Virtually Impossible...

I know a lot of my posts are about running. And maybe you're starting to roll your eyes whenever you begin to read one of my posts. So sorry...but it's pretty exciting when you start to become a runner, when you hated it with a passion before and really didn't even walk. 

I am an instant gratification kind of person. I need a carrot, a piece of cheese at the end of the maze, some sort of tangible reward for my hard work and dedication. I was "doing WeightWatchers online" for a long time. That's in quotes because I was really only paying money. It took me almost a year to realize I was basically the same weight I was when I started. I knew the meetings worked and this past September I walked into my first meeting in years and I haven't missed a single week yet. But it wasn't so much the meetings themselves, although I have come to realize they are just as important as anything else. It was the star stickers. And the charms. And the little, tangible prizes you get along your journey. Every five pounds they give you a 5 pound sticker for your weight loss record book. Every major milestone such as 5% lost, 10% lost, 25 pounds down, etc. you get a little charm to put on the keyrong they gave you for staying four weeks. I love getting these little rewards and celebrating those little milestones. And it must work because I got a five pound sticker this past week at weigh-in for losing 40 pounds! I've lost an Emerson! Wow!

Running was just running. No rewards, other than the pride of completing a workout. Or hitting my step count for the day. I've signed up for two 5K runs coming up soon. I'm sure most people look to see what the terrain might be like, or how much it costs. I first checked out the FAQ page to see if you got a medal. I'm not hauling this rear end through Seattle just for fun. I want something pretty and shiny to show off my work. 

I was telling a parent at my school about my 5K runs I had signed up for and she asked if I had heard of virtual races. I hadn't and she told me to check them out. I didn't think about it again until Facebook magically suggested I "like" a page called virtual strides. I checked it out. It is a company where you can sign up for races in either 5K, 10K, or half marathon. You complete it on your own, in your own time and at your own pace. When you do, you log your time onto your account, and they send you a medal for completing it! This was exactly what I needed! Incentive to work harder and run longer and have something to show for my work. An added bonus is that a portion of your registration fee goes to the charity sponsoring the run. My first virtual 5K completed was for the Epilepsy Foundaion. I thought that was appropriate! My medal was shipped yesterday! My second 5K was to help get service dogs to military personnel that need them. I logged that time yesterday. And I signed up for one over spring break that is a foundation for children who have lost a parent. Another important one for me to complete. And you get fun medals! And I get training time for my real life 5K races. Win-win all around!

So, what tangibles am I getting on my faith walk with God? Surely God isn't handing me stickers or medals for each leg of the journey that I complete. It's not like I read a chapter in my Bible study and he hands me a gold star. I don't get tangibles like that, but I do reap the rewards of what I sow. What do I get from this journey? I get to see two little girls thirsty for more of Him, asking for Bibles, reciting verses with me. I get deeper connections with my family. I got to attend our church's prayer vigil and pray with my girls for the people in our lives, and then read the entire passion story together and cry tears of sadness and then tears of joy as we read about the resurrection of our Lord. I get to have one-on-one conversations with God throughout my day, asking Him questions and thriving in a deeper relationship with Him. I get to share the good news of my faith with others, through my actions, through my voice, through the words in my blog. I get to experience incredible, deeply-seeded friendships with people who are experiencing the same thing. I get many, real-life benefits to my faith and my walk with Him. But the best part? I don't NEED tangibles in this journey. Faith is all I need. I need to have faith that He is with me always, carrying me forward, cheering me on, watching me succeed with each and every step. 

And more good news? That faith will carry me further than ever. If the star stickers went away, and if I didn't have medals, I would still be just fine! Because I have faith that the losing weight and the running and the becoming a better me is all part of His master plan. And really, all I need is Him. And He and His love are better than any star sticker or shiny medal could ever be. 

The Wall...

I've done an awful lot of bragging and talking myself up about my running. Twenty minute runs have happened and I have blogged about how proud I have been for making it to that point. I've posted about how I cope with the anxiety of running that long and that far. I've posted about the elation of making my goal and being at the point where I'm running more than I'm walking. 

