American Girl

Luke 6:35 But love your enemies, do good, and lend, hoping for nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High. For He is kind to the unthankful and evil.

I am an American. I was born and raised in America. My dad was an immigrant from Germany. But he is also an American. He immigrated here and gained citizenship. He grew up in a small town in Michigan and grew up to serve as a hard hat deep sea diver in the United States Navy. He raised my sister and me to be proud to be Americans. To never take for granted what we have and to love and be kind. I have always been proud to be an American. But lately, I am hurt and saddened and confused about what it means to be an American. 

You see, being an American doesn't seem like the noble and honorable thing much anymore. It is an amorphic thing, changing quickly from day to day, from race group to race group. There are times that when I'm watching the news I'm almost afraid to admit that I am an American. You see, I'm also Caucasian. I'm a Caucasian American. Typing that here brings up concern because what if I get lumped into the groups of Caucasian Americans that have been making news lately. Can I be a Caucasian American and state that without someone accusing me of being racist? Do people who don't know me read those words and automatically lump me into the hate groups and the Neo-Nazi gatherings that are being splashed across the media? Do they close their eyes and picture me as a tiki-torch bearing protestor? I hope not because that couldn't be further from the truth for me personally. 

But, as I read Facebook and the news and social media, this is what I am seeing. As ridiculous as it seems that I would be afraid of being judged by the words I have identified with above, it is no more absurd than what is really happening right now across America. People are being judged for how they identify themselves. People are being hated and targeted and even killed for how they identify. People from all walks of life. All races. All creeds. This country is seemingly disintegrating before our very eyes. People are getting bolder in their ignorance. Keyboard warriors are brave sitting behind their screens. Fear and terror are spreading. I, for one, am speaking out. Right here in this blog post I am giving my opinion. At the risk of being called a great litany of things, I am not going to sit in silence anymore. I am using my platform to try and promote peace and remind people of my family motto of be kind. Because even as the world seems to be going mad, it only takes one spark to light a fire. And I have so many kind and amazing and involved friends I know we can start an inferno of love right here in our little corner. 

I am a Caucasian. This means that I am white. I am sure there are people that would say I am steeped in white privilege. There are people that would say I am racist because of pride. I say that I am white. The color of my skin is white. My ancestors were European on both sides of my family. And just as you can't control that your skin is black or white or brown or purple, I didn't have a say in being white. I was born white. I am proud that I am white. I am proud of the German heritage that I was born with. This makes me white. This makes me German. The fact that my father immigrated here from Germany does not make me anti-black or anti-brown or anti-purple. It does not make me racist.  It does not make me superior to anyone.  It makes me white. I am Caucasian. 

I am an American. My grandmother and father came to the United States when my dad was twelve years old. They came here seeking refuge from their war-torn country. My dad instilled in us pride in our America. He taught us to stand for the National Anthem. My eyes fill with tears when I see our flag being carried past. I am humbled by the veterans and active duty and missing in action and prisoners of war that fought for the freedoms we have. My pride in being American does not mean that I hate people from other countries. It does not mean that I get angry at Michael Bennett and Marshawn Lynch for sitting during the National Anthem. Do I agree with them? No I don't, but I also know that they have feelings and they have opinions also. And it is those differences of opinions that our country was founded on. That is what our soldiers and sailors and servicemen and women fight for. Differences of opinion. I am proud to be an American. A small corner of the giant world.

I am a woman. I was born a woman. I had no say in how I was born. I was born with girl parts and girl feelings. Have I been at a disadvantage because I am a woman? In some instances I believe I have. I was assaulted because I was a girl. I have been taken advantage of because I am a woman. Do I regret being a woman? Not at all! I am proud to be a woman. I love my long hair and my soft curves. I love that I was gifted with being able to have children. I love being a woman. I am proud to be a woman. This pride does not make me anti-man. It does not even make me a feminist. It also doesn't make me hate people that aren't sure what they were born. My personal belief that marriage is between a woman and a man doesn't make me against homosexuals. I don't judge others in their choices, or in the way they feel they were born. 

I am a Christian. This is my biggest defining characteristic in my opinion. I have faith in God. I believe that God sent His Son, Jesus, to die on the cross for my sins. I believe that Jesus will come again to take all believers home to heaven. I believe that Jesus paid the debt for my sins and that He loves and cares for me so very much. These beliefs do not mean that I hate people of other faiths. It doesn't mean that I ridicule Mormons or tell Muslims that they are going to hell for their beliefs. It simply means that I follow the Christian faith. 

