5.12.2011
5.10.2011
I LOVE to go to bed early and get up early. I'm definitely a morning person.
But I'm an absolute bedtime junkie. For me, it's less about the actual sleeping part and totally about the things that make me feel good when I'm preparing for sleep. Anything with a "Sleep Better" claim attached to it: Sound machines with white noise, aromatherapy lotion, bubble baths, books, crazy-high-thread-count sheet sets, perfectly planned pajamas and eye masks that have been in the freezer..... Swinging on our deck and trying to figure out the stars. Cold pillows and blankets from the dryer. Old time radio shows and thunderstorm soundtracks. The stuff of lovely.
And the reason for this late night blog is.....I could not sleep. I thought I could lull myself to sleep? ;) Let's try this again. Goodnight.
But I'm an absolute bedtime junkie. For me, it's less about the actual sleeping part and totally about the things that make me feel good when I'm preparing for sleep. Anything with a "Sleep Better" claim attached to it: Sound machines with white noise, aromatherapy lotion, bubble baths, books, crazy-high-thread-count sheet sets, perfectly planned pajamas and eye masks that have been in the freezer..... Swinging on our deck and trying to figure out the stars. Cold pillows and blankets from the dryer. Old time radio shows and thunderstorm soundtracks. The stuff of lovely.
And the reason for this late night blog is.....I could not sleep. I thought I could lull myself to sleep? ;) Let's try this again. Goodnight.
5.09.2011
The Tangled Mess of Joy and Pain
I trained for months for a 1/2 marathon on April, 30. I have illibital band syndrome and three weeks out from the race, I was told to stop training. Race day rolls around two days after I lost my grandpa, so I wasn't about to give up. So I got up at 4 AM, ate my mini Clif bar, put on two braces and acted like I hadn't missed a day of training. Race begins.
I ran on pure emotion for the first 9 miles. The sweet old lady playing the fiddle at Mile 3. The homespun band and their rendition of Sweet Home Alabama at Mile 5. The family blaring Lincoln Brewster. The two happy. slightly crazy volunteers holding a sign that said "Run like you stole something".
My time was great. Then at mile 9.5, the pain kicks in. Each time either foot would hit the ground, sharp pains shot down my shins. I endured it as long as I could, then the tears came. ;) YES. Tears. I'm a crier. But not a pain-inflicted crier. More like a sad movie or serious-talk-with-my-dad type of crier. But the pain was so excruciating that I had tears. At a race of that magnitude, there are EMT's riding bicycles swarming the runners.
So, when Mr. EMT saw me crying, of course he asked if I was ok.
I gave him a semi-mean look and said, "Fine". I think he was amused by the fact that I was slightly annoyed with his question. Ten minutes later he was back with a smile. He said, "Um, maybe walk or stretch?" Oops. I think I may have rolled my eyes at him?? ;) That part is a little vague.
At that point, I could barely walk and my great time was out the door.
So, my mission changed from running a Half and getting a great time to finishing the race. Thankfully, at Mile 11 they were handing out GU (Which I love!) and my pain let up a little bit. I finished with a strong run. While it definitely didn't go like I thought it should, I did get to run to the 50 yard line of Memorial Stadium while people cheered. It was lovely.
Finish lines have a way of erasing the memory of pain and inspiring pure joy;)
yes.
I'm beginning to understand that joy and suffering are all tangled up together. To avoid one is to miss out on the other. So, to grab hold of joy where ever it is found is to embrace suffering. Better yet, to learn from pain and allow it to finish it's perfect work is to know real joy.
"Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness." -Psalm 30:11
5.02.2011
My Papa.
One week ago today, I sat in the living room with my parents as my dad explained to me he had just learned that my Papa had a massive stroke. I sat in silent misery and cried. If you believe the Bible to be true, and I do, then my first thought accompanying death is eternity. Please indulge me as I write about the thing that has caused my family the most pain.
My Papa was a legend. If you know my dad, you know the invincible Lion-like nature that he possesses. He is strong... the best soul winner I know. He inherited that from my Papa. Papa was in law enforcement for years; he is even in the Policeman's Hall of Fame in Washington, D.C. I have articles and letters from the governor of Illinois, Congressmen and civilians who took time to write him to say thank you for his service. He didn't have a reverse. When he found Jesus, he was much the same. He preached under fire and anointing.
But nearly 24 years ago, my Papa made some wrong decisions and consequently left my grandma after 30 years of marriage, and the church he lovingly pastored. He began a lifestyle that was very unlike him, and yes, it nearly crippled our family.
I am the oldest grandchild, so I remember the most. Papa meant something extra special to me. Much of my childhood was spent in prayer beside my bed, asking God to restore our family, and save my Papa. I asked God faithfully. My dad, my uncle, my grandma...we all pleaded with God. We tried for years. We moved him close to us, but he always moved away. Everyone had forgiven him. But he couldn't forgive himself. I wrote him letters. I called him. Maybe I could have done more...But I did try so hard.
Papa chose to live in a horrible quality of life... in a cheap apartment high rise, in a city, hours from us. He drank away much of his pain, and he chose things that are so contrary to the man he was.
The constant worry was always there. What if something happens to him? How will we even know? Why can't he just come home?
He was found last Monday by a woman that he had been living with, he had had a massive stroke and had laid in the hallway for hours. Had he been with someone when it happened, he would still be alive.
I nearly choke on the tears as I write this, but I must lay out my heart.
