April Eve

How can it be that a quarter of the year has already flown by?

I have the cleaning bug, and in light of the eventual move, a more serious de-cluttering bug as well. Discoveries buried in dust in my bedroom include books I intended to read, binders I intended to return, and a gazillion ponytail binders.

I found my old weightwatchers stuff from 2006-07, where I got down to 160 pounds but just didn't have the perseverance to bring it to 155. Sigh! In six months I took down 20 pounds... Hmm, in three months I've lost 15 pounds, so that's encouraging! It was good to find the old chart. It's easy to fall back into old habits because I'm so easily satisfied! (I mean, I fit into my old clothes! WITHOUT spanks!) But, I am now resolved to finish what I started, and make it to 155 in the next three months.

I have been a sparatic blogger because I've been pretty deep in thought these days. I'm still doing my daily prayer, and it's going well, but not in the joyful happy sense. More like the painful growth sense. Once I get some perspective I'll explain a little more. Suffice to say, I'm learning patience in the most tortuous way: by having to wait.


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Packing

I hate packing.

I hate packing, and therefore I am always packing at the very last minute. Like, about five minutes before we have to leave, I'll pull out the suitcase and begin meticulously going through each day of the trip, finding articles of clothing, shoes, accessories, hair appliances. etc. We almost always leave 30 minutes late. At least.

Last Friday was no different. Husband and I were going to stay at a hotel for the weekend. I had all day to pack... but I waited until 4:15 p.m., since we wanted to leave at 4:30 p.m. And maybe Husband could handle this one thing, but I have a second weird packing issue...

You see, I like to pretend I'm a light packer. Some people try on clothes that are too small, because they think they are several sizes smaller than they actually are. I'm like that, but with suitcases and bags. I like to think all my stuff will fit into one backpack. So by the end of my packing extravaganza, I have four smallish bags ready to go.

Husband didn't say much when he loaded my bags into the car. He may have rolled his eyes when I asked him if he had room in his bag for three additional shirts that just couldn't fit anywhere else. But for some reason, before the end of the evening, he snapped.

Ironically, his snapping coincided with another quirk of mine. When I grew up, you parked the car right in front of the hotel lobby doors, you left the car running and perhaps just one person ran in to check-in, and then you parked near the door that was closest to your room. But when we arrived, instead of following this practical procedure, husband parked a mile away, and then wanted to load me up like a Sherpa to haul all our luggage into the hotel lobby.

I stalked off, got our keys, and we drove to the correct door in silence.

Eventually, Husband and I had a chat about what precipitated the outburst. I explained to him the practical procedure, and instead of apologizing for his ridiculous actions, he said to me,

"Well, honey, if you didn't pack fifty bags it wouldn't have been a problem! There are no weight restrictions on this trip! We aren't on a cruise or an airplane! I don't care how heavy it is, all I ask is that you pack ONE BAG."

Lucky for him, I have a sense of humor.


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Calming the Storm

As if it's not bad enough that I am writing a paper over Spring Break (pages completed: 1.5) while LawLady, THH & Casanova are in Florida, a winter storm just blew in to mock this new season typically called "Spring."

This evening, Choirfriend and I drove down to the cities to drop off her dad, sister-in-law, and niece at a hotel near the airport. They were supposed to fly out tomorrow morning, but due to the impending winter storm we decided we should drive them down tonight instead. The last thing Choirfriend's dad said to me was, "Drive Safe," while looking deep into my eyes, as if to say, "You have the most precious cargo in this vehicle - DON'T SCREW UP." Eek! No pressure...

The trip home was treacherous. Choirfriend and I left the hotel around 8:45 p.m., and got home about 11 p.m. Thirty miles per hour, sometimes forty... four wheel drive... lots of cars in the ditch... Eventually, we made it home, safe and sound. As we drove into the driveway, we confessed to each other that, while we tried to maintain a calm demeanor while on the road, we were both SCARED out of our MINDS!