I know that I am oversimplifying things. I know that the extremist groups that are popping up don't necessarily follow my rainbows and sunshine attitude presented here. But, we can be the change in even these extremist situations. We don't have to all agree with each other! We get to have differences of opinions. We get to have pride in who we are, all of who we are, and not be criticized under the assumption that we are against everyone and anyone who isn't like us. I honestly and whole-heartedly believe that love is the answer! Love your neighbor! Love your friends! Love your family! Love strangers! But even as our verse states above, love our enemies! Love the people who persecute us! Love them! They are missing love. They have hate in their hearts and that is the missing link. They are missing love! They are so driven to just hate others that there is seemingly nothing that can be done. But hating them back won't fix anything. We need to love! We need to be kind! We need to realize that the extremist groups, although prominent in the news right now, are not the majority. The majority of this great nation is still representative of the hard-working, dedicated people that this nation was formed around. The immigrants that came together to form this country! The majority of the people that I know are looking for love and peace and faith and hope! They are looking for kind and loving people that aren't buying into the disgusting behavior of a few. 

Help me spread love! Hug a stranger! Help someone who is on the streets. For every negative thing you see or hear on the news or on Facebook, complete three positive tasks. Keep it simple! Send a card to someone who could use a pick me up! Donate to a charity in someone's name. Talk to the stranger in line behind you. Be proud of who you are and ask about who someone else is. Get off of social media, or at least stop reading the hate! It's permeating our pages and filling our timelines. And when that is all you see and all you read, it is draining. And you start to believe that this is what our country is full of. Hate. Horrible people carrying torches. People tearing our country to pieces. 

Choose love! Choose kindness! Choose to believe that there is more good than hate in the world. Know that I love you all! No matter your skin color. No matter your faith and beliefs. No matter your sexual orientation. I just love! I want to hear the pride you have in who you are. Don't be ashamed to declare who you are! Don't let hate win!

I want to do something bigger than this blog. I'm not sure exactly what that is. A community potluck filled with laughter and love and light? A community service project of some sort? A multi-cultural festival where we learn who we are as a town? We need a movement of love and forgiveness and kindness! We need to come together as people! As people to spread love! Father God is moving me to do something! We need love! So much love...

Love, do good, and lend without expecting anything in return. We can be the change we want to see in these times of hate that is tearing this nation apart! Help me spread love! And kindness. It's maybe not enough to heal everything, but I have faith and hope that a little love and peace can be the catalyst to healing. Help me heal our people! For no matter what we stand up for, I trust that we can come together for the greater good and start the healing of our nation.

I'll Lead You Home...

Proverbs 3:5-6  Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.

I love to drive.  I have always liked to just get in my truck and go somewhere.  Road trips with friends when my truck was brand new.  Camping and hiking and tubing were fun, but for me getting there was the best part.  I love driving and singing to the radio and seeing the sights and just the whole experience of traveling.  When I get to the point where I feel like I'm done with everything, my first fight or flight instinct is really flight.  Running to my truck, jumping in, and just driving off into the sunset. 

The girls and I went on a trip this weekend.  It was our first time as a family driving over mountain passes and heading to Eastern Washington.  We had a wedding Friday evening in Snohomish and once the wedding and reception were winding down, we went to the truck, the girls changed into their jammies, and we set off for our adventure.  We didn't start out until 8:30, however, and by the time we started up over the pass it was pretty dark. Road construction and a road paving project on the west side of the pass left the roads as large black patches and the unpainted lines on the mountain roads didn't make the trip as exciting as I was hoping.  Driving slower than I should have been and clutching the steering wheel, I made my way over the pass, praying with each turn and each mile that my truck drove.  Asking Father God to protect us and keep us safe as we made our way through what seemed mile after terrifying mile.  Trying not to let on that I was filled with fear, as my two little ones in the back seat made comments like "it's so dark" and "why are you going to slow?" and "are you ok, mommy?"  I was relieved when we made it to the summit and started the descent down into the other side of the state.  My hands released the steering wheel a bit, the color drained back into my cheeks, and I started breathing again.

We completed the tasks for the rest of the weekend, having a lovely and enjoyable time exploring Leavenworth and Wenatchee.  We laughed and hugged and ate and walked our way into memories that will be etched into our hearts.  But, as with most good things, it had to come to an end.  Before we knew it we were packing up and jumping back into the truck and heading back over the mountain pass.  This time would be better, I told myself.  This time it is daylight and I can see the road and the beauty of the mountain.  It would be light and there wouldn't be any reason to fear.  So, after a few bonus activities, we headed back up over the pass.  The sun was shining and the mountain pass was so green and beautiful.  We reached the summit in no time and started the descent down the mountain.

