Rhythms

I should explain something.

I promise you, I'm not hyperventilating. (I suppose it might look that way if all you see is, "Breathe in, Breathe out, Breathe in, Breathe out...)

I also promise you that my actual respiratory rate is not that low. I take more than one breath every day or so. :-)

Last year, I made an attempt at participating in one of the many 365 photo projects floating around the web. It seemed all well and good - an opportunity to look at my world through a creative lens on a regular basis - however, the pace was not sustainable. I got behind, and then I gave up. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was just one more thing to do. After a while, it felt forced, ingenuine. If you know me, you know I hate that.

There had to be some way to incorporate the looking and listening that I was hoping for with 365, without the frantic, guilty feeling I'd get (give myself) for skipping days.

Last month, I came across a blog that captured this, and I love their description:

"welcome to habit. a place to capture and celebrate the bits of our daily lives. it is our intention to make this capturing and celebration a habit, so we will be here regularly.

we'll be inviting friends to join us here. and in some small way, we are hoping to capture the collective life of a community of women who are artists and writers, photographers and bloggers, mothers and sisters and daughters and granddaughters, and thinkers and seers and wonderers.

we believe that there will be something extraordinary about holding these pieces of life together in one place."

(habit: about)

I may never be invited to participate in the habit postings (one can be invited as a guest contributor), but I see great value in the rhythms of the project itself.

After some thought, I decided to adopt it as a discipline, of sorts. My hope is to capture the rhythms of my own life and experience - to listen to the Lord and to listen to my heart more gently. I've spent far too much of my life tossing it around senselessly.

SO. I want to give credit where credit is due. Go visit habit, and maybe dive in yourself.

Looking back

Last year around this time, I did a little bit of a year-in-review complete with a handful of my dids and didn'ts for 2008. Don't have much of a review for this year... for the most part, it seems to have been utterly consumed by school. As I look back, the highlights of this year were mostly little things.

... an hour here or there in the company of a friend
... a breath of fresh air, by bike or foot
... recognition of a few unexpected fellow travellers
... the opportunity to show love through creativity
... the rhythms of liturgy
... the hard questions of messy ministry
... little gestures of love & commitment from my amazing husband
... God's steady invitation to become awake and alive with him

My desires for this coming year haven't really changed...

I want to listen well.
I want to love well.
I want to work hard.
I want to play hard.
I want to rest when I rest.
I want to give... life, encouragement, time, money, creativity.
I want to trust... God, my husband, my friends, myself.

And this year, I want to run a marathon. :-)

Favorites

It's not often that I get to cram so many favorites into one day:
- great, but mildly unlikely, company
- sweet bike time
- light rail
- knitting
- crisp, clear, cold weather
- soul-searching
- coffee with Jero (I can have coffee again!)

This day was nearly 2 weeks ago and it's been a bit of an anchor in the crazy. God hears my prayers and responds in most surprising ways.

toot toot.

So... one Amy Sawyer has demanded a "randish" blog post about the half, and she shall get it, unfortunately sans photos.

This past Sunday morning, Jeromie & I downright conquered the Denver Half-Marathon. I say conquered because we both had a pretty bum few weeks leading up to it. I got sick. Jer got busy. We both felt beat AND we made the (possible) mistake of eating PIZZA as race-fuel. Not even delicious BlackJack's BBQ Chicken! Not even McKinner's many delicious awesomes! Dominoes, I tell you! We ate Dominoes!

With good friends, of course.

But that still does not make up for the fact that pizza is not always runner-friendly the night before a race/run/event/whatever.

That said, we were both planning to just settle for finishing.

So. The Half. I will definitely be doing another one, and hopefully another after that.

Looking back on the morning, the Denver course was an excellent place to attempt my first actual half-marathon. I'd run the distance many times in high school, just to get away from life, but I hadn't ever done a formal half-marathon, and I hadn't run that far in YEARS (like 10 of them). The course was fairly flat (except for fun little hill early on, and another one between miles 9 & 10 in the Cheeseman Park area), the race was not huge participant-wise, and the weather turned out to be amazing.

