I have a confession to make. We haven’t even decorated for Christmas yet this year. We haven’t gotten the tree, I haven’t put the candles in the window, and there are no boughs of holly strung anywhere. I haven’t even gotten out the special advent calendar to count down the days to Christmas yet. You know the one, or maybe have one like, made of felt, with a special piece for each day to count down the days in December. We’re too many days in December to mention how far behind we are.
We’ve had our calendar for years, before our kids were even born. Back when I used to do it myself after I came home from long hours helping care for other people’s children whom I loved dearly. Now I watch our kids do the placing and counting down. Happily, cheerfully most of the time, with the occasional game of give and take, “discussing” which ones are their favorites this year and who should be able to put them where.
I used to have visions of us, someday, maybe having these mythical, miracle children with us. And now here they are. Blessedly. (Though, to be honest, I’m not sure I ever fully believed it would come true. However, I digress..)
But we are so busy this year, and full of crafts, collections and too quickly passing days, we haven’t had time to quite keep track of its passing yet. We have been celebrating, a bit, and preparing, a lot. Not even with present wrapping or buying, or anything like that. Not yet. We are preparing gifts of time and some talent. There are school activities, choir, concerts. and some church activities too. It’s Advent and Faith, celebrations and lots of music. It’s busy, but it is magical, too, at the moments when I stop to remember. When I see that’s what the busy is all about, anyway.
It would probably feel extra special if we came home to a decorated house, I think. But we haven’t yet. We’ll get there. I think.
One thing we have been busy with, in particular, is preparing for our child’s First Reconciliation. It’s not a particularly huge time commitment- some extra at home reading, a few meetings of various sorts, and then a special Saturday coming up for the celebration.
Yet in December a little extra can seem like a lot.
Mix in those school concerts and carols and things, and it can send one scrambling to catch up on things like laundry.
But when I see the messy left behind from these things, I just try to remember. That just because it’s busy and messy and even a little chaotic also doesn’t mean that it isn’t God-breathed.
While I thrive on the meaningful, it also sometimes disrupts the regular, and a lot of the sensibilities we’re often taught to care about. It’s not that I’m complaining. I certainly see the value in it all, in what we’re doing. I just haven’t quite come up for air yet. That air that is fragrant and melodic and filled with the scent of evergreen and freshly baked cookies. We will get there, I bet.
But for now I still feel like we’re riding in on two squeaky wheels, in a sleigh full of crumbs and deadlines. I always thought that I loved decorating but I can’t quite bring myself to yet this year.
While I know that we probably will eventually find the time, I know that not everyone does. Not every home or person ends up decorating, or celebrating. Not every year, not every home, not every heart, finds the chance or opportunity, or maybe even has the capacity to trim the trees or deck their hearts or halls. Some have so much going on, it seems impossible to imagine Christmas, too.
But here’s the best part.
Christ didn’t come because we were ready or decorated. He didn’t come because we had trimmed the trees or readied the house or even set the table.
He didn’t come because of our traditions. He came in spite of them, in the middle of it, and maybe even in the absence of them too.
He came because He was needed, whether we knew it or not. He didn’t come to a sparkling feast full of joy and celebration. He was the feast, and came, first, to love.
Regardless if we had filled in the void of His absence with other light or loves, or with the numbness and fillers that only prove to make us more hungry and broken. He came in spite of it, in the middle of it, and because of it all. He came to the stable of our broken lives, right there next to our need. Right where we always have needed Him, and still do.
Even if we are sitting at a table where there is a feast, and decorations all around us, He comes to us. To every broken or hurting or lonely or full heart, no matter where we sit. He comes, regardless of any decorations or lack thereof.
Christmas can be such a beautiful time, with lights, decorations and beautiful things all around us. But I think, maybe we tend to forget that’s not what it’s all about anyway. Especially when it’s missing. We feel guilty for our lack. We’re too tired, too weary, too weak. Things are too chaotic or messy for it to make any sense and don’t often recognize that He wants to come to our undecorated, lowly barns and stables. We want to skip right to the end game, to the table feast and to dismiss what’s broken or messy along the way. We consider them as complete distractions. We think we might shove them in the closet of our minds, that we should “get ourselves together” in order to celebrate Christmas.