And then I realized what Father God had done for us on our journey east.  Seeing what was in front of me in the daylight, the drop off of the mountain, nothing separating our car from falling over the side except for the tiny concrete jersey barrier.  On the way east over the mountains, I wanted nothing but to be going back down the other side.  It was too dark for me to experience the fear of coming down off of the pass.  I didn't see the rivers running right next to the guard rail.  I didn't see the steep drop offs off the side of the mountain.  I didn't know that just a few inches closer to the edge of the road and I could have flipped my car into a ditch.  I was afraid, but I kept driving, trusting that God would carry us through to the Eastern side of Washington.  And He did!

God protects us from so much!  There are so many dangers and disasters in this road.  We walk through our days, filled with fear over little things, when there are big things lurking in the background that God is just taking care of for us.  We are so busy being frightened of the little things like not knowing where our lane is on the road, that we don't even notice the cliff lurking in the background.  We are so focused on worrying about what is right in front of us, that we don't notice what God is doing behind the scenes.  He is so awesome and so amazing!  He is fighting for us each and every second of the day, protecting us from big dangers and super scary monsters.  I know that I constantly make the mistake of trying to take care of everything on my own.  I try really hard to orchestrate my life so that everything falls into place and all is well.  I plow through and plan and try and arrange things, not even remembering that the one who is really in charge is Heavenly Father.  HE is the one that is taking care of everything.  HE is the one orchestrating my life so that everything falls into place.  HE is the one that is making sure that all is well.  HE is the one arranging things for me.

I worry too much.  I don't trust enough.  I don't have faith that He will drive me safely over the mountain passes.  I need to release the control that I so desperately think I need to have and hand the reins over to Him.  He is in charge!  He is the one that is walking me through life.  He is the one that I need to turn to in fear.  Nothing I did on Friday night going over that mountain pass was on my own.  As the verse at the beginning of this post says, I can not and should not trust in my own understanding.  Trust in the Lord!  Trust in God!  Trust that He knows what is best for you and trust that He knows what you need! 

On the way back over the mountain pass, seeing the steep curves and the sheer drop-offs that he protected me from, I began to acknowledge His presence in my life.  His presence on this trip.  He kept us safe.  He made our path straight.  He made my driving skills sure and he guided my truck over the mountains, in the dark, and without the physical markers of this world.  He knew when I needed to slow down, when I needed to speed up, when I needed my heart to be of good courage.  He made my path straight, even over that twisty, windy mountain pass.  He made my path straight.  The driving path, and the healing path that will be another blog post soon.

Thank you, Father, for guarding and protecting us in life always!  Thank you, for always making our paths straight!  Thank you, for reminding me to trust you, even when my head and my heart are telling me different.  Thank you, for all that you do behind the scenes to keep us safe and protected!

My prayer for myself, and for anyone reading this, is that you would put your full trust in Father God.  It's a difficult thing to do sometimes, something that I am for sure struggling with right now in this moment.  But, luckily, He is a mighty, forgiving Father, who is just waiting for me to find my place in His love, and to run with faith towards his open arms.  The path is straight.  I just need to trust.

One More Light...

John 1:5 "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it..."

When Brian and I were looking at building or buying a home, there were several things that I was looking for. Since he was making me get a manufactured home, I had a specific list of details I was looking for. When we found the model that we ended up purchasing, one of the best features to me was the high ceilings. I loved how open everything looked in the living spaces with the high ceilings. Many people who visit our home comment on how huge it looks on the inside verses the outside. I love my high ceilings.

Until recently...

There is a difficulty with having high ceilings. Changing the light bulbs...it takes quite a bit of effort to change the lightbulbs, usually involving a delicate balancing game on a ladder, or on a counter, or on another random piece of furniture. So when a lightbulb goes out it takes more than just a simple effort to complete the task. 

So, lately, I have taken to not changing them. Call it laziness or apathy or not needing light since it stays light until at least 9:00. But one by one, the lights in my house are burning out. It started out as one in Amelia's bedroom. "That's ok. There's two bulbs in that fixture." Then one in my bedroom. Three in the guest bathroom. The second one in Amelia's room. "I'll change it later. You're not in there that often anyways." Two in the hallway. The light on the porch. They are slowly going out one at a time. And until this blog post was delivered to me by Father God on my afternoon run yesterday, I really still didn't care. 

One light at a time sneaks up on you. It is just one light here or there. And there are other lights we can use. But suddenly, before you realize what is happening, you're in the dark. And you are lost and can't see and struggling and scared. Panicked that the darkness will swallow you whole.  No light to even change the bulbs that have flickered out. 

