Nostalgia with questions

When did life get so complicated? I'm racking my brain, trying to remember how old I was when I woke up and simplicity left me completely. When did stuff begin to matter? I remember wearing orthopedic shoes and socks up to my knees and not caring that I looked like a complete dork. Inwardly I knew I was cute regardless of what I wore.

When did people begin to matter? I remember having a yellow bean bag doll that was my best friend. And I remember the first time my heart was broken by a friend who left me for another friend. Dissed. Playing with snow, laying on the beach with sand in my bathing suit, chasing wishes in the wind. Remember the wishes? They were weeds that were caught up by the wind and if you managed to grab one and made a wish, it would come true! And I believed it wholeheartedly.

When did I stop believing? The idealist who would be president, feed the hungry world, and run free, that was me. When did a paycheck become a necessity and paying bills an obsession?

I long for days of beauty, complete beauty, from start to finish. A glowing peace deep within my soul, assurance that what people say doesn't matter, money is not an issue, laughter abounds in plenty, and family will always uphold me regardless of my beliefs.

Sabbatical = Writing Funk

Call it lameness, a reprieve, life happens, whatever - I can't think of any good excuses why I haven't kept up with my blog writing. It's not that I don't enjoy it - for me, writing is therapeutic. So during my very therapeutical run through my neighborhood this evening, words were flying left and right through the short diameter of my brain and I was determined to sit down and write a few sentences that were so full of meaning that I would leave everyone speechless. And then I remembered that there is no everyone! Nobody keeps up with my blog anymore because it's been a very long 3 month dry spell. Except for my faithful ex-neighbor Jo Ellen who asked if I minded if she linked my blog to hers. Minded?! It's exactly the push I need! It's spelled a-c-c-o-u-n-t-a-b-i-l-i-t-y (wow, that was hard to type like that!). Thank you, my neighbor-from-very-afar, you have resurrected my desire to express and rant and rave about life. I will not let you down, my audience of one! From here on out, I will publish witty stories, pensive poems, words of wisdom and meaning that will color your literary world with goodness and mirth. Right. Always the overachiever. Let me just shoot for a paragraph or two of my very boring happenings and how I interpret life through them. That I can do. Thanks JEB!

Poetic Oracles from Malachi

A poem written by Joy, taken from the four chapters of the book of Malachi...

He says, "I have loved you..."
And yet I have defiled His altar.
"I will open for you the windows of heaven..."
But time and time again I profane His Name,
A Name that should be great among the nations.
Why, O Lord, when You offer me eternity do I turn my life away?
All You ask is for my heart
As a token sacrifice for Your love.
Instead, I bring you blind choices,
Lame excuses, a blemished and diseased heart.
You, Lord, are the Sun of Righteousness
And You arise with healing in Your wings.
"Become Mine," the Lord of hosts pleads.
"I will make you My jewel.
Return to Me, and I will return to you."
In what way can I return, O Lord?
"Come, and I will refine you in My fire,
I will launder you with My soap,
I will purify you and make you shine like silver.
Offer yourself to Me
And I will pour out such blessings
That there will not be room enough to receive them all."
Yes, my faithful Father,
Write my name in Your Book of Remembrance.
I will be Yours.

Diary of a Novice Runner

Running has been a part my life for the last two and a half years. I went back and read a journal I had kept when I first started running. It's amazing how far I've come along in my little sport. There was all this writing about routes and minutes. Before I had discovered Gmaps pedometer by Google, I used to drive my car and reset the counter to see about how many miles were in each of my routes. And I was so determined on running faster and harder. There's an entry in parentheses that says "stopped to pet cat" and that made me laugh. I used to do that a lot. And stop to smell flowers. Squeal at hopping bunnies. Then there was the Glendalyn Circle mountain that took me - no lie- about 3 months to conquer. It wasn't really a mountain, but let me tell you that it left me gasping for air every time I ran it. Funny, I don't run it anymore. And then another feat - running on a treadmill. I was deathly afraid of treadmills and breaking my neck - coordination is not my thing but I managed to stay on for 5 whole miles the first time I tried it. Now I can run on the treadmill and watch TV at the same time! That took me about 2 years to conquer. I even wrote down the day when I registered for my first race: September 20, 2005. That was big. I went from running one or two blocks at a time to setting a goal to run 13.1 miles in one swoop. And I trained hard during those next months. The journal is filled with accounts of black toenails and blisters, sore muscles, hip pain, and bad shoes. Little by little I increased my distances until I was able to run for a whopping 13 miles without stopping. All in a matter of 5 months!