While we can and sometimes should prepare ourselves, it isn’t actually a prerequisite for His coming. Or for celebrating His coming all over again.
He comes when it’s broken. He comes because it’s broken. He comes, and blessedly, He comes before we decorate or even realize our need. He comes.
We might not want to accept that our discomfort or mess isn’t just a side note, it’s a necessity. We don’t seem to be able to fully recognize that our lack is a herald of His arrival, not a distraction. We’re prone to think that our own mess, or what’s not right or beautiful yet means we shouldn’t celebrate.
But this year, before we’re decorated or we’ve even had the chance to sit beside our own tree with wonder and rest, I can see that we’re doing what we were meant to this year. In the middle of all of the not-yet-preparing, we’ve really never been so prepared.
The one thing we’ve been busy participating in? Reconciliation? Amidst all of our scattered Christmas books and crafts, papers from school, unfinished (or not-even-started) projects, there sits books and papers for the whole family, about Reconciliation.
What better thing to remember at Christmas than reconciliation? That Christ came to reconcile man to God, not just in-spite of things being broken, but because of it. What does Reconciliation mean but to be re-united, and re-connected to God. We all have things, thoughts, situation, and circumstances that have tried to separate us from God. And From our eternal purpose to know Him.
Though we are like an unlikely hostess to an unexpected guest, somehow, wherever we have been wearily traveling to, in our sleigh full of crumbs, He inexplicably, delightedly, finds us there.
That messy, undecorated stable, and even the long journey to get there, they become our meeting place with God, too. Our need turns into a birthing party, where He comes to join us in our story, to be welcomed, to be held, and to celebrate life with us again, too.
He comes, with His light and His love. With tidings of comfort and joy because it is exactly what we need and lack.
He does not come so that we might clean ourselves up first, or fix things alone, but so that He might do the fixing up with His work of redemption. With His presence and with His Love. With the light of His brilliance, He lights up our dark stables, He cleans out our stables, lightens our hearts, and floods them with Love. His love is indeed, a powerful and forgiving force, full of kindness and love, with compassion, and overflowing with goodness.
Decorations aside, that is the most beautiful thing of all.
So if you can’t manage to decorate like you might want this year, or to make the beautiful things that you think you should, or to even get a little closer to “together”, it’s okay. If you’re too tired or overwhelmed to fix the messy things that are strewn about you or unable to even clean up all the crumbs because you’re just trying to get yourself together, it’s okay.
And please remember.
That’s what He came for. You’re what He came for. Not in spite of your lacks or needs, but because of them. He comes, anyway, and quite regardless of….anything else.
Because of love. Because He is with us in both the mundane as well as the eternal joys. Because where school and work and deadlines and crumbs and undone projects and meetings meet, we still meet God. Because that’s how He works.
He doesn’t need our outward adornment, He just wants our hearts. We can stop judging ourselves for our lack and just meet God in our need. In the stables of our hearts, without decoration of any kind. Meet Him, who loved us enough to come. Without all of the decorations or swagger or swag, but with the full force of His Love. With everything we need.
He came with the light of His Love and brought it to the whole world. He can turn our stables into a place of His presence, our hearts into an altar of His love, and we don’t have to do it alone. Just crack open the door, and let Him in. To the messy stable of our own hearts.
Christ, invited in. That is Christmas.
To be reconciled to how you were created to be- know and connected to God. Regardless of… anything. Because of Christ.
I got to see it again today. As we celebrated that First Reconciliation. One soul reconnecting with God. Regardless of how or where or when, it’s beautiful. How do I know? It is the story of Christmas after all, isn’t it?
As we walked out of church, I snapped a picture, passing by the baptismal font, pausing for a moment. It was a quick snap, trying to take it all but wanting also to capture it. That’s when I saw it. There, in picture form, was exactly what I had been trying to say all week as I wrote this. Right above my child, with light streaming in all around us, was a stained glass window. It flowed in the afternoon sun.
