It burns...it BURNS!

So I broke a new record this morning, running in 18 degree weather with a windchill that made it feel like 6. Six. Degrees. I am a Southern girl, and this is just about to GET to me, I tell ya! Especially after doing our 15 (ish) on Saturday in 60 degree weather. I got so cold I ditched RP after about a mile, turning off to shorten the loop by a half mile or so. I decided to cut it short when my legs started actually BURNING, they were so cold. Weirdest sensation EVER. But after a little ways (and less wind, the direction I was going) I warmed up, and was able to keep going. I made it almost 4 miles, and was SO SO SO glad to get home, and even got a latte at the shop just to pat myself on the back one more time.

Partner didn't even call me crazy this morning. I think he thinks it goes without saying now.

In other news, I am trying to figure out how to get my runs in over the holiday, which for us at the CP household means an actual vacation, first in so very long! Also, with the excessive schedule for Christmas Eve, I have decided to run tomorrow afternoon (the 23rd) and do my sorta-long run (7 miles) versus doing it on christmas eve, which is really what the schedule calls for. I just don't want to be tired unnecessarily on the 24th, and 7 miles still makes me a bit tired! So I'll try to get out for a few miles on Christmas Day if I can. And at my mom's. And at my friend's house. It CAN be done....all I've got to say is, "Sorry, I've got to run." Right?

Absence, fond hearts, and all that

So, my running partner, due to aforementioned Long, Hard, Hilly, improperly-Fueled Run last Saturday, has a hurt knee. She hasn't been able to run this whole week, except for about 5 minutes when she attempted to run with me our usual loop and bailed soon after because of the knee.

And I will admit that I was just whining a bit to Partner Partner (PP, as opposed to RP), that I missed my solo runs a bit and that RP is fast, whine whine, even though he KNOWS that I love her GUTS because she has singlehandedly made me several minutes per mile faster than I could have made myself.

Well, be careful what you wish for. I ran by myself every day this week, and am facing down 15 on my own unless her knee is miraculously healed. Which I'm not ruling out since I sent her to the miraculous healer of a chiropractor who I've been seeing once every few weeks for years now. Anyway, it was indeed nice to run by myself, but I caught myself wanting to talk about every five seconds (which is sort of how I roll in general life situations too) and of course I was by myself, and what with all the traffic and I was also wearing my new running skirt I just did not want to attract that much attention by also talking to myself, and then answering myself.

So I learned a couple things. I miss my RP, and I'll be glad she's back. I also learned that a few solo runs a week will do me some good, and I think I'll schedule them in solo. Oh, and that my new running skirt ROCKS. :)

Some words

LONG is the word that comes to mind first. Running Partner (as opposed to partner Partner, who in this recent Southern cold spell has used the words "crazy" and "insane" MUCH more than necessary when describing my running) and I did our first real long run this morning.

We had done other long runs, but this was the beginning of the Long Runs. It was 14 miles Long. Our running trail flooded this week, inconveniently, because with my recent needing a break I REALLY wanted to NOT run hills. But without the nice flat trail, the ONLY flat place near us to do a Long Run, we did 14 miles of hills.

The next word is Fuel, or Food. When not doing long runs, I don't use "fuel" and "food" interchangeably. But during, it's really all about keeping the body going. The fueling did not go so well this week, until after, but more about that in a sec. I was out of Clif Bloks, which I have used in the past on this current round of training and they usually are pretty great as far as fuel goes. Not as nasty as a gel, but still easy to get down. So I had a bunch of Sport Beans, which are like jelly beans but have extra stuff (and taste pretty much like, oh, jelly beans), so i put them in my pack and didn't think too much about it. Until about mile 9, when the Sport Beans started feeling not so sporty in my stomach.

Thankfully, there were no explosions of any kind, just some actual stomach cramps, which I don't think I've had since, like, junior high. RP thankfully had some bloks which she shared in true RP fashion, and they helped, but the damage was done. I suffered through the last little bit of the run and was OH SO GLAD to get home. More so than usual, even.

When I got home, I had some Luna drink (this blog is starting to sound like it was sponsored by stuff!) and then things settled down. And for the first time on this go-round, I went with my family to the IHOP and loaded up. It was SO good. Nothing like a long run to make you appreciate your fuel. I mean, food.

Show up, do your job, etc.

I'm SURE I have quoted this before, but one of our seminary professors had a quote, "Show up, do your job, it ain't about YOU!" He said that if we followed that advice, all three, we'd be pastors, and disciples of Jesus.

