New Running Shoes

The last time I ran, it was my escape. I ran because it helped me physically run away from a life that I hated. For that 30-60 minutes a day, I could pretend my life was something that it wasn't. I could dream. I could pray. I could simply be.

I haven't run since. There was once, after E was born, when I thought "Hey, maybe I'll start running again...I could run with the stroller." But I wasn't ever <em>really</em> committed to it, so it didn't last long. I could always come up with a thousand excuses as to why I couldn't do it. It was too hot outside. The kids would scream and it wouldn't end up being a very good workout anyway. I was tired. I didn't sleep well. It was too cold outside. The list goes on and on and on.

But last week I bought new running shoes. And today I laced them up and headed out the door as soon as the hubs got home from work. I am committed to running again. But it's so different this time around. This time ... I'm running so that I can dream ... not about how to get out of the life I'm living, but about all the many things this life has given me - and all the many more to come.

I'm running because my dear friend is running a 5K in November in celebration of her "cancerversary" ... and I promised her I'd be there to run alongside her. She's been running throughout her chemotherapy treatment, so I'm sure she'll leave me in the dust, but a promise is a promise .... and I will meet her at the finish line!

I'm running because I'm about 20 pounds over what I would consider to be my "ideal" body weight. I'm not ashamed of that ... I've had two babies - I've given them my life for the last 5 years ... and I couldn't be more proud of that. I'm proud of my curves that allowed me to carry two babies through full-term pregnancies. Proud of the flabby tummy that had to be cut open twice to get those babies out. Proud of the somewhat saggy breasts that made milk that helped both my babies develop and grow in their earliest years. But I won't lie when I say I'd like to be a little thinner. I'd like to fit into the clothes that I own, as opposed to buying new ones. When I ran before, I looked (& felt) better than I ever had. I'm striving to look and feel great again.

I'm running because exercise does great things for our bodies. It helps our muscles get stronger. It helps the stress of our lives disappear - or at least helps us cope with it a little bit better. It helps us <em>feel good</em> about who we are, and how we are taking care of ourselves.

I'm running because ... let's be real for a second ... the shoes are damn cute. I got them on sale - and they are like walking on clouds. I'll run miles just to wear them a little longer.

I'm running because I live in the Boston area. And runners abound. And it makes me feel like I belong here - if even just for a moment.

But perhaps most importantly ... I'm running because it's an easy way to take care of myself. It fuels my creativity. It gives me some much-needed introvert time alone - where no one can ask me for anything, I don't have to clean up after anyone, or worry about what they are doing. I can walk out the door, across the street, and just run. And when I come back, I'm a much better mama, a much better wife, and a much better person.

I'm not a huge fan of "New Year's Resolutions" because I think you can make a change any time of your life - not just in January. So today ... on August 1 ... I'm putting that theory into action. I'm making a change.

Here's to a healthier, happier, more reflective life. 

Celebrating Life

I think I just took the deepest breath I've taken since I first learned you had cancer. I'm not sure I've fully processed it all until now. Now that it's over. Now that you're finished with your chemotherapy and planning for life in the future. Moving made it easier for me ... I didn't have to face it - not the way you did - and not the way those living near you did. I didn't have to deal with the reality that I couldn't just pop in any time - that you might not be able to pop over and visit the way you used to - that our conversations would be less about me and more about you.

But now it's over. You're alive - and that simple truth has me on my knees in tears today. Tears of thanksgiving. Tears of repentance. Tears of love.

My biggest regret moving was knowing that I wouldn't be there for you through this hellhole time in your life. You have been my rock so often during my earliest mothering times. You taught me how to mother - how to practice self-care while at the same time sacrificing myself for the sake of my family. You taught me what it means to truly be a friend. You taught me that it doesn't matter what your house looks like when you invite someone over - all that matters is that you let them into your heart. It helps if you always have coffee or tea on hand - but it's not necessary. The only thing truly necessary is to provide a safe place. A safe place for happiness and joy. And a safe place for tears, for fears, for anger, for real and raw emotion.

I'm sorry my friend. I'm sorry for not being there for you more during this time. I'm sorry that your family had to live through this - and that I couldn't really live through it with you. Everything inside me hates that I'm in New England while you are in Atlanta ... and yet at the same time I totally used that as my escape from your reality. I was so angry that you were having to deal with cancer. I was angry that I wasn't there to walk alongside you. I was so consumed at my own pain and fear of moving to a brand new place that I just didn't allow myself to feel the pain and fear I had in my heart over you.

You taught me to not dwell on regrets or past failings - but to move past it and vow to do better.

I promised you I'd be there in November to run a 5K with you in remembrance of your cancerversary. I guess that means I should start training - so I don't get left in the dust. Man - wouldn't that be embarrassing ...

I love you so very much my friend. I know you know that - and I know that you don't need this apology, and for that I'm so grateful .... but I need to say the words. Not just to you, but to the world. Because the world needs to know what I'd do differently if it happened again. Maybe someone out there reading this is where I was six months ago.

I'd bring you food myself before moving 1100 miles away. I didn't get to say goodbye ... because I'm no good at goodbyes. I was a total wreck leaving Atlanta - and I knew seeing you would make it worse. But you know what? I should have. I should have come to hug your neck. I should have come to tell you I loved you. I should have come to say "You will survive this. And even though I won't be here physically, I will be here from afar." Because physical presence means something. And I know that now in a way that I didn't understand then.

I'd send you packages once a month. Maybe it would be a thoughtful package. Maybe it would be a ridiculous one. But I'd send you something - just to let you know I was thinking of you. Because if I can't physically be with you, then at least you can touch something that I touched. My sweet Autumn Grace draws people pictures and makes me send them - "so they don't miss me mama" ... and I never really understood it until I watched that video of you dancing out of the chemo unit. But it's true - having something you can hold on to makes a difference.