We took the light rail into downtown so we wouldn't have to worry about parking, and managed to get to the Civic Center Park (starting line area) by about 6:30am. As is almost always the case before a race, we ended up spending most of our time before the start waiting in the lines for the restrooms. Bah. Anyway... we managed to get through the lines, check our gear bags, and make it to somewhere near our pace-marker by a few minutes before the start. Of course, at that point I realized I'd forgotten my little snack-gel thingies, but oh well. I think it took about 4-5 minutes to get to the actual starting line after the race began, and that time basically served as my warm-up. Next time... I'll get there earlier.

We'd agreed the night before to just run our own paces, so we parted ways within the first quarter mile. I spent the first mile or two weeding my way through the crowd and trying to feel out how my calves would behave for the day. I wasn't paying much attention at all to time or pace and thus missed hitting my watch until the 3 mile marker. After that, I hit my watch joyfully at every mile because I was that much closer to being done AND I was kind of interested to see what pace I had settled into.

I don't remember much about the running part itself except the silly, quirky thoughts & lovely "runner's high" that strike me on good days. I remember being utterly blown away as I approached City Park (somewhere in mile 5?) and saw the front-runners fly past in the opposite direction... they were several miles ahead of me and booking it. I remember cheering for the first & second women I noticed in that pack. I also remember getting passed at about that same time by a boy running a leg of the relay who looked like he was maybe not even ten. Oh yeah... and I remember loving the fact that I was running down the big fat middle of the road, with no worries about drastic camber or much of anything else!

Somewhere around mile 7, there was a station for grabbing GU, and I gladly grabbed one. My last experience with chocolate-flavored GU (about 10 years ago?) was NOT a good one, but I figured I'd shot my own self in the foot by forgetting my stuff and I was not about to risk crashing later. Surprisingly, whatever I grabbed was actually palatable... almost like chocolate frosting. So... I hung onto that for about 2 miles & ate it whenever I could see water up ahead.

Mile 11 was probably the hardest mile of the run... my knees were aching and my ears were doing this weird popping deal from the cold I had a few weeks back. At this point, I just decided that there was no quitting and no complaining and off I went.

Somewhere around Mile 12, the marathon and half-marathon courses parted ways. I knew that my internship site was just a block past the split, so I was maybe-just-a-little tempted to add a block to my run, but when it came down to it I was just glad to head for the finish.

The end was unremarkable, but at the same time SUCH a relief. My official time was 2:01:59, which works out to an average of 9:19 per mile. All I can say is that I was (and am still) pleasantly surprised.

Since Sunday morning, I have taken A LOT of ibuprofen. I've also cursed at the two flights of stairs that I must go down to leave the apartment. Today, I commuted in to campus on my bike (+ a few extra miles for good measure), and that was a HUGE help in taking the edge off the soreness in my quads and calves.

So... that was the half. I'm already plotting and scheming for running a whole in May - the Denver Colfax Marathon. I may even have a training partner! :-D


(P.S. The post title is because I wasn't planning on writing about this... it just felt a bit like tooting my own horn. I was going to let Jer do the posting, but he told me to write my own...)

Miscellany

It just occurred to me yesterday that I've had this blog going for about three and a half years... happy 3.5th blirthday to me. Haha.

I did an inventory of the tags/labels and decided that they were a little out of hand. As a result, I've gone through & tweaked the labels on every single last post. So... now the tags are a little less crazy.

It was really interesting to take at least a brief look at all the blog posts I've ever written. Some of them are just plain silly. Yeah, I get that way sometimes. Alright, most of the time.

Some things I've recognized (perhaps again):
- Christ and community are an integral part of my life.
- I wrestle with truth & untruth, with God and with my heart regularly.
- I have a creative heart.
- I have a quirky sense of humor.
- I love to run, bike & just be outside. Oh, and reading good books.
- I want to, and am/do imperfectly... know and be known.
- God is bringing me to life.

Top Tags:
- silly (32)
- photos (25)
- creativity (22)
- community (22)
- good books (17)
- ramblings (17)
- wrestling (17)

I'm not sure very many people read these posts, but I will continue to write them. After all, this is about a journey that ain't stoppin' anytime soon...

Yeah, buddy...

Jeromie and I NAILED our long run this morning.