In my current job, I am doing just that more than ever before. I don't always want to go visit at a hospital or hospice. I don't like the smell, I don't like the germs, and it's a lot of driving for a (usually short) visit. Anyway, all that being said, usually these days when I visit, I show up because it's my job. Because I'm supposed to, and I know that it will mean something to the people I go see. And almost always when I leave, I'm glad that I went.

It's like that with running too these days. I'm not crazy in love with running right now...it's freaking COLD for the South, I'm tired, it's still dark outside, and there are hills out there, I can't avoid 'em. Yet, I'm showing up, going for a run, and when I'm done, I'm almost always glad I went.

Day of Rest

Today is my "rest day" on my running plan. It's sort of funny, or ironic anyway, because Thursday is probably my busiest work day and today was especially busy. But as far as running goes, Thursday is rest day.

Since I'm on a five day a week plan (Higdon), I get two days off from running. My other day is Sunday, but I don't really even notice running or not running since it's just a busy day anyway.

But I do notice Thursdays. I get to sleep (at least as long as the kids do!), I get to hang out and have my coffee and read the paper without rushing too much. It's kind of nice.

But I feel like something's missing on Thursdays. I feel a little sluggish. It's harder to wake up when you're not running before the sunrise, and I don't have as much energy for the day. I'm hungrier, like my body's making up for lost time or something.

Aside from all this, I think, and I've read, that the day off is a vital part of training. Physically, your body can repair itself for the long run to come in a day or so. But mentally, you get to "miss" running, and to be ready for the next day. A running sabbath, which maybe is stretching a bit or maybe not, comes just when I need it, and not a minute before.

Crazy

So, I've signed up for another marathon.

By signed up, I don't mean literally paid my money, of course. I mean, I've checked with partner to make sure the date is good, I've made sure I'm not preaching that weekend, I've talked to my two running buddies and they're IN.

I am freaking out a little bit. The last marathon I did was wonderful and amazing and an awesome, life-giving experience. I also spent a week or so with bags of ice somewhere near my knees and with those drugstore Ace bandages on, limping around Disney World, holding on to the stroller like a old-lady walker.

It took me six hours to finish the last time. Part of this was because I was pregnant (with wee little J, and had no idea), and part of it was because I did not train so well...in fact, I'd say I trained minimally for the marathon, if there is such a thing, and paid the price. Oh and part of it was because I had overhydrated for the heat and had to pee seventy-five or so times. I wish I would have stopped my watch for the portapotty stops to have a non-pee-break time, but I digress.

So I keep testing myself to make sure this is what I want to do. All the signs seem to be in my favor this time for a non-embarasssing finish time....I'm neither pregnant nor nursing, I'm training much more than minimally, my running partner is motivating and fast (and I try to keep up with her so I won't be humiliated), and I just ran a half with a smokin' (for me) time of 2:12.

I want to do this...I really, really do. So, here we go again!

Subversive

Anne Lamott has this great quote that I can't quite find. Every time I try, I get bogged down in reading whatever chapter it is, I get all teary, and I keep reading for a half hour or so until I say, again, "crap!" Can't find it. Anyways, it is something about "The most subversive thing you can do is show up for your life, and not be ashamed."

It's such a lovely passage...it's occuring to me now that it might be in the baby book...about how society has told us (meaning women, meaning minorities, meaning anyone who's the least bit different) that really our lives are so pathetic that we shouldn't even show up for them. And if we do show up for them, we should at least have the decency to feel ashamed. So, she says, the most subversive thing you can do is to show up for your life, and to not be ashamed.

I have trouble with this, to say the least.

I live in a part of the country where this is not only encouraged, but nearly enforced in certain circles. What you wear, what kind of lipstick you're wearing, how you speak to your children, etc, etc, etc. I tend to be in the middle in a lot of cases (see a below blog) or on the left in other cases.

But here's the thing...I really like my life right now, especially since I'm gainfully (and happily!) employed. I love where my kids go to school and I love that they're old enough to have Movie Night and I love that they go to sleep sweetly and mostly sleep all night. I love my Subaru and my house, which relative to where I live is small, and relative to the global community is way too big. I love running enough miles so that I'm calm for the rest of the day.

It's only when I let myself compare it to other lives, which may or may not be how I see them, that I don't like it, that I feel ashamed as a parent, pastor, or person.