Today's Lent reading was Luke 8:22-25, where Jesus calmed the storm. This morning, in the comfort of my living room, it was easy to despise the disciples for their lack of faith. But after driving in a car for over two hours, white knuckled and intent on identifying the road when blowing snow erased all signs, it is easier to relate to their fear of the storm.

Imagine not having the car as a protective shield. Imagine having to navigate home without periodic street lamps or even roads. Consider how scary it was when I couldn't see anything except the white sheet of snow illuminated by my headlights, and then remember the disciples were on a boat in the middle of a storm. They were bombarded by the elements in darkness.

Where is my faith? Do I only feel safe in optimal weather conditions while driving a large SUV? Would I feel less safe in a blizzard while driving a small compact car? If so, does that mean my faith is in the environment around me, and the physical size and power of my vehicle? In theory, if my faith is in Christ, doesn't that mean my feelings of security should be independent of the environment around me?

Regardless, I'm thankful God got us home safely.


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Spring Break

My last Spring Break will be spent writing my last major paper for law school. The finished product needs to be approximately 22 pages. Pages completed at this point? Zero.

Today's reading was Mark 10:46-52. The reflection materials asked, "What do I want to say to Jesus about what I desire?" My first thought is how petty my requests are compared to Bartimaeus' request for sight. My next thought is how Bartimaeus really laid it all on the line. He had nothing to lose, except a little public humiliation, and so much to gain. He ignored the crowd's rebukes, and yelled louder for Jesus' attention. I am challenged to have faith like Bartimeaus, that casts aside fear of disappointment and directly makes a request to God. No qualifiers, no "but ifs," just laid out there: "Rabbi, I want to see."

I wrote down some key desires of my heart, and I'm going to try to let go of my need to protect myself from disappointment. I'm going to try and get comfortable with the idea that right now, I need to have the courage to present my desire to God with 100% confidence in His power and judgment.


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Creepy Bunny Eyes

I was cleaning up the kitchen (the cleaning lady comes tomorrow, you know) and as I was breaking down cardboard boxes for recycling, I came across a box that said, "Diva Bunny." I was instantly horrified.

You see, growing up, my mother gave us chocolate bunnies for Easter. And being a sensitive child, I had a hard time eating them. It just seemed so cruel to eat the fuzzy-looking ears, then the smiling face, then the cute bunny arms... so honestly, many an Easter morning involved the ceremonial throwing away of last year's bunny and replacing it with the fresh new bunny in the kitchen cupboard.

As I grew older (you know, about sixteen or so), I overcame my bunny issues for the most part. I mean, c'mon, I now possessed the mental ability to distinguish a chocolate bunny from a cute, imaginary friend bunny encased in chocolate. I was now able to devour chocolate bunnies. Except for one kind.

The bunny with eyes.

You know what I speak of. Who ever thought it would be a good idea to make a chocolate bunny, and then make actual colored eyes for it? So that the bunny can watch you while you eat it? Horrifying! And my bunny-eye issue has only gotten worse over the years. Probably because I get zero sympathy and continual trauma at the hands of my family.

Every year, I forget about my bunny-eye issue. But you know who doesn't forget? My family. My mom began the tradition of leaving bunnies with eyes in my room on the farm to "greet" me when I came home. Then she began leaving them in other places for me to run into, like in the shower *cue Psycho music*. Lately, the teenager has begun to join in the fun. This year, he purchased Diva Bunny, and put her in my room.

Even he admitted he was a little frightened by this one...




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Weekend Lent Thoughts

The reading for Day 11 was John 6:1-14, the Feeding of the Multitude. The Lent materials quoted Father Peter John Cameron as saying, "To be human is to be needy." I began listing off all my needs, and it quickly became apparent how I can do nothing without Christ.

Today, I read John 10:1-18. I love John 10:10 "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." Because that's what I want - I want to live life to the full!

