Metaphorical Fish

Last week I was something of a mess.  To say the least.  


But you know me....I don't do the whole minimalist thing, right?  


Sooooooooooooo.....about last week...


Our family was recovering from what is now being referred to as the 2010 Year-End Pukefest, a quaint little GI bug that tore through EVERY family member with a vengeance for almost a whole week.  The laundry was epic, taunting me to the point of overwhelmed tears.  My wee baby boy, Mr. >5th %ile for Weight, didn't eat, save for breastmilk, for a whole week, turning his already scrawny form into downright gaunt...and that is not just a hypersensitive mama growing paranoid, this is a noticeable weight loss that caused comments from others.  Yeah, that helped too.


The older kids went back to school, and though the officially dreaded re-entry day was smooth, the subsequent ones were not.  As in I completely lost my cool with Kelsey, in one of her horribly defiant I-will-NOT-go-to-my-room-even-if-it-is-more-for-you-to-cool-down-than-it-is-for-me-to-be-in-trouble moments, and while it didn't escalate physically, it prompted Colton to retrieve the phone and inform me he was dialing 911 because he was so scared.  Well.  If that's not enough to deflate the hot air running the anger balloon and cause it to create a heaping pile of GUILT I don't know what will do it for ya....


And then, as we had been healthy for mere days and just in time for the weekend :read: Urgent Care, Christopher began to cough.  And run intermittent fevers.  During which time he became attached to my hip, or breasts as the still-nursing case may be, and any separation to said appendages was cause for marathon meltdowns.  And the non-eating resumed.  A myriad of PTSD-like emotions, due to the coughing and intermittent fevers triggering memories of my own hellish journey, legitimate maternal worry, and battle fatigue set in.


The low-grade, ambient stress regarding my potential return to work gnawed at me as a big cloud of UNKNOWN loomed over me.  I can deal with a lot of things, but UNKNOWN is akin to Alice's Jabberwocky: a formidable foe that initially scares the muchness out of me.  Eventually, I can get to a point where I can slay the UNKNOWN as Alice totally made the Jabberwocky her b!t*#, but as of last week, I was still in the "Oh, hells no!" phase regarding defeating the UNKNOWN.  As such, it was kicking my booty.  Not to mention the fact that after I'd submitted my application, I got a response from a local non-profit re: a grant consulting proposal I'd sent them.  Their response was yes, they would like me to contract with them on an on-going basis.  So then I was torn between was that the right thing and I was abandoning that, testing God, in favor of the higher-paying, more family-time sacrificing job at the city?  Mother guilt X the UNKNOWN = WRECK


It was no surprise then, that I cried at the drop of a hat over E.V.E.R.Y thing.  Movies.  TV shows [that I'd already seen!].  Songs.  Intonation in my child's voice surely meant that I was a failure at everything.  And was so irritable with Seth that super stoopid things became grounds for verbal grudge matches.  


Not pretty, right?


Monday, I took Chris to the doctor.  Diagnosis: double ear infection and croup - not killer pneumonia as my paranoia had tried to persuade me.  Easily fixed with some time and medication.


Then, I called the HR department at the city, and anonymously inquired as to where they were in the hiring process for The Position.


"Oh, well, they've already interviewed and I think they've got a person in mind now.  Thanks for your interest."


My first instinct was self-defeating, that maybe-I-did-something-so-wrong-that-it-negated-all-the-previously-glowing-commentary-from-my-former-boss thing - serious self-doubt, ya know?  I mean, they didn't even call me for an interview!  That lasted for maybe 5 seconds though.


And then...


You asked Me for a roadblock if it wasn't where I wanted you right now.  You told me MY will and not yours, remember?


Ok, God.  I get that.  And yes, things DO happen for a reason, and so I will trust that.  In the meantime, could You shed some light on this for me?  Clarify just where we're going with this whole exercise?  I mean, uh, the money has to come from somewhere right?  And it's, uh, not there.  So, while we're on this whole 'you said' schtick, might I remind You that You said  You had 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,' so, don't forget that, mmm-kay?  Thanks.


Sidenote - I know that kind of prayer seems irreverent to some, and for you I will apologize.  My intent is not to offend - I just think that God wants my heart, my real heart and not some Pope-ish, rote acceptance of the things that don't quite seem fair or clear.  So we are real with each other like that.


Yesterday was good.

Today I went to a non-profit networking meeting and it felt good.  A peace that things would fall into place covered me.  A few people inquired about my consulting services and asked me to follow up with them.

Tonight I got a voice mail, informing me of a key opportunity with which to substantially expand my [from-home] grant-writing business.  All through church I kept feeling goosebumps.  That phone call that quieted that small, albeit powerful, voice of self-doubt I heard the other day.  When I followed up on it and spoke to the person who'd called me, I was buzzing with gratitude my Heavenly Father for the very real potential that lay before me.

In early December, I was about to give up on the consulting endeavor, as I hadn't managed to get many bites.

I'm reminded of a story in Luke Ch. 5:

One day as Jesus was preaching on the shore of the Sea of Galilee,^[a]great crowds pressed in on him to listen to the word of God. ² He noticed two empty boats at the water’s edge, for the fishermen had left them and were washing their nets. ³ Stepping into one of the boats, Jesus asked Simon,^[b]its owner, to push it out into the water. So he sat in the boat and taught the crowds from there. 

 ⁴ When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Now, go out where it is deeper, and let down your nets to catch some fish.”

 ⁵ “Master,” Simon replied, “we worked hard all last night and didn’t catch a thing. But, if you say so, I’ll let the nets down again.”

⁶ And this time their nets were so full of fish they began to tear! ⁷ A shout for help brought their partners in the other boat, and soon both boats were filled with fish and on the verge of sinking.

 ⁸ When Simon Peter realized what had happened, he fell to his knees before Jesus and said, “Oh, Lord, please leave me—I’m too much of a sinner to be around you.” ⁹ For he was awestruck by the number of fish they had caught, as were the others with him. ¹⁰His partners, James and John, the sons of Zebedee, were also amazed.

