The race

 Last year I signed up for two 5k races. Originally slated to be in-person, they both went virtual. I ran them. Had the shirt and medal delivered by mail. It was sort of fun, covering the distance anyway, but obviously lacked the (freaking intense race) mojo of the group. 

This year, with a focus on new doors and volunteering, I signed up to be a finish line volunteer at a local 5k/10k race. I got to experience all that goes into a race without the amped up excitement of actually running it. 

Check-in lines (for volunteers too), starting corrals, the port-a-pot lines, selfie backdrops, and the finish line. Our team handed out bottles of water and finisher medals. The first runner crossed the line about 15 minutes after start. 

I noticed there were less than a handful of obviously senior runners, so I'm making that my target niche--ha, ha, but also not kidding. But there were all ages, from elementary to senior runners. Runners crossed sweating profusely, or mad-dash sprinting, or arms up like a champion. I watched people cross holding hands as couples or as teams. One woman asked me to take her picture. Another man whipped out his phone to capture his finish-line moment himself. 

Everyone who crossed that line had a story. First race. Fifth race. Maybe even their last race. People who had a disappointing run or PR'd. People who ran injured or became injured. People with something to prove. People with nothing to prove. I wasn't thinking of any of that at the time. I just stood past the line waving, cheering, encouraging, rewarding. Some people looked rough. Some looked elated. The whole of it hit me on the way home--I was still beaming ridiculously and near tears by the immense joy. MercyMe's song played, and I heard it deeply for the first time: Say I Won't. 

Everyone who crossed that line had a story. Some finished to the waiting throngs of friends and supporters. Others finished alone and anonymous. I believed every finisher deserved a Mummers applause, and thought that I will bring cowbells to my next volunteer race. (I have no idea what is typical of a finish line. But yesterday reminded me how utterly, obnoxiously happy I can be.)

I noticed an older man at the DJ's tent and heard him ask a team member the status of his wife on the course. She crossed the finish line last, about two hours from start, and her face was precious--her smile so big. She seemed like she wasn't even present to anything around her. 

Shane greeted me in the kitchen when I got home and I was still buzzing from the rushing joy of it all. I can't wait to do it again. 

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. ³ Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. (Hebrews 12:1-3, NIV)

This has been my favorite verse ever since I read it back when Lanie was a little girl and we were repurposing our lives to raise our children in the church. 

The cloud of witnesses. The things that hinder. The things that entangle. The race marked out for (us). Eyes fixed on Jesus. So that (we) won't grow weary and lose heart. 

Everyone who crosses the line has a story. Run well.

And still counting ... (15,106-15,180)

 a happy anniversary 22 years in the making, sunny days, a freakish sleet and snow blast on April 1, fun selfies with Erin, Easter meditations

greening grass, sunglasses, moonlight through the woods, a Nerf gun showdown, hot cross buns

good long runs, frisbee with Erin, props in the mail, salad, Greek chicken

sweaty runs, rejecting the snooze bar, good books to read, driving sessions with Lanie, a date on the calendar

a volunteer spot at the finish line, a volunteer date at a food bank with Erin, new doors to open, 500 bags of food for the weekend, humility

the privilege to witness a friend's vulnerability, honesty, no mask, hugs hello and goodbye, a date on calendar

a postcard request from across the country, her recital dress ordered, props in the mail, plans to return to Summer Mummers, friends who share the load to make work light so that I can be like Mary too

the season's first mowing, bird feeders and wind chimes, new primrose for a new patch, a pallet of bagged mulch, half the garden mulched in an hour

red geraniums, a filming date with friends, an NP who's a runner too, a glass of red on a Friday night, yard prep for a summer season

the old man who greets me on my walk, Goodrs in the mail, a senior photo minishoot for a friend's daughter, being back behind the lens and creating, whole food and plant-based cookbooks from the library

texts with Michi, energy, the girls at co-op who made us laugh, a kindred heart who encourages music, German topics that made Lanie laugh

squeezing in early runs before busy mornings, a really good night's sleep on new pillows, laughing with Shane about the "best night's sleep" that really was, a haircut, time to read while processing

new doors, a prime spot at the finish line, another pallet of mulch, running, Ruth

getting to be a guest at someone's house, and that she invited us back-to-back, working the finish line, the faces of all the runners, joy

a Sunday afternoon nap, pizza, hot coffee, May plans--God willing, Nadine

Erin turned us into fat, old men

Nella in the cityscape

mulch day

filming fun

make up black eye

Erin incognito

roots done

They arrived! So comfy!

Erin saw this at a local pet store--lol.

