Today was to be my reset. My 'Oh my word, I've gained more weight in the last 2 weeks than I lost in 6 months, stop drinking so much soda and eating so many M&Ms, get your hind end to the gym, and RESET."
Is it age? Is it exhaustion? Is it thyroid? Nope. It's that I really, really like food. I really, really like chocolate, and I adore Coke with a twist of lemon, and let's not forget the gloriousness that is an ice cold Mt. Dew.
I bought new running shoes on Saturday, and was so excited to put them on and go for an honest run. Not a treadmill run, but a trail run, complete with headphones and quiet time, maybe some wild animals (let's skip the coyotes, though, okay?) and some good, old-fashioned sweat.
Saturday night, after a rousing bout of trivia with friends, I came home and was getting comfortable. By comfortable, I mean I was letting the girls loose. I think, as ladies, we can all agree with the sense of freedom that accompanies that point in the day when we can take off our bras and just relax, am I right? Well, I can attest that relaxed is not what I felt. One arm out of a strap, and a sharp cramp hit the muscle in my right armpit. That's correct, folks. This girl's body is so smokin' that the very pit of it catches on fire while removing an item of clothing.
Yesterday, I popped out of bed to grab something out of the bathroom, and my tailbone felt like it just popped out of place. It nearly sent me to the floor. Then later, as I was walking (not running, not doing some kind of jig, not performing a Michael Flatley routine) my left knee just went out. Now, every step I take coincides with this tweaky ligament pulling thing that makes each step feel like a marathon.
Today, my reset day, left quite a bit to be desired. No Butts & Gutz class this morning, no Zumba tonight, no trail run... but there was definitely some Peanut Butter M&Ms, Coca-Cola Life, some cheese and crackers. Sigh. Zero self-control. I have zero self-control.
Maybe tomorrow can be my reset day. You know, after the deluge of food I will inhale at MOPS, and the Minsky's that I will chase down the MOPS food with... maybe then I can start all over. You don't know.
For now, there's the remnants of a giant bag of Peanut Butter M&Ms calling my name. I'm answering them. Just today. Tomorrow is reset. I mean Wednesday. Wednesday is totally reset day.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Grace That Pardons
I've been sitting here staring at the blinking cursor for the last hour or so. Granted, it was interspersed with a recorded episode of State of Affairs...but still. Blink, blink, blink. Tapping fingernails. What to write?
There are so many things this week that have snagged my attention for some reason or another.
Meanness.
Messiness.
New Chapters.
Doubt.
Sick Kiddos.
Answers.
Renewed faith.
More sick kiddos.
That's quite a list... yet still, I am unable (or perhaps unwilling) to pick one, and run with it.
As I read through it again, the one word resonating in my heart is grace. Grace. Grace extended. Grace received.
I could return meanness with meanness. No, seriously. I'm good at it. It is a special skill that I have finely crafted over many years. It is no doubt tempting. Some person who name-called, or called my intentions into question for no other reason than to alter someone's perception of me to suit her own purposes. I want to be mean. I'm mean in my head, as I play out potential come-backs and conversations that could take place. I know that it is a heart problem. Just the fact that I can play out the meanness in my head means my heart is not where it should be. I hear my kindergartener's voice reciting his scripture verses he's learned at school, "Keep your tongue from evil," and I'm reminded, not so gently, of how many times my tongue has been left unguarded. I extend some grace. I keep my mouth shut. Oh, so difficult for me.
Messy. Messy hearts, messy houses, messy minds. Messy kids, messy closets... dear Lord, please create in me a clean heart. Continue to extend that grace to me and all of my mess.
I'm thinking about how much we've relied on God and trusted in His goodness over the last two years, especially. I'm also pondering how it takes one little fraction of a millisecond to determine that things not happening in the time-frame we'd like them to causes that ugly doubt to raise its head. How quick we are to try to insert ourselves into a position of control. How dare we waver with uncertainty after all that we've seen? And because He is so good... more grace comes flooding in. We get answers to questions we're struggling with. We get reminders of where we've been. People are put in our paths who can testify to something amazing that He's done. The healing of an unborn child. The healing of a child whom doctors had thought was beyond hope. A renewed health after an organ transplant. A relationship saved because of a loving response. Grace.
It is bigger than my meanness. More than my fears or doubts. It can cleanse all the yuck. Clemency for so much gunk with so little return...
Let me somehow learn to extend it as willingly and as often as it has been extended to me.
Grace.
There are so many things this week that have snagged my attention for some reason or another.
Meanness.
Messiness.
New Chapters.
Doubt.
Sick Kiddos.
Answers.
Renewed faith.
More sick kiddos.
That's quite a list... yet still, I am unable (or perhaps unwilling) to pick one, and run with it.
As I read through it again, the one word resonating in my heart is grace. Grace. Grace extended. Grace received.