Jesus replied to Simon, “Don’t be afraid! From now on you’ll be fishing for people!” ¹¹ And as soon as they landed, they left everything and followed Jesus.

This year is going to be a deep-water year, I have a feeling.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

I Didn't Wanna Do It

I'm not much for the so called genre known as Chick Lit, nor do I find myself drawn towards the books Oprah has endorsed as worthy for her club.

As such, Eat Pray Love held no real appeal to me, with the whole premise of glob-trotting to find oneself being completely irrelevant (and impractical) to my life - I didn't feel a connection would be made.  And I didn't see that it fit in with my values, seeing as its plot hinges upon the dissolution of a marriage - apparently for little compelling reason, other than the oft-cited, self-indulgent "I fell out of love."  That whole vein of thinking is a selfish cop-out to me, being that I've fallen out of love with my own husband about as many times as I've fallen in love with him over the years, and where would we be if I'd been so selfish to call it quits on those grounds alone?

Lately, I've been in a funk though, and found myself craving something inspirational, if not just a couple hours of thought-provocation.  So I added Eat Pray Love, the movie, to my Netflix queue.

And promptly fell in love with it.  So much so, that I now want to read the book.

Oh, Julia Roberts' character, Elizabeth Gilbert, struck me as selfish alright - but lately, I have seen myself in that light, too.  It was nice to be able to project my frustrations with myself onto someone else for a couple hours for a change.

Some of the more new age-y concepts of God didn't align with mine - particularly that of God dwelling within you...as you.  Theological tangent in 3..2..1: I agree that God dwells within those who choose Him and commit to Him, that's called the Holy Spirit - and I even agree with Gilbert's assertion (below) inasmuch that God lives in any of us, despite our tempers, our ambitions, emotions, etc., but God does not conform to us by living in us, as us, nor does He conform us all into the same type of Stepford-like person.  Instead He transforms us into beings that are closer to Him and His will, as he takes up residence in our diverse, as He intentionally created them to be, souls and personalities.

God's not interested in watching a performance of how a 'spiritual' person looks and behaves. The quiet girl who glides silently through the place with a gentle, ethereal smile...who is that person? It's Ingrid Bergman in "The Bells of St. Mary's" – not me.

That does ring true...I certainly don't think that Mary Magdalene and a bunch of ignorant fishers, some with tempers, were the quiet, spiritual types with ethereal smiles, speaking "Peace be with you," to passersby - and yet, these are the types among whom Jesus chose to dwell.  God wanted them, and He wants me, as me, and you too.

So, overall?  I found some nuggets of wisdom and inspiration that I'm that surprisingly resonated with me.

A friend took me to the most amazing place the other day. It's called the Augusteum. Octavian Augustus built it to house his remains. When the barbarians came they trashed it a long with everything else. The great Augustus, Rome's first true great emperor. How could he have imagined that Rome, the whole world as far as he was concerned, would be in ruins. It's one of the quietest, loneliest places in Rome. The city has grown up around it over the centuries. It feels like a precious wound, a heartbreak you won't let go of because it hurts too good. We all want things to stay the same. Settle for living in misery because we're afraid of change, of things crumbling to ruins. Then I looked at around to this place, at the chaos it has endured - the way it has been adapted, burned, pillaged and found a way to build itself back up again. And I was reassured, maybe my life hasn't been so chaotic, it's just the world that is, and the real trap is getting attached to any of it. Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.

This made me think of the whole beauty for ashes passage in Scripture, and comforted me, particularly the thought about getting too attached to the events of life.

The largest nugget, though, would be the Quest Physics conclusion, emphasis mine:

In the end, I've come to believe in something I call "The Physics of the Quest." A force in nature governed by laws as real as the laws of gravity. The rule of Quest Physics goes something like this: If you're brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting, which can be anything from your house to bitter, old resentments, and set out on a truth-seeking journey, either externally or internally, and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher and if you are prepared, most of all, to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, then the truth will not be withheld from you. 

Again, as a Christian, I see this through a bit of a different, albeit complimentary, lens.  Mainly, I feel  the Truth Gilbert speaks of is none other than Jesus, but all the same I see a parallel in this quest physics theorem with the whole spiel that He gave about us denying ourselves, taking up our crosses and following Him.  In doing such, I believe that one of the biggest crosses we have to bear is that of the blinds we wear regarding our innermost workings – that unless we look long and hard at ourselves and take an honest inventory and repent of those things counter to what God has in mind for us, unless we take up that cross, all the other ones we may carry, our jobs, roles and relationships, etc., are in vain.  It’s kind of like in The Power of a Praying Wife, when Stormie Omartian realizes that the ‘Father, change him’ prayer is far less important than that of ‘Father, change me.’  But, it’s not all blame and shame for the self – as Gilbert states, once we see the difficult realities about ourselves, we.  must.  move.  ON!  lest we simply want to pick that sucker [cross] up and just stand there with it.  We gotta follow the Leader, and to do so, we have to want to be different and follow the trail He’s blazing, not the one we’ve trod on forever, comfortably.

For myself, I’ve been in limbo lately re: the whole working versus staying at home conundrum as a result of the recent job opportunity.  [should hear something late next week or early the following week]. 

On the one hand, I’ve seen some things flourish in the time that I’ve been at home that I’m afraid to let go of, should I get the go-ahead from God (right now our prayer is – God, we *think* this was a sign from you, but if it is not, please prohibit it from happening – if it is, let there be incredible peace and green lights all the way).  Like Elizabeth Gilbert’s quest for balance, I desperately sought to improve my family dynamics when I embarked on this journey.  But, also like Gilbert, in doing so I eradicated anything in my life that I thought would distract me from my quest.  I quit volunteering in the non-profit community; I turned down opportunities to speak and participate in homeless programming panels under the guise of not having childcare and/or still needing to recover from my illness; I’ve flaked on countless friends and family and insulated myself to where I’ve focused all my energies into my family.  As Gilbert became the woman who couldn't possibly risk her newfound self by loving a man, I’ve become that martyr-like woman who’s made her family her idol and dares not risk her newfound sense of family by pursuing interests that feed her essence, that person God created her to be.  A mother is never “just” a mother – she is a child of God with her own unique gifts, talents and purpose, many of which will [and should] benefit her family, but need not be exclusive to that.