Three quarters DONE.

Volunteer--loved it!

 

Weeds

This house is surrounded by gardens: along the perimeter of the structure, the front garden, the rock garden, the marigold strips, and the pachysandra border. I remember when we were preparing to move here, our agent asked me, "Do you like to garden?" 

I had no idea. Shane always cared for the property at our last house. It was something I was interested in--Linda gifted us tickets to an area garden tour and I was inspired by them, especially after we moved here and I suddenly had gardens. Our agent gifted us a bottle of wine and some gardening books as part of a "welcome home" basket. 

Each year, I worked the gardens. We had big, bulk mulch delivered and dumped. I hauled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow to cover the ground. For a while, I was on top of things. Cindy would comment on pictures I posted online, "You make that place shine." And there was no greater reward than to hear that from her.

The summer of 2015, Lanie got the Celiac diagnosis and things started to slip. I had new priorities to get a solid grip on gluten-free living. And on top of that, I was committed to teaching Ancient Great Books that fall. It was all a train wreck waiting to happen. I had planned a swim gathering early on, and I was push-mowing the tall grass growing in the pool area literally seconds before guests arrived--because: appearances. 

I was losing ground to keep up with other responsibilities and it showed in the gardens. And each year brought new grief--a conflict, deaths, new responsibilities. The gardens paid the price. 

Every year I professed at the season's start, "This is the year I take back the gardens!" 

I would start strong, and finish defeated. The weeds always won.

Last summer, the same battle cry, the same defeat. But I decided to press on because hospitality is about heart, not appearances (I'm not sure I really believe that anymore). A comment created a defining moment when a friend warned her husband would probably joke about my weeds. The caution felt like a hot sword piercing my side. In the days leading up to our gathering, I worked fervently to clear as many weeds as I could from the front garden.

"I refuse to be the butt of someone's joke," I told a friend. However, I didn't finish the garden. And thankfully, he didn't comment--but I braced myself for the words, and sought to ready a gracious response. 

This year, I enter the season relieved of many stresses. I've worked bit by bit at cutting down vines from the rock garden to pulling weeds in the front garden. Shane cleared away an overbearing evergreen from the side garden, and I anticipate the herbs that will take its place in that sunniest patch. He's going to get a load of bagged mulch this year to start us off. Jumping joy!

Yesterday, I worked a quadrant of the front garden for 2.5 hours until my hand was numb from pulling weeds. Erin planted primrose to start a new patch--a joyous, lovely season start. As I pulled the weeds, I thought of all the years we've lived here (ten!). Thought of the families we've entertained. Thought of the hopes I'd had and dreams realized. But I also thought of the battle I've fought yearly against the weeds--and the lessons learned by doing so. I thought on the beginning resentment taking root in my heart, and how it could take over like an invasive vine if I didn't treat it early on. And it wasn't even resentment of the weedy barrage every season, it was resentment that first focused out, but was ultimately my own fault--a failure to set boundaries.

This is the year I take back the gardens. Really and truly. I love this home. I love the gardens. I love having company over to enjoy this property. And I am prepping the spaces now like a welcome mat. 

all the low-lying green parts are weeds

thick, matted weeds

Erin planted primrose and hauled mulch from the pile we have from 2018

there was a C where a limb once was

primrose, marigolds and geraniums

Day story

 April 2021

Outside my window, daffodils in bloom. Some tulips too, the ones deer have spared. Grass is greening and trees are awakening. I hear birds singing and it's wonderful. Waiting for the tractor's return to have the first mow of the season. Lots to do, always, in the gardens. I appreciate the warmth.

And I quote, "Endurance is not just the ability to bear the hard thing, but to turn it into glory." William Barclay, and from Disappointment With God by Philip Yancey, p157.

Giving thanks for April. For our wedding anniversary. For warmer temperatures. For spring. Giving thanks for every day, every run, every breath, every moment I am here. A friend's husband died unexpectedly yesterday. He was my age. Help me to number my days, Lord.

In the school room, we are looking ahead to Erin's high school years. I love that her experience can look so very different from Lanie's. I love that homeschooling can be what we make it. Freedom. I often think of Erin's personality and the push back I've gotten from tutors in the past to have her conform to the unspoken belief that children should be seen and not heard. That girl of mine has a bubbling humor and love of life. When she talks it's in laughter, and she's beautiful for it. Joy bubbling over.