This is how anxiety and depression and PTSD and other mental illness works also. This is how Satan tangles you in his grasp. One light at a time is slowly extinguished. One light burns out and before you know it, you are dangerously close to being swallowed by the darkness. Life is good and you are moving forward and strong and growing. And then one light goes out. One negative thought enters your head. I'm not good enough. I have no friends. No one would miss me. No one cares. 

Then that leads to another light going out. I mess up everything I touch. I'll never get it right. I'm so worthless. 

Before you know it you are in complete darkness. Unsure of how to change the bulbs. Not able to find enough light to see at all. 

This is a reality that is hard for me to admit in a public forum such as this, but I also see the importance of doing so because I understand that I am not the only one out there that is walking through this journey of life. Not the only one that needs help changing out the lightbulbs.  People are struggling all over the place. There is so much sadness and so much heartache. Lightbulbs are going out one at a time and people don't know how to pull themselves out of the darkness. 

Things are good and life is stable for me. I have been growing in my faith and growing in my health and fitness and growing as a person. And Satan doesn't like that. So, then something happens. It could be one little thing. A friend doesn't message back. Your kids gets upset at you. You feel like you failed at a task. A light goes out. But you ignore it because it's just one little thing. Not a big deal. Then something else happens and you convince yourself that two events make a pattern. It must be me. Another light goes out. But you ignore it because there are other lights. Other fixtures. And before you know it, you are sitting in the darkness and overwhelmed and everything you have shoved down and ignored comes flooding to the surface and you are panicked and terrified and drowning. 

I am so very lucky. I have a prayer partner and friends and family that can simply look at me and realize that a light has gone out. That I am close to being in the darkness. So they help me change my lightbulbs and bring myself back to the strong, confident, faithful person that I am. 

Linkin Park released a new song recently called One More Light. In this song they sing,"Who cares if one more light goes out in the sky of a million stars...Well, I do..." one lightbulb going out can be the catalyst to being thrown into darkness. But one friend, one family member, one prayer can throw the light back on and drive out the darkness. 

I care. I care if one more light goes out. I can't stand to see anyone else hurting. Anyone else going through a hard time. I try and look for people who are losing their light and walking in the darkness. And I am blessed to have people to watch for my lights going out also. 

So, this week, I'm going to buy lightbulbs and change the bulbs in my house. To take the first step to walking out of the darkness and into the light. And I am working on the same for my faith walk and my mental health. I am putting the lightbulbs back in place and choosing light over darkness. I encourage you to check your own lights. Don't live in denial. Don't ignore the bulbs going out. Because suddenly you'll be in darkness. But no matter how far into the darkness you are, know there is help. There are people who love you. There are people that would miss you. And, even more importantly, there is a God in Heaven that loves and cares for you oh so very much! He is always there with you, in the light and in the darkness. Ready and waiting to walk you out of the darkness and into His marvelous light! 

May God bless all of those people who thought there was no way out of the darkness. Who didn't know there's always an option to put the light back on, or have someone help them find the light again. 

I am so grateful for my lightbulb changers...so thankful to Father God for never giving up on me. For cradling me in His loving arms and walking me through the darkness to people and places that help me open the doors and replace the burnt out bulbs. I am blessed. I am so blessed...

I posted Linkin Park's video below. Watch it. It's a beautiful song. Rest In Peace, Chester...one more light gone...

If you'd like to read more of my blog posts you can check out my blog at www.justonemorethingmommy.blogspot.com

Everybody Hurts...

1 Peter 5:7 Cast all your anxieties upon the Lord, for He cares for you.

There are many, many things that are not in the rules or instructions for being a parent. Some things I think should be added: Knowing how to react when your child goes back for their first surgery. What to do when they tell you they stuck a rock up their nose. What your next step should be when your threat doesn't stop the in-public tantrum that is looming. 

I wish there was a handbook of some sort. A reference guide for what to do in certain difficult situations. I met a situation, again, that I prayed for a script for. Some canned statement I could have read to guide me through. For the second time in my career as a mom, I had to tell one of my daughters, that their father killed himself. 

This isn't exactly something that you can prepare for. It's not something that you can practice. It's not something you can brace yourself for. The nausea and heartache that came three years ago when I told Amelia is the same nausea and heartache that came yesterday afternoon when I told Emerson. The worry about how she would react. The fear of what if they think suicide is an easy fix to their problems. The look of horror and confusion and sadness of their little faces as the words "your daddy killed himself" flow from my lips will forever be burned into my memory. And then, Emerson's first reaction: "Well, did he believe in Jesus?" This reaction paralleled Amelia's "why didn't he just pray?" so well. Relief in my heart as I realize that my precious little girls are firmly in the grasp of our Heavenly Father through this journey of life. Their confusion and sadness is because they don't understand why their dad didn't just turn to our Comforter and Savior. And their hope comes from knowing that they can, and will, turn to Him. 