Whether I get the job or not, I want to find some kind of balance again.  One where my husband and I make time for each other alone, beyond the bedroom.  Where I can volunteer some time and give back.  Where I feel as if I am answering the call to be a light in my community, not just my own home; however, not forsaking my own family in doing so.  I want to feel secure again, to not feel the tightening of the walls each time my phone rings, dreading whichever creditor it may be.  I want to write again – creatively and frankly – and yet, I’ve looked back and seen that my most prolific writing periods were those in which I had to balance many things. 

All this inspired by a movie based on a book I thought I’d hate.  


Amazing what happens when one opens her mind, eh?



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Pushing My Limits

Today marks the end of my summer hiatus from blogging.

My break was much needed, July nearly sent me to the loony bin, and just reaffirmed what I already knew: I REALLY need my laptop back, erm, to write.  :-D Often.  And with purpose.  More on that later.

In the meantime, I began to acquire a case of runner's doldrums mid-July.  Oh, I still went, and regularly enough, but that carrot of a yet-to-be-accomplished goal was lacking ever since my feet crossed that strip in Folsom Field.  Without a concrete goal, and the very-vague-yet-unconstrained-by-culturally-dictated-shapes-or-sizes aim of being a 'fit mama,' while noble, is sort of like telling a toddler to 'be nice' when really they need to quit biting every damned person they feel like, I just didn't have enough to inspire the runs for which my legs began to yearn.

I mean, have you met me?  Girl likes a challenge, and by challenge I mean, 'those feats which redefine impossible.' Pretty much anyway.  Oh and btw a perfect theme song for this is Natasha Bedingfield's Unwritten, since we are being all literary and redefining and all that....or, it is just a great dose of positivity.  You're welcome!

Anyway....so I had some chats with God about this - as some of you may know my whole running journey began as a desire for me to reflect the healing and other works He has done/is doing in my life - and asked Him, "What's next?  Because this is great and all, but it's not as dramatic as what you've done for me.  How can I even begin to show them?  I mean, without going all divine being and walking on water like Jesus, ya know"

So on the fateful day of July 14th I found myself at the grocery checkout staring down the cover of the August Runner's World.  The chick on the cover had enviable tone, for sure, but my gaze locked in on the words just to the left of her middle:  BREAK 2 HOURS (or any time goal).  Ok, so my Boulder (10k/6.2mile) time was 1:16 and change, which broke down to a 12:17/mile average pace.  And a sub-2 hour marathon (21k/13.1miles) equates to roughly a 9:09/mile pace.

So there I was looking at the [im]possibility of doing more than double the distance in less than twice the allotted time?!?!  Sold!

I started my training on the 17th and have been sticking to it.  I'm not quite at the performance demanded by the training guidelines - i.e. I did week 1 twice since my first attempt at an 8 mile run was only slightly more than two-thirds successful, I have not quite made the 'easy,' 10:30 pace over distance my own yet (oh, but I will...I did a 10:31 pace last Tuesday, SOCLOSE!!!!), nor would I call it an 'easy' pace for me at this time.  But I am getting there.  So far I have pushed myself beyond what I thought I could with:

• my first time ever experiencing exercise-induced vomiting (during which all I could do was envision Biggest Loser montages)
• an 8:00 mile!!
• completing 8 miles, period, let alone at an 11:56 pace!!!

I don't have a half-marathon picked out/registered for yet, but there is a local on in November that I'm starting to see myself doing.

Turns out, I need direction in order to channel my energy.  Put another way, I need to be told what to do.  Heh, who'da thunk on that one, eh?

And, side bennie of running like a beast - my legs are starting to shape up (finally - I mean you'd think they'd have gotten the memo that we've been working HARD for OVER A YEAR by now!) and this 'fit mama' is starting to look the part as well as feel it!
© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

In the still of a waning gibbous night

Written last Tuesday/Wednesday, the waning gibbous reference is not me trying to be all Lewis Carroll with language befitting the Jabberwocky but rather points to the phase the moon was in that night.

My soul was restless today.

As a thought would enter my mind, another would pop out, begging a desperate, "Look at me!" plea reminiscent of that from multiple siblings competing for mother's attention.  "No, look at ME!"  All.  Day.  Long.

Focus and clarity proved elusive despite being much sought after.

Until tonight.

After running errands, we came home and put the kids to bed*, put a movie in and settled in for the night.  It wasn't long into the movie that Seth nodded off, only to wake and trudge upstairs shortly after.  I finished the movie, feeling a wakefulness creep into my mind, and while I enjoyed the story, the soundtrack and the scenery of the film are what really struck my heart.

The quiet of the house sat with me pleasantly after a chaotic, if only mentally so, day.

I needed to get the dogs and let them in, so I went outside, where my soul sang for the night sky before me exuded that clarity for which I'd been so desperately seeking.

Inky and dark the expanse glittered with stars who had no need to compete with the opacity of any clouds - for there were none.  Though the clock read 11:40, the moon was just venturing a stretch off the easterly horizon.  Though emptied some of her recent fullness, she still retained all of the luster present during her peak.  She continued to rise, radiantly and proud as I just marveled on my patio at the ministrations my Heavenly Father was orchestrating to my soul.

 O LORD, our Lord,
       how majestic is your name in all the earth!
       You have set your glory
       above the heavens. ² From the lips of children and infants
       you have ordained praise ^[b]
       because of your enemies,
       to silence the foe and the avenger.
 ³ When I consider your heavens,
       the work of your fingers,
       the moon and the stars,
       which you have set in place,
 ⁴ what is man that you are mindful of him,
       the son of man that you care for him?

* Right about now my reveries were interrupted by hearing Seth and Kelsey squabbling above in my bedroom.  I went and snatched my daughter, who matched my insomnia and later rose me with 3 additional wakeful nights that week, and we shared the evening in silence on the patio.  She drew as I wrote this post the old fashioned way, with pen and pad.

Thoughts from a recent sermon returned to me...