So I'm going to renew my vow, in honor of all the possibilities opened by the election (yay!), to show up for my life, to not be ashamed.

Work-y Work

People keep asking me, looking at me sideways and with a very strange expression, "How is your new job going?" This includes my mom, my bishop, assorted bishop's assistants, my running partner, and my mother-in-law. All with the strange expression and the sideways look.

See below blogs for details, but y'all, I haven't had the best experiences at my jobs. There's been stuff involving demon possession and senior pastors saying things that I could sue them for, and I am dead-on serious on both counts. So when people are asking me how my job is going, I don't blame them for being a little bit scared. Especially when it's something I said I'd never do again, which is be an associate pastor.

And I answer them, "It's going really well." And the shocking thing is, I totally mean it. After my lovely spa days (despite the drive) at lovely little rural church where I just wanted to go ahead and curl up and retire, I feel really good about ministry again. I feel really freaking fabulous about ministry, preaching, youth work, and all kinds of things that just made me want to put my head under a pillow about two years ago.

I've preached twice, and both times people have tearily told me that they were SO glad I was there. I've shown up for work and enjoyed the office and the staff, and I've planned some classes that I'm totally excited about (Bible study plus Couch to 5K, anyone?). I've even gone on some visits with the senior pastor, which I would have totally rolled my eyes at and gotten all huffy, and instead it was nice to have someone to talk to and to visit with, and someone to introduce me to the old folks instead of going in cold.

So that's it in a nutshell: it's going really well. You can look at me sideways with your weird expression and ask, and I'll look you in the eye and tell you that I'm shocked too, and I expect it all to end tomorrow, but I'm really loving my new job. Who would have thought?

What I did on my Summer Vacation

Failed vacations: 2
Vacations actually taken: 0
Skin cancer diagnoses: 1
Broken arms: 1
Duration of horrible plague-like coughing disease: 6 weeks
Movies watched by children: WAY too many


I could go on with these, but I thought that I'd leave it at that. The bare statistics from our summer of craptastic-ness are pretty much enough to make me want to go into a hole and not come out. But near the end of the summer, when I got thwarted from trying to plan something "fun" for the fiftieth or so time, I started to get that maybe something else was going on.

I was asked by a lovely, lovely, gentleman in my congregation who endured a horrific tragedy last year if I think that he should just pray to accept what happened as God's will. Biting back my gut response, which was, of course, NO, I listened to him tell the story...I listened HARD, I listened for a long time, and I listened in that way that you have to learn to do even if you're naturally "a good listener" (I'm not, by the way). And when he was done, I told him what I believe, and what I've believed for quite a while now.... Shit happens, and God raises up. Horrible things happen, and somehow, God can bring some hope or goodness out of it. Not right away, not in the way that we want or even expect, but it does happen, little by little. This I believe, and if I did not believe this I would lose all hope.

So, back to my non-tragic yet very depressing summer. I use the word depressing intentionally because near the end of the summer, I started to have actual symptoms of depression. I haven't had to battle with this particular illness as much as many, but enough that I know what's going on. But one day (and my facebook status will prove it!) I started to realize that I was being molded by this whole summer. I was being changed. You can call it whatever you want....God raising up or evil demons ruining my summer, but I was being changed, and for the better.

Instead of reverting to what is almost always my response to hard things, which is to flee the state in some way or at least find something fun to do near home, I had to stay. I HAD to sit still, and stay. And find a way to deal with it that did not involve leaving the building. I think I realized that it was a good thing when I found myself working on math problems with my daughter, who wanted to know fifty times how long until Sesame Street (PS, the WRONG response is "NOT FREAKING SOON ENOUGH!"), and we figured out together how many minutes it was if it was now 8:37 a.m. and SS is at 9 a.m.

It was actually sort of fun.

It was nearly life-changing for me to get this, that if I STAYED then things might be okay. I could bear them. They might actually be sort of fun. This kind of lesson doesn't come around very often, and I almost missed it by trying so desperately to not deal with things as they were....child with broken arm, no pool. Children who were violently carsick, no roadtrip. Mama with no job, spending lots of unwanted time at home. But I did sit, and I did stay, and I did learn that it will be okay, and I CAN do it, and that my lovely children are indeed great blessings when I can sit long enough to appreciate them. "Long enough," by the way, turned out to be an entire summer, and I am still learning.