The relief of it being out in the open for all three of us flowed through our evening. Conversation turned back around to Brian and how he chose to end his life throughout the night and weaved in and out of our words. We talked about him. We talked about how it is ok to miss him. It's ok to miss not having a daddy. 

And we talked about how much it hurt. It hurt knowing he chose to die rather than to live with us. We talked about how much it hurt to not know him. We talked about how much it hurt everyone around us. How we hurt and they hurt and how daddy must have been hurting to think that was his best option. And then, I brought it back to our family motto of be kind. And how everyone is hurting. Maybe not with a suicide, but that everyone in our lives has some hurt they are carrying. Cancer. Divorce. Death. Sickness. Mental illness. Suicide. Homelessness. The list is long and staggering. 

And then, I told my girls that right now, tonight, at this moment, we have two choices. We can let evil win. We can let this impact us for the rest of our lives. We can let it fester and grow and eat us alive to where we are mean and nasty and depressed and can't handle life at all. Or, we can search for the message in our mess. We can be kind and love others and show people that we are strong in our Lord. We can be an example to others who are hurting that they can make it through. We can grow and pray and change hearts and change minds through our situation. The girls both agreed that they liked the second option better. 

Does this mean we ignore the sadness and pain? Nope. In the events of yesterday, it is like picking a scab off of our hearts. It is like reopening the grief wound and starting the blood flow all over again. Tears fell freely last night. All night. Nightmares happened that we prayed through. Grief is happening all over again in my household right now as we grieve the loss of Brian. As we grieve the loss of our family. As we grieve the loss of our future. But, we turn to God and give Him our cares. We turn to our family and friends to love us and support us through just another valley on the grief journey. We cry together and we hold each other and we talk about stuff. And we hold hands and move forward as daughters of the King. Stronger everyday. Lives filled with peace and hope and faith and love. 

Everybody hurts. We all carry stuff. But that just means that we "get" it. And we can help each other on this journey of life. What sadness are you holding in? What grief are you carrying? How can the Duncan girls help you? How can we pray for you?

Everybody hurts...just know you're not alone! And we are for sure people you can reach out to! You want to experience something amazing? Have a deep conversation with my 7- and 10-year-old about grief. About death. About life and living! Amelia and Emerson are strongly rooted in their faith. They are strongly rooted in friends and family. They are strongly rooted in their belief. This is simply a bump in our road, and just like always, with God on our side, we'll come out of this even stronger! Stronger in faith! Stronger in family! Stronger in the Lord!

Who Do You Think You Are...

Psalm 139:14 "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well."

I really wanted to title this blog post "An Open Letter to the Jerkfaces I Met on My Walk Today" but decided that didn't really fit with my song-based titles. And I feel more comfortable writing and thinking that no one reads my posts. And you just know those "open letters" tend to go viral. 

So, rather than an open letter with a title that was not so nice to strangers I don't even know, I am coming to my readers with an open heart. A bruised heart. A naive heart. A heart that still believes in the good of people. A heart that has the mantra of "Be kind for you know not what people are going through."

I am writing this post in frustration. In sadness for what our society has become. In hopes that it will fall into the ears of even one person who forgets to "be kind." 

It is no surprise to me that I am fat. I have been fat my entire life. I don't remember a time when I wasn't fat. Maybe when I was a baby.  I was only 7 pounds, 14 ounces at birth. It has not been a secret to me that I am fat. It's been written into my file since I was around nine years old, and I needed a letter from my doctor to play sports at school. The letter had the word OBESE written in red ink and underlined twice. I was horrified. I knew I was fat but to see it written down like that was hard for me. Not enough for me to change my lifestyle necessarily, mostly because of my love for cheeseburgers and fries. But it stung a lot. And my whole life has been about navigating life as a fat person. 

Now, I'm not looking for sympathy for myself. I am fat. But I'm not necessarily happy I am fat. I know about the risks. I know that I have a family history of obesity and cancers, high cholesterol and high blood pressure, joint pain and knee problems. I get that being fat is most likely killing me sooner rather than later. 

And I am also not looking to be any sort of ambassador of the "body positive" front. I am not proud of the skin I am in. I work very hard to pretend to be confident and end up volunteering for a lot of stupid things to practice confidence and public speaking and putting myself out there. I am not proud of my body. My flabby stomach is fat, not just the remnants of being pregnant with babies. My stretch marks are not beautiful to me. They are from years of neglect of my body and yo-yo dieting trying to make myself more acceptable to myself and society. I don't need people telling me "You're beautiful the way you are" or "You're more than a number on the scale." I get those things. But I don't feel like I should be talked out of thinking I'm fat. I am. 