I didn't post last week when I hit a wall. I've heard about runner's wall. Being someone that is not a runner, the only wall I ever knew about was Pink Floyd's. But there's a wall that runners hit. I believe that the actual "wall" that is most referred to is the last few miles of a marathon, which is twenty-six miles of running. I'm going to plead ignorance and tell you all that I hit MY wall on Friday.  

Twenty-five minutes. I was so confident as I was running. Twenty-five minutes is only five more minutes more than twenty. Piece of cake! I started running. I was confident. I was going to do this. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirteen minutes. Then I started not feeling great. I hit pause on my workout and just tried to breathe for a second. Hmm...something was different. I pushed start on the workout again. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. Twenty-three minutes. I knew it was time to throw in the towel. I just couldn't run anymore. I lowered the treadmill speed to a walk and walked the rest of my workout. 

My wall...maybe not THE wall, but my wall nonetheless. I was so disappointed in myself. I tend to get a bit obsessive about things and when I have a workout written down in my weight loss jourmal and I don't complete it, I get upset. So all weekend I stewed about not making my goal and having to stop at twenty-three minutes. I had convinced myself that I was not going to be able to break past it. Twenty-five minutes would just be my wall. 

I hadn't realized that I also felt like my twenty minute runs were a fluke. That it was pure dumb luck that I had made my entire twenty minute run and it wasn't something that I could actually do. So, not feeling the best, with a fever and a headache I needed to run tonight. For twenty minutes. So I did! Three times of running for twenty minutes is no longer a fluke. I'm slowly turning into a runner. I'm slowly building up my endurance. And just as running twenty minutes is not a fluke, twenty-five minutes is not my wall. 

Just like my spiritual journey. My times of commitment and loyalty to my God and my Savior are not a fluke. I am committed to living life as Christ-like as I can. I've been through a lot of situations that threatened to strip me of my faith and my relationship with Father God, but just as I've run this race before, I found my way back onto the path and continue the race to the finish line. My faith may have hit a wall. I was floundering and struggling and not sure I would ever recover. Pausing the workout didn't seem like it would help. But I found my inner drive, and I pushed onward, and worked my way back to the race!

I will find my inner drive and make it past twenty-five minutes too. And if I don't, I won't give up! I will continue to push and continue to run twenty minute intervals to build up my endurance and my confidence and my strength. And before I know it, twenty-five minutes will be easy!

Just know that your hard work and dedication is not a fluke! You are a precious daughter or son of the King. And you are running the race to the finish line. And you might hit a wall, but our Heavenly Father sent His Son to die for us, and bust through those walls! Dig deep! Keep praying! Keep pushing through the tricks and nastiness of demons! You'll get there. And you'll find that Jesus will be there to carry you over any wall you may encounter!

Twenty-five minutes! How amazing that feeling will be when I make it past that! Hopefully soon, with the help of my Father! Twenty-five minutes...with no wall...

Stripped Bare...

Holy Week at my church is my favorite time of the church year. I don't think there is any other time in the church year when I feel closer to God than I do during the services of Holy Week. They are filled with music that I love and Bible passages that fill my heart with remorse and sorrow and elation all at the same time. 

The first of those services was last night with our Maundy Thursday service. The Last Supper of Christ before He was betrayed into the hands of the people that would eventually crucify him. 

There isn't anything fancy about the service. We have the service of corporate confession and absolution. We hear the sermon. We take communion. But for me, the most powerful part of the service is towards the end. The ladies that take care of the altar come forward and while we responsively recite the 22nd Psalm, they strip the altar of everything. They take off the paraments and the cloths. They remove the communion stuff. They pull the candles off of the shelf. I usually make it through four or five verses before I am choked up and can no longer recite with the congregation. Seeing the pillar symbols of our church stripped from the altar and taken away is hard for me. My heart grieves for my Savior, the man who gave up His life so that I may live. This symbolic action hurts my core and I feel ashamed and exposed and filled with grief. I know it will all be back in its place come Easter morning, but reflecting during that time is powerful for me. 

But as I reflect on those emotions, I feel like there is more going on in those moments for me. Especially in the last few years. Watching the ladies take our altar apart, one piece at a time, is similar to how the grief process works in my head. For me, it's symbolic of what goes on inside the human body when one suffers a loss. 