My uncle raised sheep, and every now and then my dad would have to go over and do chores for him when he was on vacation. And he dreaded it. He hated the sheep, mostly because they were so dumb. (Among other things, they will eat themselves to death). In John, the human population is represented by the sheep, and the world we live in is the pen. Inside the pen, humans find fulfillment in what the world has to offer: fame, fortune, sex, beauty, image, position & power. But outside the pen, there is so much more! Peace, love, patience, kindness, selflessness, sacrifice, forgiveness, truth... I realize that these qualities may sound like "not a lot of fun," but as someone who still remembers what life is like without peace (for example), I wasn't "free to be me" until I stepped out of the pen.

Once Jesus Christ became the gate, it seems like a no-brainer that the sheep would be trampling each other to get outside the pen. But I fully admit that I am one of the dumbest sheep, and that even after escaping the pen to the great beyond, I often find myself trying to dig back in. Yeah, it was no accident that God used sheep analogies for the human race!


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How Ice Cream (Almost) Ruined Family Fun

If we were keeping score of how many times the family has begun a trip with the goal of finding Cold Stone Creamery, and how many times we actually found it, our family would be significantly behind. On Saturday, Frustration again racked up another point, and for a moment, it looked like Frustration was going to ruin Family Fun Weekend.

We spent the day in the cities, and the Teenager made the declaration that he wanted to end the day with Cold Stone Creamery. He looked up CSC on his smart phone, and identified the closest location. Husband and I were initially a little skeptical because, as stated earlier, the family has been on several wild goose hunts throughout the cities trying to find CSC's that either moved, went out of business, or were apparently never in the place that the Garmin or Googlemaps thought it was. As a fail-safe, we instructed the Teenager to call and confirm the CSC still, in fact, existed.

Teenager called, and from our end it sounds like he's getting some detailed instructions of how to get there. However, when he gets off the phone, he tells us only that it exists in a shopping center called, "The Village." Husband and I give each other a look. Husband mentions that perhaps it would have been helpful to have road names, or an intersection. Teenager doesn't want to call again, and I'm trying to avoid a fight, so we get the GPS going on the smartphone and begin navigating to CSC.

Teenager is nervous because he didn't get good directions. I'm holding the smartphone, and in an attempt to turn the volume down, turned it down so far that Husband couldn't hear his instructions and we ended up in a turn lane a block too early. Husband is mumbling under his breath. Tensions are running high.

According to the phone, we are on the right path. But the area is looking strangely residential. Suddenly Teenager bursts from the back seat, "It's not here! We're in the wrong place! Let's just go home!" Husband yells back, "We are not going home, we are going to find this place, we did not just drive around for half an hour to not have ice cream!" Teenager retorts, "I don't want to go when everyone is mad." Husband snapped, "Then you can sit in the car." To which I sulk because now Family Fun Day is RUINED. RUINED I TELL YOU! THERE IS NO YELLING DURING FAMILY FUN DAY!!!

But never fear, dear reader. A quick prayer for peace, and a personal phone call to the CSC we were originally trying to find (the guy said, "Oh yeah, I know that google says we're there, but we're not..." Thanks SO MUCH for that insight.) revealed that a better option was a mere four miles to the north. I called and got specific directions, Husband calmed down, the Teenager decided he did not want to sit in the car afterall, and Daughter continued to quietly pray for peace. As we drove up to CSC, we all shared a good laugh about our standard family-freak-out, ate some ice cream, and lived happily ever after.


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Family Fun Weekend

The Beatitudes were assigned today, but I admit, my prayer was pretty sleepy. It was one of the last things I did before going to bed, and by the end of a very long day at the end of a very long week, I was pretty depleted in body, mind and soul. While I'm used to feeling physically tired, I'm not as used to feeling spiritually depleted. I'm assuming its because I've been consciously putting forth more effort towards being a living sacrifice. I think that's why God says there is a blessing to being poor in spirit: It means you're trying.