But, just because I am fat doesn't give anyone an excuse to not be kind. People don't know what I've been through. People don't have any idea that I was a high achiever in school and that I felt a ton of pressure on myself to perform well in everything that I did. So in stress I would sneak food or buy candy from friends or hide and hoard food in my room to eat my anxiety away. People don't know that I had to weigh in front of the other students as a sophomore and was mortified when the scale read 240 pounds but went home and gorged myself on pizza. People don't have any idea that I weighed 220 pounds as a sophomore in college, and when I was raped he held his hand over my mouth and told me to "enjoy it because this was the only way my fat *** was ever getting any." People don't know that I'm a single, widowed mom doing my best to not only take care of myself and work full time and keep up on house chores and yard work and volunteer as much as a can at my girls' school, but also provide for my family and raise my girls in this world as strong Christian young ladies who are confident and smart and don't grow up with the same feelings their mother has and the pressure on me for those reasons also makes me turn to food sometimes. 

But, none of those things that people don't know define who I am. So this post, this rant, isn't about any of that. Being obese most of my life has given me a pretty thick skin. And although it does sting a bit when things happen, I have chosen to rise above and think about the things I have accomplished. 

So, thinking back on past embarrassing experiences: to the lady who looked in my cart and told me if I didn't buy cupcakes I wouldn't be so fat: You have no idea that I work hard to plan menus and buy the right foods such as fruits and vegetables and to not be addicted to something I have to face every single day. To the lady that stopped me and told me that leggings were not meant to be worn by people of my size: You're maybe right. That's probably why it took me almost nine months to convince myself to wear them, and only then under an oversized shirt or a dress but I rock them anyways and pray people like you don't comment loud enough for others to hear. And then try to keep wearing them without seeing your face as I pull them on. To the man tonight on my walk that yelled obscenities paired with the word "fat" as you laughed and drove by: You don't know that I signed up for my first kickboxing class just an hour earlier or that I started my third round of my Couch to 5K app yesterday or that you chose those words as I was on mile one of my mile and a half walk. To the impatient man who yelled that he doubted that I could cross fast enough for him pulling all that weight: I lost four pounds this morning. And hauling my 235 pound self through a crosswalk is a lot easier than it was when I was 361 pounds. 

To all of them, and others who just can't handle being kind: who do you think you are? I KNOW who I am! Look at the Psalm I posted at the beginning of this post! I am fearfully and wonderfully made! I am a daughter of the King. I am firmly in His hands and He is guiding me through this life. He was there for every moment of unkindness, protecting my heart and soul, protecting my thoughts of myself. He loved me oh so much at 361 pounds and He loves me oh so much at 235 pounds and He will love me oh so much at 165 pounds when I get there. 

Be kind! You don't know what others are going through. You have no idea! Who do you think you are? I hope that you KNOW that God loves you! I hope you KNOW that you are His child. I hope you KNOW that you are forgiven! By Him and by me!

Who do you think you are? You are loved and amazing and special, no matter your size or shape, no matter your race or ethnicity, no matter your religion or creed, no matter your gender or sexuality. Be kind! For we are all fighting battles!

So who do YOU think you are? I'd love to hear your answers as you reflect on this. Be kind!

I Would Walk 500 Miles...

Isaiah 40:31 "but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

I used to be a runner. Well, first I was never a runner. And then I became a runner. And as of today about two hours ago, I would say I used to be a runner. Tonight, that changed. I ran again. So, I guess I'm back to being a runner. I downloaded my Couch to 5K app and started again at Week 1, Day 1. 

It was amazing.  Not the run necessarily. I'm back to being slow and fairly out of shape. But the whole journey leading up to this run came rushing back to me as I was slipping my Seahawks leggings on. Tears started falling as I fitted my blue tank top over my torso. I was very aware of my breathing as I laced my sneakers and tied them onto my feet. And then, a period where the flood gates opened and I sat sobbing at the edge of my bed happened. What were the tears for? Elation. Giddiness. Fear. Heartbreak. Relief. Terror. All rolled into one. Is this how every run starts for me? No. Every one of those feelings was well-earned. The roller coaster of my running career has led to this moment in my bedroom, sobbing as I climbed on my treadmill. 