What scene, you should ask? None other than Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus, together in that stable, on the night of His glorious birth. There was a glow about the whole picture, and about my child, too. I could practically see the tangible gift I’d been trying so hard to describe. The gift of reconciliation, the gift of life, the gift of His Love. I burst into tears. It is the story of Christmas after all, isn’t it?
Maybe now we’ll get that tree. But even if we don’t, it’ll be alright. We’re still decorated, still washed in His love. It’ll be alright, because in Him, we already are.
Christ the child comes for you, and for your child too.
“Glory to God in the highest, and ON EARTH, Peace to people of good will.”
You are, His people of good will. With or without decorations, or trees, or lights of any kind, or even candles in your window.
His glory comes to your earth, to your messy square of dirt, to your untidy stable. Let Him do the clean-up,the fix up and decorating. Let Him fill it all with the light of His glorious love.
That’s what He came for, after all, isn’t it? Yes, yes it is.
I slipped out the door while the moon was still bright, full and glowing. Then I sat there in silence, while my family slept and my phone was tucked away. Sat like that for an hour, a blanket wrapped around me, a cup of coffee slowly growing cold in my hand. I watched while the moon changed from full to partially shaded, to more fully shaded, as the darkness slowly crept over its perfect shape. Then, almost completely covered, the shadow of it began to glow red as a tiny sliver in the corner still glowed silver. (That was my favorite.)
I sat in wonder as it grew more beautiful. Then it was fully covered, fully glowing, a new and different shade of amber. I (mostly) knew what was happening. It why I was up, and watching, but I thought, as I often do during celestial happenings, what did our ancestors think when this happened to them?
Surely some saw it-out on a hunt, restless and tired in bed, too cold in one season or blazing hot in another, up to soothe a baby or quiet an aching body or soul. What did they think? Were they afraid? Did it silence their soul in wonder, or terrify them in the same?
They probably had no container for the occurrence, at least not like we do. In the modern world, we know these things are coming. We hear about it in news for months prior. We prepare, set alarms, or wake up naturally. We read the articles. Thanks to some very smart people and smart devices and discoveries, we know about this now. We know what causes it, the exact precise lining up of planets and suns and moons. We know when it will start and how long it will last. We know mostly what to expect, and that helps make it wonderful, and amazing. Awe-inspiring, and not really scary at all.
You know, I can’t help but note the cross-over, of questions and wonder and probably deep fear and unsettling, that can occur in the less-than-celestial occurrences in our life. There are things that we people go through, that can feel a lot like this eclipse. The way we felt before we “knew” better, or more. Before we knew the cause, the duration, the meanings, the significance and the why. Before we knew it would only be temporary, and all right.
The loss of a loved one, the sudden change of plans, the lack of finances, the struggle in home or business, the unexpected visitors, the temporary setbacks or sickness or pain.
Yet, the same God who hung the stars and set everything in place, He was there. Before the eclipses came to pass. As it blocked the light for a while. While we waited. Before we understood. Before we know what to look for, how to understand in our human experience, and what container we should put this experience in- good or bad.
He was there. He is there. In the middle of the night, when things unexpectedly, or slowly, change. He is still there, and He knows it all. Including how our hearts beat more wildly in our chests.
He is there when we’re afraid, when we want to understand. He was there when it happened, when we tried to understand. Just as He’s here now when we think that we might. He doesn’t want us to be afraid. Not of what we don’t see, or what we don’t. Of what we don’t know or don’t understand yet.
Because He’s still there. God of the universe and keeper of the stars. He’ll keep our hearts, in perfect peace too, if we let Him.
The actual eclipse- the darkening, the changing of shape, the glow that feels so surreal, whether of the moon or something else- is not really that scary. It’s only our lack of understanding that can make it so.
It’s beautiful. IF we know that it’s okay, that we’re okay. Or going to be.
Friend, you might know by now that I’m not just talking about any lunar or solar eclipse. But maybe one that’s in your heart. A shifting, a changing that’s going on, and even a lining up of things, good or bad. I may not understand what eclipse you’re going through, but I do know that it’s going to be okay.
Because God is there with you. You’ve never been left alone. Even if you slipped outside in the dark, wondering what on earth and in the heavens was going on, God sees you, He reads your every heartbeat, and He still whispers, “Don’t be afraid, I see you, and I can be your friend. I can help you see.”