For recharging, I've planned the "Family Fun Weekend," where the little family enjoys each others company for some forty hours straight. Insert happy sigh here!


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St. Patrick's Day

Uttering an explicative before 8 a.m. twice in one week is kind of impressive, even for me. The first occurred on Monday. The second occurred Thursday morning, the result of my half-hearted attempt to be a good mom.

I set my alarm for 7 a.m. It's been a long week, so I wasn't very awake. I stumbled to the couch after making a visual confirmation that Daughter was up and eating breakfast. I was joined by the teenager, who laid on the other couch. Eventually Daughter walked in, ready for school.

I suddenly realized it was St. Patrick's Day! I asked Daughter if she was wearing anything green. Nope. So I told her to run upstairs and grab her green sweatshirt so she wouldn't get pinched. Teenager mumbled something about how he wasn't going to drive her in to school if she missed the bus. I ignored him and laid back down on the couch.

I started thinking about Inspector Gadget, and what an interesting cartoon it was, when suddenly the Teenager breaks into my dreamy stupor, "[Daughter], hurry up, the bus is here!" Suddenly I, too, can hear the rumbling of the bus outside our house...

I spring blindly off the couch, drop an explicative as I realize the bus is here and Daughter is not, and frantically run towards the stairs yelling for Daughter-who, providentially, is just walking into the room. I shove her outside the door, joyous that she made the bus and horrified by my major mom fail of falling asleep on the job. You know you're in a bad state when the Teenager is more awake at 7:30 a.m. then you are!

The reading for Day 9 of Lent was John 2:1-12. My take-away was Jesus' compassion that overrode his schedule. He said to his mother, "My time has not yet come," but then he goes on to perform the miracle. I wonder if Jesus, like me, had a human desire for a schedule, but in his perfection he sacrificed that human desire for organization to fulfill his calling to minister in the chaos around him. Right now, in my busy busy busy days, I need to follow that example and remember that compassion and love can't be confined to pre-scheduled appointments.


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From Flannelgraph to HD

Day 6 and Day 8 both invite the prayee to reflect on Mathew 3:13-17, Jesus' baptism. It worked out well, because on Day 7 the Lent Retreat group met, and I was given some tips on how to make the reflection more meaningful.

The challenge for me was that the Lent materials suggest the prayee participate in Jesus' baptism through focused imagery. While I have a good imagination, I found myself struggling to imagine myself at the scene in a real way. Mostly because I struggle with what Jesus Christ looks like.

I grew up with the most fabulous Sunday School teacher. She should be eligible for an Oscar in Creative Arts the way she wielded flannelgraph backgrounds and figures to make the Bible come to life! Other childhood images of Jesus include pictures of a nice man, wearing a white tunic and a blue stole, looking very peaceful. My grandma had some paintings of Jesus, one a headshot of sorts and one where he was knocking on the proverbial door of someone's heart. In other words, Jesus starts off as a two-dimensional image that floats along in my brain, almost like he is attached to a Popsicle stick...

Realizing this isn't correct, I draw upon a more recent image of Jesus: that of James Caviezel in the Passion of the Christ. Those powerful images are in sharp contrast to the Sunday School Jesus. There are a few flashback scenes where we observe Jesus Christ prior to his torture and suffering, and I try and draw upon those when attempting to imagine a three dimensional person...

At our Lent Retreat, I shared my Jesus-identity-crisis, and I was reminded that there isn't a "wrong" way to view Jesus. When I think of Jesus, whatever comes to mind IS JESUS TO ME. And that sometimes, the image is fuzzy except for perhaps his eyes, or his hands. I applied this advice to my reflection today, and found flannelgraph Jesus - when given permission to exist - quickly took on a high-definition quality.


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God's Counsel

A good friend of mine has obtained a six-month internship representing God as His attorney. Well, technically she represents the Vatican at the United Nations, but still. Can you imagine how fun it must be to say, "Good morning, Your Honor, I am here representing my client, GOD..."