After Brian died, I felt like grief was eating me alive. It was exhausting and painful and devastating. Each memory, each moment, each little act stripped away another layer of who I was. Tears flowed and drained me of all life and I watched as pieces of who I used to be were carried away and taken somewhere else. Certain routines were out of the question. Certain smells drove me to tears. Memories flooded in and I worked hard to push them out quickly. Piece my piece, the old Tammy was stripped bare, my heart and soul lying open and exposed and terrified of what came next. Similar to my thoughts watching them strip our church bare...what's next? What more can they take?  What more could I bear?

So we sit and watch them pick apart the church, waiting to see what they start to disassemble next. And when they are done, we leave in silence. A somber moment of sadness and confusion and heartache. 

I watched people and things and events pick me apart. Leaving me bruised and broken and unsure if I would ever find myself again. Sadness and confusion and heartache. 

But we have the promise of Easter morning just around the corner. We only have to hold on and keep marching through time and we'll wake up Sunday morning to "He has risen!" We'll make it through the dark time with prayer and praise and knowing that better is coming. 

And that's how we survived grief also. We only had to hold on and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Knowing that better times were coming, we just had to hang in there. Better was coming even though it felt like nothing could be better ever again. 

Sunday morning we'll arrive at church to everything back in it's normal place. The paraments will be back in their spot, the communion stuff will be ready to accept us at the table. The stuff that was walked out on Thursday will be back for Easter.

This is where the grief process is a little different. You can't get back to that normal state.  It won't feel the same or look the same or even be the same. But if you hang on and keep trudging through the darkness, it will be better! Different...and still with moments of grief. But better. 

I think it's important at this point to mention that as part of my grief process I got rid of anything that had any memory of Brian attached to it. I pawned our wedding rings, threw away my wedding dress and other trinkets, sold his car...I wanted nothing of his. 

My mom asked me the other day if I had bought an Easter dress. I told her I hadn't. That I'd probably just wear something in my closet. Last night we came home from the service and I decided I should probably look and see what I might be wearing. As I was digging through I found this cream-colored dress with pink and green flowers - perfect for Easter but I wasn't sure where it had come from. I pulled it out and gasped. This dress was the dress that Brian had bought me on our very first date together. I immediately and quietly sobbed into the dress and quickly dried my tears as Amelia came bounding in. 

"Oh mommy! What is THAT?"

"It's a dress..."

"Where did you get it?"

"Your daddy bought it for me a long time ago."

"You should wear that for Easter!"

"Oh, it probably doesn't fit me."

"Try it on!"

I reluctantly unzipped the zipper, knowing I was much smaller when I met.  Brian. I stepped into the dress and pulled it up. I told Amelia it wasn't going to work. She told me to turn around and she zipped it up quickly. She gently tied the ties to the side and told me over and over again how beautiful I looked. It fit. 

And just like Maundy Thursday, the grief and heartache are swept away and the newness and life of Easter morning greeted me. A new dress. An old chapter of my life brought full circle. I clutched my necklace against my heart and sobbed as Amelia bounded back out of my room. Oh how I miss him at times. And oh how I miss the dream of what our life could have been at times. But oh how I cherish the new life that I have with my girls and the future we have made for ourselves. 

We wait with anticipation for the empty tomb on Easter morning. And we wait for when the church is returned to how it should all be. And I'll wear that dress. Easter morning - what a perfect time to resurrect an old dress in memory of an old life, with the anticipation of the new life that is waiting! Praise be to God! He is risen indeed!

20 Minutes...

Twenty minutes can go by in the blink of an eye. Twenty minutes is the average length of my speech sessions with my kiddos at work. It never quite seems to be long enough so inevitably we go over our minutes. Twenty minutes is an episode of Friends without the commercials. Twenty minutes is typically the set of the opening act at concerts. It goes by super quick. 

But twenty minutes can seem to go on and on forever. Like on Monday and this morning when I had to increase my run to twenty solid minutes with no breaks in between. Those twenty minutes seemed daunting. Like they were to go on forever. Like they were never going to end. Like I might just die a sad and lonely death right there on the treadmill. 