As beautiful and bright as the moon appears to be, in and of itself it is not actually a luminary.  Merely rock and dust, it glows in our night skies because it was made such that it reflects the light of the sun, the true light and center of our universe.  I'm certain that our Creator fully intended the moon to be a light in a darkened world, and yet He deigned it to forever be dependent on another being to display light, unable to generate light of its own.

Humankind is no different.  Made originally of dust, sometimes with hearts as hardened as rock, we cannot generate our own light, yet our sole purpose is to reflect the light of the Son.

Pure.  Simple.  Clarity.

You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.

Would that we could always have a blank sky to twinkle on, but just like in the night sky, there are often clouds.  They all pass, in life and in the sky.  Sometimes they remain awhile, producing rain - vital to growth and life.  Other times these clouds merely drift aimlessly, shifting shapes, eventually blowing over.  Some follow a seasonal pattern and return year after year like the Santa Ana's.  Still others collide and cause friction, producing sizable storms; storms that sneak upon us and others that are easily predicted.  But, through all of the distractions that clouds bring to the night sky, one thing remains constant whether we can see it or not: the moon always reflects the light of the sun.

Unlike us, the moon doesn't have a choice to reflect the sun.

May I always be willing to reflect the Light of the world - come what may.

Slamming Doors Shut and Prying Open Windows

Yesterday   well, given that it is now almost two days later, MONDAY, I officially gave myself permission to say "This isn't working," regarding my stint as a lia sophia advisor.

I just didn't have the knack for getting the right people to host, much less attend parties for me.  And while I TOTALLY LOVE their jewelry, and stand behind their quality, the biggest part that didn't work for me was trying to sell people on the idea that they Needed. More. Stuff.  I mean, the whole Material Girl scene has never been mine, but this sale was especially hard to make when I myself have been in no position to buy jewelry, let alone store-bought laundry soap, new clothes that aren't second-hand, etc., and I KNOW that I'm not the only one given our knock-down economic state of affairs right now.

I've been praying for a long time about this, and I thought that a recent inquiry from out of the blue was a sign to not give up - but when my hostess went incognito on me and all other newly rekindled attempts to drum up leads were snuffed out, I kindly got out of the way before God let the door hit me in the heinie.

I'd pretty much made my mind up about this on Friday, but this weekend sealed the deal.

In a really ironic way, a simple phone call with my mom opened up a whole new world of opportunity for me. I was telling her about being on the verge of kissing lia sophia goodbye and she suddenly POOF! transformed into a veritable career advice fairy godmother!

Turns out, she's been moonlighting as a Court Appointed Parenting Coordinator and as she told me all about it, it is totally up my alley.  It's basically a free-lance case manager type of deal; parents have to pay a retainer to her and then she bills the hourly rate set by the judge from it as she works for the family (I for one love that paid in advance deal, don't you??)


Not only could I see myself doing this and being successful with it, but I WANT to do this and be successful with it.  And not just for my fiscal benefit.  You see, if I do a good job in that kind of venue, EVERYONE wins - me (cha-ching money never hurt anyone), the child[ren] in question, the family, etc.  And I do love me some good win-win set-ups.

So, to get started?  I am re-writing my resume and writing cover letters to query local attorneys about their need for PC's as well as for referrals. And, because I am all about diversifying the eggs and not putting them all in one conservative portfolio, I'm also using the same tactic with local therapists and counselors re: case management for their clientele.  I did it for the non-profit sector, but never thought to think outside that box and extend my services to self-payers in the private practice system.

Also in the back of my mind has been the dream of writing for keeps.  You know, to be a for-reals kind of writer, the kind I just knew I would be when I was whipping up some fantabulous 6th grade literature (some pieces of which my teacher confirmed via facebook is still in her possession because she used them for every succeeding class post-1991 as examples...now if only she would send them to me as she promised!) the kind that lands magazine deals and culminates with BOOKS.  Yeah, that.

So long ago I shelved that dream on the premises that I didn't get an English degree - nor did I really take all that many writing classes period since I placed out of them during college entry - that I hadn't done any writing extracurriculars (e.g. college newspaper), and that I simply didn't know how to get started.

And now?  Now I am saying to that logic, "SO WHAT?!?!"

I'm going to go for it!

Going for it, reaching for my dreams and all that other clichéd verbiage looks something like a wild maelstrom of the creative process known as brainstorming.

And know what?

It feels really good.

For a long time now I've lamented the feeling of having lost some of myself in this SAHM chapter.  Not losing my SELF as in "Me Time," or "Grown Up Stuff" or ambition or whatever guise that selfishness might wear - not that.  But that sparkle, that feeling of knowing that I'm competent at what I'm doing and what I'm talking about, because this parenting gig?  Isn't exactly the most affirming thing when you feel like you're just cracking out the how-to books 5 minutes after the exam began.

Right now, I'm visioning and trying to figure out branding myself.

I'd like to offer myself up as a free-lance writer, editor (seriously, I was so peeved that the Francine Rivers trilogy I've been reading goofed on a character's name - it was Octavia in book 1 and most of book 2 when she suddenly morphed into Olympia - because, DETAILS, people!  And, despite the conversational, informal grammatical style of my writing on this blog, wherein run-on sentences and those beginning with 'and,' 'because,' 'but,' and other improper introductions abound, I really am a syntax and spelling SNOB who, however wrongly so, tends to deduct IQ points when I see bad grammar, misspellings/typos and other butcherings of the English language), and case-manager - sort of an odd mix, but all have the purpose of bettering one's communications and relationships in the world, be they corporate, personal, or something in between.

I've thought about business names and I really am enthralled with the idea of playing off of the 3 R's of education theme that many are aware of.  Something like 3r Solutions, Media, etc., with a tagline/explanation that the 3r's I focus on are Reading (editing), wRiting, and Relationships (case management/communications focus).  I don't know if it is as catchy as I think though, as so many people are becoming less familiar with the original meanings of the 3R's.  So we'll see.

I'm meeting with a local information architect Friday to further discuss and brainstorm.

In the meantime, I'm drafting cover letters and have secured some prominent people's support in being references for me.