From the kitchen, I made a Greek-style chicken and enough for leftovers. Shane mentioned that he wouldn't mind it if I made it again the next night too. Kalamata olives, feta cheese, grape tomatoes, red onion, Persian cucumbers, lemon juice and oregano--atop grilled chicken. I served ours over pasta with a drizzle of olive oil and a hit of salt just to add a bit more sustenance. It tasted so fresh and flavorful. Had some garlic bread with salty butter. Yum. 

I am thankful. I'm thankful for this year's reset spiritually and emotionally. Thankful for grace.

I don't want to forget laughing with Erin. "Snape from State Farm" that had us in stitches leaving the store. British accents. Movie making plans. Dancing around with ribbon sticks outside. A gray wig, a doctor's coat, the stethoscope for a video skit. She lets me dream and she joins me in the vision. We break down barriers to possibility.

I am reading: Choosing the Simply Luxurious Life by Shannon Ables; Doing Life with Your Adult Children by Jim Burns; Stop People Pleasing by Patrick King; and Yes, My Accent Is Real by Kunal Nayyar. 

Around the house, windows open. Lunches outside on the patio in the sunshine. The anchoring and life-affirming actions of cleaning and tidying. 

I am hearing the squeaky and shrill high notes of recorder practice more often. We are still Mummers, and summer is coming.

On the letter board: "Great are you, Lord." Easter in this age never felt more real or more necessary. 

I value discipline. Menu planning, grocery lists, tasks, goals. I love it all.

A view of my favorites:

Not a hater, but kinda loving these leggings

Leo's face makes the best memes.

flowers gifted by a neighbor

the dress for her solo recital

friends on spring break

the Erin face

Erin face again

playing around with filters

Grace

Selfies

More selfies with Erin

for the skit

Inside joke

 

At the table, blackberry cheesecake plans to celebrate Denise and spring and the simplicity of the beautiful things in life. Family. Friends. Health. Life.

On Easter

Woke up early to take Lanie to the sunrise service at work. 

Came home and made hot cross buns for Erin. They're for everyone, but especially for Erin as she was the one most looking forward to them. They're made from a tapioca flour base with milk, eggs, and spices. They are easy to make--a lot like Brazilian cheese rolls. A lot of wait time. And baking is an hour. But the result is addictively worth it--crisp outer crust, chewy inside, and a flavor that calls me back for seconds. 

Because I prioritized bun making and coffee over my run, I got a late start and only did two miles instead of five. Four hundred jumps instead of seven hundred. And I abandoned my walk entirely because the sun is shining and I know I will be soaking in all the rays while pulling weeds this afternoon. 

Shane took down the evergreen by our garage yesterday. Today he is digging up the stump. 

I signed up to volunteer at a race later this month. I'll be at the finish line handing out drinks and medals. I am so excited. I'm holding off signing up to run any races yet, partly because of last year's virtual switches and because I really want to connect with other volunteers in a variety of settings.

I made up Easter baskets for the kids. And as a result of recounting my Easter memories, got the words of Peter Cottontail stuck in my head. Hippity. Hoppity.

A brief scroll through Facebook on a precious Christian holiday slaps of sarcasm and hatred of unbelievers and Christ haters. I never notice them slamming other religions. Just Christians. Go figure. Then the Christians come on and flood my feed with the very good news--Christ thought enough of me (and you) to walk this earth and die in our place, overcoming sin and death because we couldn't on our own. That he was raised to life so that we can have eternal life too. I turned the radio on after dropping Lanie off at work, and this song played: No Matter What. That song has an extra special meaning to me, and I was especially moved to hear it this morning. 

"Still a daughter... Come as you are... Run to the cross and be free." These are words that make me cry. God sees me for who I've been and who I've become and who I am in Christ. He offers me a place in his family. He gives me freedom. And no one or nothing can separate me from his love. How I wish the family of believers lived so. He said people will know us by our love, and yet on any given day, that love is withheld. But God is true.

Finishing up reading Disappointment With God by Philip Yancey, and I recommend anyone to read it. If we all lived with the astonishing truth that God lives in us, and honored that, what a world it would be. Also, I chose to read this book from a roundabout recommendation, not because I'm disappointed with God. If I'm ever disappointed, it's by people. Learning to really give up on that.

Ruth has been by my side so much lately. Even last night, curling into the triangle wedge of the table at my feet like she used to when she was a little puppy. I seriously love that dog so much.  

I signed up for texts through a radio station that texted the parts of Jesus's journey to the cross during Holy Week. It was really meaningful and sobering.

We didn't have a special Easter meal. Erin and I raced to see who could find the most Easter eggs in the front garden, and then Lanie joined us for a fun round of Nerf guns. 

I only pulled one weed.