I spoke before how I use prayer to get me through my runs. I visualize my Heavenly Father standing beside me on the treadmill, or I can see His feet running with me when I look down at my own feet. And this has been reassuring to me and has gotten me through. But I feel like twenty minutes of running has definitely upped the ante a bit. That's a loooooong time. With not much oxygen. Going into the twenty minute run, I needed a slightly different strategy. I needed something that was going to sustain me for twenty whole minutes. 

I had noticed that although my anxiety was lessened over the last few weeks, running still would stress me out. I still would slightly panic the second my app commanded "begin your twenty minute run now." I would panic slightly and lose my focus and start feeling like I wasn't running in a rhythm but spiraling out of control.

Not only does my app have verbal commands, it also has a clock that ticks the seconds down for my run. Just seeing the 20:00 blaring on my phone screen was scary. And it was completely defeating thinking I had run forever to then look down and see 17:32 on my phone screen. What?! More panic. More fear. Anxiety. I needed to come up with a different strategy.

When I walk, or run, I listen to praise music. It's not only good to walk or run to, it calms my anxiety, focuses my brain, relaxes me and gets me re-energized for the time after my workouts. After so many episodes of walking and running since January 1st, I have many of the songs memorized. In the moments that I'm not out of breath, or the instances when I come to a line in a song that is powerful for me, I might sing it out loud. The morning I woke up to run my first twenty minutes, it dawned on me how I was going to survive. I couldn't focus on the time. I needed to just run. Run and not see how many minutes I had done, or how many minutes I had left. I was going to focus on the songs!

I started my run and a song was on. I focused on the tune. I focused on the words. I focused on the rhythm. And I gave myself the condition that I could still look at the time, but only when a song was over. It worked. Four and a half songs later, my app was telling me "cool down by walking for five minutes." It was amazing! I had done it and I didn't panic once. Twenty whole minutes seem to tick by fairly quickly. I was so proud of myself!

My spiritual walk is very similar to this. There is sometimes so much going on, so many demons attacking, so much chaos swirling around me that I panic and worry and fill with anxiety. I don't know how I'm going to survive. I feel as if I can't breathe and I'm going to suffocate under the weight of evil. My fight or flight kicks in and I lose focus on the journey. I lose focus on taking one step in front of the other. 

In those exact moments I've needed a different strategy. I've needed another idea of how I was going to stay focused and continue on through the mess. And my strategy is similar. Focus on the music. Focus on the praise songs that deliver a message directly to my ears. Focus on the scripture. Focus on the verses that have carried me through the difficult times in my life. Psalm 23. Psalm 91. John 3:16. Isaiah 40:31. Ephesians 6:10-18. Focus on the words. Focus on the meaning behind them. And before I know it, time has passed, the evil is gone, my fears and anxieties have been calmed, and I am ready to continue my walk with Him. 

Twenty minutes. I never thought in my life that I would be running for twenty minutes without stopping. I also never thought my spiritual journey would lead me to fighting demons and donning the armor of God to head into battle. So many positive changes are happening. So many good things are helping my family and me to move forward. Focusing on the right things to help me through is a good start. And I look forward to my Heavenly Father showing me what else I am capable of, and what other strategies I can use to survive to the next moment...no matter how long that might take. Blink of an eye, or dragging on forever. Perspective is a funny thing. And I will be doing my best to align my perspective with His. Amen!

Had I Known How to Save a Life...

I've always loved to write. When I was younger I wrote all the time. Stories. Essays. I wrote out my dreams and nightmares. I would write out things I needed to hash over. I would write for school. I would write for fun. I wrote essays for competitions and won. I loved to write. I still do!

I never wrote drafts. I maybe sorta drove my teachers crazy. They wanted first drafts and rough drafts. They wanted editing and proofreading. They wanted me to partner up and have a friend read my drafts. I wanted to wait the night before the deadline, write or type it up, and be done with it. 

My blog posts are pretty similar in fashion. I get ideas and inspiration from many places. My girls. My friends. My faith. God plants seeds into my brain about what I should cover. I usually have several potential topics in my head at any given time. I mull it over for a little bit and think on it while I'm running or walking or praying or soaking in the tub. And then suddenly I get the message I'm supposed to write.  On this topic or that topic. Right now. So I write. I sit down and take fifteen minutes or so and I type it out. And then I'm done with it. 

Tonight I got the message that I was supposed to write. And when I started typing into my blogging app, this was certainly not the topic I had intended to write on. But this is where it led. 