I was a bit nervous about it... I attempted 10 miles a few weeks ago & had to stop at 8 due to unforseen circumstances. Also, this is the first time in about 10 years that I've tried to run that far. It was Jeromie's first time ever.

We drove over to a local bike trail - the High Line Canal Trail - walked a little, stretched just briefly, and took off. We agreed yesterday that we'd think of the run as 5+5 (not 10!) and did just that.

A little giddy at mile 5, I decided to hit the "reset" button. :-) I told Jeromie good night, yanked on my right ear, and then started chattering about this crazy dream I'd had the night before... that I'd just run 5 miles, but coming from the other direction. Gosh, that would make for a tiring 5 mile run, wouldn't it... dreaming about it, then doing it. It was kind of fun to count the mile markers on the way back & think of it as only having run a mile, mile & a half, two...

Yeah, silly... I know.

Just over a month until the Denver 5+5+5k (and 10+10+10k).

I'm pretty sure we can nail that one too...

Mess & Mercy

There are a lot of days where I feel downright uncomfortable in my own skin... when I am acutely aware of the fact that something is amiss. In my heart. In my relationships. In my world.

As many have said before me, things are not as they were made to be... and yet there is beauty, life, hope... a steady tension... the "already and not yet" of the One True God at work.

My life so far has been a beautiful, ridiculous, little part of a much larger, lovelier story. Beautiful because Jesus is making that way... ridiculous because it's such an odd assortment of mess and mercy, belief and unbelief, brokenness and healing, coming and going, learning and forgetting, travelling and setting up camp for a time, and becoming.

Lately, it's felt like the brokenness was winning... physically, emotionally, relationally... i've been an inconsistent (to some, absent) friend, a difficult wife, an impertinent child, a prodigal yet again... i've added a new (minor) injury to my long list (who knew you could bust yourself vacuuming?!)... i've lost track of the things that are most important to me... so it goes...

But here marks a moment where I've been picked up, dusted off and reminded that this is not the end of the story. :-)

On Being Awake...

"The word I kept hearing in multiple places this morning is "awake." I'm curious what it means for me. Anything for you?"
~ Winn Collier, as his Facebook status

"short answer... it's a state i wish i were in today, more than just physically. it's better than texas. :-)"
~ my too-quick, but still true, response

* * * * * * *

I probably should've thought more about my answer before I posted a comment, but I didn't have the energy to articulate, at that moment, what being awake means for me. So I got to have a little bit of freshly prepared foot* for lunch, but that's okay. As a "transplanted Texan" (see below**), I stand by my claim that being truly awake is better than Texas any day.

And now I shall explain.

For me, being truly awake is far more than a physical state. It's a matter of willingness, awareness, aliveness... where I pop my head out of my little prairie-dog hole and realize that the world, and God in it and beyond it, are far larger than I understand them to be.

To be awake means:
- seeing and listening, with more than just my physical eyes and ears, to God and the world around me
- anticipation, not complacency ~ keeping watch, as in Matthew 25
- letting go of my little life for the sake of loving and serving God and my neighbor
- spending honest, unfettered time with my heart laid bare to Jesus, who has rescued me
- asking hard questions & thinking hard through the possible answers
- encountering the world honestly, genuinely
- remembering what is true
- loving well wherever I find myself - whether work, school, or community
- working well wherever I find myself - whether work, school, or community
- allowing myself to be loved by others
- something God calls me to be
- and much, much, MUCH more...


If I am honest with myself, I don't spend much time awake... and that, my friends, I lament.



* * * * * * *

* - I don't like to stir things up, so I stuck my foot in my mouth. Perhaps unnecessarily. I'm still evaluating that one...
** - Though born in Texas, I grew up in SC, and thus went through all of SC's state history shenanigans. So... when I came home from school in the 3rd-ish grade calling myself a "sandlapper" (the name for a South Carolinian, I guess), my mom went to great lengths to explain that I am not in fact a "sandlapper," and should not call myself that... I'm a "transplanted Texan." I guess it stuck.

Take Me Home...

