On the Third Day

There are times when training for something sucks!  It's difficult, sweaty, and dirty.  By the end I'm exhausted.  But there are times when training for something is...fun?  That's right, I said it.  Today's training was fun.  There wasn't anything special about today's route.  It was the same as I'd taken just two days before: a short 5 3/4 mile ride. 

The weather was cool. The smell of damp earth still lingered in the air.  I was taken back to a mission trip I went on to Honduras.  The mornings were the same; the smells were the same.  The purposes were similar: something bigger than myself.

Yes my legs burned, my heart raced and sweat dripped its way down my face.  But I didn't care.  For a moment, sweet memories of old friends flooded my mind and I breathed them in deeply. 

I wonder if when I cross the finish line in September, memories of my training moments will flood back to me - sweetly reminding me of something much bigger than me.  If they do, I'll breathe them in deeply, just like the smell of damp earth in the morning.

Tomorrow morning, I'll go for my morning ride in a state park; my sense keenly aware of the beauty of the morning.  With each pedal's rotation, I will remember the reason why in hope to bring it back to my memory in September. 

My dearest Jean, This Ride's for YOU!

Today's ride:
#1 Goal 30-40 min
     Actual Ride 35min/5.78m
#2 Goal: None
     Road 15min/2.56m

Purpose Prevails

I did my first 'open' ride this morning.  By 'open' I mean that I rode with traffic, very much out of my comfort zone. 

I had a purpose.  My long term goal is the YSC Tour de Pink Atlanta bike ride in late September.  My purpose this morning; however, was just to ride for 30-40 min.  There was no distance goal this time.  Those days will come later.  While I did meet my goal by riding for 37 minutes (5.87m) - I did find myself struggling, not physically but mentally. 

Fear: I do not have a rearview mirror on my bike yet, so I relied heavily on my ears to tell me if there was a car approaching behind me.  There was a fear that the oncoming car would not go around me with proper distance, instead they will drive past with a very narrow margin.  Fear was present, but it didn't stop me.

Doubt:  Am I insane?  Did I seriously just register for a 40m bike ride in Atlanta, GA?  What was I thinking?  The moment I turned from my neighborhood onto Hickory St (a slightly used highway during the day, except during morning school hours - where it's VERY busy) - I wanted to turn around and go back home.  People could see me, what would they think?  Am I actually going to be able to finish this short ride, making my goal?  WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?  Doubt was very present, but it did not stop me.

Purpose:  I thought about my survivor friend, and just kept pedaling.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Sometimes it's not about skill, or perfect form - it's just about going; doing.  A purpose was clear and present, and it didn't stop - until I'd met my goal. 

Fears, and doubts will always be present, but Purpose prevails.

Jean, this ride's for YOU. Ily

This Ride's for YOU!

Growing up, I hated the color pink.  I'm a 'dark colors' kinda girl.  Pink was too' froo froo' for me. Well, at least until October of 2010 when pink became one of my very favorite colors.  It was then that my best friend, Jean, was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.  It was discovered during a regular exam, and immediate action was taken.  Despite its early detection, the final result was a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery.

Over the last year and a half, I watched my best friend struggle and fight; working so hard to maintain a 'normal' lifestyle. She fought through fear, and doubt. Everything that seemed to have made her 'her' - was now gone.

She is a wife, a mother of 3, and a grandmother. She holds a 2nd degree Level 4 Black Belt in TaeKwonDo. She is an amazing person, a fierce and loyal friend, and one tough ninja. She is a SURVIVOR. She is JEAN.

Pink is the universal color of Breast Cancer Awareness.  To a survivor, pink is ANYTHING but 'froo froo.'  To them, it's hope, it's courage, it's strength.  To my friend, Jean - these thoughts are no exception.

On September 29, 2012 , I will be riding in the Young Survival Coalitions (YSC) TOUR de PINK in Atlanta, GA.  The YSC became such a beacon of hope for Jean. It was through the online community that she found support and comfort; finding people who could share her fears and doubts because they had walked or were walking in her shoes.

Because of what the YSC did for my best friend, I wanted a way to say thank you to them. This is a fantastic way to do just that, and to honor an amazing heroine.

So, on this day in late September I will be wearing pink.  Jean, this ride's for YOU! ILY

I Got You Covered

Prayer is a powerful thing.  It is one of many ways that, as a Believer in Christ, I worship and build my relationship with Him.  Some of my prayers are whispers, some are screams.  Some are said with a smile, some are broken with tears.  Sometimes I have no words to offer, so I sit at my piano and just…play. 

I love to keep prayer journals.  Most are for my eyes and heart only, but a few are different.  There are times when I keep a journal of prayers for someone else.  Nothing fancy, just a simple chronicling of my conversations to my God which are specific to a person. 

One thing that I’m not very good at, but am working on, is actually asking for prayer.  Even though I believe that prayer is powerful, and can change circumstances and lives – I have a hard time letting down my guard enough to share my own struggles.   But that is changing.

God has recently opened the door for me to reconnect with an old friend.  We hadn’t really seen each other in 10 years, until the beginning of August.  Since then, it is almost as if we’d never stopped being friends. 

Several weeks ago, during one late night conversation, she asked me if there was anything I needed.  Without much hesitation I said, “I could really use prayer.”  And I proceeded to pour out my heart.  She listened, and didn’t say much. 

Last weekend, she told me that she was sending a package to me.  Seeing as I had just had a birthday, I didn’t really think much of it, and the only thing she said was, “It was something you asked for.”  For the next several days I wracked my brain; thinking back over past conversations trying to figured out what ‘thing’ I had asked for.  My efforts were fruitless, so I waited.