November 5th, 2016. I had just finished a run, halfway through the Couch to 10K app. I was walking through my kitchen, stepped over a box and broke my foot. I now am the proud owner of a huge screw in the 5th metatarsal of my right foot. And my running was done just like that. I got my cast off in March sometime and was cleared for walking and running but fear filled my heart. Just looking at my treadmill filled my heart with anxiety. There was no way I could run. I prayed for healing. I worried about breaking it again. And I felt like there was no way I was going to be able to run again. I just resigned myself to the fact I would never run again. 

And then I started feeling pain in my foot. Another trip to the surgeon and He recommended I get better shoes and wear them always. I got the shoes. And thought about running but was still so afraid. 

My prayer partner and I just the other day read an article on the importance of solitude with Father God. She talked about what her solitary moments with Him looked like and how she finds time to spend with Him each day. And it hit me. Out loud to her I said "Running was my solitude." The realization of this hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only did I lose my physical exercise I had lost my spiritual exercise too.

I made it a goal (just yesterday) for myself to target three areas over the rest of this summer. Stay within my daily WeightWatchers points. Exercise of some sort every day. And get 10,000 steps on my Fitbit. At the end of the evening tonight, I had decided I was only going to accomplish one out of three of my daily goals. I hadn't exercised and I wasn't even close to 10,000 steps. I walked into my bedroom to Change into my jammies for bed. 

As I was digging through the pile of laundry fresh from the dryer for pajamas, my attention was drawn to something else in a pile of shirts in the corner. A tan t-shirt that I didn't recognize. I pulled it out of the pile and knew it was a message. November 5th. The day I broke my foot. Not fifteen minutes before I was sprawled on my kitchen floor with searing pain in my foot, I had completed a virtual 5K. The charity attached to this 5K? The American Cancer Society. Why did I pick that charity? Because Clay, my other dad, had been diagnosed just a month before with an inoperable brain tumor. I had registered for the virtual race in his honor, submitting his name as who I was running for. The medal I received for completing it was given to him the day he finished his chemo and radiation treatments. I had completed that race just fifteen minutes before I broke my foot. And now, here was the t-shirt I had gotten for completing the race. Showing me what I had once accomplished. Showing me the things I had done before my fractured foot. Showing me that I didn't need to be reaching for my jammies. I needing to be reaching for my running clothes. So that's what I did. Using the message that was so clearly laid out for me on my bedroom floor, and using the tugging on my heart by Clay, I got my running clothes on, downloaded my app, and completed Week 1, Day 1 twenty-five minutes later. 

Tears streamed down my face for most of my run. All of the emotions I listed above flooded into my head and into my heart. Elation at the fact that I was running again. Giddiness that I was getting one on one time with Father God and this blog post was being written as I was running. Fear that I would fail. Heartbreak in remembering Clay and missing him with every step on the treadmill. Relief that I wasn't as out of shape as I thought I was. Terror that my foot would break again. And then I heard these four words from my Father in heaven: "Do you trust me?" After a second, all my anxiety and fear melted away and I knew He was with me, holding me and protecting me through my run. 

I am a runner. If I thought that running would have saved Clay from cancer, I would have run 500 miles (even more!). If I thought that running that many miles would get me to see him even for just one more hug, one more smile, one more "Hey, Sweet Pickles!" I'd do it. 

God has blessed me with running. I am a runner. And through my running, I found solitude with my Lord and Savior, I found a way to contribute to a cause that means the world to me, I found a way to honor a man who means even more to me, I found my health and my well-being, I found that I could be broken and heal and pick right up where I left off, I found my inner strength, I found my obedience to God and my faithfulness in Him. I am a runner...and I'll run 500 miles if I have to. I'll run and not grow weary, because I have Father God and His amazing design. I have His plan for my life, even down to the simple things like finding a t-shirt in a pile of clothes to motivate me to lace up those sneakers. I am a runner. And I am eternally thankful for this whole journey. 

Amen!

I Guess I'll Have to Change My Plan

The 4th of July is right around the corner. In fact, it's technically after midnight as I write this so that would make today the 3rd. The 4th of July is one of my favorite holidays! It always has been. When I was a kid I loved the fireworks. I loved Pop-its and Sparklers. I loved the great big party my mom and dad had at their house. We would invite all of our friends who are family over for the day. They would bring meat to grill and side dishes and desserts. They would bring swimsuits and baseball mitts and croquet sets. They would come early and stay late. We would swim and play ball and laugh and have so much fun together.

But my favorite part was the fireworks. Us group of kids would always go to the fireworks tent on the morning of the 4th as soon as everyone got there. All the families would pool our money, or bring their own fireworks, and us kids would run and buy fireworks together. Big box sets of mortars, Roman candles, fountains, parachutes, sparklers. You name it, we'd buy it and light it on fire. My friend Tim and I would always be in charge of the fireworks. Even after that one year when the mortar fell over and we almost killed everyone, they still let us be in charge of the fireworks. It made my heart happy. It was something I looked forward to all year long. 

