You'd Think...

You'd think with all the time that's passed since last I posted that I'd have lots to say, but somehow when I sit down to write a blog post, all brilliant thoughts flee my brain.

Have you ever noticed that there seems to be a lot of pain in life? I currently have two friends (who don't know each other or even know about each other) who are going through gut-wrenching pain.  All of the love in the world doesn't make the hurt go away, and no matter what I say, I know that my words are useless to them.  It is very hard to watch those you love ache with life.

I was recently discussing with a friend how, when I was younger, I thought that words brought healing.  When someone I cared about was in pain, I searched in vain for the "right words" to say to that person that would help.  My closest friend went through some dreadful health issues and emotional issues in quick succession in years past.  I remember trying so hard to figure out what to say to make things better, and even telling her that no matter how hard I tried, I felt that I always said the wrong thing.  She was exceedingly gracious at all times and assured me that my words helped.  Bless her.  Now I know that she was just being kind!  Words don't help!

I often read the LPM blog (http://blog.lproof.org/) and there was a recent post that asked what is helpful and what is UNhelpful when going through a time of pain (no matter the cause).  I thought to myself, "Nothing anyone has to say makes as much of an impact as listening does."  And the overwheming response of commentators agreed with me.  When I am hurting, I want someone to listen to me.  NOT to say, "I understand!"  Nothing is more of a slap in the face than to be told "I understand" by someone who hasn't experienced what you are experiencing!  Each person is different, and no matter how closely your pain resembles mine, you cannot begin to fully understand the depth of my feeling, because your life circumstances are not the same as mine. 

Another unhelpful thing is to ignore the situation--- and pretend like it isn't happening.  When you go through something terrible, it shapes your days.  You can't (and shouldn't) bury it; those things always rise again another day, and it's better to deal with it now.  It won't help my friends deal with their pain if I ignore it and pretend like it's not there.  (I am not advocating wallowing in it, but that's a story for another day.)

That being said, the words "I love you, I care, I am here for you, I'm sorry this is happening to you, and I will pray for you and with you" are balm to a weary soul.  Sympathy is overrated.  Empathy is the way to go. 

The single most important thing that anyone can do, though, is to give the gift of your presence. This can be as simple as a text message or card in the mail, or as sacrificial as an eight-hour drive to be there face-to-face.  Those everyday reminders that you are thought of and loved through this difficult time are the threads that lead you through the storm. 

I would be remiss if I didn't share the scripture that I find most helps me when I hurt, and that is Isaiah chapter 53.  The only person who I believe understands each and every hurt that we feel on this earth is Jesus Christ, and the proof that he understands (from experience) is in that chapter.  I don't necessarily think that everyone else in the world would find as much comfort from that chapter as I do, but the fact remains that Jesus understands.  No matter which scripture from which you glean comfort, we know that it is the Word of God that speaks, and His presence is with us when we live through trials.

Dear Diary, I finished. Love, Amy

We did it!

My sister flew into town to run the half marathon with me.  We woke up at 5:50am this morning and headed to the race.  Oh, yes, we did it!  There were several interesting things about this race... seeing a guy run without shoes (yes, socks only, people!), having it rain on us the ENTIRE race, and eating GU for the first time were just the highlights!

We had a goal to finish the race in under 3 hours, but we thought we'd like to start out doing 10-minute miles.  Unfortunately, we finished mile 1 at 11 minutes, and it was downhill from there!  It was misting the whole time, but it really started to downpour for a while around mile five and didn't let up for a couple of miles at least.  At about mile three, a woman collapsed and a medic was called.  Several people stopped to help her so Alli and I kept running.  I prayed for her as I ran and I wonder what happened to her.  When it started raining, I started feeling like the race would never end, especially because my feet got wet!  It was honestly miserable.  We kept at it, though, and I was amazed at the number of people lining the streets to cheer us on. 

Mile nine was the hardest for me... I was beginning to think that I was going to have to walk for a while when we passed a hydration station (it was the 4th or 5th up to that point) and someone handed me a package of Gu.  I've never heard of Gu, but apparently it's some kind of magic elixer because once I consumed that, I had a renewed energy that lasted through the end of the race, despite being miserably wet! 

I completed the half marathon in two hours and twenty-seven minutes.  My goal, as you recall, was never to run fast... just to finish the race!   Aaaaand, now that I'm finished, I am happy to announce that at this current moment, I do not ever plan to run a half marathon ever again!  It was a good experience (aside from the rain!), but I don't think it's "my thing."  I'm glad that it's finished!