I had the passing thought when all of this started to form in my mind, "How come I never considered this all before?"  I mean think of the heartbreak we could have been spared regarding the finances!

But God answered in my heart almost instantaneously.  Not audibly [I wish!  wouldn't life be so much easier then?] but with that inexplicable sense of utter revelation. You needed to grow as a mother and re-set your priorities.  You're now at a place where the mundane tasks of SAHM-hood are just life and not giant and tedious obstacles.  Now the desires of your heart are prioritized and you will ask for them to be given unto you in the manner that I will, not how you will.  Besides, had you had a caseload and deadlines when you were so ill, what would have come of you then?  You've come so far, my daughter. 

Now it is time for a lot of hard work and fervent prayer!

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Coming down from that runner's high

I did it!!!!!!

It's been over a week now, but what a HIGH.  It has taken me awhile to come back down.

I ran (as in ran the WHOLE way - well, barring two little walk steps on the hill as we all narrowed up and crowded into the stadium right after the 6 mile marker, wherein I then said, "Self, uh, what the hay-ell Are.You.Doing???  You have not RUN this far in the HEAT to WALK any or all of the remaining .2 miles, so no no no, none of that!  Get you butt back to running," and so I re-commenced with a gait that was running-ish until the finish line) the Bolder Boulder.

It was crazy - as evidenced in this stunning eyewitness footage:

BTW....does the creepy dude in the bathrobe, on his stationary bike, at 3:58 - 4:14 remind you of the same guy I thought of? :shudders:

Anyway, the day was not without glitches - I mean, we are talking about ME here, right?  When was the last time everything sailed smoothly???

First, Seth's stopwatch and I were so poorly acquainted that I hit the wrong button to start so that when  I looked down at the first mile marker I saw a big, fat 00:00:00 staring right back at me.  So there I was, running, intermittently looking and fiddling at my wrist instead of keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead of me - which is just begging for disaster, but lo! the Lord's angels were with me and a human stampeding calamity was averted - when I figured out the right button to push and time started ticking away.  I figured that I would just add the start time to current time and voila! I'd have the total at the end.  I never thought that perhaps the Boulder clock and mine might perchance differ in opinion with each other (which they did, come to find out) and felt pretty good thinking that my first mile was in the 9 minute vicinity.

Then there was the issue of my thighs.  They're uh, pretty meaty still.  Particularly on the insides.  And they pretty much always touch.  This led me to the observation of two things.

1.)When you wear shorts to run in, as opposed to spandex, when dealing with this particular plight, well, you wind up with what looks like a sort of wedgie in the front as the insides of the thighs push your shorts higher and higher.  When you're running a race, even with the full knowledge that you will not win said race nor even your wave of the race, you don't have the time to constantly be pulling your shorts out of your crotch.  Which led to some fantabulous photos of one Ramblin Red, bib number GK544.  But hey, at least I wasn't wearing a RED UNITARD WITH A VERY OBVIOUS BLACK THONG underneath, right? All I could think was, "That's a guaranteed recipe for a hemorrhoid!"  I mean, one word: FRICTION!  Ouch.  Or a stripper-style German Barmaid costume.  I kid you not!  Because this is a race and I was properly attired in athletic garb, even if it malfunctioned slightly.

2.) While I'd trained for this day, I hadn't given much thought to the impact on my performance when the sweat would inevitably begin to seep into the heat rash that is ever present in the summer months due to said thigh rubbage affliction.  I pretty much tried to shower at every hose/sprinkler offered along the course to keep the stinging at minimum.

This is just the first mile too - you see where it was distracting?

After mile 1 I got into a groove and hung there. Until midway between 2 and 3 miles when the hill came, along with the blazing sun.  I slowed and got hot.  Then kicked back up again.  At the 5k marker I started to get all dejected, thinking, "I still have another HALF to go!"  And shortly thereafter was a church, whose congregants had a tent with Switchfoot playing, which was SUCH a Godsend to me.  I meditated alternately on Philippians 4:13 and my rather paraphrased and personalized version of the introductory lines of the 23rd Psalm, "The LORD is my Shepherd, I shall not want.  He brings me to green pastures...called FOLSOM FIELD!"

And before I knew it, I was at mile 4, then 5.  And then began the ascent up that final hill, where I met with mile six.  My legs were rubber coated lead weights by then.  But I could SEE the stadium, and aside from that brief moment of self-sabotage, I was determined to finish.  Once I got into the stadium, and realized the finish line was not right inside the stadium, but 3/4 of a lap around the track, my heart sank a bit, but only momentarily.

And just like that it was over.

I'd crossed the line.  And slowed to a walk.

It didn't hit me until I'd walked up the stadium bleachers to the drink station at the top.  And whose bright idea is that anyway?  Sending people who are virtually drunk on endorphins - seriously, I felt as if I'd had 5 beers, ok, 3 as I'm a lightweight since I don't drink that much, and could hardly stand up straight - to navigate stadium steps with their elevation and weird half-step cadence and not a railing to be had to get water?!?! I got my water, and stretched my muscles, which were already stiffening, when I got the shakes.  Just like I'd had after each one of my babies were born, only with a fraction of the intensity.

And then the tears came.

And I lifted my eyes to the hills, those beautiful flatironed hills of Boulder, and hiccupping through the sobs, whispered, "My help comes from the LORD...my Deliverer, how much you've brought me through...thank you...thank you...thank you..."

My week after that was kind of a mixed bag.  Kind of like wowed meets "Now what?"  But I've decided that Monday wasn't the end-all for me, despite having been a destination goal.

Now that I've attained it, I say it is only the beginning.

I'm thinking if I could go from hospital bed to 5k in a mere 4 months, and double that in 7 months, there is no reason why I couldn't double it still and do a half-marathon next year.

For now, I've just been going when I can and loving it.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Penetrating Through the Shadows

Some people think that saying or writing the negative things we think just lends credence to irrational fears, giving them, the fears, the power to cripple oneself, sort of a reverse affirmation if you will.

And I used to agree with them.