Well, the move's starting to sink in. Before the POD arrived this morning, it didn't take too much of a stretch to imagine that, perhaps, we were re-arranging the house. The normal person doesn't pack things up in boxes for a simple re-arrangement, but, hey, we're not exactly normal people here in the Rand house, so it could happen. This definite sign of uprooting has brought tears to my eyes much more easily than before. (For example: turning onto the campus that I once hated but now love to meet someone for lunch, hearing the first few notes of a song that I love sung by a favoritest musician.) I suspect this may continue for a while after we've moved too, especially when remembering the folks I'll miss & the unique places I've dwelled these past many years.

You know, I've called these places home because they are what I know of home:
- little house, large yard, plenty of trees (until I went off to college)
- a dorm room or apartment shared with a variety of fun characters (myself included!)
- the forests of my fluffy Blue Ridge Mountains
- the high limbs of favorite trees
- a cabin full of excited girls
- a tent miles from the nearest road
- a room full of truth-telling, BS-detecting family known collectively as house church
- a house in Greenville, an apartment in Clemson with my dear husband
- a basement full of folding chairs and leaks, surrounded by fellow children of an incredible, merciful Father
- eyes closed, lost in the music of the DCF band
- a deserted road on an early morning, by bike or running shoes
- a green lake surrounded by old peaks, history speaking from its depths
- deepening friendships with grace-giving fellow pilgrims

I could go on for a very long time.

I was reminded this morning (as I drove in to meet my beautiful friend Rachael for lunch) that these are only previews of home. Surprisingly, the song that usually reminds me of this is not a typical worship song... it's my favorite cover of any song ever: Genesis' "Take Me Home" as done by Dave & Co. Singing along (in the car... yes, I am one of *those* people), I remember that I am a pilgrim on a journey to the home God created us for. This doesn't mean I should disconnect from this world I'm in, but rather engage - love deeply, serve joyfully, persevere purposefully, ask meaningful questions, give meaningful answers, think bigger, believe even bigger than that, because God is beyond what I can fathom, and He's made a way to live and breathe and dwell with Him, wretched as I am.

That might be the longest run-on sentence ever. Or not. I don't care. :-)

The countdown stands at ~3 days now, but it's ticking onward. I will not coast through them, as I am prone to do, but live awake and aware as I'm called to. I'll probably cry some, but I really do welcome that now. :-)


* * * * * * *


P.S. This just happens to be my 100th post as the Prodigal Pilgrim. I feel like that (and so many other things) might just call for some celebration.

So. I'm giving away something handmade!

Set of 5 hand-printed cards,
which are also available in my Etsy shop

When I arrive in Denver, I'll do a random drawing to figure out who gets them. In the meantime, leave me a comment that includes your name and how you found the blog! If you pass it along to another friend who enters, I'll stick your name in again just for kicks. I'm a little curious to find out how people get here. :-)

We roll into Denver on the 15th, so sometime that weekend, I'll post the winner.

<< exhale >>

Somehow it seems appropriate that I get my life back from bookfairs and busy on my birthday!

I apologize for my rather lengthy absence from sharing things of interest, but the past two months or so have been incredibly busy on all fronts; however, the last (hopefully!) bookfair at work finished yesterday, so now I can rest and be rested.

Thank you to everyone who has loved and supported me this past year, and my whole life for that matter.

Thank you, Jeromie, for patience and hard words of truth.

Thank you, Jesus, for rescuing and redeeming me.

Thank you, God the Father, for loving me relentlessly.

Thank you, precious Holy Spirit, for breathing Life into mine.

What is the What (Dave Eggers)

I have just finished an incredible book:

What is the What
by Dave Eggers

I first came across this book when I started work at the Open Book. I was intrigued by it, but could only add it to my quickly growing list of books I wanted (and still want) to read. Months passed and it called to me all the while from its little shelf. I picked away at other books on my list that I already owned (I'm trying to make this my primary source of reading despite a lovely discount at work), and still it nagged me whenever I walked passed it at work. Finally, the book pounced. Jeromie and I went to the library to get an audiobook for our Christmas trip to Alabama, and it ended it coming home with us. I know I'm anthropomorphizing a book... or feline-pomorphizing it, but it did feel like a friendly kind of stalking.