I could return meanness with meanness. No, seriously. I'm good at it. It is a special skill that I have finely crafted over many years. It is no doubt tempting. Some person who name-called, or called my intentions into question for no other reason than to alter someone's perception of me to suit her own purposes. I want to be mean. I'm mean in my head, as I play out potential come-backs and conversations that could take place. I know that it is a heart problem. Just the fact that I can play out the meanness in my head means my heart is not where it should be. I hear my kindergartener's voice reciting his scripture verses he's learned at school, "Keep your tongue from evil," and I'm reminded, not so gently, of how many times my tongue has been left unguarded. I extend some grace. I keep my mouth shut. Oh, so difficult for me.
Messy. Messy hearts, messy houses, messy minds. Messy kids, messy closets... dear Lord, please create in me a clean heart. Continue to extend that grace to me and all of my mess.
I'm thinking about how much we've relied on God and trusted in His goodness over the last two years, especially. I'm also pondering how it takes one little fraction of a millisecond to determine that things not happening in the time-frame we'd like them to causes that ugly doubt to raise its head. How quick we are to try to insert ourselves into a position of control. How dare we waver with uncertainty after all that we've seen? And because He is so good... more grace comes flooding in. We get answers to questions we're struggling with. We get reminders of where we've been. People are put in our paths who can testify to something amazing that He's done. The healing of an unborn child. The healing of a child whom doctors had thought was beyond hope. A renewed health after an organ transplant. A relationship saved because of a loving response. Grace.
It is bigger than my meanness. More than my fears or doubts. It can cleanse all the yuck. Clemency for so much gunk with so little return...
Let me somehow learn to extend it as willingly and as often as it has been extended to me.
Grace.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Milestones
Two years ago today, I arrived for my first visit to Salt Lake City, Utah. It was a most unexpected trip, and one I had no intention of making. The phone call I had received the night before, notifying me that my beloved had been paralyzed in a skiing accident, had prompted an emergency flight out at a most ungodly hour. I was hoping that the surgery they were wanting to perform would keep until I could lay eyes on him, but there was no way to know.
I left my youngest kiddos in the trusted care of family members with next to no groceries in my fridge or pantry (because people, if we ever go into survivalist mode due to some kind of alien takeover or nuclear bomb, my family will be the first to starve to death... I am the reigning champion of the 'Who Can Put Off Grocery Shopping the Longest" contest) and no access to my bank account. I had it stuck in my noggin that this whole thing would resolve itself in a couple of days, and that we would be back home no worse for wear. He kept telling me on the phone that he was starting to move his arms and that the feeling was coming back. Fluke. Had to be a fluke.
My brother-in-law picked me up at the baggage carousel and told me that my husband had been in surgery for a few hours, and that it would be a few more before he would be out. And so we waited in the surgery waiting room. A few hours later, the surgeon finally came and talked us, and I rushed to see this guy...
I expected some bumps and bruises, but the surgeon failed to tell me that laying face down on an operating table for a spinal decompression and fusion of the C3 - C6 vertebrae meant all the blood and fluid rushed to his face and made it swollen. I may or may not have had to sit behind him for a while with my head between my knees, but that's neither here nor there.
I didn't find out till a week or so ago that the paramedics were in a complete panic in the ambulance. I found out at the same time that they had already done the central line and his PIC line and had been in the ER for about 5 hours before they suggested he may "want to call his wife now." His double-digit concussion history made him think that he was going to just shake this off, and this one was just a little bit worse than before. No need to panic me several states away. [insert eye roll here]
Yesterday, as I was contemplating the two year mark of this major road diversion we took, I was flipping through Facebook posts from those first few weeks. Scriptures sent to us from sweet friends, pictures of power-chairs, and surgery incisions, the lear jet that flew us home after three long weeks in Utah... and the memories flooded over me so significantly that it took my breath away. I was overcome.
Overcome with gratitude. Overcome with wonder. Overcome with a little bit of that pesky fear that keeps poking its ugly head at me even though we have NO DOUBT that God has been all over this process from start to finish. Overcome with that ugly cry that starts deep in your soul and pinches off all the air in your lungs so that you have to gulp and swallow, all the while having tears and snot running haphazardly down your face. Overcome.
Tonight, as I'm typing this, my man is upstairs singing to our girl. Mockingbird. He took her up and put her in the tub, washed her hair, got her in her jams and is now singing her a lullaby. My heart is so full. Two years ago, he had to be moved from a bed to a power-chair using a Hoyer lift. God is so very good.
I can lay out all the physical milestones that he has achieved since the accident...recount miracle after miracle that God has performed, because they were and are plentiful. We have new ones all the time. Rather, the milestones I was thinking about today were altogether different.
We now can rely on God in a way we never really had to before, and because of all we've seen Him do over the past two years, we can trust Him in a way we didn't even know we could.