I'd care for your family better. That's so hard to do from far away - but I would figure out a way to do it. Maybe it'd be a gift for your amazing husband, or for your incredible children. Maybe it'd be sending a video - or a picture - or a coupon for a good, healthy meal. I'm not sure what it would be ... but whatever it is ... I would do it.

I can't turn back time. And I pray it never happens again. But I want you to know just how cherished and loved you are. Just how dear to me you, and your family, are. You are so special. So loved. So cherished.

And I am so very glad you are alive.

Photo Credit

Finding Our Groove

All of a sudden we find ourselves in the second half of January. Our first six weeks in New England have been difficult - we've faced a terrible cold, followed by an incredibly long bout of the norovirus. We've experienced much emotional heartbreak over leaving our home and we've been struggling with our landlord over the state of our apartment. We've driven around to so many little towns where we think we can afford to purchase a home, made two offers on houses - neither of which worked out, and 95% of the time we end up feeling defeated. We are still not sure what our purpose is here yet ... but we are pretty damn confident God's in control of the situation.

This moving across country thing ... it's no joke. Especially when you have a family in tow. But there have been glimpses of hope. In fact, every single time we get down and out, God seems to throw us a tiny little light. It's as if God is saying, Stay the course. I will reveal it to you when the time is right. Just trust me. There's something theologically profound about the fact that we are living this beginning part of our journey in the seasons of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany. The season of waiting - the season of immense joy that the Messiah has come - and then the season of more waiting. Waiting for that Messiah to really show himself and God's purpose and glory.

So the last few weeks I've been trying to keep my eyes open to the epiphanies. To those moments that God chooses to reveal a tiny glimpse of what might be in store for us. 

The weather has been beautiful, and we've only just experienced our first REAL snow and biting cold this past weekend. Just last week the girls and I managed to bundle up and walk the mile to our new chiropractor to get adjusted - even though the high was 29 and the wind made it feel like 15. Never in a million years did I think I would be outside with temperatures that low. But the sun was out and the reflection on the snow was oh so beautiful. And when we got home, we warmed up with hot drinks - apple cider for the girls and an essential oil tea for me.

We have found a church that we like, and although it's not completely what we ever hoped for or dreamed of (I mean - is there ever a place like that?), it is definitely the right place for us right now. It's full of families, they commune children whenever parents deem them to be ready, there's a children's sermon during the service, they don't mind that my children worship with us and dance to every song we sing, there's a women's book club that meets on Saturdays, and although we aren't completely happy with every aspect of it, our kids LOVE it ... and that is a huge deal for us.

There are SO MANY farms up here. The fresh food options are incredible, even in the bitter cold of January. As a family who really values local real food, we are so very pleased at the ease of eating healthy. Even the grocery stores here have better options than we had in Atlanta.

And on Sunday, when I was feeling at my what may have been my lowest point since moving here, I found myself having a conversation with another stay-at-home mom (I was beginning to think they didn't exist here)! I had cried on the way to church, fighting with God over what in the hell we are doing here, and then there she was. She has two children close in age to my own and - what do you know - is from East Tennessee and went to college in Atlanta. At the end of the conversation she gave me her phone number, and suggested we get together. I don't know if she knew what an answer to a prayer she was in that very moment.

So here we are, in the second half of January, finally finding our groove and making new routine. We're finally creating our new normal, and beginning to feel like this place is home. Although I still miss Atlanta and my people dearly, I'm finding that I actually can't imagine moving back. And when I take a step back and look at how far we've come in the last six weeks, I can see a little more clearly that God is here ... in our wandering ... every single step of the way.

On Being Home

We are just coming off a two-week vacation. A two-week vacation that included celebrating a third birthday, an 8-day trip to San Francisco, celebrating a fifth anniversary, and an extra long weekend at home. Usually family vacations exhaust me. But not this one. It was amazing. It was beautiful. It was a dream.

We did not want to come home.

And yet, as the trip part of our vacation ended, there was a part of each one of us that was ready to be "home." We were ready to be in our own house, with our own beds, and our own shower (with amazing water pressure). We were ready to see our neighbors, to cook in our fully stocked kitchen, to go to church.

It has always been a dream of mine to live in the Bay area. Since working there for two summers during my college years, I have always dreamed of going back. And as we walked the amazing city of San Francisco, we talked about whether or not we could see ourselves living there one day. And it was amazing ... as much as I loved every minute of my time there ... I just couldn't imagine picking up everything we have and making that home.

But as we came home ... when we arrived to 35 degrees and a slushy mix of rain and sleet ... we were longing to be back in sunny California. We found ourselves instantly depressed, and once again began dreaming about living in the city that stole a part of our hearts. As our long weekend went on, we began a somewhat serious conversation of what it might look like to find a job and move there. How much money would we have to make? Was it feasible?

We miss the sunshine. We miss the walkability. We miss the fresh fruit & vegetables. We miss the corner grocery store and the local crepe restaurant. We miss the diversity. We miss the playground. We miss the Golden Gate Bridge. We miss the streetcars, the buses, the trolleys. We even (slightly) miss having to do our laundry at the laundromat two blocks down.

And then ... then Sunday came. And we went to church. And as I walked into the building, and saw the familiar faces, I was in awe of the community that God has blessed us with. As we worshiped in this place that we have quickly grown to love, I felt God's tug at my heart saying "This is your home. I have something planned for you. I have called you here. Stay the course."

It seems only fitting that we find ourselves wrestling with these questions during this Lenten season of discernment. We aren't sure what God is up to in our little family. We know we are destined for greatness. We know God has gifted each one of us with incredible talents, passions, and abilities. We know God has promised us opportunities to use those ... in the place that we find ourselves in ... not the one we long to be.