How Could She?

Within the last month I have added a different form of exercise into my workout routine. I swim. I am actually starting to like this part of my training. Partly because the pool at our gym is almost always empty in the mornings when I go. Partly because it is very quiet in the water without the ability to plug my headphones into a media socket. But mostly to break up the monotony of the treadmill.

In the beginning only three problems stood between me and the pool. First, I did not own a swimsuit in which I could actually do laps. The ones I owned were more like the fashion kind used to sit on the beach and look cute. And finding a modest suit that actually covered my not-so-small breasts proved to be quite a challenge. Secondly, in order to get in the pool I needed to get half naked in said swim suit. Thirdly, the life guards at our gym are also the teenage boys from our church's youth group! So I had to find a swimsuit that held all of me that I could strip down to in front of impressionable young men that I needed to have respect for me come Sunday morning. That was a challenge.

But I did it. After much searching, I found a suit. I have gotten over my fear of allowing this much of my skin to been seen. And, the best part is that I have even more respect (and I think it is even reciprocated) for the teens that have to sit in the patrolman's chair and watch my attempts to learn how to swim.

On most days I am the only person in the pool. If I ever do have to share the water it is usually with a retired US Navy sailor who has to be in his 70's but has one mean backstroke.

But today's swim was different.

Today a woman walked in the pool area carrying a size 6, B-cup, athletic frame. (I am certain she had no problem trying to find a lap suit that would fit her.) She eased herself into the water. Placed her goggles over her eyes and off she went. She glided across the water with no effort. She swam like a dolphin. Such ease. Such perfectionism. She even knew how to swim in a straight line with her eyes shut. A task I still haven’t seem to master.

She lapped me many many times. (Something I should be used to being that one of my running partners run circles around me—literally!)

By the time she had completed her workout I was only 2/3's of the way done with my mile. I felt like such a schmuck. I was convicted that her only intention of working out this morning was to make me feel like an inadequate beached whale who was struggling to breathe with each stroke. I just knew that her only purpose in life was to make me look horrible. She had reached her goal.

Then she left. Of course she did. She was done with her mile. I started to feel better. I realized that she probably didn't come to hurt me or even think twice about me. I also realized that if an Olympic swimmer came in she might actually feel the same way I did—but I doubt it.

Then I realized that is how we are with our Christian walks. Some of us are beginners and have only been in the pool for a month. Some of us have had professional training for years or decades. But all of us are doing our best. And as long as we are swimming better than we were a year ago...and we will be swimming better a year from now, that is all God wants. He doesn't expect us to have everything mastered—not even the swimming straight thing. He just wants us to keep learning. Keep doing His will. Keep breathing. Keep swimming. No matter who is looking or in the lane next to you.

He loves you and your efforts. Just as much as I am sure the lifeguards love me and my efforts. Because they aren't laughing at me—well, at least not out loud anyway.

End of an Era

Well folks. It's the last one. The last time I can honestly answer someone and say I am in my 30's.

Yep, that's right. It's my birthday. My 39^th birthday to be exact. A day of celebration of sorts. Trust me when I tell you that I am handling it much better than my mother. She is in hysterics that her “baby” is (almost) 40.

The number really isn't bothering me as much as I thought it would. It helps that I have close friends already in their 40's and they don't seem “old”. It also helps that my children are the ages that they are. For some reason, no one considers me (almost) 40 because my kids are all under 10. I am alright with that.

I have been told that many changes are headed my way. Women who are (almost) 40 tend to lose hearing, seeing, height, strength, hair, bone density, estrogen and metabolism. However, I doubt I will wake up tomorrow as a short, bald, deaf-blind, weak, fragile menopausal woman . But you never know.

Actually, there are many things I wanted to accomplish before I turned the big 4-0.

Graduate from college and have a career (check, check).

Buy a house (Check.)

Get married and start a family (check, check).

Travel around the country and see the states (38 down, 11 to go.)

Celebrate the 4th of July in Washington DC (check.)

Travel the world (not quite the world yet but working on it).

Ride on an elephant. (check.)

Celebrate Fat Tuesday and Madi Gras in NOLA. (check.)

Learn to belly dance. (Does line dancing count?)

Ride in a hot air balloon (check--with my son!)

Donate a gallon of blood (almost, but I was pregnant for the past decade.)

Mark “organ donor” on my driver's license. (I don't need them where I am going.)

Teach college classes (check.)