But over the past year, so many fears and doubts have lurked in the back of my mind, all ambiguous and shadowy, intangible and so difficult to ascertain just what it is that is robbing my joy that I don't really know what I'm afraid of, just that there is a general sense of trepidation as mental bogeymen hedge about furtively in the depths of my soul.

They're just shadows, too, these bogeymen.

Some are completely warped, the sort that, in the room of a child who is afraid of the dark let's say, appear to be gremlins or hobgoblins and have the ability to not only paralyze a child with fear but also bring with them the gift of wakeful insomnia.  Given some time, explorations [often made by a loving parent], and a flip of the light-switch, these shadows are the ones that are eventually revealed as being the result of the neighbor's misshapen tree outside the bedroom window, blowing in a storm.  Nothing a rational person would fear.

Others may have a basis in reality, but are grossly exaggerated, as most actual shadows are.  For instance, my personal shadow, while based on my body, will at times - depending on the angle of the sun, time of day, etc. - illustrates me as having legs a mile long, with a teensy, tiny little head, and skinny arms that extend forever.  Clearly not a true picture of my actual form!

Anyways, sometimes identifying the shadows, speaking them and what you're feeling, is the first step to illumination and seeing them for what they really are.

[whew - this is turning into a lengthy preamble - who's still with me?]

All of this to say that yesterday, I went running for the first time since Thursday [on account of I had some knee pain last week and was trying to rest it a bit].  My knees felt great (Praise GOD!), I was feeling good, hit my mile right at 10:02 [which is not my fastest but is a good comfortable pace for me] and kept going.

Until about 1.5 miles.

Suddenly my legs were tight, my lungs constricting, my body burning with fatigue.  Out came the bogeymen, their shadowy appendages poking at my heart but never fully revealing themselves.  [in less flowery vernacular, and more concisely put - my stress level had a detrimental impact on my performance - but that is too simple and not rambly enough for this blog, eh?  Also?  You don't say? Stress can kill performance, well, how about that!]

So I walked.

But I didn't walk in defeat.  I was in tears, and some of the fears were really getting me.

You're not going to make it at Boulder.  All this hype, all this work for a YEAR and you are going to let your fears get you and paralyze you.

I cried out, like a child afraid of the dark, for my Father.  My Heavenly Father.  I begged Him to come into the dark, shadow-filled recesses of my mind and flood His light into the space - so that the cause of the shadows could be exposed, and I could see the hobgoblins for the trees they may have been.

I realized that as some of the fears shifted from the shadows into an actual form, that is a thought, that these thoughts were all in the 2nd person - YOU statements, not I statements.


And this is where I hesitate - as I always get self-conscious talking about spiritual warfare and "voices" having worked with people who audibly heard voices in their heads.  The need to disclaim "This is different," sits within me.

In the negative inner dialogs of my mind, I have plenty of I statements, more than I'd care to admit, so this is not just an observation of mental semantics, a rationalization made of split hairs.  No, as I realized this, I felt as if someone or something was feeding me these thoughts.

From the beginning of this journey, I have desired my running accomplishments to be a testament to God's redemptive work in my body, a way to open the door to talk about the greater works He has done in my whole life.  I didn't want the glory, but for God to have it, as He deserves it.  And yet, here was this voice, making it all about me, and what I could or couldn't do.

Meanwhile, my Father did as asked of Him and put His Word upon my heart: cliché as it may sound, scenes from David and Goliath flashed in my mind.

In regards to the voice of negativity, I was reminded of Saul telling David that he shouldn't even think of trying to take the giant down.  Also?  That I CAN run 6.2 miles, because I did it about a month ago.  And I will again, because I hadn't even made it for a full 3 miles before I ran my 5k.

Finally, regarding who gets credit - David's confidence in the Lord and words to Goliath just before he accomplished the most widely known TKO of history rang in my ears:

"... but I come to you in the name of the Lord of Heaven’s Armies—the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. Today the Lord will conquer you... and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel!  And everyone assembled here will know that the Lord rescues his people, but not with sword and spear. This is the Lord’s battle, and he will give you to us!”

There are half a dozen other bogeymen crouching in my mind's eye that I must shed some light on - so if I'm on the quiet side, just know that I'm working through some things.
© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

End of this week = beginning of summer

Hi!  I'm still here - returning from my little MIA experience known as The Last Week of School!

Today marks the last morning that I have to bark orders like a drill sergeant to my children, who clearly need routine yet somehow seem to forget each morning that every day for the past 9 mos we have eaten breakfast, dressed, packed lunches, combed hair, grabbed backpacks, etc.  Sort of like their after school routine: 

• Kids come home
• Kids throw coats, jackets backpacks on the floor
• I say, "Pick those up..." 
• I repeat, incrementally raising the volume each time
• I max out the volume with the final say-so, "NOW!"
• Kids scurry to finally put their stuff up where it belongs
• Kids snack, then say, "What can we DO???" which is code for "Can I play a video/computer game?"
• Mom says, "Uh, you can empty the dishwasher, as you do Every. Single. Day."
• Kids groan and moan, roll their eyes and occasionally throw in a tantrum or some other form of disrespect

EVERY.  DAY.  They have chores, and every day they magically seem to forget.  Do they even teach pattern recognition at the schools these days?  Really.

It's been a LONG week, an INSANE week full of tween emotions (After a week of being told I was SO MEAN, among other hateful things, I actually read Mir's letter to her daughter to Kelsey, after having read it while she was at school and bawling my eyes out in agreement, in conclusion asking her, "Hmmm, what kind of connections* are you making to that story?  To which she grumbled, "My attitude...") and end of the school year activities.  Oh, and, we're still treading water trying to keep our finances afloat.  Funny how that doesn't just abate when all other areas of life are crazy.

* this is a term they use in school re: reading comprehension and applications to similar life experiences they have had.

And I've been in a funk.  Once again, the ever pretty Mir had a parallel experience up in another poignantly written post, especially touching my already bruised psyche with these lines:

There is a certain arrogance in being unhappy when leading what is fundamentally a good and blessed and lucky life, isn’t there? I mean, that’s not to say that my (or your) problems aren’t real and challenging, just that the Right and Mature thing to do, after a while, is to say to yourself, “Self, time to suck it up and deal.” Lord knows I say this to my kids often enough; I should take my own advice.