Change and shadows are scary when we don’t understand. Someday we will. Until then, hold on to hope. Let it hold you. Even if it feels only like that cold cup of coffee in your hand. I promise, it’s more.
Hope is there to hold you too, like a blanket, with love. It’s okay, and going to be again, sometime, too.
I was just going through my emails and saw “Ina Garten’s Thanksgiving tips.”
(It felt a little early to me. 🤷🏼♀️)
Then I saw an important email that I missed from about a week ago.
(That’s being generous)
Right before this I read from a kids perspective how much their mom says “in a minute” or doesn’t do what they’re asking. Many of the situations sited that they were on their phones.
Honestly it makes you feel like crud to hear. You know some kids have it bad. You know you have it no worse, but also sometimes probably not much better.
I think many of us know that we go, trigger finger to the phone, much too fast.
And still we miss things. Important emails, special requests, and deadlines. Projects go on, and we try to keep up, trying to play catch up. Everything happens on these phones.
Calendars, reading, connection, creating.
Maybe you’re like me. You don’t watch tv or listen to the radio. Don’t often enough crack open a book. But you can write one while on this phone. You can read one, too, or an article, or a thought provoking post. I was the kid who read the cereal box, front to back and sideways, including the nutrition facts and ingredients. (Lord I didn’t even know what horrors I was reading or consuming!)
I get up now, way before my kids so I can do many of these things. And still throughout the day, I go to it, that box of wonders, that phone-good or bad, happy or sad. It’s like a little dopamine box, a magic 8 ball, and sometimes I can’t stop picking it up.
(That’s really honest.)
There’s also this.
There’s so much I could be doing. So much that I’m behind on. And sometimes, the phone is the easiest “while I’m with you” thing to do. I’ll fold laundry or do dishes, too, sure. But while I’m with you and you’re playing barbies or crafting, sometimes something in a way that I can’t quite participate, I need something else to do while I’m there. My brain is active. It’s hard to sit still. Do nothing. I mean I could go bury my head in some closet and clean it out or mop the floor or make a dish. I can and I do all of that sometimes too. You just want me near you though. But too much sitting around like that feels like….
a pumpkin, rotting slowly, spilling out it seeds and goo from the inside, out onto the ground.
(I never watched that movie yet, Inside Out, by the way, but I heard that’s good.)
I was reminded again today of the miles I can’t run right now. But when we got home from an outing, earlier than expected, I got out for a bike ride. It was beautiful. I hated leaving my family and they’d prefer to have me there cracking open a pumpkin actually, as it were. My sons request to carve one.
He said “yesterday you said you’d do it!”
And I did actually. We had just come home from a different adventure, an outing that required my full attention. Phone tucked away, except for pictures. Fun was had, and hours later we were back and my son wanted to immediately crack that pumpkin open.
He came up and caught me in the middle of reading an interesting article. I don’t even remember what it was but do I have to?
Do I have to justify the validity of my five minutes of down time as a mom? My attention is scattered and high demand but sometimes can’t I just be? Moms handle requests all day long for things. Moms, selflessly do, for most of the time. But I don’t always quite so well or seamlessly or selflessly.
Yesterday had me feeling this and when my son interrupted my brief reading to ask to carve pumpkins with me (one of my least favorite activities), I sighed. Now, typing this, it doesn’t sound so bad, the carving. Sounds cute really. But I find it to be harder than it sounds and it’s not a terrible activity or anything. It’s just not my favorite jam.
Now my son would do it all, if he could. But carving a pumpkin is a big job and it requires adult supervision. And honestly if I was going to do it I would want to have fun with it. Just right that moment, with dinner prep looming and having just set foot in the door from an activity, it didn’t sound so hot.
It all sounds great I’m theory and it’s all fun and games until you get to do it every day, for long periods of time, with lots of other things that require your attention too, like the house, and dinner. Motherhood is indeed a marathon. You can love it and still need to slow down your pace sometimes to accommodate.
Yesterday I did say no. At first to one small request “can you get off your phone and do this thing, mom?” “Honestly, in a minute. Because didn’t we just spend hours doing fun things? I hear a lot of ‘mom can you help me?’s”
To which my son said “isn’t that what moms do?”