I plan on staying connected to her. She definitely has friends in high places.

I'm playing a bit of blog-catch-up, and Day 7's scripture was John 17:6-26. I was struck by Jesus' focus on believer unity. In a day when every denomination has a sub-denomination that doesn't get along with another sub-denomination, large scale unity seems impossible! But after dinner with GC (God's Counsel), I realized that on a micro-level, we had achieved believer unity: two very different people came together to celebrate our shared faith.


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Daylight Savings

I can't recall how many times I missed the memo on Daylight Savings, but I know its been more than once. I clearly recall walking in late to at least three different churches in my lifetime. But, as I am now older and wiser, I am very aware of Daylight Savings. Sunday went off without a hitch.

Coincidentally, Daughter has been making big strides in her development. This past year, we have stopped tucking her in at night. Instead, we pray as a family downstairs, sing a song (current favorites are the Star Spangled Banner or America The Beautiful), and then send Daughter up to bed.

Do you see where this is going?

This morning my alarm went off at 6 a.m. But I just couldn't get out of bed. I finally rolled out at 6:30 a.m., walked to the kitchen to make coffee, and noticed it was eerily quiet...

[INSERT EXPLICATIVE HERE]!

I yelled upstairs, "[Daughter!] Are you up? What are you doing?"

The response was a sleepy, "getting dressed..."

Sigh. Daughter's alarm clock is set to go off at 5:30 a.m., giving her plenty of time to get ready for school and eat breakfast without a mom following her around harassing her continually to hurry up so she doesn't miss the bus. Like today.

When Daughter gets up at 5:30 a.m., she is usually on the couch watching TV anywhere from 6:45 a.m. on a really good day, to 7:15 a.m. on a really bad day. So you can see why the 7:30 a.m. bus is going to be stressful for the 6:30 a.m. wake-up call. To make matters slightly worse and more stressful, I'm running behind now too, and for some reason we seem to be constantly in each other's way!

Thankfully, Daughter was ready in time to catch the bus. She ate a FiberOne bar while watching for the bus, instead of her leisurely bowl of cereal, piece of fruit, and orange juice, but I think she'll be OK. I did randomly find a banana in the living room after she got on the bus, but chalked it up to my good fortune and threw it in my purse for own personal enjoyment.

Daughter made the bus, I was only twenty minutes late to class, and nobody got hurt. Really, what more can one ask of a Monday?


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He Was There

Today's reflection was to imagine a journey with Jesus as my companion throughout my life. The memories that came to my mind had to do with the formation of my family.

I relived the moment when Husband's eyes met mine on one of our first encounters, and I knew that there was a lot more to him than meets the eye (and I was totally right about that one)(I mean, God was totally right about that one).

I was brought back to the moment when Daughter ran up to the front of church during worship. She was twelve, and I thought she had permission to participate. Apparently not. However, everyone in the room was moved as Daughter led the community in worship by doing the children's actions to Days of Elijah.

And I recalled sitting on a bus with the teenager on our way to a national convention... it was a three-day Greyhound bus ride to Anaheim, and it was full of adventure.

Finally, I relived the moment when, as a young child, I asked Jesus into my heart. My Grandma was there. We had always had a special relationship, and it didn't occur to me until tonight that a large part of our bond was created on that night. She passed away last July. I miss her.

I'm not gonna lie. I was pretty tired today due to my weekend retreat, and I found myself dozing off every now and then. Even so, it was a pretty fantastic collection of memories for God to put in my heart. If only I could be more contemporaneously aware of his continuous presence, his constant encouragement, and the joy he takes in my life.


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Day 4

The poem for today was How God Answers the Soul. Today I was struck by the idea that God yearns to be loved from the heart. Yesterday, I wrote that God wanted me to acknowledge him. I theorized that if I acknowledged God the way I should, my natural response would be to love Him out of gratitude as I realized how much he continually gives me.