In which Baby J surfs down the giant wall on his stroller

So, here's the story. M and I were at a baseball game with my family, and for fun, we rode the train and a bus to the game. Takes longer, but enjoyed by all. We were AT the game (at least an hour away from our house) when I got a call from partner, who frantically told me the story of what had happened that evening.

He had gotten the stroller out to take J to the store to get something, set the brake at the top of our giant hill, and leaned back into the car to get the garage door opener. Then he heard, "You've got to catch it!" and saw J rolling, standing up on the stroller, down the hill, over the retaining wall (two levels), and on to the ground. He jumped down the bank and picked up screaming J, and took him to children's where they checked for head injuries and such, and x-rays, and he ended up having a broken arm. Or, a buckled arm, which is what they call it when their little bones are still flexible and don't quite break, but bend instead. Either way, he got a cast in Lightning McQueen red and a teeny little sling that I can't quite get over, the teeny-ness, and the trooper-ness of the little guy wearing it.

Dreamgirls, or, "I don't DO backup!"

So my partner was on a retreat for the past three days and I got several girly movies (by the way, Georgia Rule is entertaining but strangely not that great). One of them was Dreamgirls, mostly for the musical aspect. I just saw Mamma Mia and was anticipating something like that...with some heavy themes, but mostly fun and great music and fluff.

Well, Dreamgirls is not that movie. I found myself bizarrely and unexpectedly identifying with one of the main characters, Effie White. Clearly I am not a gorgeous third of a girl group with a huge voice trying to break into music in the late 60s. But there were things about the movie, and in particular, her character, that felt familiar to me as I work out my call, and where I'll be for my next call.

The dreamgirls don't win a talent show, in spite of their obvious talent, and how amazing Effie is when she sings lead. Right after, they're talking about if they should just quit the music stuff altogether when Jamie Foxx (forget his movie name) walks up and offers them a job ($400 a week!) singing backup for Jimmy Early (Eddie Murphy, fabulously coiffed). They're excited, until you see Effie's face, and she says, "I don't DO backup."

At this point in the movie and for many minutes afterward I was like, "YES, girl! you don't DO backup! You deserve better! You know how good you are!" And I was sort of talking about myself and preaching, and associate gigs, and all that kind of stuff.

But halfway through the movie, things change a bit. Effie falls down on her luck. She won't look for a job because "singing is all I know how to do," even though at this point she has to support a daughter. She won't "lose the attitude" even though that might get her a job singing, which is the point, right? I started feeling like Effie needed to be realistic about her options, and as one character says, "you make it all about YOU." She did get screwed, but life goes on, and it takes her a long time to get where she can just sing, without worrying about what she deserves or where she SHOULD be or what she SHOULD have.

Eventually, the truth comes out, and she does get what she deserves, both financially and musically...it's satisfying, but not in a terribly sappy way, especially for a musical.

I came away thinking that it's always a struggle, and not just in the music profession, or in MY profession. We all have to figure out what the balance is between being true to what we're called to do at all costs and being able to work in our chosen field and get paid for it. It's not exactly compromise, as I'd never suggest that someone should compromise her basic beliefs or call, but it's something like knowing that indeed, it's not about you, and sometimes (Bull Durham reference alert!) going to the ballpark and getting paid to do it is enough.

Addict

I've known this for a long time, but I am addicted to running.

I had a nasty cough last week and into this week, and although I ran at the very beginning of it (in denial, you might say!), I had not run at all for 10 days. The cough and the wheeze got so bad that I actually went to the doctor and got drugs, which I try to reserve for the truly nasty stuff.

Through all of this coughing and not running business, my in-laws were here for a week, I had TWO job interviews, got turned down for one, threw a wedding shower for my sister-in-law, had houseguests again, and yesterday said goodbye to my partner as he went out of town, out of reach at a retreat, for three days.

I was a screaming cranky banshee for several days. I was tired, I was whiny, I was WAY impatient with my kids. And then today, during Sesame Street (O let its name be praised!) I got on the treadmill and ran for 30 minutes. And I am a new being, and I am patient and kind and did not lose my shit while doing errands, and although I am still wheezy I am going to get up and do it again tomorrow.

I think this is because a few weeks ago (see a few posts below) I had sort of ramped up my running...I was running 20 miles a week and doing it at a faster pace than I had before. And I felt SO SO SO good.

So I swear it was withdrawal these past 10 days! And that my main way of dealing with stress is to just pound it out on the sidewalk.