Sigh. “Yes, it is. You’re absolutely right. It is. But also isn’t mom allowed to rest sometimes and be a person herself, too? I was trying to read something interesting for a minute.”
Phones are tricky things. Our kids can’t look and know what we’re doing. Not that we have to justify our “down time”. But if they’re asking something and we’re choosing to say a “no” or “in a minute”, it might help them to have some kind of understanding or context. Even if they saw what we were doing, like laundry, they might not appreciate it unless they ran out of clothes and didn’t have something or anything to wear. We all forget what normal life costs us sometimes. It’s a learning curve, indeed. And human nature is innately selfish at times, so it’s a part of my job to remind or explain these truths to them. Lovingly, hopefully. Kindly, I’m sure.
In my daily sense of fulfilling family duty, I training my child to get what they request every time, no matter how small or big? No.
Do I feel bad about that sometimes? Yes.
But do I believe I’m also teaching my children to learn that later isn’t always a bad word. To be resilient while they wait. To know that they’re loved while they wait? Yes yes and yes.
Might the think it feel that mom is being mean or mom is selfish or mom is rude? Maybe. But if I am communicating to them well, maybe not. Hopefully not. They will know that they’re loved and chosen, even if I chose not to do something just as and at the time they asked.
I have to consider at times: Am I trading my ability to rest or pursue something for my child’s ability to never hear no? Is no really such a bad word, really?
So no, we didn’t carve pumpkins that day.
But today we did. And as we did, after my bike ride, and after dinner was already coming (I hadn’t shopped yet this long weekend. See also -#qualitytime. The mom juggle is real folks. There’s no denying how many decision it takes, even more if you’re trying to do it well.)
We listened to teachings about saints.
So many faced senseless or at least tragic deaths. But they carried, too, great life.
As my son and I picked out the pumpkin seeds, to eat later, and my daughter sat coloring and listening beside us, I couldn’t help but see the correlation.
Turns out, the carving wasn’t so bad. It was hard to get it going, but we did it. There was delay, and then muscle required. But my son was a delight. I was (eventually) happy to bear witness and participate. I did accidentally throw out the top and then have to go retrieve it out of the trash I had just taken out. Fail number one. And then those pumpkin seeds that we do carefully pulled out did end up getting knocked over off the counter and went scattering all over the kitchen floor and a little bit on the table. But no one got too upset, and together, we cleaned it up.)
We continue on and I can’t help but think about it.
“Saints lives are kind of like these pumpkins. They’re broken open and the seeds of their faith and love go on, and bring new life to others. This pumpkin’s undoing is a hundred other pumpkins’ chances at life.”
Motherhood is lot like all of this…. Harder than it looks. Messier, trickier, but full of life and potential, and only sometimes, spilled all over across the floor. Not sainthood, perhaps, nor am I even close on most day. (Quite the opposite in fact.) But requiring a lot.
Just like I reminded my kids, though. Sainthood, what made someone to be identified as a saint is not for a few of those who have gone before us. It was because of their beautiful hearts, kind souls, and close connection with the Lord that their lives were marked, spilled out, and brought life.
Sainthood was service of the highest call.
And that my friend, is available for any of us. Not to be canonized. But to be made more beautiful. to become more-beautiful, in expression, from the inside, out. To live a life of service and love, right where we are. That sounds like a tall order. A messy order. But it’s also a lovely one.
Now, don’t get me wrong. It feels very messy. It feels very bad sometimes. But the fact that it’s hard- to do, to choose, to navigate- doesn’t make it less sacred. The fact that it looks messy doesn’t make it less beautiful or valuable. It makes it even potentially more-so. The fact that it cracks you open, and tries you and tests you-even pours you open a bit? That means it is sacred, and holy. And whatever comes out? Well, let it be love.
“Holy and acceptable. A pleasing offering in Your sight God.”
It doesn’t mean that you lay down your life to a point of detriment, to yourself or to them. Telling your kids “not right now” or maybe later, doing other things,shouldn’t be filled with guilt. Not like it can be for me at least. And especially when it’s explained, at least a little.