Dear Diary, I can't run. Love, Amy

I am ecstatic to announce that my much-anticipated half-marathon occurs in two days!

I am far less ecstatic to announce that I caught a cold which turned into a horrible fever and ear infection!  In misery and last-resort-ed-ness, I did go to the Dr. who prescribed a z-Pak and advil cold and sinus.  Today, multiple people have asked me "are you still going to run Sunday?"

Um, YES.  I have worked too hard for too long NOT to run!  Did I mention it's supposed to rain on Sunday?? No??? Well, it is.  Too bad.  I'm running.  Unless the race is canceled, I'm running.  I only hope my sinuses don't ache to badly as the mucus jostles around with each step.  Lord willing, I am running, and after this race I will officially retire from being a runner!

The Look of Dad

Growing up, I got along with my parents.

I know, shocker, right?  I didn't ever have any crazy, dramatic periods of my life where I fought with either of my parents like a lot of teenagers do.  (I don't think any of my siblings did... so the common denominator would be that our parents did a good job... not that I was an a-typical teenager.)  However, there were still moments (especially when I was little) when I got "The Look."  You know what I mean... times when you were getting close to crossing the line, or maybe stepped over a leetle bit, and your parent gave you a look that said, "Watch Out, Missy!" 

My mom's "look" isn't terribly intimidating, but if she squeezes her lips together, you know she's upset with you.  It's a difficult look to describe, but her upper lip gets these deep, vertical wrinkles.  I can't recreate the look, even if I try.  I don't know how she does it.  I haven't inherited my mother's look, although her gestures and phrases sometimes appear unawares.

My dad's "look," on the other hand, is the epitome of all looks.  It's a look to make you squirm, shudder, shake in your boots, and put the FEAR in you faster than anything else!  Dad's look is easy to describe... his eyebrows go UP approximately 9.75 inches and rows of wrinkles appear on his forehead.  I don't know if it's the piercing gaze that is so intimidating or those wrinkles.  Until the day I die, I will always remember the wrinkles. 

For better or for worse, I have inherited the Look of Dad.  Sometimes (not always when dealing with my son, although I think the Look first appeared on my face after he was born) I will just feel The Look on my face, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I was to look in the mirror, I'd probably scare myself.  I am resigned to The Look (I'm used to it after seeing it all growing up), but there is a small part of me that wishes it wasn't quite so masculine a look.  I am a mommy, after all!  However, as I said, my parents and I always got along really well, so maybe The Look of Dad will serve me well after all.  I just hope the wrinkle lines don't become permanent, because they might age me. :)

Airport

A three-hour layover in the Atlanta airport affords many people-watching opportunities.  Sometimes, I really enjoy people-watching.  I have one of those classic overactive imaginations.  What I mean by that is, when I observe the snapshot of a life that is a moment in time, my imagination fills in ALL of the blanks... I make up a story of that person's life, including reasons for whatever emotion is etched on his face at that particular moment.  Yes, that is where my mind goes when I people watch.  Ergo, it can be an exhausting exercise!

Here are just a few dives into my musings...

• A guy wearing a shirt that says, "Live, Love, Regret."  I instantly think that he must have had his heart broken many times over and envision his most recent relationship as something like the one portrayed in 500 Days of Summer.  What else would cause a guy to buy and choose to wear a shirt with something like that on it?
• A mother washing her son's hands in the restroom.  The little boy couldn't have been three years old, and he was screaming bloody murder.  She wasn't hurting him; he just didn't want his hands washed.  The reason it was odd is that usually a mother in this situation has a harassed look on her face.  This woman didn't seem to be phased at all that her son was screaming (he could be heard outside the restroom... it wasn't a quick little screech, but a long, piercing cry lasting many minutes).  Not embarrassed, not annoyed, not even laughing; she didn't seem to hear him or care that he was making others uncomfortable.  I instantly wondered what had happened in her life to make her so calloused and made up a story of her life in my head that included disappointments and a teen pregnancy.
• A dad and son each carrying an ice cream cone, walking to their gate.  The little boy couldn't have been more than seven years old, and they were laughing and talking quite happily.  This story made me smile, as I could see my own husband and son in their shoes in a few years.  I instantly envisioned a happy family life and a very blessed wife and mother.

Ah, see, and those are just a few!  I am full of these kinds of stories every single day!  See how exhausting it is to be me!?