Family

So, I was on this great trip which I had every intention of blogging about just to process, but of course did not (yet?). While I was there, my partner heroically planned a camping trip, which he NEVER does, by his own admission. Not the camping trip, specifically, but vacations in general. But he swore to all that was holy about six months ago that he would plan a camping trip for us, and when his original location didn't work out he even punted and figured out somewhere else for us to go.

We got there last night, after much anticipation, four hours of packing, and an hour and a half drive on terribly curvy roads. Our son woke up and promptly started crying that his stomach hurt, which started off all sorts of jangly warning bells in my mama-gut and also my emetophobe self, and an hour later my greatest fears were realized as he did, indeed, start to barf all over the campsite (now with tent pitched and fire started).

We waited for it to stop. We debated (over beers, a painfully beautiful view, and the gourmet version of those camping packets). We ate smores and took turns holding sour-stomach boy, and he did not get better.

So, we went home. We were nearly in tears, partner especially, for his work and the fact of pitching and un-pitching a tent in the space of four hours. We drove home silently, and both kids fell asleep. We mourned having to be the grown-ups.

And in the middle of being so very sad about our lost vacation, I found myself being oddly grateful for strange things. They bubbled up, un-asked for, but helpful. I was grateful that he didn't get sick in the middle of the night in the tent. I was grateful for the daughter, who chirped and skipped and was absolutely healthy and helpful to the point of being pollyanna-ish...this, my usually stubbornly forceful girl, who doesn't like change like her mama. She helped with putting up AND taking down the tent, and only cried once when she realized that we really were going home. I was grateful that we had gas in our car to go home, that we had a few hours in such an amazing place. That our family was together, and if this was the biggest of our troubles, we were really doing just fine.

I keep seeing this phrase in different places, and it's so true: "It isn't enough, and it is."

Giving up my life

This is an excerpt from my sermon last Sunday, with a bit more detail added in:

Matthew 10:39 Jesus said, "Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."

I read about a certain man in my Runner’s magazine. He seems to be on a quest for something that will make his life click. He wants to FIND his life, as Jesus said! He’s an Olympian middle-distance runner, usually running the 1500 meters, and by all accounts he’s a spiritual person, searching pretty much everywhere to help make his life make sense. One night, late at night, he decided to go for a run. No big deal, but this run happened to be up Mammoth Mountain in Oregon. He finished that run, came home, the next morning ran 15 more miles with his teammates. That afternoon, he ran another 12 miles, because he wanted something that he couldn’t name. His body, of course, got injured from this effort. Then, he decided that he was going to ride a bike to Brazil. From California. Crazy, right? But he just knew that if he took that journey, he would find SOMETHING that would be the key to pull his whole life together! Well, he took the journey all right. He got dysentery three times, and the last time went into liver failure and almost died. His parents had to come get him and he spent weeks recovering at their home, right where he started. But this guy is STILL searching everywhere for the thing that will make him whole, that will give him life. He’s trying to find his life, but he nearly lost it in the process. And as far as I know, he hasn’t found it yet.

The same magazine also detailed another similar journey…one where three or four friends decided that they would run in California, stopping to sleep each night in hotels, for several days. They took one change of clothes, a credit card, water and snacks. They didn’t have an agenda, just wanted to spend time with each other and enjoy the journey. So they took off running, and all of them said that it was just about the best vacation they ever took! They left everything behind, just like the other runner, but they weren’t searching so desperately for something that they forgot to just enjoy each day as it happened. In a way, they just sort of got rid of their lives for a few days, and they found life more abundantly in community with each other and on the journey.

In the same way, I just got back from being a counselor at a Lutheran camp called AFFIRM. You might wonder why I would take a week “off” to go there. I have my kids and family, I preach here, I take care of things at home. But I took a week out of my life, as did about eighty other staff members, to go to this camp and be a leader for more than a week. None of us get paid, and I don’t think the camp would work as well if we did. All of us, including me, basically left our lives behind for eight days. I “lost my life” in so many ways. You barely sleep, you sleep in college dorms, and not the new ones either. You eat bad food, and I mean, pretty bad. You are constantly on call for your kids and your group, on duty 24 hours a day. You lead small groups, take kids to the nurse, listen to confessions of all types, discipline the kids who need it, and many, many, other things. Your life goes away.