I want to share my journal entry on the night before the day of my big race. "It's Race Day Eve-Eve!! I did my last run thru the neighborhood as an amateur. The next time my feet hit this pavement I'll be a seasoned pro!! LOL My brother called and left a message for Flo-Jo. :) I'm going to have quite the cheering crowd in ATL - Kev, Stevo, Jay, Amy, Christopher & Tracy too!! Awesome! Everyone's going to think I'm an elite runner!"

And then the unthinkable happened. That same night after I had finished journaling and packing for the most extraordinary sporting event of my life, Kevin and I were overcome by carbon monoxide in our home. And I spent race day, by the grace of God, in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber at the hospital. After being able to run 13 plus miles at a time, five days later I went back out to run and couldn’t even finish 4 miles. I had said that the next time I ran through my neighborhood I was going to be a seasoned pro. Instead, I was a humbled runner, grateful to be alive, my lungs weak but miraculously healthy.

I just ran my 6th race this past weekend. Back in my beloved city of Atlanta. I didn’t break any records or stop to pet any cats. I ran with 14,000 other runners who had stories of their own to tell. Funny, it’s a routine with me now - I always think of my Race Day Eve-Eve experience as I wait at the start line to take off running. And a prayer always escapes from my lips as the feet take off and the adrenaline starts pumping. “Thank you Lord for letting me live to run yet another race”.

Joseph and the falafel

What do these two things have in common? Biblically, nothing really. Though I'm sure being of Middle Eastern origin, the falafel may have been around during Joseph's time. The intent of this post is not to discuss the theological or historical connection between Joseph and the falafel, though I'm sure Veggie Tales could narrate quite a humorous story from the title alone.

If I only had two words to describe the outcome of my week, they would be "Joseph, Falafel". (I can't even say "and the" between the two because that would be more than two words.) I've always centered my work ethic and philosophy of life around the story of the life of Joseph. As I struggle with challenges at work, sometimes even slight persecution, I find unending comfort in a story that speaks of adversity and faith to such a high degree. Even when I'm up to "here" with work, just thinking about Joseph makes me feel triumphant. My prayer has always been "Lord, make me a Joseph in my job." Whether he was in charge of a household, a group of prisoners, or a whole kingdom, Joseph was always anchored to God, and he made a difference in everyone's life that he came in contact with. The job did not define him - his walk with God defined him.

Back in September of 2006 I was challenged to take my current position at work to a new level. I was uncertain and hesitant about these new responsibilities. But after much prayer and good counsel, I rose to the challenge. The task was not easy by any means and there have been many times when I honestly question the soundness of my decision. I've hit lows that probably don't quite match Joseph's stint with slavery and incarceration, but in the context of events throughout my life thus far, I did some hard time. Yesterday I was made second in command to the Egyptian kingdom. Okay, not really. Actually, my manager sat me down and presented me with my annual portfolio review. It was good. It was very good. Okay, it was fantastic, aside from a couple of "positive criticism" remarks that were only thrown in there because I obviously cannot be perfect. It was the highest rating I've ever received. And it came with a promotion. Not a huge promotion, but enough to reward me for the last 18 months of challenges and give me a good dose of confidence. I had not asked for a promotion. In fact, I thought it would be at least a couple more years before I would even dare ask how I could possibly get a promotion. And in the whirlwind of renovations, remodels, and reconstruction in which I live in, this blessing has come at the most opportune moment. Thank you, Jesus.

The falafel part of this success story came into play today. I love falafels - they are my absolutely favorite fried fritter. I rewarded myself today with a trip to The Pita House and a plate full of falafels to mash into my pita. Yum. As I sank my teeth into the grainy texture and contemplated on my small accomplishment, my heart was full of gratitude to God for seeing me through and showing me once again that hard work, honesty, kindness, sincerity and perseverance always pay off.

The Blossoming Fig Tree, a short story by Joy

Inspired by a wonderful sermon I heard today from Pastor Carlos Molina...

Once there was a young fig tree with leaves happy green, surrounded by fig trees of leaves happy green. The garden where he lived was welcoming, enjoyed by many as a haven of beauty and rest for the soul. Paths were worn by the feet of friends, lovers, and even the solitary ones who came to hear nature, feel the earth, and breathe color. The fruit of the fig trees was delightful and sweet, its pulp desired by many, its nectar enjoyed by all who came to the garden. The time for blossoms had arrived and the fig tree felt the power of life surge through him, beginning at the roots, traveling through the trunk, making his limbs shiver. But alas no blossoms came. He shook his limbs and tried again. Surely that was only a fluke, he thought. The other youthful fig trees were blossoming around him. He searched deep within the core, wiggled his roots and concentrated on producing beauty. Nothing. Disheartened, the fig tree bowed his head and wept silently. Maybe next year. Time and time again, after dismal winter had passed, he would witness the life of spring as shrubs and plants, even stately trees would burst with flowers with such natural artistry that it would take even his breath away. And he prayed that he too could add to the array of color and wonderment, hopeful that he could be fruitful so that others could enjoy the product of his love. One beautiful spring day a visitor came to the garden, and walked quietly among the flowers with a book under his arm and a blanket draped across his shoulder. He laid the blanket on the carpeted grass underneath the blossomless fig tree with leaves happy green. He read from his book, with a voice rich yet gentle. “Though the fig tree may not blossom… Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.” (Hab 3:17-18) The fig tree heard the words and in amazement came to the quiet realization that the power to blossom did not come from within him, but from He who had created him. With humble acceptance, he meditated on the words he just heard, happy to provide shade to his friend. His troubled heart finally at rest, the young fig tree thought, “In spite of my circumstance, I will have faith in my Creator, at peace with my lot, rejoicing and sharing what I do have with all who come underneath my happy green leaves.”