Even as I’m typing this I’m thinking of all the ways I say yes over and over and all the guilt I feel for the no’s is beginning to dissolve a little. Those moments of frustration, they are temporary. Then again, I have another choice. Then again, I love. Over and over. Not perfectly, but in a messy, spill-your-soul-out-like-pumpkin-seeds, kind of way.
The requests keep coming, Mom, and you don’t have to say yes to every single one. You can be guided by love in a way that means sacrifice for you at times, and guidance at times for them. But you do get to say yes to so many things, most of all love. Or you might miss out on the life giving-ness of it all. The joy of being poured out.
Anyone else with me?
Maybe this should stay among friends.
(But you can share with yours.)
You are not alone in this fabulous, messy, wonderful thing called motherhood 🙏🏻💗.
I’ve joked for years that I played the bench in soccer. Which is basically a hundred percent true. I practiced with the team, I did the drills, I ran the sprints, sometimes all uphill (ha!).
One thing I did not to was get much playing time.
And honestly, I was okay with that.
See. I didn’t get much playing time.
So when I did, I didn’t really want and I didn’t know what really do.
I would be put out in forward position, which honestly, is reserved for the stars. I knew who those were on our team, and I for sure, wasn’t one.
When I was out there, I could feel the eyes on me, and I didn’t really like it. I didn’t thrive on the spotlight. And even if in my wildest imagination, I might score a goal, nothing like that ever come close to panning out.
Though other people sometimes wondered at why I never got called up much to go in, I didn’t really doubt the why. Though on some level I might agree that it didn’t seem a fair distribution, I also didn’t really feel ready. I wasn’t sure I had it in me. (Maybe that was part of the problem. I don’t know.. )
But the less time I would play out there, the less I would feel ready to do it.
Senior year I sat out all together. It was a big fall, we were moving out of the home I grew up in, my mom was getting married (to another friend’s dad! We were about to go from soccer players to sisters.) I didn’t really have time for a game. Or to practice one I wouldn’t really play anyway. I had a life to wrap up and relocate.
So I really sat the bench that year and I was totally fine with it. Though I did miss the action and the workouts, not that much.
Years later in college, we got into a streak of playing coed soccer down the road. These were the former stars from their towns, and some of them were really good. It was always a fun time to go watch or maybe even play. (Except that one time I ended up in the hospital from being on the sidelines, but that’s another story. Ha!)
I remember not wanting to play most of the time. Like I said, these people were good. It felt like a lot of pressure to go out there among them, and I’m not really the spotlight girl. Certainly no soccer star.
I remember one time I did. For some reason. Maybe they were low on people. I don’t know. But as I played forward, not hoping to actually get the ball, I did what I knew. I’d drop back. Or head in front of the goal. All in response to the person who did have the ball. I remembered the drills. I was a good supporter.
I tried to act calm and just do what I knew. In fact I’d be happier to do that, than have all eyes on me, hoping myself I could manage the ball with enough aptitude to not loose it or fumble about. (I know, fumble is a football term. Or supposed to. What can I say – it’s how I felt out there!)
Anyway. I did my thing that time, opting for really good backup and support, running the drills I knew I could and that I knew to be true.
And wouldn’t you know, one of the guys came over to me after and told me that I was one of the best girls that ever played out there. Now I don’t know if it was because he liked me or something, but he told a very convincing story. He said I was the third best, actually, only to one really good star from Canada, and my sister. Even though I didn’t quite believe it, it was a huge compliment. For me at least. I didn’t need to be the best. I probably, no, never, never would be. I wasn’t supposed to be in this game. It wasn’t “my” main thing. I was only supposed to show up and do my best if I could.
That day. Or any day.
My friend went on the explain.
“What made you good was that you knew exactly where to go, you knew what to do. I’d look for where I needed you to be when I had the ball, and you’d already be there. It was incredible!” (Okay, maybe I’m making up the word incredible. But with his emotion, it was something like that.) “You’d drop back or pull left. It was awesome. I’ve never seen any girl play like that. You might not be the quickest or have the foot skills like those other two girls. But you’re an asset to have out there. Because you know where to go. You know how to play.”