Dear Diary, Runing and I have a love/hate relationship. Love, Amy

Oddly enough, running six miles today felt like a piece of cake, probably because I ran nine miles last week.  I don't know how I did it, but I ran it in less than an hour, too, which seems like a miracle in itself!  Hey, I'll take it. 

I've been told that running is addictive.  Maybe so, but I must be immune to the addiction.  When I first began this running journey back in May, I looked forward to my running time.  In fact, I found it exhilerating!  As time goes on, however, more often than not I am NOT excited to go running.  It has come to feel a little bit like ... work!  Don't get me wrong, once I get going I enjoy it and I feel GREAT afterwards.  Let me clarify that: I feel tired, but have a sense of accomplishment that is highly satisfying. 

Part of the problem is that I have a difficult time finding the TIME to run... specifically, my long runs.  Nine miles is ninety minutes minimum, and as I continue to add miles the time multiplies as well.  The long runs do a number on my shins and joints for a few hours after I run, as well.  That in itself isn't horrible, as I have yet to suffer from shin splints or any other injury (praise the Lord!) due to lots of stretching, boswellia and cherry juice.  Still, it's not something I like to inflict on myself (not pain, exactly, but certainly throbbing and discomfort). 

I am still committed to seeing this through... I am going to run the Prairie Fire Half-Marathon on October 9th, Lord willing! Once that race is completed, though, I think I'm going to go back to walking and other low-impact aerobics as my primary exercise.  I don't want to take the time to fuel a running addiction.

One more word... I have discovered the sheer joy of cute workout clothes.  I bought myself some nike running shorts and tshirts and I must say, it IS a lot more comfortable to run in them than in my usual workout garb (which could only be described as grunge... ten-year-old volleyball shorts and baggy tshirts ring a bell?  I usually look straight out of a garage sale when I work out), so that's a plus. 

Honestly

I am going to be just a little bit confessional here, so pretend like we're sitting at Starbucks.  I'm drinking a grande nonfat caramel macchiato, just so you know. Unless it's between September and December--- then I'm drinking a Pumpkin Spice Latte and my eyes are closed in delirious happiness.  But I digress... this isn't a blog post about lattes.

I have been teaching a Sunday School class at my church... it's for single ladies, and the topic is Insecurity.  Long story short, this journey began months ago with God laying the desire on my heart to teach a Sunday School class.  The subject matter must have come from Him, too, because it has been just what I needed.  I don't know that the class has been earth-shattering for anyone... except for me.  I think He called me to teach this class so I would absorb it for myself.  God is working in my heart and in my relationships (especially my marriage) through this class.  I will just leave it at that.

Recently, my husband and I had a conversation at home.  This is one of those random, unimportant conversations that happen multiple times a day.  Our son needed his nose wiped, and Hubs picked up the [dirty/used] dish cloth from the sink and bent over to wipe his nose.

"You're not going to use that and then put it back in the sink to wash dishes with, are you?" I asked, horrified.  My overactive imagination envisioned the bacteria swarming through the rag and onto the clean dishes, and from there into our food... and our mouths.  Essentially, to me, we'd be eating the snot.

"Really?" he exclaimed, slightly annoyed. "I would never even think of such a thing.  I think you're the only person on the planet who would ever think of such a thing."  Despite being annoyed, he got a different wash cloth out, ran warm water over it, and wiped the Little One's nose.  Then he threw the cloth into the dirty laundry basket.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  To him, the conversation was over, but his comment rankled in my heart.  So, I did what any self-respecting woman would do... I sought affirmation from my facebook friends!!!

To my delight, I am NOT the only person on the planet that would "think of such a thing."  (To his credit, there are a few who were in agreement with him.)  However, this got me thinking.  WHY did I post that on facebook?  It wasn't to make him look bad.  No, that wasn't my motivation.  It wasn't to make myself look good, either.  It was because my feelings were hurt when he said I was the only one on the planet who would think of such a thing, and I didn't want to be alone!!!  I wanted my opinion, my feelings, to be validated by someone!

Now, it was not his motivation to hurt my feelings (and why my feelings are so easily hurt is another matter entirely), we didn't have a "fight" over it, and neither of us were/are upset. (He knows about the facebook posting, in case you were wondering.)  It really wasn't a big deal; as I said before, it was a simple, random, daily conversation that just so happened to impact my day in a certain way. 

There isn't much of a point to this post, as far as a moral to the story. I don't mean to say that I'm right or I'm wrong, but it is an interesting conundrum; why do I (and probably "we" as human beings) want validation so much?  It doesn't seem wrong to want validation.  I guess it's a question for the cosmic void!