Touché.

Part of my funk has been that now that I finally want "almost all the things I never wanted" (that is a reference to my sweet friend Huckdoll, who is also on the formerly WOHM now SAHM path that I'm on and discovering along the way how sweet our families really are), now it is threatened with financial insecurity.  While we are upside down in our budget with my medical expenses, we are still upside down without them.  Which is pretty hard to figure out seeing as when we decided to take the plunge to have Christopher and me stay at home, there was enough money.  But now there isn't.  So we need more income.

Which was bringing me to the conclusion that I needed to find a job - maybe not a daytime job as childcare would ruin us even if I was working.  But even a night job is time away from Seth and we've really fought to get to where we are in our relationship - in other words, this is not something I really wanted either.  I've been praying hard about this.

I tried lia sophia.  And thought it wasn't working out, so hadn't done much with it.

Yesterday at our final hurrah for our cub scout pack, one of the moms, also a bus-stop mom, asked me if I was still selling jewelry.

I told her it was slow and not so much.

Later she invited me to a Pampered Chef party.

I told her I could come but probably wouldn't be able to buy anything.

She approached me again later in the night, asking if I had inventory in my jewelry.  There was this one necklace.

I told her I was still active as an advisor, just not for long - that I had to have a show soon to remain active.  She says, "Well I'll do it!"

How's that for an answer?

Also, for my readers who are afar - I can totally do catalog/online shows.  Our jewelry is fabulous and June's special is buy any two items at regular price get up to four necklaces at half price!  Our necklaces are often our pricier items, so this is a great opportunity to stock up on affordable gifts for birthdays, Christmas, or just to enhance your own jewelry wardrobe.  E-mail me today if you're interested in helping me out!

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

T - 16 days (and roughly 2.5 hrs)

The past two days I have been amazed at my body.

Yesterday I ran a mile in 9:16, hit 2 miles at 20:26, and had run a full 5k in 34:36.  And, psst...I walked a block of it, which means, I could do better still!  This is a huge victory for me in that it was my first sub-10 minute mile EVER, AND it was nearly 10 minutes off my 5k time in October.

This morning, I only ran a mile, but did it in 9:02!!!!

Recently I was discouraged about Bolder Boulder, thinking I wouldn't be able to run in the 68 minute heats (and I'm not, because I didn't run a pre-qualifier) simply because 68 minutes seemed too hard.  Yes, I've grown weary of "I just want to finish," and have started to replace it with, "I'd like to finish in :insert minutes and seconds:."  But, good news, if I double my length at the same pace as above, it is RIGHTTHERE.  SOCLOSE.  And I'm running that pace with a stroller and two dogs pulling me every which way, to which my stabilization muscles have said, "Uhm, Hell-O!"  In other words, I'm pretty confident that I have this in the bag!  Squeee!!!!

I've been watching this regularly, to get myself psyched up, to be able to visualize in my head as I'm running my loops at home.

Frank Shorter narrates the Bolder Boulder Course from Ryan Van Duzer on Vimeo.

I picked up my packet the other day - have my shirt, time tag, etc.  

May 31, 2010.  8:02:40am is my start time.  Shooting for finishing around 9:11ish.  And feel triumphant as I enter that stadium that not only did God bring me back last year, but He's strengthened me into an athlete along the way!

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

The One Where I Ask You All to Pray

Last month, we got caught up.

And we'd submitted an application for a loan modification through our mortgage company when it became all too clear that our expenses exceeded our income, and basically that Something[s].HAS.to.give. in order to KEEP up.

Last Monday, I called, after waiting a week longer than initially told it would take to process, and discovered that they'd denied our request for a loan modification.

Rationale?

"Your expenses exceed your income."

Well, uh, DUH!!!!!!!!  Isn't that kind of the point?  I mean, we were doing just fine and then BAM!  Here's $20k in medical debt you must pay NOW.  Additionally, looking at the criteria on both the lender's site and the government's, we went thru and went:

• occupy the property - check
• property less than [roughly]3/4 of a million - check, let's all say STARTER. HOME.
• having trouble paying mortgage - uh, triple check (by that I mean we reduced income with me staying home, increased expenses by adding a family member, AND then the medical stuff)
• still have verifiable income - check, hubby's been in the same place for just shy of 10 years

Clearly I missed something, as I'd expected something along the lines of them calling me, "Ding, Ding, Ding, You're a WINNER!  You loan has just been modified such that you will be paying on it FOR. EVER, BUT your payments will be teensy, tiny, hooray!"

So I began to question, in the same chilly but civil, bordering on badgering manner that used to make my mother always sigh in defeat, "You should be a lawyer when you grow up."

At that the Indian man on the phone, presumably in the wee hours of his morning, struggled and stammered in an accent I felt I had to cut through with a machete just to comprehend the words spoken, let alone their meaning.

"I, uh, see your medical expenses are verry high - ees eet posseeble that you can lower your premium to say, $300 a month?"

And that's when I knew for a fact that this dude was outsourced, because there isn't a health plan in America that will cover a couple with dependents for $300/month.  Also, need I say it again?  Duh!  Did these people even read my cover letter that explained the whole origination of our hardship?

The call went on, with Abu (seriously, I mean no disrespect for the Indian people - my beef is primarily with the corporations who outsource their customer service agents, disregarding the fact that they communicate OVER THE PHONE and thus comprehensible SPOKEN English is of utmost importance for efficiency and consumer satisfaction) speaking fast and furiously in that ridiculously thick accent, my head was spinning, only grasping about every third word when I heard him say, "Short sale."

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

See, our neighborhood has DROPPED SIGNIFICANTLY in property values, and foreclosures abound in our subdivision.  An attempt to short sale our house is nothing but a guaranteed road to foreclosure, which, uh is precisely what we're trying to avoid.

So, I ended the call - as it was going nowhere.  And I called a man from our church who just happens to work for a credit counseling/debt negotiating type of company.  Yes, I know - we should have called him earlier, but pride and this desire to make this work on my own kept me from it for months.