And then, I got married and got pregnant and had Amelia. At eighteen months, Amelia was diagnosed with sensory processing disorder. Her worst sensitivity? Hearing.  Her worst time ever? The fireworks on the 4th of July.  She cannot stand the fireworks. She hates the sound of them. They terrify her. They drive her to the brink of a breakdown. As soon as the stores start erecting the white tents seen all over the county, her panic begins. It starts small. Just a subtle "oh no, mommy..." and then it's "how many firework tents do we need in this county?" And then it's the dreaded countdown to the 4th of July. 

It's gotten better. There was a time where I would desperately search for places that didn't have fireworks. But that was virtually impossible. This year, the panic hasn't set in quite yet. We have started with the positive self-talk: "I know that it is only fireworks and that I don't have to be afraid of them." But as the day looms closer, her unease sets a little deeper. We haven't set off fireworks for years. There's no more party. No more baseball. 

This year, there seems to be more fireworks festivals. Or at least there are new ones. The Manette Bridge was the new home to a fireworks show this year and I found myself longing to go, wishing I could pack my girls up in the car and go watch the beauty that is fireworks. But instead, we laid on the bed and read Harry Potter in front of a fan, trying unsuccessfully to drown out the monstrous booms that happened just outside our little world. 

How did this happen? How did I go from the pyro queen lighting things on fire and blowing everything up with my bestie Tim, to raising a little girl that's terrified of fireworks? This year for the first time in a while, I'm being a brat about it. I wanted to go to Manette. I want the days of parties and fireworks back. I want to go to the tent at Safeway with my friends and buy the biggest box set of fireworks ever and set them off long into the darkness. That was always my plan. That was always what I envisioned. Bundling my kids up and setting them on the trampoline to watch while mommy gave them a fireworks show to rival the Space Needle. That was my plan. 

But, that wasn't God's plan...

God's plan involved Amelia. God's plan was for me to get to be momma to this amazing, bright, lovable, wonderful little girl who just so happens to have a great fear of something that I happen to have a great love for. God's plan didn't include spending hundreds of dollars on mortars and bottle rockets, but instead saving my money and going to bed early to hold my baby until either she drifts off to sleep or the war zone outside our window ceases. I will openly admit that there are times when my heart is sad and I am so disappointed that I can't do fireworks. That I can't share fireworks with my kids. But, God's plan was different. And I am thankful because I wouldn't trade my babies for anything. Not even fountains and parachutes. 

Life is funny. We make plans. We dream about how life is going to be. We hope and pray for the journey and the ending that we want. But that's not how Father God works. He is the Master planner. He is the one in control. He is the one that has our lives planned down to the very second. He has a vision for us, a life vision for how our days are going to be laid out. Sometimes our plans match His. More often than not, His plan is better. 

There will be moments that don't seem better. There will times where we cry and lament and shake our fists and wonder what the heck He is thinking. Like the fact that two years ago today, he took Tom from us. How could His plan for that be better? We aren't better without my other dad. We aren't better with holes in our hearts and the pain of losing a loved one. But even in that mess there's a message. Even in the sadness of losing Tom, God has a plan. He has a plan for Tom. He has a plan for those of us left behind. The pain of not having Tom with us still stings. I still expect him to come up the stairs when it's pool time. I still think of things I can't wait to tell him. Hoping to share my girls with him. I still wish oh so desperately to be able to hug him one more time. Not my plan to have Tom leave us. 

This life is all planned out by God. He is in control. He is in charge. As Christians, it is hard but it is so important to have faith in God's plan. Even when it's hard. Even when we question what He is thinking. Even when we can't see the good that could come of this situation. God is in control. God is in charge. God is working on our lives. And in each and every situation we will eventually be able to look back and say "There it is!" There's the message in the mess. There's the plan that I couldn't see at the time. There's the blessing that was hiding around the corner. 

So, I'll hold Amelia and I'll walk and breathe and guide her through the 4th of July. I'll reassure her and let her know that it is all ok. That there's a plan for that even. God knows our every need. God even knows the needs we don't know about. He is forgiving and gracious and loves us so very much. So much that He has a plan! A plan that included sending his Son over 2000 years ago to die on the cross and save us from sin. His plan! I'm so grateful for His plan!

So, I guess I'll have to change my plans. All of them. I need to change my plan to His plan! I need to have faith that He is working out all things for my good. I need to let go and let God take control of my life because I need Him to be in charge. It's not my plan anymore...but it never really was...His plan!