But here’s the thing…I gave up my week because I have been there before, and I know that the reward is just incredible. The reward, in this case, is kids saying to you that they understand Jesus for the very first time. The reward is being in worship that is youth-designed and youth-led, every day. The reward is hearing seventh graders thank you for being there for them when they were having a crisis, whether that be a crisis of abuse or a crisis of being left out by their friends. I got back more abundantly than I could have possibly imagined. I laughed harder than I have in years with other hilarious, grace-filled pastors and leaders, and felt God’s presence in a way that happens very rarely in everyday life. And those two alone are worth it.

The kids who came had also given up their lives, if only for a week. They gave up a week of another kind of camp, of being in a comfortable place with friends, of knowing what to expect. But as far as I could tell, they got back way more abundantly than they gave up. Some of them were in a safe place, with safe adults, which is an unusual thing in their worlds. Some of them felt forgiven for the first time, although they might have known what it was before. Some of them just felt, like I did, that it was one of the only places where a real Christian community existed, if only for a week. We worshipped every day, we read scripture, we prayed, we ate the bad food, TOGETHER. Giving up some things made it easier to receive so much more.

It doesn’t seem to make sense! Some of my fellow leaders who aren’t pastors who came to the camp had a hard time getting a week off, because their bosses and co-workers don’t understand why they would lose their life, and not get paid for it. It doesn’t make any sense if you think about it how the world usually thinks.

But if you think about it in Jesus logic, it makes all kinds of sense. Jesus sees the big picture, and Jesus knows that it will make us immeasurably happier…not just saved, but HAPPIER…to do those things that take us out of our selves and out of our lives to do the things that God has created us to do—serve others, worship, talk about Jesus. He’s pretty clear too that it won’t be easy…that people WILL think we’re crazy, and might even call us bad names. That maybe even our own families won’t understand, and that Jesus himself sees it as more important that we follow him, painful as it is. That for Jesus, everything is nothing compared to the value of being God’s child, of giving up your life, even to the point of death on a cross, so that you will gain life, forever, and abundantly. Amen.

Big stuff

Several big things have happened lately, and while I'm still thinking about them I thought I would blog them all down.

Baby J, driving haircut boy, Mr. All of a Sudden nearly THREE, is weaned. I almost hesitate to write that for fear that he will stage a sudden boob rebellion and return, but he told me yesterday that he's all done with the "Me-Ma," and I believe him. It's kind of sad, in the way that it's sad that he gave up his nap recently and is terribly articulate about how he will absolutely NOT sit on the potty, in the way that he's clearly a kid now and not a baby. It's funny, I was always upset with myself for not nursing my daughter longer but now that J can choose when he stops, he hangs on for a mere three more months of sporadic nursing than she did. So I guess that I've done all I can do, mama-milk-wise, and there's something satisfying in that.

Strangely, the weaning is somewhat related (or directly, maybe?) to the next big thing. I'm getting faster. Last year at this time I could squeak out an 11 minute mile in the heat if I tried hard. Now, I'm cranking out 9:40 miles with my neighbor, breathing hard, yeah, but also being able to chat a bit. It's stunningly gratifying to see all my miles begin to pay off, because here's a secret: it's FUN to run (relatively) fast after several years of plodding.

And...I'm going back to camp. I was a counselor at an amazing camp for junior high and high school kids, as well as a camper, for years, and this year is the first one that I feel okay going for a week. I'm praying for big-time God fireworks, because, talk about plodding, that's how I've felt these past few years God-wise. I've felt religious, but not spiritual, and that's fine and all, but I sure would love to see some sort of obvious sky-writing from Jesus. This camp has almost always been the place for that, and I have high hopes and prayers.

Finally, I got asked to do something really, really cool. The women's organization of our church (you Lutherans know the one I'm talking about!) has been an old-lady kind of thing for years, and are trying to revamp their image, more power to them. In this process, they're having a gathering in a month or so, and apparently wanted the face of a young chickpastor to lead the 4K fun run/walk thingie that's taking place. So, that's me. Also after these past few years of plodding around, wondering what's next for me career-wise, it's not terrible for my poor old ego to be asked to do this thing. And hey, free trip to Utah! Let me know if I'll see you there.

Soundtrack of my Life

Thanks again to Our World Together for a very cool blog thingie to do (is this a meme?). I would like to add one thing...I do have very random songs on itunes as most of my songs are still on CDs or on my non ipod player, but still, this might be cool.

Soundtrack of My Life

Here's what you do.

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For every question, type the song that's playing.
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button.
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool.