We met last week and are meeting again tonight.

In paying bills today, I found a way to decrease our cell phone bill $45/month - so I did.  And was feeling pretty good about it.

When the doorbell rang.

And I was served with a summons from one of the collection companies that had been hired by the medical imaging group and ER doc's clinic who treated me last year.

What are we going to do???


And how much worse is it going to get?


I am trying not to freak out here and let my fears grab a hold of me.

I'm trying to keep perspective.

Dear friends, don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot do any more to you after that. But I’ll tell you whom to fear. Fear God, who has the power to kill you and then throw you into hell. Yes, he’s the one to fear.

After all, we're talking money here, not my actual life.  And even if it were that they're after, that's not the worst thing, is it?

So friends, I just ask that you'll pray - pray for us to really see what we need to give up and areas we need to sacrifice/be wiser about, and that God will continually work all things out for the good.

He has so far.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

A Most Triumphant Tuesday

At this time last year, this post is going to press at 11:19pm, I had already been escorted via ambulance, without a family member or support person, from an urgent care center to my hospital's ER, had already been x-rayed, and stuck with numerous needles, and was only just beginning a journey I'd not planned on, nor knew just where it would take me.  Sometime after 11 that night, I was going in for my first CT scan - to determine just how bad the infection, which had perforated my lung and seeped into my chest cavity, was.

Or so we thought.

As it would turn out, the initial prognosis would not be accurate, and provided a false hope, the first of many to come, that a chest tube would sufficiently drain the infection from my chest cavity and the antibiotics would work on the infection in my lungs.

I was just 16 days post-partum, and while at times I was delirious with fever and pain, somehow I was able to remain cogently focused on what needed to happen for not only me but our whole family to get through this;
...Oh, dear God, this angel in my arms just got to meet me, and the other two still have so much mothering needed - surely they need me more than You need me!  And Seth's faith, it's still in process and I fear if I were to pass that he would crumble.  Please spare me and heal me so that I can do your will with my family and reflect your glory to everyone with whom I interact!


So, once that primary business was attended to, then it was:
...I need to advocate for my baby's well-being, for me to continue to nurse him I need to receive meds that are compatible with breast-feeding...
I need my breast pump, and there are formula samples at home to help with the baby's immediate food needs...
Does this hospital have those fabulous breast-feeding gowns that the sister hospital, where I'd had Christopher, did?  If not, I need some nursing jammies from home...
We need people - family, neighbors, those from our church circles -  to help with the two older children getting to school and maintaining normalcy...
We need to contact our insurance broker, as our new plan was just days from kicking in...
Seth needs to be able to work, having just had some unpaid leave for Christopher's birth, we couldn't afford him to miss more...

My blackberry was heavily used while I was in the hospital.  I alerted my online friends from the past 9 years to what was unfolding via Facebook on it.  I e-mailed our church's list-serve with updates on it, made phone calls, etc. to deal with the details that floated through my head.  Technology is a wonderful asset and I will never take it for granted.

But...this is where this post is misguided and turning into something I hadn't intended.

I don't intend to relive those long days, as someone who is haunted by them, with this post.  I've already done that here, in case you are so inclined now that I've piqued the interest of those who do not know the story.


Rather, I meant to say that today was a triumph and a day of countless gratitudes.  Beginning with hearing this song first thing this morning, as I took the kids to school.

I know the initial part of the song is about a mother losing her child, but as I heard these lines;

To think that providence would

Take a child from his mother while she prays

Is appalling. 

I couldn't help but think that we were so close to the situation being reversed, to my infant son never getting to know his mother, who loved him and prayed for him while she knit him together in the womb.  I didn't fully realize just how close I was until this winter when I heard about a woman that some church friends of ours knew, exact same age and circumstance as me, who'd gone septic from her pneumonia and died from lesions the sepsis caused on her brain.  And tears formed in my eyes as I sang along with the chorus:

This is what it means to be held. 

How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life 

And you survive. 

This is what it is to be loved. 

And to know that the promise was 

When everything fell we'd be held. 

God held me, in the shelter of his unfailing arms, as everything that had been a constant in my life suddenly became tenuous and unknown.

He held my husband and my children, granting them peace and assurance that I couldn't.

He held my baby boy through the arms of all his grandparents and the many surrogate "aunts" that emerged from our church body so that he was always comforted with a physical touch of love, clean outfits, dry diapers and soothing movements when tubes and exhaustion tied my hands from providing these to him.

He whispered encouragements into my ear as His lovingkindness inspired the visitors from our church who sat with me.  One of these moments I treasure the most came from an older woman from church who, after I'd confided that I felt weak in my faith because I was finding it difficult to count all the trials as joy, responded that even Jesus, God himself in the flesh, knowing all things, had asked our Heavenly Father to change his circumstances if it were in His will.

He provided [and continues to do so] for us financially during the resulting financial maelstrom.

I could tell of these things forever, in the many ways that my Heavenly Father has held me during a hellacious year, but it is getting late.  Suffice to say that in some ways I'm still being held by Him, and in others, I've grown enough to let go and, as His agent, seek others who need holding - yet another blessing, because without this experience I wouldn't be able to minister to those in similar situations.

I'm thankful that a year later, the only lasting effects are felt in the occasional itches of my incision scars and our pocketbook.  The first is SO minor, right?  And the second is going to be ok...just need to allow time and faith to do their work daily.

I am alive.  And beyond that, I am fit and healthy, and can hold a normal lung capacity's worth of air on an inspirometer with ease, unlike the 1/4 capacity it pained me to achieve a year ago.

I've had 365 tomorrows in which to love my husband and mother my 3 wonderful children, and countless more to come.

I have family who love me unconditionally.  Family determined by the bonds of blood, marriage, and the common threads of faith.

I received notice that my Bolder Boulder packet is ready for me to pick up tomorrow.  It is happening.  I am running my first 10k (on record - I ran one on my own a couple of weeks ago just to prove to myself I could) on Memorial Day - in celebration of the anniversary of me being released from the hospital.

And my God has helped me and held me in order to get here the whole way long.

How's that for triumphant?







© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved