Ripples

"Broken, hun?" My three-year-old asks about her apple slices at the lunch table. Having cut the apples myself, I know that they are indeed "broken," but I go along and answer, "No." She is thrilled that she is able to trick Mom, and I think back to the silly trick that inadvertently started our now-popular dinner game. I'm sure that our friend doesn't remember holding up a cut apple and saying those words, but my children haven't forgotten the thrill of tricking their table mates about the wholeness of their fruits and vegetables.

As my daughter relished tricking me, I thought about how often the things that we do without thinking have lasting effects. Then I thought about the letter that I received this week informing me of the death of a friend and former professor. I can't hang a picture without remembering her beautiful apartment. I owe the title of this blog and my love of English Romantic poetry, well any poetry really, to her unique and passionate teaching. I keep attempting to enjoy the works of Joseph Conrad, because he was her favorite. Needless to say, her personality contributed to the tone of my own teaching and therefore to the lives of my children and students. The way that she lived and the person that she was changed me.

As a child, we had a huge mud puddle that we played in at Grandma and Grandpa's house. I remember throwing rocks in and watching the ripples spread out across the surface of the water. Just as my teacher influenced me and that friend influenced my children, my life is creating ripples that affect the lives of those I spend time with. Lord, I pray that my life will draw my children and others into a deeper understanding of and relationship with You. Please make me a woman of grace, who speaks joy and love into the hearts of those around me.

Time to try Conrad. . . Again!

To run or not to run?

I read a book review and on a whim put the book on hold at the library and forgot about it. When the kids and I picked up our twenty-five books the other day, the novel was mixed in with books about Turkey and sign language videos. Last night, I managed to finish the novel about a distance runner. It was not my usual fare, and I could have done without several parts of the book, but it got me to thinking. That and part of an article in Runner's World.

Distance running is all about pain and learning to enjoy and manage the pain. I would even go so far as to say that distance runners relish and delight in a certain amount of pain. Maybe you could say that they don't enjoy the pain for its own sake, but they love the outcomes achieved when they push through pain that their minds say that they can't survive.

I used to enjoy the pain and also the power that came from disciplining my body to do things that others thought were crazy; I remember running just for the joy of running and winning. Now running is my escape, the place I go to be myself. It is a guilty pleasure. My mind argues both for and against the merits of investing the time, the sweat equity, that are necessary to run races to win. So I continue to run and to wrestle with the place that running should have in my life. I want to be a runner once again, but fear the investment that I already know it will ask.

Reading that book made me sad. It reminded me that I was once a runner too.

The Praise of Men

My kiddos are taking swimming lessons. The lessons are proving to be a source of learning beyond how to be comfortable in the water, and the children are not the only ones learning. Getting into the car after lessons the other day, my son told me that he had asked his teacher if she was a Christian. "What did she say?" I asked. "She said that she was, and asked me if I was a Christian." My heart's response condemns me. I was afraid. I like flying under the radar, not drawing attention to myself. Now the spotlight has been focused, the microscope brought to bear. Then this morning, I read John 12:42-43 which says, "Among the chief rulers also many believed on him; but because of the Pharisees they did not confess him, lest thy should be put out of the synagogue: For they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God." Lord, thank you once again for using the courage of a child and the Sword of Your Spirit to get to the heart of the matter in my life. Please forgive my fear and my concern with the opinions of those who will not judge my days.

Sorrows come. . .

"Sorrows come To stretch out spaces in the heart for joy."

It has always been a fascination of mine to think of how Joy and Sorrow are two sides of the same coin. The idea that we cannot appreciate true joy without having sorrow to contrast with it has been a theme I've found in much literature and also explored in my own writing. I'm sure that there have been past experiences that have borne this out in my own life, but most recently, I've seen this in my feelings toward our newborn son. I have loved all of our children and delighted in their development, but there is a deep joy and delight in holding Luke. I find myself stealing moments to hold him, watch him, and just take pleasure in being his mother. There is a rightness in my soul when I am taking care of him. Perhaps, God has allowed this journey to soften and deepen my mother's soul. God's word is true when it declares that God has "turned my mourning into dancing;" and has, "loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness. . . O LORD my God, I will give thanks to you forever!" Psalm 30:11-12

A Good Morning!