We started the book together in the car a few days before Christmas and were captivated. The writing itself, the voice and storytelling, is incredible, and the actor that was chosen to read it for the audio format only brought the story more to life. We didn't want to turn it off! It occupied the whole trip to Alabama and back, and I finally bought the book when I came back to work. The book has been no less incredible to simply read.

What is the What is the story of Valentino Achak Deng, one of the Lost Boys of Sudan who trekked to Ethiopia, then to Kenya as a young boy because of the conflicts (understatement!) that engulfed the whole of southern Sudan beginning in the early eighties. The book is biographical fiction - written this way because, as Deng says in the preface, "I was very young when some of the events in the book took place." He notes that all major events are true and that nothing occurs in the book that could not have occurred in the real experience of these Lost Boys.

As a book, What is the What is gripping - it captures the reader from the very start and holds one's attention throughout. As the story of one life, and the lives of millions, it is many things: sad, hopeful, frightening, outraging, indelible. I hold images from this story burned into my mind, ones that I do not want to forget. I am ashamed that I have not been more than peripherally aware of the atrocities that have taken place in Sudan - southern Sudan, and now Darfur. I have been aware of suffering, even in my own town, but it has not brought me to my knees. I do not simply want to put down the book and go about my life unaffected. I also don't want to get worked up for a short time and fizzle back into the wretched complacency I've let in the back door.

This story has made me think, it's called me to pray - it has helped me to engage with my broken world in a way that I have not in a long time. It's one that I would suggest to anyone to read and consider.


In house church this week, we talked about our word for the year, and I think I forgot to share mine: SPEAK. As I finished reading, this word was reinforced to me. I am excited and hopeful of what this year holds, and of what God is doing.

I did it.

I've felt for a long time that God was leading me in the direction of counseling. I've been beating around the bush for a looooooong time about sending off my applications for grad school, and today I submitted one.

Some may say whoop-dee-doo, but for me this feels a lot like getting on a rollercoaster. I've been standing in line biting my fingernails for months: afraid of rejection, afraid I wasn't hearing God right, just plain afraid... and now I'm on the ride. I still have a few things to do to complete the process for this particular school (Denver Seminary), but I should have those done by the middle of the week.

Here we go...

Rhythms

As with many other things in my life, I have yet to discover (or recover) a rhythm to updating my blog. I guess I just do it as the mood strikes. And the mood has struck!

Last week, Jeromie got me a new travel mug. It's a perfect-for-Liz size (8oz) and a perfect-for-Liz format (insert your own picture!). As soon as we got home, I got to work creating my own little insert, and in doing so I inadvertently broadened my doodling horizons. :-D I have always been a fan of what I call "swirlies..." not the toilet kind, of course... and now I've figured out how to incorporate them into actually drawing something other than a page full of swirly lines!

I've become a bit of a doodling fiend ever since, especially after purchasing some fine-point sharpies. It took a while to find the right paper, but the 3x5 sketchbook I bought this morning seems to be just the thing. So here are some of my favorites from today...








I think the colors are a bit off on the computer, but not too much. So there you go!

* * * * * * *

Is anyone else blown away by the fact that it's pretty much the middle of December???

Thankful

- - <> - -

I am a much happier creature when I spend time outside in the woods. I think I've let myself forget that over the past year, to the point where I am utterly blown away by the joy of it all when I find myself on a trail, even if it's just on Paris Mountain. I need to get out more, back to the woods that are my home.

Thanksgiving, I was not so thankful. I was congested & half-asleep. Today, God has helped me to be a little more awake and alive to His presence & movement in this world and in my life. (And not just by chucking me out into the woods! :-) )

Too tired to write anymore.

Resonance

"St. Paul"
written by Thomas Merton

When I was Saul, and sat among the cloaks,
My eyes were stones, I saw no sight of heaven,
Open to take the spirit of the twisting Stephen.
When I was Saul, and sat among the rocks,
I locked my eyes, and made my brain my tomb,
Sealed with what boulders rolled across my reason!

When I was Saul and walked upon the blazing desert
My road was quiet as a trap.
I feared what word would split high noon with light
And lock my life, and try to drive me mad:
And thus I saw the Voice that struck me dead.

Tie up my breath, and wind me in white sheets of anquish,
And lay me in my three days' sepulchre
Until I find my Easter in a vision.