So there he was, blind, needing his arm amputated from Compartment Syndrome, and completely brain dead. And for 3 days I prayed incessantly, I went to the church, I layed on my bedroom floored and begged God to heal him. I begged God to give him another chance.
My dad and uncle were told that he may or may not breathe on his own. I refused to believe it. I still prayed. On Wednesday, they decided to take him off the ventilator, because he would have wanted to breathe on his own. Papa was breathing on his own. Much of Wednesday night, I prayed for a miraculous healing for my Papa. I truly believed God could heal him. I told God all about why He should heal him. I called him that night and had the nurse hold the phone up to his ear. I read him scriptures from Isaiah and told him I loved him so much. The nurse told me his hand moved the entire time I talked. So hopeful, again.
At 6:45, My momma came in my room and told me that my Papa had just died. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I found my daddy sitting at the dining room table and I just clung to him and sobbed. If there was ever a time when I wanted God to perform a miracle, it was last week. If there was ever a time when I trusted He would, it was last week. But He chose not to. I can't say I know why...because I haven't a clue. But I still believe in a Healing God that is faithful and just!
My grandma has proved once again the Christian woman she is. She wept for her husband of 30 years like he had never even hurt her. My dad and uncle wept like they've never been hurt. They humbly asked their churches to pray for their dad.
I prayed for a visible healing so I could see a visible repentance, but I didn't see that prayer answered. But alot of things could have been happening in Papa's heart as he suffered that stroke. But I don't know where my Papa was at spiritually when he died. And honestly, I get sick to my stomach thinking about it. His lifestyle was something even HE wouldnt have wanted.
People demand we put someone in heaven or hell, simply because they died!? No. I am NOT the all-knowing, righteous judge of Heaven and that is NOT my job. I will let Jesus reign as King in MY life...I will make the choices that will ensure my eternity and I will hold to the fact that my God is THE saving, healing, life-changing, powerful God of Heaven, just like my Papa would have wanted.
My Papa was a legend. If you know my dad, you know the invincible Lion-like nature that he possesses. He is strong... the best soul winner I know. He inherited that from my Papa. Papa was in law enforcement for years; he is even in the Policeman's Hall of Fame in Washington, D.C. I have articles and letters from the governor of Illinois, Congressmen and civilians who took time to write him to say thank you for his service. He didn't have a reverse. When he found Jesus, he was much the same. He preached under fire and anointing.
But nearly 24 years ago, my Papa made some wrong decisions and consequently left my grandma after 30 years of marriage, and the church he lovingly pastored. He began a lifestyle that was very unlike him, and yes, it nearly crippled our family.
I am the oldest grandchild, so I remember the most. Papa meant something extra special to me. Much of my childhood was spent in prayer beside my bed, asking God to restore our family, and save my Papa. I asked God faithfully. My dad, my uncle, my grandma...we all pleaded with God. We tried for years. We moved him close to us, but he always moved away. Everyone had forgiven him. But he couldn't forgive himself. I wrote him letters. I called him. Maybe I could have done more...But I did try so hard.
Papa chose to live in a horrible quality of life... in a cheap apartment high rise, in a city, hours from us. He drank away much of his pain, and he chose things that are so contrary to the man he was.
The constant worry was always there. What if something happens to him? How will we even know? Why can't he just come home?
He was found last Monday by a woman that he had been living with, he had had a massive stroke and had laid in the hallway for hours. Had he been with someone when it happened, he would still be alive.
I nearly choke on the tears as I write this, but I must lay out my heart.
So there he was, blind, needing his arm amputated from Compartment Syndrome, and completely brain dead. And for 3 days I prayed incessantly, I went to the church, I layed on my bedroom floored and begged God to heal him. I begged God to give him another chance.
My dad and uncle were told that he may or may not breathe on his own. I refused to believe it. I still prayed. On Wednesday, they decided to take him off the ventilator, because he would have wanted to breathe on his own. Papa was breathing on his own. Much of Wednesday night, I prayed for a miraculous healing for my Papa. I truly believed God could heal him. I told God all about why He should heal him. I called him that night and had the nurse hold the phone up to his ear. I read him scriptures from Isaiah and told him I loved him so much. The nurse told me his hand moved the entire time I talked. So hopeful, again.
At 6:45, My momma came in my room and told me that my Papa had just died. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I found my daddy sitting at the dining room table and I just clung to him and sobbed. If there was ever a time when I wanted God to perform a miracle, it was last week. If there was ever a time when I trusted He would, it was last week. But He chose not to. I can't say I know why...because I haven't a clue. But I still believe in a Healing God that is faithful and just!
My grandma has proved once again the Christian woman she is. She wept for her husband of 30 years like he had never even hurt her. My dad and uncle wept like they've never been hurt. They humbly asked their churches to pray for their dad.
I prayed for a visible healing so I could see a visible repentance, but I didn't see that prayer answered. But alot of things could have been happening in Papa's heart as he suffered that stroke. But I don't know where my Papa was at spiritually when he died. And honestly, I get sick to my stomach thinking about it. His lifestyle was something even HE wouldnt have wanted.
People demand we put someone in heaven or hell, simply because they died!? No. I am NOT the all-knowing, righteous judge of Heaven and that is NOT my job. I will let Jesus reign as King in MY life...I will make the choices that will ensure my eternity and I will hold to the fact that my God is THE saving, healing, life-changing, powerful God of Heaven, just like my Papa would have wanted.
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