It’s true I might not know how to score. I might not know how to really play in a forward position, with eyes on me, placing the ball in that big beautiful net. But I knew how to be somewhere that was needed, and I knew how to run and I knew how to try and support.
There are a lot of ways to BE of service, in any place, that are invaluable, and they are not all the usual way you think.
I don’t like the thought of being a “star”- soccer or otherwise.
I’m fine with not ever being handed the responsibility of being out front.
I hate the thought of actually being handed a microphone or being out on the front lines, of anything. Even though I might have so much bubbling in my heart. I don’t want the spotlight. That’s for sure.
But yet I feel called to lace up now too.
To move my self into a new era of movement and activity. Do you?
I have also joked, for the last few years that, twenty years after Bible college, I finally felt dusted off. Called off the bench. I had a lot to learn. A lot more heart work to do. And I was and am totally fine with that. In fact, a part of me would still like to stay out of the lights and the full action. It’s cozy on the bench sometimes.
But it’s not just about me And it’s not just about you either.
There a lot of people being called off the bench right in this season.
We weren’t interested in or even meant to be “stars”. But we were called to shine and support and actually be in the game. We have a party to play, a job to do. There will be ways you are called to support others, but you were never meant to be a second rate role in your own life. You were made to shine your finest.
All that practice and time and effort wasn’t for nothing. Neither was the waiting. You weren’t called because you want to be the star. You were called because you don’t.
And still. Now, it’s your time, to shine.
When coach calls you off the bench, don’t worry. Try not to be afraid. You weren’t meant to stay there anyway, no matter what anyone else said to you. Even you.
It doesn’t have to look like you think or fear that it should.
The race is not to the swift or the strong, or even the brave or the well-trained. The race is to those who keep going. Who take in the fuel that’s necessary, who keep their eyes on the prize, who keep going, slow down or rest when necessary. But who get back up and KEEP GOING.
I remember running the last leg of the Ironman in 2012 in Lake Placid. It was unusually hot. So hot, that I wanted to pick up the empty Lay’s potato chip bag that someone had left on the ground in transition.
I had just come off a grueling 89 degree 112 mile bike ride with several thousand feet of climbing that took me over eight hours. I thought I might just break down. Not because I wanted to, no, but because I could feel my body riding on the edge of a wave of depletion and exhaustion. And yet I had some choices to make, because another grueling leg laid ahead of me- the marathon. A really hot marathon.
Which is why I wanted to lick that bag of lays potato chips. My body needed salt and I knew it. I knew that I needed to find it some. I went out in hopes that chicken broth would soon be coming. (They start serving it later in the day, for this very reason.). I asked a
volunteer on my way out and they shouted after me, “mile 3!”
I told myself, “Three miles. You can do this. Be smart. Go easy.” It’s mostly downhill to get to that point near the horseshoe and airstrip in Placid. As I approached that area after almost three miles, I was still talking to myself. (You have to in times like that. And what you say is SO very important.)
Around that time, I saw a girl about my age being carried off the course in a full stretcher. Wrapped up in the kind of post marathon wraps they often hand out, with an oxygen bag over her face.
Now not to sound too dramatic, but this was not the first stretcher I had seen that day. The DNF (did not finish) rate, I’d find out later, was one of the highest ever on that course. It came as no surprise. It was HOT. And that course is Grueling on a good day.
Around mile 100 on the bike there had been a super chatty guy that kept rolling up next to me. Which is not unusual, as It was the rolling hill section near Wilmington, and the Ausable River . What was unusual was the amount of energetic talking that he was doing. I mean I might be chatty too, but not at this point of a race. Not when so much energy is required. Not when so much is at stake.
I remember wondering what was up with this guy. Unfortunately at the next med tent I saw him off to the side, receiving medical attention. Apparently, his extreme chattiness was part of some almost hallucinating effect. He was loosing it and couldn’t quite get his energy directed where it needed to go. He must have missed some window of rest or fuel, and now he was unfortunately paying the price. It’s a hard thing to see. I hope he got another shot on a different day. If he wanted to I’m sure he did.