Oh Christ! Give back my life, go, cross Damascus,
Find out my Ananias in that other room:
Command him, as you do, in this my dream;
He knows my locks, and owns my ransom,
Waits for Your word to take his keys and come.

Fear

"There is so much fear in us. Fear of people, fear of God and much raw, undefined, free-floating anxiety. I wonder if fear is not our main obstacle to prayer. When we enter into the presence of God and start to sense that huge reservoir of fear in us, we want to run away into the many distractions which our busy world offers us so abundantly. But we should not be afraid of our fears. We can confront them, give words to them and lead them into the presence of him who says: 'Do not be afraid, it is I.' Our inclination is to show our Lord only what we feel comfortable with. But the more we dare to reveal our whole trembling self to him, the more we will be able to sense that his love, which is perfect, casts out all our fears."

- Henri J.M. Nouwen
A Cry for Mercy

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


I have spent much much of my life dwelling in fear. Fear of people, fear of God, fear of self, fear of feeling, fear of failing. The past few years or so, and particularly this past year, have been a newer season - characterized much less by fear, but much more by a subtle numbness, a creeping in of apathy (or so I think). I have, on many counts, been much "happier" and "more confident," but I've also been distant from the God who rescued me and gave me Life.

I think I've been content to make mudpies, as CS Lewis put it.

The past few days, I've heard God whispering to my heart again. He's been poking and prodding and revealing that the fear hadn't truly left, but been dumbed down and wished away. His perfect love casts out all fear... he doesn't let it sleep under the stairs like I do. Reverent fear, awe, respect - these are poor words for what I feel I must keep. The cringing fear, the hiding fear, the running-away fear - in the face of Jesus, those have to go.

I always seem to forget that it's a daily thing.

I want to choose God over all the distractions - and boy are they ever abundant! And hard to discern... sometimes... sometimes I just choose the distractions. :-(

Stirrings

This picture was taken just over two years ago... one crisp, late October morning in 2004. At that point I was driving too long and (most of the time) too early for a part-time job as a lifeguard. It's still amazing to me how time seems to fly and how things can change so slowly and quickly at the same time. At this point, I could wax theological about how God is changeless while I am always changing... and just because I don't doesn't mean He isn't (changeless)... but that isn't what strikes me most at moments like these. (And I am no good at waxing in any form... not even cars.)

I think what is stirring in my heart right now is, perhaps, a fresh realization of His mercy. That stirring itself is by grace alone - the Spirit rising like the sun to cut through the frost that remains in my own heart. I hope and pray for awakening - I've been asleep for too long.

Beginning again...

So I find myself in a both strange and familiar place... strange because it does not fit, it is not right - but familiar because I've most certainly been here before in varying degrees.

This time, I have only just arrived, but I remember vividly the worst of what this place holds.

The air is dry and dusty, and the only laughter is that of the scorching wind as it kicks the dust up into my face. The landscape is flat and changeless. On most days, I get the sinking feeling that there is nothing more - there is no hope for anything more than survival - and I resign myself to that fact. Precious few, I find a glimmer of joy and of purpose, which I cling to as my hope, but these tender shoots quickly wither under the blazing sun. My companions offer little solace as they greedily snatch up the only food this place provides... my stomach rumbles again like thunder and I reach back through the haze of my memories - I have not always been here.

As I sort through my story, I realize this place is a strange mix of exodus and prodigality. I have been through this land on my way to a new Home, but at times I find myself returned & utterly alone. Like the Israelites in the desert, I have wandered here between the slavery I was born into and a new land. Then, like the prodigal son, I have thrown myself into the arms of lesser lovers and found myself here and longing for home. Here again, I return, and each time I return (whether consciously or otherwise), I find that God pursues me even here. As with Israel in the story of Hosea, He gives and He takes away, all to show that HE is the Lord & lover of my soul.

Through all my unfaithfulness, He pursues me. I run and then return - because He pursues me. And I know He pursues me because He is Life, and Jesus died to bring me into real Life & into His family.

So here continues my story... it is most certainly a continuing, not a beginning... of God's mercy and love as He pursues my heart. I pray that my response will be to turn to Him again, not away, as the journey continues.