While most runners are easing into their winter maintenance after a holiday break, I am just getting started. I am one week into my reentry plan. Last year at this time, I was training for the Winter Series Races and actually ran one of them, when I got a telltale sickness in my gut. I'd had that same feeling a couple of times before. I ran a handful more runs after that eight mile race then decided to take it easy. When we found out that I was indeed pregnant, the doctor suggested limiting my runs to one mile just because of my history and the lack of a diagnosis. Then, my husband who loves me and is over protective (in my book,) told me that he preferred that I not run at all. At first, that was really difficult, but it got easier. Too easy in fact, and I didn't want to run or even move for that matter. Now that our Luke is three months old, I don't have an excuse. Therefore, I am back in the saddle again. The most I have gone is 2.7 miles. Not a long way, but something. I have been somewhat consistent this week even juggling running with all my mommy jobs and the hubby's running. Yesterday, I made it a whopping 2.3 miles, but I did it outside and managed to run the entire way up the hill even without the dog towing me. When the hubby got up to run this morning, I wasn't sleeping due to a stiff back, so I decided to join him for the first mile up the hill.

The cold brightness of the stars greeted us. There were so many visible that I could barely discern Orion's belt. The stars quickly faded and were replaced with the soft gray of the dawn. I especially enjoyed seeing the shadows of the trees against the lightening skyline. What a beautiful way to begin a day and a special reminder of why I love running. It is good to be back.

A Grateful Heart

Sunday, we asked our pastor to pray a prayer of dedication for Luke. He asked for words of testimony. While I didn't share then, I thought about it after. This is my heart on the matter.

I thank God that we stand here today. Not just because we are holding Luke, but because of all the steps that have brought us to this place. I thank Him for the miscarriage and the sound Biblical teaching that He used to bring us to the place of desiring to have and submitting to having more children. Then He gave us another child, and we had to say goodbye after holding his pre-term body for a few short hours. After those lessons, I thought that we had finished the course and that joy would follow closely, yet the lessons were not over. I came to think that we would never hold our brand new baby again. I struggled with finding peace with that outcome and trusting that God had put the desire for another child in my heart for a reason, but that that reason might not have been to grant it. I thank Him that He allowed us to get pregnant before we had decided if we were willing to go through that pain again and then took that child before we were able to hold him. I look at the patient and loving ways that God kept showing us that He is God and that His ways are not ours, and I say, "Thank you for Your wisdom, patience, and love." Now, I thank Him that He has filled our arms and hearts with the joy of holding Luke's precious, warm body. I would not change the journey. Each step has taught needful lessons.

Thank You, God, for Luke. He is the answer to many prayers. He is light, and life, and joy to my heart. He is precious and dear to us. Thank you for the chance to hold him today.

LOST!

Today, was my last baby appointment for this pregnancy. It took forever: from the ultrasound starting 25 minutes late to the doctor having to be out for emergency surgery. We had to be shifted to another doctor who was just fitting us in. Of course, we all went so that we could pick up our van that has been in the shop for the last week. We were supposed to be saving gas and time on an extra trip to town, but we got more than we bargained for in the LONG waits at the doctor. The kids did great, but I could see the tension was building for my husband who was trying to keep them happy and quiet for the three hours that we were there. Finally, he took them out to the car. It was just easier than keeping everyone quiet and happy in a ten by ten room with two chairs and lots of things that shouldn't be handled by a three-year-old. While they were watching videos of themselves on Dadda's phone, I was reading a very inspiring book about pregnancy. Funny how I ended up reading the part about labor. Yikes! The thing that struck me though was this thought. The author, a woman, had the courage to say that women who are in the last few weeks near delivery are not really functioning in their right minds. I would argue with her and say that that idea is crazy, but I have a strange feeling that my husband and children would agree with her analysis. That means that I am not in my right mind right now. . . . Oh, the other interesting thought that she put forth was that during that same time frame, women start to stop really caring about the normal everyday things around them that are usually so important. I will agree with this idea. Frankly, I don't really care if I eat for the next week or not, and who has the energy or interest to think about laundry, clean toilets, or even teaching my children. Maybe, I'm not really in my right mind after all.