So here I was, just about a half an hour into the marathon in almost 90 degree heart, after almost ten hours of work underneath me already, when I saw this girl on a stretcher. Who was arguable fitter, and clearly faster than me, being carried off the course. It was a reminder, and not a subtle one, to go carefully.
I told myself as much. Don’t let that be how you leave the course today.
Do not go too fast.
Do not forget to fuel properly.
Do not be afraid to slow down.
Yes, you’ve gotta give it everything you’ve got. But not so much so that to the point of dire exhaustion, you can’t finish. That happens sometimes.
But the point here is to finish something. It’s not guaranteed, but it sure is desired. And in every way that you can ensure it, you want to be sure to do your best part.
Yes you’d also like to get there as fast as you *can*. But all the theories about how FAST you can go are out the window when your rubber-soled foot hits the hot black pavement.
Even if it’s pavement that you’ve been dreaming of pounding. You must now not let it pound you.
I’m so happy to say that two loops of grueling hills, and five or so hours later, I was able to cross that finish line. It helps me with things I am working on now. I can remember, what it was like.
It was mile by mile, step by step to get there. Some were walking breaks, some crazy wild snacks, some chatting with friends as we walked in step for a while (but not so much that I lost focus) and a lots and lots of self talk (“come on coco. You can do this.”) and I got there.
I’m sure I prayed out there. But I know for sure that I talked to myself a lot too. We all do, all day long.
What we say to ourselves is so important. On a normal day, on a big day.
How we allow ourselves to remember things, it steers the ship. If we can remind and remember ourselves. what we’re capable of, it is invaluable.
Uncompromising, and powerful.
Knowing you’re on a path to something that you’re meant to do. Knowing that though it might be hard, you can and will have what it takes to get there.
You can rest from certain actions, back off the speed, or fuel differently when you need to. But also, keeping your eye on the prize, your ear tuned to the finish line, and keep going.
I remember at around mile 20 on the out and back loop, still a long way off, I could hear the voice of the announcer, Mike Reilly, at the finish line. He was energetic, excitedly calling each persons name. Even though I was exhausted, I knew I needed to get there, I knew that I could get there. Even though it was going to be almost all uphill, there was a prize waiting there. And it wasn’t some medal, snd it wasn’t a tshirt. And it wasn’t even hearing him say my name. It would be crossing that finish line myself, knowing that I had done it. At the moment, I knew that I had what it takes to get there.
I had made smart decisions, I had trained well (enough), I had not quit when it got hard. I had backed off the pace when I needed to. And I would get there. I would get there because I started, AND, because I kept going.
What are you working for today?
What finish line do you have in mind?
Keep going. You’ll get there.
And please remember to be kind to yourself all along the way. Demand something out of yourself, be tough and courageous, be strong, because it’ll be tough.
But also be kind. Take CARE, to take care of your whole mind, body and soul. So you CAN, get there.
It was summer in the morning When fall slipped in for dinner. And we changed from our swimsuits as Summer slowly started slipping quietly out the back door, While football played. Then the rain started and we Weren’t quite sure That we wanted it here. No we were quite sure we didn’t. No, not today Though the ground’s desperate for it, Our skin is desperate for the warmth of sun, Our faces long, more for the glorious, generous, summer’s breeze.
We know what’s coming. But yet, not. We can’t imagine. We just want to stay and linger here a while, In the warmth of the sun, for Before too long, it’s gone. If not, at least hidden, away, Under a blanket of a different name and season. One that we won’t rush away. But, so too,we don’t wish away this one right here.
Summer, we know you’re fading, But our hearts are warm still To your touch. Our love is waxing, never waning from what you bring. And we’re not ready And you’re not really, gone yet. Though autumn knocks, We wait a while to answer.
For now we will just leave this door open, here So you can slip in and out As you please We do, welcome your warmth (But please, keep the lesser things, like the not-quite-bees) We will linger here Just like you. One glorious foot in the door of each season. Not forever, Not dreading, change, As much as welcoming it, slowly. One bare, tender, foot At a time
Like a swimmer, immersed in water, For one last dip, ready to emerge, To step out into the cool air next. Like we’ve done so many time before. But first. We memorize this, gratefully.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love. 