This is my life as a movie soundtrack...

Opening Credits: "No One" by Alicia Keys
First Day At School: "Gotta have You" by the Weepies
Falling In Love: "Take Heart, my Friend" by Fernando Ortega (LOVE him!)
Breaking Up: "Born to Run" by BRUCE (I am NOT lying!)
1st date: "This is the Day" by Fred Hammond (okay, that doesn't fit. Sorry.)
Prom: "The Ocean" by Dar Williams (not a bad prom theme!)
Life's OK: "Hold on, Help is on the Way" by Whitney Houston
Driving: "The Distance" by Cake (yeah! also great for running!)
Flashback: "Work That" by Mary J. Blige (yes, a flashback if I was talking to my former insecure little self!)
Getting Back Together: "Circle of Life" from the Lion King soundtrack (?)
Wedding: "Sexyback" by JT (Hilarious! and, my partner WISHES!)
Final Battle: "More Love to Thee" by Fernando Ortega (if everything was all slomo and misty, maybe?)
Death Scene: "Just a Girl" by No Doubt (I guess it wouldn't be bad to go out like that!)
Funeral Song: "Holding on to Life" by Sia (okay, that's sort of gross, but kind of cool)
End Credits: "Family" by Dar Williams, written by Pierce Pettis (now that's perfect! makes me cry every time! Lyrics below)

Family, by Pierce Pettis (sung by Dar Williams)
Let your love cover me
like a pair of angel wings
You are my family
You are my family.

We stood outside in a summer rain
Different people with a common pain
A simple box in that hard red clay
Where we left you to always remain

A child who played with the moon and the stars
Grabs a snatch of hay in a common barn
In the lonely house of Adam's Fall
Lies a child. It's just a child, that's all, crying

Let your love cover me
like a pair of angel wings!
You are my family, you are my family.
You are my family, you are my family.

"Kick some squamous ass!" *

This is what I've been going around saying lately:

"So, S (partner/husband) had a thing removed at the dermatologist and it came back that it was skin cancer. The good kind, though, not the bad kind, just squamous cell carcinoma, which sounds terrible, but is actually good, not like melanoma. He had some surgery to get it out, got stitches and a scar, and now is doing just fine."

That's the speech. It's helpful, and true, and I guess it's what we need to say, most of the time. But it's not quite what I really feel about it. When he first got the call, from the actual doctor, not a nurse, not a tech, not a postcard saying all is well, I sort of knew that something was going on. I walked in the room where he was finishing up his call and saw that he had written in his chicken scratch on a notepad "Squamous Cell Carcinoma" so that even I could read it.

I felt like my head was going to detach from my body, all floaty. We were at his parents' house, but I don't think it really would have mattered where we were. His parents at the time seemed supremely unconcerned, but I know them better....indeed they have called every few days "just to see." So would I, if this "minor cancer" happened to my boy.

And that's the weird thing about it. Certainly the treatment was no fun for him...he has a scar on his nose for the rest of his life. But it's the "rest of his life" thing that was the biggest thing for me, the biggest weight. I thought right after I saw that "squamous cell carcinoma" on the paper that nothing will ever be the same after this. I didn't think it in a dramatic way...just as a fact...and it is true, nothing will be the same. I will always, always be conscious that cancer was in my beloved's body and could come back....in fact, probably WILL come back in other spots, we've heard anecdotally. There will be more surgery and another day of painkillers, another scar. More sunscreen and a bigger hat.

This is what drains me, when I stop to think about it. The way I already ask him, fake casually, if he brought his hat or if he put the "55" on. I flash back to my dad's death, of course, the biggest trauma so far of my life. I buy sun protection shirts and gadgets and fifty kinds of sunscreen for the kids, paranoia shopping, as fearful as someone at war.

Mostly, though, I am grateful, and that makes me even sadder. I am grateful for this good man who is my match in nearly every way, and I am grateful for our 10 years without serious incident to either of our health. I'm grateful that it was a small one and not the Big One.

And I'm grateful that our life goes on. Because it does.

* First line of one of the BEST emails we got after telling our lovely chickpastor friend about the diagnosis

Birch tree leaves look like hearts

Did you know that? I didn't. But I was looking for a picture of a birch tree for a tattoo that I keep promising myself I will get when my son finally weans, and I found one in some sort of wicca pagan book that had the symbolism of birch trees, plus that they have heart shaped leaves.