Yesterday, I received that package.  I carefully opened it, and inside, neatly folded, was a hand-crocheted work of art.  The card which was attached explained to me that it was a “Prayer Shawl.”  My dear friend had asked a ministry in her church to lift my name up before the Father.  The wonderful woman, who made it, did so with prayer upon her lips on my behalf.  With each stich she prayed for me – a complete stranger.  She prayed comfort and healing, strength for the journey, patience with the process, for peace and understanding, and hope for tomorrow; all of the things I feel like I’m seriously lacking.

When I was finally able to talk to my friend about the gift, she simple said this, “You asked for prayer a while back for friends, job and your knee.  Thought I’d get you covered…literally.”

~~

As I ran my fingers across the stiches, I thought of my great-grandmother, Sarah (aka “Nan”), who first taught me how to crochet.  Her arthritic, gnarled fingers were surprisingly nimble as she worked the needle and yarn.  I would sit at her feet, leaned against the front of her chair clumsily fumbling with making a simple chain, while she would sit for hours on end, gracefully making something for someone: potholders, dishcloths, doylies, socks, and afghans.  In honor of my Prayer Shawl creator, and in loving memory of “Nan” – I think I’ll make a shawl or blanket of my own to give away. 

Don’t worry…I got you covered!

A Biking Accident and God

A couple days ago, I had an embarrassing moment: I fell off my bike.  Well, it was more than a ‘fall’ – it was more like a ‘crash, tumble, flip and skid’ off my bike.  No serious injuries; however, I did get a couple of pretty gross cuts and bruises – which in a week or so will make for some pretty “badass” scars (according to one of the amazing  bikers who stopped to help me.)

Once I got my wits about me, I had about a mile ride back to my car.  During that mile ride, I had a God-moment.  As I passed other trail blazers, I smiled and nodded, and even beamed a cheerful ‘Good morning!’ But the truth; the reality: I was hurting and close to tears; wounds exposed, tender, and burning.

Here is the God-moment.  As I was riding, I wondered how many time I pass people who, on the outside, look like everything is fine, like everything is perfect.  But on the inside, they are hurting and close to tears; their heartaches and wounds tender and exposed.  

The two anonymous ‘Angelic Bikers’ could have just kept going.  They were already 200+ feet ahead of me when they heard me crash, tumble, flip and skid.  But they didn’t.  They saw someone in need and turned around to help.  The gentlemen pickup my bike and check for damage.  The woman gently reached her hand down to me and helped me up.  She wasn’t concerned about inconvenience or communicable diseases.  She was concerned about me. 

How many times have we comforted by the simple smile or touch of kind stranger, the embrace of a child, or an encouraging, heartfelt conversation of a long-distance friend?   How many times have I comforted someone I didn’t know with a simple smile or touch?  How many times have I reached down and hugged a crying child?  How many times have I offered a heartfelt, encouraging conversation to a long-distance friend?

I’m convinced that simple acts of kindness do not go unnoticed, and are appreciated.  We may not see the gratefulness right away.  We may never be thanked.  Over time, we may not even remember who it was that we helped.  But every time I glance down at my soon-to-be scars from my bike crash-tumble-flip-skid, I remember my Good Samaritans, and smile. 

~~

Lord, help me to not be afraid of stepping out and comforting someone who needs it.  Help to not be afraid of asking for help when I truly need it.  Thank you for keeping me safe and that the injuries were not worse.  And thank you to those two bikers who came to my aid.  I may never know their names, but bless them.  AMEN

These Pebbles in My Hand

These Pebbles in My hand, you see

Were given by a child

Who, while never having met me

Loved me all the while.

With a twinkle in his eyes

And a smile on his face

Asked with all sincerity

Which Pebble I liked Best

My answer was simple, direct and kind

It was honest, sure and true

"The beautiful one that I love best

Is the one chosen by you."

He glanced at his mother

With a question in his eyes

She smiled and nodded

He began searching for the prize

With a gentle grace he sifted

Some large, some small, some simple, some grand

But only twelve of thousands

made it into his tiny hand

Carefully and lovingly

For me, he chose each one

Nothing expected in return

It was a simple act of Love.

My eyes flooded with tears

And my heart warmly smiled

These Pebbles in my hand, you see

were given by a child.

Silence can be more than Golden

I had a wonderful thing happen to me this morning.  I was talking with a friend, laying bare the inner workings of my heart.  I was asking hard questions; expressing doubt and my inability to understand.  She listend intently and offered a few comments, but other than that - she didn't really say much.  I dont' know that I was expecting answers. 

We sat next to each other...just sat there.  After several minutes, I turned to her - she just smiled.  I thought of Job.  Now, i'm not saying that my situation is anything like what Job went through.  What drew my thoughts to him was this: Job 2:11-13

"When three of Job’s friends heard of the tragedy he had suffered, they got together and traveled from their homes to comfort and console him. Their names were Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. When they saw Job from a distance, they scarcely recognized him. Wailing loudly, they tore their robes and threw dust into the air over their heads to show their grief. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and nights. No one said a word to Job, for they saw that his suffering was too great for words."

There are a few times when I confide in friends, looking for words of wisdom or comfort.  But the majority of the time, just having someone take a few moments of their time to sit with me, to just listen with empathy, kindness and without judgement.  If truth be told, I don't really care what is said to me in a time of brokenness; just knowing that someone is there is worth more than gold.