Regrets. I have them. Sure I do! I regret not coming home sooner the day that my grandfather died. I will forever be haunted by my mother's phone call on the bus riding through Seattle telling me that he was gone. Had I only known he was leaving this earth, I might have thought of something more clever to say as my last words to him than "Zesty!" It was an inside joke between him and me and does mean a lot to me, but seriously. I probably would have picked something more poignant to share with him. He was so important to me and I miss him with every fiber of my being. 

I never thought I'd have a bigger regret than missing out on being home for my grandfather's passing. But I got another opportunity to regret just nine years later. My husband killed himself. After a tumultuous eighteen days filled with rejection and arrest warrants and court and lawyers and pain and separation, he decided to end his own life. And again, regret reared its ugly head. Why didn't he come to me, his wife? Why didn't I see what was happening? Why didn't I stop him? Why did I ask him to leave my home? Why? 

The Fray is a band that has a song called "How to Save a Life." For a while I was obsessed with that song. Not just because it's a featured song on Grey's Anatomy. But because of the lyrics. "Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend. Somewhere along in the bitterness and I would have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life." Just typing that up brings a flood of tears to my eyes. I stayed up with him all night...the night he confessed to me his wrongdoings. I didn't know how to save him. I didn't want to save him. I was hurt and angry and disgusted and torn to pieces. I was sick and watched pieces of our lives, our dreams flash before me in a matter of seconds. I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what to do. I cried and yelled and dropped to my knees and asked why. And then I told him we were done. And told him to leave my house. I stayed up all night with him that night. But I couldn't save him. Had I known how to save a life...

Eighteen days later...he was gone. There was no phone call from him. No cry for help. No indication of what he was going to do. When I flash back to the day I find that I scour my brain, searching for something, anything that would have pointed me in that direction. And, as his wife, I am filled with regrets. Why didn't he trust me enough to call me? Why didn't he include me in that part? Why didn't he reach out to me, the person he supposedly loved? I would have stayed up with him all night...had I known how to save a life...

So fast-forward five and a half years to today. Regrets are the worst. Living with the whys and what ifs of suicide is also the worst. I didn't know he needed saving until it was too late. I know there was nothing I could have done...maybe. There's still regret there obviously because I can't even make that statement with certainty. Maybe...

But, there is someone that I can stay up with. There is a life I can save. My own. I spent so many years of my life, of my little girls' lives, in regret and pain and heartache and confusion, that the lyrics of the song finally come together. Pray to God he hears you...pray to God I hear myself. I already have regrets from those two events. And I'm sure that there is regret in the aftermath of what Brian did, including regret from reeling and not knowing how to truly live life for so long. But I've stayed up many nights talking and thinking and praying and planning what to do. In the conclusion of those nights, I finally woke up! I finally realized how to save a life. My life...

So I walk each day now with a purpose. I pray to my Heavenly Father that He will be with me always and will continue to carry me on this journey. I've turned things around and I'm healthier than I've been for a long time. I read my Bible and I pray. I take time for myself and I take time with my girls. I am bonded closer than I've even been with my friends and family. I see the blessings in the journey that I've been on, even the regrets. I know that God has a purpose for me. I know that my journey is simply His plan coming to fruition. My mess is his message for others. Maybe my purpose is to write. To help someone else that may be going through a hard time. To stop someone from ending their lives. To bring people closer to God. 

Or maybe my purpose in all of this is to continue saving a life...my life! Because I truly have saved my life in more ways than one. I have remembered what it's like to truly life! To start each day knowing that I am a beautiful daughter of the King and that there is a purpose for each step that I take. 

I would stay up all night with anyone, especially those that I love. And I'm learning that I am on that list of people that I love. So much to live for! So much to function for! What joy and peace there is in knowing that my journey is only beginning!

I would have saved Brian if I could have. I never imagined this is how that would end. This journey did end up saving a life...my own! And that in turn is saving my daughters too! My lessons will become their lessons and we have learned and will learn to navigate this life together. 

I am thankful for the lessons I've learned and I'm thankful for the opportunity to figure out how to live life to the fullest. I will always live with my whys and what ifs I think. I miss my husband...and the dream of the life we would have...