“The Lord God is my strength; He will make my feet like deer’s feet, and He will make me walk on my high hills.” Habakuk 3:19

How Far Will You Walk?

What motivates people to go through extraordinary measures for a cause? Is it love? Dogged determination and perseverance? Or are we spiritually wired with an inner resolve that transcends our mere existence and surfaces during times of hardship?

As my family and most of my friends know, I love to run long distances. It energizes and liberates me. I have no desire to run a full marathon- am quite content with the half-marathon distance and enjoy the challenge it brings without the strenuous training and time investments. I run for me and my health: physical, mental, and spiritual health. And I participate in "races" because I enjoy challenges and like to establish a few goals every now and then. But this year I thought about doing something different. Every year I try to find a race outside of my "area" - I ran in San Francisco the year before and just last year did a neat course in New Hampshire. So to continue tradition, I searched websites far and wide looking for that "perfect" location during that right time of year where training wouldn't take away from the enjoyment of my sport. I was searching hard and not coming up with anything that met my criteria for location, time of year and distance. Then I came across a flyer in the mail from the Susan G. Komen foundation. But it wasn't a half-marathon and it didn't require running. I was intrigued because if I do this, it will be the greatest physical and mental challenge for me EVER. It's called The 3-Day. We're talking 60 grueling miles over three days, and not running but walking. Walking, laughing, crying, singing with thousand of others. Walking for a cure to a cruel disease that every day snatches the vibrant lives of women around the world. This, I want to be a part of. I know I will get frustrated in the "slowness" of walking. I can run 13.1 miles in under 2 hours. But to walk 20 miles in one day - I don't know. We're talking 5 hours of straight walking, at a "fast" pace of 4 miles per hour. And by day 3, I'm not going to have the energy to walk at 4 miles per hour. But you know what? The women who have to undergo mastectomies, hair loss, pain, uncertainty- they go through so much more. At the end of the 3 days I can go home and submerge my aching body in a fragrant bubble bath and within days my body will be whole again. The inner and outer scars from breast cancer are with you and your loved ones forever. I can totally do this.

Reading the news today, I came across a beautiful story about a father and his crippled child that convinced me that walking 60 miles is nothing. This family lives in Iraq and have never had the luxury of owning a wheel chair. So the father carried his son everywhere he went. A wonderful civilian contractor working in Iraq felt a deep burden from watching crippled children dragging their thin bodies all over Baghdad because they did not have wheelchairs. So he began a program that donates wheelchairs to needy families. The father of this crippled boy walked 6 miles with the boy in his arms to collect his wheelchair. Within 100 yards from his destination some tried to take the boy from his arms to help him out. He was adamant. "I've been carrying this child all my life. I can carry him the last 100 yards to receive his wheelchair." That brought me to almost uncontrollable tears. Pictures of my heavenly Father came to mind with the reassurance that one day all this pain and suffering will be over. And children will be able to laugh and run and be free. And the frail, diseased bodies of mothers and sisters and daughters and friends will be made whole once again.

Jesus walked to Calvary to save us forever. The Iraqi father walked 6 miles for a wheelchair for his son. I can definitely dedicate 3 days of my life to walk 60 miles for a cause I believe in. How far will you walk?

If you want to join me in my 60 mile quest, email me. I would love to have a group of sisters at my side and share in this beautiful experience.

Bothered and Bemused

The older I get, the more persnickety I become. It's so funny how little things bother me to the point of insanity, like the pitch of someone's voice, dried toothpaste on the faucet, and little pieces of paper folded a million times. And because I know how much these unimportant things bother me, I have decided to become "slick-back". It's a new term I created that describes what I should do when I encounter a person or something about a person that drives me crazy. Butter my back and let it roll right off me. Life is too precious to let the fastidious 10% affect my essential 90%. So I put on my headphones, clean my bathroom, and throw little pieces of paper away, smile and tackle the real problems in life, like world peace, the environment, and my closet!