Learn a foreign language (that's the class I teach.)

Land on the most dangerous airstrip in the world. (I landed in the second most difficult one and that was enough for me.)

Run a marathon (well, if you add all the “little” races together that I have done and the one I have in a couple of months, they would total over 26 miles. Does that count?)

See Niagara Falls, The Grand Canyon and The Great Wall (yes, no, no)

Celebrate the New Year in NYC, watching the ball drop at midnight (not yet.)

Visit the Holy Land (Due to finances, our children's ages and the political issues there, I have a feeling that this one will have to wait until after my 40^th.)

Looks like I have a busy year ahead of me. But that's OK because I am still young and adventurous. But looking back over my list I can see how truly blessed I am, the places I have been, the things I have done and the people God has put into my life to accomplish them all.

What;s on your list? What do you still have left to check off? What can you write on there today? Go out there and live. Live life to the fullest because you never know when you are going to turn (almost) 40.

Suck a Bucket!

There is an expression heard often in our house. I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know what it means. I am not even sure it is physically possible. What I do know is that when I am frustrated instead of saying some other more explicit words that would receive an R rating I say, “Suck a bucket”.

I never really put much thought into it. It just pops right out when I stub my toe, or burn my finger or drop something unexpectedly. I never really put much thought into it until one of my kids repeated it the other day. Just to hear those words come out of his mouth made me stop and consider how much influence I really have on my children.

Some influence is good. Reading our Bible everyday. Saying please and thank you. Praying before meals and bedtime. Opening doors for ladies. Signing hymns—opposed to screaming—in the car when you are scared. The list goes on.

But we also have the ability to pass down not-so-good traits. Like the time when I was pregnant with our oldest. I was getting my hair cut. As I sat in the salon chair another woman was sitting in the one across from me. Her two year old accidentally knocked over the trash can. The contents spilled out over the floor. He promptly said some words that a child that young should have never heard-- let alone say. Shocked and astonished, I looked at the mom to see what her reaction would be. It only shocked me more.

As her son was expressing his frustrations with profanities, she laughed. She thought it was cute. I did not. I vowed, right then and there, that I wouldn't say “illegal” words in the presence of my children.

I may not talk like a sailor in front of my kids but I do, however, pass down some not-so-good traits. My children have seen me on numerous occasions eat way too much chocolate cake. They have experienced me throwing tantrums when a plan doesn't go the way I expected it to go. They have heard me whine and complain. And I am pretty sure that they have caught onto my ophidiophobia due to the fact that I refuse to take them into the deserts section of the zoo.

No, I am not a perfect mom. By no means. I doubt you are either. But we all are doing our best with what we have and that is all God expects from us. Paul tells us in Ephesians that we are to “...bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.” (6:4)

So keep on training and instructing just make sure you aren't telling them to go suck on buckets of any kind.

What a Colorful Mess!

The other day Matt and I were working on a project upstairs. The kids were down in the living room watching TV. All seemed fine. Then that feeling came over me. You know the one. The overwhelming sensation when you know something is wrong because it is way too quiet.

When we went downstairs to check on the children we discovered that our three year old had done some coloring—on the couch!! With a blue ink pen no less. On every arm of every chair. It was a royal mess.

To say I was furious is an understatement. But in my disappointed mindset, I took pictures. Of course I did. I wanted evidence of this encroachment. And proof to later show her own children.

Then I was reminded of the time our now six year old painted her toe nails all by herself. She was also three at the time of her offense. She waited until I was out running errands and Daddy was at the helm. She got out various colors of polish on her own and started painting her toes... and her feet... and her ankles... all the way up to her underwear. She was literally covered in bottles and bottles of enamel.

Both coloring situations are cleaned up now. Our oldest daughter took a very long bath and the younger one scrubbed the couch with rubbing alcohol for almost an hour. But both demeanors and poor judgments have been forgiven and wiped clean. Spotless.

Just like our own spots and blotches that are covering us. The ones caused by our sin and are discoloring our white robes. Our demenaors, our sins, our transgressions are washed clean. Not by soaking in water. Not with mineral spirits or even bleach. No, Jesus washed us clean with something much more marvelous. His blood. Who knew? A mess plus blood equals a white robe. Forgiven and wiped clean. Spotless.

Jesus paid it all,
All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.
For nothing good have I
Whereby Thy grace to claim,
I’ll wash my garments white
In the blood of Calv’ry’s Lamb.