We can trust each other in a way that we've never had to trust another human since childhood. Because, you know, there are some things that can't be unseen. We've seen each other at our most vulnerable, and lived to tell the tale. We have laughed about things that other people would not find funny. You've never really giggled until you've laughed about bowel care or urinal mishaps. Your spouse may have never considered you a tantrum thrower until he saw you literally sitting on the floor kicking your feet and crying over a pair of stupid TED hose. (Those things are straight from Lucifer himself, by the way.) Seeing each other at your weakest creates a whole new level of intimacy. The mere fact that we went from spending a bit of time together each week after travel and work, to spending twenty-four * seven with each other and no one has been maimed or killed speaks volumes, I think.
We have gained friendships, built relationships that we value with people we had only cursory associations with before...people we now have deep affection for.
We have compassion for people that we hadn't experienced before. Empathy for those who have any kind of difference or disability.
Those are the good milestones... the ones that will stick to the walls of my heart, the ones that matter. The rest of it... that's just the gravy. Or the chocolate. Let's call it chocolate... because you know...chocolate.
I left my youngest kiddos in the trusted care of family members with next to no groceries in my fridge or pantry (because people, if we ever go into survivalist mode due to some kind of alien takeover or nuclear bomb, my family will be the first to starve to death... I am the reigning champion of the 'Who Can Put Off Grocery Shopping the Longest" contest) and no access to my bank account. I had it stuck in my noggin that this whole thing would resolve itself in a couple of days, and that we would be back home no worse for wear. He kept telling me on the phone that he was starting to move his arms and that the feeling was coming back. Fluke. Had to be a fluke.
My brother-in-law picked me up at the baggage carousel and told me that my husband had been in surgery for a few hours, and that it would be a few more before he would be out. And so we waited in the surgery waiting room. A few hours later, the surgeon finally came and talked us, and I rushed to see this guy...
I expected some bumps and bruises, but the surgeon failed to tell me that laying face down on an operating table for a spinal decompression and fusion of the C3 - C6 vertebrae meant all the blood and fluid rushed to his face and made it swollen. I may or may not have had to sit behind him for a while with my head between my knees, but that's neither here nor there.
I didn't find out till a week or so ago that the paramedics were in a complete panic in the ambulance. I found out at the same time that they had already done the central line and his PIC line and had been in the ER for about 5 hours before they suggested he may "want to call his wife now." His double-digit concussion history made him think that he was going to just shake this off, and this one was just a little bit worse than before. No need to panic me several states away. [insert eye roll here]
Yesterday, as I was contemplating the two year mark of this major road diversion we took, I was flipping through Facebook posts from those first few weeks. Scriptures sent to us from sweet friends, pictures of power-chairs, and surgery incisions, the lear jet that flew us home after three long weeks in Utah... and the memories flooded over me so significantly that it took my breath away. I was overcome.
Overcome with gratitude. Overcome with wonder. Overcome with a little bit of that pesky fear that keeps poking its ugly head at me even though we have NO DOUBT that God has been all over this process from start to finish. Overcome with that ugly cry that starts deep in your soul and pinches off all the air in your lungs so that you have to gulp and swallow, all the while having tears and snot running haphazardly down your face. Overcome.
Tonight, as I'm typing this, my man is upstairs singing to our girl. Mockingbird. He took her up and put her in the tub, washed her hair, got her in her jams and is now singing her a lullaby. My heart is so full. Two years ago, he had to be moved from a bed to a power-chair using a Hoyer lift. God is so very good.
I can lay out all the physical milestones that he has achieved since the accident...recount miracle after miracle that God has performed, because they were and are plentiful. We have new ones all the time. Rather, the milestones I was thinking about today were altogether different.
We now can rely on God in a way we never really had to before, and because of all we've seen Him do over the past two years, we can trust Him in a way we didn't even know we could.
We can trust each other in a way that we've never had to trust another human since childhood. Because, you know, there are some things that can't be unseen. We've seen each other at our most vulnerable, and lived to tell the tale. We have laughed about things that other people would not find funny. You've never really giggled until you've laughed about bowel care or urinal mishaps. Your spouse may have never considered you a tantrum thrower until he saw you literally sitting on the floor kicking your feet and crying over a pair of stupid TED hose. (Those things are straight from Lucifer himself, by the way.) Seeing each other at your weakest creates a whole new level of intimacy. The mere fact that we went from spending a bit of time together each week after travel and work, to spending twenty-four * seven with each other and no one has been maimed or killed speaks volumes, I think.
We have gained friendships, built relationships that we value with people we had only cursory associations with before...people we now have deep affection for.
We have compassion for people that we hadn't experienced before. Empathy for those who have any kind of difference or disability.
Those are the good milestones... the ones that will stick to the walls of my heart, the ones that matter. The rest of it... that's just the gravy. Or the chocolate. Let's call it chocolate... because you know...chocolate.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)