Had I known how to save a life...

Way to Burst My Bubble...

Have you ever had one of those moments where you are so happy about something you could burst? Or you accomplish something that makes you so proud you want to shout it from the mountaintops? Yeah...me too. 

And then did you ever have someone make a comment that made that happiness or pride bottom out and not feel so great anymore? Yeah...me too. 

Many people tell me that I'm tough. That I have "thick skin." I'm not sure that is true. I think that I have developed a "thick skin" appearance out of necessity. I grew up with people making jokes about my weight. So I was always quick to just join in and make jokes with them. That way the sting wasn't so bad. I could focus on making a worse joke than them so I didn't have to suffer the humiliation of the words coming from their mouths. So I have a thick skin when people say something that bursts my bubble. But inside I'm crying or embarrassed or hurt or ashamed. 

Since starting to lose weight and exercise I have heard comments that have burst my bubble a bit. I tend to be optimistic about people so I don't feel like they intended to hurt my feelings, but they did. I don't talk to many people about my weight loss and exercise journey. I have less than a handful of people that I talk to about it because I don't want people to know. Part of it is because I don't want anyone to be able to say "I told you so" when I fail. The other part of the comments that I get aren't helpful, or the people react in jealousy or anger or fear that they aren't reaching their own personal diet and fitness goals.

I'm to the stage where people are starting to notice though. I'm almost 35 pounds down and with the exercise piece added in people are starting to notice. And the bubble-bursting comments have started. As I open up more and share more I get more comments back that tend to be hurtful. 

"You look great! What are you doing?" "Oh I follow WeightWatchers and I've started running." "Are you sure you should be doing that at your size? Seems like it would hurt your joints!"

"I feel so good running! I'm sweating more so I feel like I must be working harder." "Don't be silly! That doesn't mean anything except that your house is hotter."

"My girls and I are running a 5K together." "Wow! You sure you won't die?"

All real conversations I've had in the last few weeks. I smile and laugh and usually crack a joke about myself and then I walk away and feel badly about my progress. I wonder if they are right. I think that maybe I am just making excuses for myself and that I'm really not ready for the things I'm doing. Or maybe I am delusional in thinking that I feel healthier or stronger or lighter or that my clothes are fitting better. 

But then I think harder and smarter. I don't need the approval of any individual. I don't need complements or kudos. I don't need anyone to tell me I'm doing a great job. It's nice to hear those words, but complements from other people are not my WHY. When I started this journey 35 pounds ago, I typed out 120 reasons I was doing this - one for every pound that I wanted to lose. Not one of them said anything about approval from anyone. Not one said to get accolades and kudos. Not one said to prove anything to anyone, other than myself. I am making changes for me. I am the one that needs to feel good with this process and with my eating and with my fitness and with my goals. I'm the one that feels so pleased when I complete a run. I'm the one that smiles when I get to the end of a run and get a message like this: 

Earning the Athlete Badge today was a big deal for me. I ran two ten minute intervals without stopping. I moved my hand to the stop button of my treadmill several times but I never pushed it. I kept going. I did this for me! I completed this for me. I am becoming an athlete for me! 

I share things on my blog because I can pretend that no one reads it. I can vent and get things out into the open and think that it won't hit anyone's ears so it doesn't matter. But at the same time, I write this one hoping it will fill your thoughts. I don't need a flood of complements. I don't need pats on the back from anyone that reads it. I need you all to think! Think about other people's bubbles. Chances are someone is sharing something with you because they are proud. Genuine praise and support is always welcome! Think about how you're responding to people. Are you encouraging them and bolstering them up? Or are you popping their bubble?

1 Thessalonians 5:11 says "Therefore encourage one another, and build each other up..." Make sure you're doing that! Always be kind! And think hard before you respond to someone. We shouldn't have to worry about thick skin and bubble popping in conversations with our friends. And I'll think about how my responses are being taken as well! Praise isn't one of my WHYS...but it does feel good when it's genuine and heartfelt and without a twinge of negative thrown in too!

I'm going to do my best to protect my bubble, because I am so proud of myself! And the only thing I can control is my reaction to potential bubble poppers. Perhaps I should keep moving on up to Cloud 9...sounds much more heavenly that my little bubble!