I am so into that. I LOVE that they have heart shaped leaves...it seemed like a sign to me because I want to get this new tattoo to remind myself of my family (Birch tree is what my last name means in German) and to keep taking care of my heart. I had a scare a few months ago when I was in the hospital for something else (see Benny Hinn blog below) and had to get a routine EKG, and it turned out to be abnormal. I got an Echo (which is what they're always squawking about on hospital shows, but was actually very relaxing and comforting) and all was well...my heart just has some sort of funky rhythm to it. Which I kind of dig. But it was enough to make me remember what my life is worth to me, why I do what I do.

Anyway, I have been doing pretty well for the past few years with my taking-care-of-my-heart initiatives. But in the past few months...okay, maybe the past six months...I've been letting some things slide. I'm still running...won't let that go...still doing yoga, which I love, but mamas, I have been eating like there's no tomorrow. Literally, like there's no tomorrow in which I will be able to eat (fill in the blank food). I haven't gained that much, but it was enough to make my heart sort of sink when I saw the number printed out at my beloved, but neglected as of late, Weight Watchers meeting.

So even though I don't have my tattoo yet (boy will wean someday, I'm sure of it, or else I'll just follow him to college), I keep thinking about it. I keep visualizing that birch tree with its gorgeous trunk of peely bark, skinny but strong. I keep thinking about those leaves made of hearts, with one colored red to remind me that this is not a joke, this is not practice, this is real life, and I want to be fully present for it in all ways possible.

Why I am old

I have been suspecting this for a while now, but it's been confirmed.

I am officially getting old. Here are some of the signs:

1. I've been seeing wrinkles. I mean, big time, serious wrinkles, in all the places my mom has them (especially that frowny line between my eyebrows!). So I bought a night cream and I've been faithfully washing my face, using my night cream, and feeling Very Very Old.

2. I can't remember stuff. I had always heard about this, but something will be on the tip of my tongue (Jamie Lee Curtis? Jodie Foster? No, that other chick who's in movies and is good at them and slightly androgynous in a sexy way...) and I cannot figure out what it is. A friend of mine was detailing this phenomenon as "The Time when I Went to Home Depot and Forgot the Word for Plywood." Exactly.

3. This is the most telling of all, and the most completely embarassing. I cringe even writing it. I was having an awesome long run on Saturday, in beautiful 60 degree, sun-poking out of the clouds, just after a rain weather, and I was listening to some random radio station on my music player and thinking how great the station was! How did they know just what I wanted to hear? Why did I know ALL the songs? It was so great until I heard the station identification.... "B 98.5, Home of the 80s, the 90s, AND today!"

I AM SO OLD.

Easter hangover

Easter hangovers SUCK. And we have them in such abundance at our house! Every single year I don't know what we're thinking....we're NOT thinking usually...both pastors and both kids are tuned into some relentless march toward Easter frequency and can't even think of what will come next.

And what will come next is for me, the chickpastor, FATIGUE. I cannot get caught up on sleep no matter how much I get a night for some reason. Part of that is my old friend, anemia, coming back to see me, and part is the driving and preaching and anticipation that comes during Holy Week. And the fact that I ended up, somehow, COOKING on a Sunday night, an abberration that will NEVER. HAPPEN. AGAIN. This is my solemn vow.

For partner o'chickpastor, Riverpastor, it's the letdown. He gets all freaky before Easter because, I don't know, he's expecting ten million people to show up, and for him it's all about the one day. It's also his year anniversary at his church so there's pressure there, and once the day is over he just doesn't know what to do.

Chickpastor children, who enjoyed the company of their beloved Nana for a few days pre-Easter and then the candy and egg hunts the weekend of, had the day "off" from school and just tore each other and us apart with screams and kicks. It was cold and disgusting, blowing snow of all things, so kicking them outside was not an option. So we stayed inside, at home, and stewed in our collective misery. The end of the day everything kind of cleared up. We took a walk in the chill, I tucked the kids into bed and there was a lot of giggling in a good way, that made me realize that it is actually true that with children, the rare lovely moments DO make up for the days of monotony.

So next year, someone remind me, PLEASE, a few months before Easter, that I should make some f'ing reservations somewhere fun for a few days???? Money be damned, we need to get out of town after Easter, and soon. Ideas are welcomed...somewhere kid friendly with lots of fruity drinks for the adults. A playground, a spa, somewhere to run. I'm already looking forward to it.