So today I pondered God's nature. God yearns to be loved by me, from my heart? In my mind, it seems so strange that God would yearn for anything. God created me with a similar yearning for love (and sidenote, I have spent much of my life attempting to fulfill that yearning with "all the wrong things."), and I still can't quite wrap my head around the idea that God yearns for anything, least of all my love. And yet Jesus said, Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind!


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Retreat

Friday night I left for my church's annual Women's Retreat. Highlights for me included playing in the annual volleyball Championship of the World, performing "Popular" with Prodigy and SmartMom (a dear friend with adorably smart children, a trait I attribute to her genetics and expert parenting), emceeing the entertainment (using many blog stories), and investing time in as many relationships as possible. Stories retold for audience enjoyment included: The Snowbank Story, Daughter's Church Dining Experience,my Lia Sophia rant, the IKEA incident, and crashing the Christmas Eve Eve Eve service.

I redirected the audience to the blog, so if you're a newbie checking it out for the first time, Welcome!


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Praise The God!

Why is it so hard to acknowledge God? (Cue DC Talk, "What will people say when they hear that I'm a Jesus Freak..."

Daughter, the resident charismatic, went through a phase when she often added "PRAISE THE GOD!" or "HALLELUJAH!" to random conversation. The funny part is that she always used it appropriately. Unlike her fascination with the term "Awwwk--ward!", one can use "Praise [the] God" appropriately with just about anything:

"No school tomorrow! Praise the God!"
"No homework! Praise the God!"
"Pizza for dinner! Praise the God!"

There was a time when I used the phrase "It's a God thing" to explain how I got through the initial years of parenting. In my mind, it sounded less conversationally jarring than a long narrative about giving God credit, but I still recall the silence that ensued when I brought it up once during the workday. (Awwwk--ward!)

While a conversation could definitely be had about the right-ness or wrong-ness of throwing out verbal acknowledgment of God in random conversation, I'm going to dodge that for the moment and ask instead, even if I don't audibly acknowledge God to others, can I even honestly say I am acknowledging God silently?

In Hosea 2:14-23, God lists off all these wonderful ways he pursues me: he responds to me faithfully, lovingly, compassionately, with righteousness and justice. He takes time to allure me to him, and responds to my needs. Not once does the passage say "And you will pursue me to the extent I pursue you."

All He says is: You will acknowledge the Lord. You will say, "You are my God."

When good things happen, is my heart saying, "Praise God!" or "Thanks God!" or even simply, "God was in that." I would be scared to know how little I acknowledge God (silently or otherwise) and how much I take credit because I worked hard/performed well/achieved that. I suspect acknowledging God is a mighty form of Pride-cancer chemo.


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I will wait for the Lord!

First, let me send you here if you are interested in doing this Lent Retreat with me. Prof. Stabile has uploaded the reading document, as well as her introductory speech.

This week's theme is becoming more aware of God's love for me. Today's reflection encouraged me to think about the miracle of my adoption, that God would select the right genetic materials and then place it in the precise environment to grow during those pivotal, formative years. I reflect on how my genetic qualities (temper, courage, confrontational, intelligent, high-energy, ambition, aggressive, sensitive) were ingredients for failure in the wrong environment, but that God placed me in a Christian home with a mom and dad who provided the environment where I learned honesty, a farmer's work ethic, the importance of family, a sense of humor and ability to laugh at myself, and where I was introduced to my Savior, Jesus Christ.

And through this experience, God put a new heart in me, that I could adopt the Teenager and Daughter into my heart as my own children.

Finally, as I read through Psalm 130, I was brought to my mountain scene again. This time I saw myself at the beginning of the journey, being handed off as a baby to my parents from my genetic parents (I imagine my genetic mother looking kind of like me, and my genetic father is kind of like Darth Vader in that he has a huge fur-lined trim on his parka so I can't see his face...). I then saw Husband and I waiting at the crossroads in the mountains, waiting for God to tell us what to do, waiting for God "more than watchmen wait for the morning." It was interesting to note that yesterday I was alone on my walk, with the Holy Spirit, but today other people joined me. I'm excited to see who else I will meet along the way!

