when you don’t know why or what for- but you’re there. And it’s right.  

That happened tonight at Tuesday Night Dinner.  When I go to TND, I feel one of two things- encouraged or overwhelmed.  Often I get overwhelmed by the number of people, new faces and new names, but even more so by the 43 conversations that go something like this: Hey, what’s your name again?  What do you do? Are you from San Jose? Indiana? What?  What are you doing here? Oh, what do you do? Oh, you work for Apple? Surprise, Surprise.  

You see, I’m an intentional person.  I want my conversations and my relationships to have meaning and depth.  Yes, In a room of 40 people, I crave depth.  Because when I walk out those doors at 10:30p, I don’t want to leave feeling empty.

My closest TND friend, the one I often share a bean bag with for most of the evening catching up on life was gone tonight so I had to be a little more intentional about being social if I wasn’t going to leave empty- and it was beautiful.  None of my conversations were profound, but they were good.   I heard about my friend’s lives- Greg’s trip home to Fresno, Jeff's return from 2 years in El Salvador, Jordan’s family and where they’re at and his plans for the future...And I felt listened to, and loved, and cared for. That was exactly where I was supposed to be.  

a metaphor.

14k gold.

soft enough to be molded, 

yet...

strong.

resilient.

and holds a shape. 

adventure

I heard someone say this morning- 

“Adventure is just a series of moments you never could have 

predicted before you left home."

One of my all-time favorite adventures unfolded over the course of three days in Alex's little blue Honda civic named Moesha.

we saw death ships.

  you probably shouldn't ask.

we made numerous illegal u-turns.

we reunited with an incredibly random mutual fried.
    no, she's not random.  the fact that she's a mutual friend is random. 

we spent 30 minutes in tijuana, mexico on new years eve.

  you probably shouldn't ask about that one either.

we went to McDonald's (9) times.

  yes, nine.


we searched (or hoped to stumble upon) the crystal cathedral.
    we didn't.

                                                                        then got attacked by dogs at the beach.

we spent an hour at an auto parts store attempting to fix moesha's electrical socket.

and 6 months later, it still doesn't work.

we sat on a big rock, watched the waves crash on the sand, drank coffee, and talked about life.

               and it was perfect.

we couldn’t find the hollywood sign.

               then all of the sudden it appeared on the mountain next to us.

we got a cher cupcake. 
    and drove an hour to eat it under the lights of cher’s malibu home.

we explored venice beach.
    at night. 
    and are still alive.

all in 68 crazy fun hours. 

       and i didn't tell my mom till i got home.

journals

That’s a stack of journals. My journals. My well-loved and completely full (except one- the one under my little bible on top) journals.

And most of the following is straight out of one of those pages...

I don’t want [my blog] to replace the journaled prayers where I connect and process this journey that I’m on with God. I still firmly believe that there is something so artistic, so beautiful when you put a pen on a piece of paper and let your heart flow. The stack of journals that sits on my bookshelf is sort of mysterious- no one knows what is written on those pages except for me. The pages hold so many prayers, letters that I never wanted the recipient to read, old sermon notes, lists of bills I need to pay, things I want to accomplish.

I sometimes wonder if anyone is tempted to pick one up and read it? What would they find? The pages in my journals are probably the most accurate portrayal of my heart. I’m usually an open book and most of the people around me know my heart...but there are still secrets that only the pen and the page know.

A blog is a really cool thing- I get to share my heart with whomever wants to read it, but it’ll never replace my journal. Technology is so distant and clean and cold and far away. Journals are tangible and messy and intimate. My journals will yellow and maybe get lost, but someday, someone will find them. Long after I’m gone, my heart will still be here in those pages....and I hope someone is tempted to read them.

saying goodbye

Two weeks ago, when I gave my notice to Advent, I could figure why I wasn’t emotional. I knew I loved my job, my girls, and especially my team...but it was so exciting to announce my new opportunity.

It finally hit me today. On my way to work, I began thinking about how to say goodbye. I started to rehearse the words I’d say to my team and my girls as I walk away from the Summit home and my life as an employee at Advent....and the tears wouldn’t stop falling. As I sat in a living room that holds so many memories this morning and “checked-in” (a phrase I never used before Advent), the only feeling I could identify was thoughtful and I was comfortable enough with those people to cry and pray and finally grieve as I begin this process of letting go.

To be honest, I don’t know how to let go. I don’t know how I’m going to say goodbye to a place where I’ve been a part of casting a vision and watched it become reality, where I’ve scrubbed floors and painted walls, where I’ve taken care of sick girls who missed their mom, where I’ve cried thousands of tears, where I’ve watched teenage girls grow and change, where I’ve prayed many bedtime prayers, where I’ve laughed uncontrollably, where I’ve lost many games of pool,where I’ve seen God perform miracles, a place where I’ve walked through sunshine, fire, and rain and have made it to the other side a changed person.

But I am going to say goodbye. Because even if it hurts, it’s right. Because it’s time to let go and move on.

a new camera and an afternoon in nature

hiking.... one of my favorite ways to spend a weekend afternoon.

Rancho San Antonio County Park- Mountain View, CA

"there is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature- the assurance that

dawn comes after night and spring comes after winter"

-rachel carson-

-the sense of wonder-

Karin and I- beginning our prep for the quest of Half Dome:

from 35,000 feet

From 35,000 feet, the mountains look so small. Who knew that Nevada and Utah were so beautiful from the sky? From up here, I can see an entire lake surrounded by snow-capped mountains. From this angle, I can see mountain ranges that stand alone and mountain ranges that seem to run into one another. I’m beginning to see a dry desert. I can see more out of a 1x1.5ft. window than I ever could standing on the ground.

Perspective. It’s so important. I love every part of traveling. I love the anticipation and deciding what to pack for an unknown adventure. I love handing over my luggage, trusting that it will arrive at my destination at the same time as me (I’m crossing my fingers....because even with all the flying I do, I have yet to lose my luggage). I love sipping airport coffee and wondering about the lives of the people around me. There are so many perspectives. The woman next to me might be flying to her dad’s funeral in Texas. The family behind me is traveling to see their dad returning from Iraq. The couple across the aisle is headed to the bliss of their honeymoon.

Me? Today, I’m traveling in order to gain a little bit of perspective on my own life. Not a lot of people choose Minnesota as a vacation destination from California (especially when the temperature is forecasted to be 81 this weekend in CA...) In Minnesota resides one of my best friends in the world- someone who understands the joy and the struggle of the job that I do 48 (or 54) hours every week. She walked the same arduous road that I did in our journey at Advent. When I made the decision to surrender a friendship that was breaking my heart only a few weeks ago, Katie was there. Katie will cry with me when I’m mourning the brokenness of relationships in my life and process with me the uncertainty of my future- especially today.

I had an interview earlier this week for a job that seems almost too perfect for me. I’m so excited for the opportunity to work for a thriving nonprofit with a small team and my heart breaks at the thought of leaving my team and my girls at Advent. I trust that God is going to open and close doors to lead me to exactly the place that He wants to use me the most.

My hope for this weekend is to reflect on my journey called life, reconnect with a friend who understands and knows me at my core, process the role I play in my family as a daughter and a sister, and maybe have a better idea of what my future looks like.

There’s something about being 35,000 feet in the air..maybe it’s just that the cares of the world can’t distract me like they do on the ground. Or maybe I feel like I’m closer to God up here.