One more thing - the dear friend who fasted for an evening meal notified me that she felt convicted to give up chocolate for Lent. Praise God that I don't feel that same conviction in the slightest!


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Fruit and Chocolate Fast

I was working late on the computer in the Spare Room last night, and suddenly I had a hankering for macaroni and cheese. I looked at the clock... and it wasn't midnight yet... so I made myself a little bowl and gobbled it up before Ash Wednesday began. Well, let's just say I gobbled it up and didn't look at a clock again.

I am admittedly a novice fast-ee. The thought of going an ENTIRE DAY without eating seems amazing. Which is probably a sign I need to get there, but baby steps, right? Another close friend fasted recently from the evening meal, which I also find fascinating. How does one go to bed hungry? Right now, I restrict myself to fruit, vegetables, chocolate and liquids during the day. Then I resume average eating behavior for dinner and perhaps indulge in a bedtime snack.

I haven't entirely made up my mind how often I will fast during Lent. Or whether I will challenge myself a little more with my fasting plan. As the Spirit leads, right? Ironically, even with fasting I have to watch my flare-ups of pride cancer! Sometimes when my tummy rumbles I begin to feel pretty self-righteous about my holy self-sacrifice...

And then I remind myself that most people fast FROM chocolate, they don't give up everything EXCEPT chocolate. And humility is restored.


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Quest #13: Connect with Christ

Last week, I realized I had developed a lethal disease: Pride Cancer.

I first became aware of my unhealthy soul-status when I dabbled in Fasting. Society isn't too keen on fasting these days. If I skip a meal because I'm over my points in Weightwatchers, or because I don't have time, or because I want to win the Biggest Loser competition, people applaud. If I skip a meal for the purpose of practicing a spiritual discipline that brings me to closer to Christ...awkward...

So I took the plunge and went on a daytime fruit and chocolate fast. Don't judge. And during the time when I would typically be mowing down on mac and cheese, I spent some time in prayer, reflection, and Bible reading. And God gave me the bad news: I had developed a huge case of pride that had begun to erode my compassion while increasing personal bitchyness about 500%.

It was sobering how quickly it had spread. But, learning from brave ChoirFriend, I resolved to begin an intense regiment of pride-chemo. My plan is to take advantage of the Lenten season and set aside 30 minutes each day for treatment. Today, while reading Psalm 139, I saw myself trudging through the snow, walking through a mountain pass, and I could sense God's presence. It strikes me that right now, more then ever, I need to be preparing for the big transitions that are probably much closer than I realize. It's exciting to think what could happen in 40 days! Husband might have a job, we might have a new house, and my volleyball team might win a gold medal!


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Hardware!

Like the Mighty Ducks or the Miracle on Ice, my volleyball team prevailed against countless odds to bring home the bacon. Except we didn't win the whole thing. So perhaps we're more like Cool Runnings? But we didn't crash and burn. Hmmm. I guess we're more like an after-school special: We played in the Championship match of the Silver Division of the tournament, and took second place (and developed some character along the way) *Cue cheesy music*

Ask me in person and I will talk your ear off passionately about the day, but to sum it all up, our first game of the day was quite reminiscent of our last tournament, and I was bracing for a very long day. As the day went on, we got progressively better, until suddenly we were in the semifinal match pushing a third game with an intensity heretofore unknown. It was amazing.

Every single girl on our nine person team stepped up their game. Nobody was the all star. It was the most beautiful team effort I have ever seen. I'm a dork... but I almost cried when we won the semifinal game and were headed for the championship. The championship game itself was intense, as we lost the first game, came back to win the second, and pushed the score to 12-12 before a serving run finished us off.

God is good. Days like these make it all worthwhile.


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